Over the next few days, Jeanne truly learned the meaning of a local Sarkaz welcome. These ruffians harbored an absolute disregard for the passing of hours; it felt as though some lunatic was bound to spring from the shadows to disrupt their progress at any given moment.
The nights were by far the worst. The mercenaries had adapted their approach, sourcing a fleet of rapid motorcycles from some forgotten cache. They spent the twilight hours roaring around the perimeter of Rhodes Island, doing nothing but hurling crude explosives toward the hull.
While these petty trinkets inflicted zero actual damage on the colossal landship, the relentless barrage of detonations was driving Jeanne to the brink of madness. It was physically impossible to secure a decent night's sleep amidst such a chaotic racket.
"So, are any of you ready to confess which particular lunatic dragged you out here to throw bombs every night and ruin my rest?"
Jeanne glared up toward the gray clouds, watching the local raiders being tossed through the air like juggling balls by her soaring wyverns. Listening to their agonizing wails was the only thing capable of lifting her foul mood.
What would happen if they refused to cooperate? Whether they ultimately concluded their evening as a dragon's midnight snack or a fresh stain on the badlands depended entirely on the whims of the beasts. Jeanne harbored zero intention of intervening to pull them down.
Frankly, her current desire was to simply roast the lot of them with a wave of hellfire. Why should she lose sleep over whether this aerial circus was a bit too torturous? Who had spared a single thought for her sanity while she was being tormented night after night?
Unfortunately, these captured raiders were exactly like the vanguard she had snared days prior. Aside from howling in absolute terror as they plummeted through the sky, they could only repeat a single line: they were low-level grunts executing a contract, and they possessed zero access to the broader scheme.
Jeanne actually believed their pleas. One glance at their rusted gear was enough to confirm these fools were mere cannon fodder, entirely decoupled from any high-level intelligence. They had likely just seen a lucrative bounty on a local job board and signed away their lives without thinking.
Yet, even without a formal confession, the identity of the mastermind behind these constant strikes was painfully obvious—even a child could deduce it. If it weren't for the inconvenient reality that Theresis shared a bloodline with Theresa, the furious operators of Babel would have likely spent the afternoon cursing the Regent's ancestors to the heavens.
Jeanne stood on the steel platform for a while longer, listlessly watching her wyverns toy with the remaining raiders. Eventually, she let out a massive yawn and wandered back toward her private quarters, completely indifferent to whatever fate awaited the mercenaries in the sky.
As she walked, a faint thought crossed her mind: Has my temperament grown a bit too vicious lately? In the past, her standard response to such pests would have been a clean, swift dispatch; she never would have stood by and casually allowed her beasts to torment them for amusement.
She couldn't quite pin down the root of this growing hostility. Perhaps her darker, shadow-aligned persona was exerting a subtle influence over her consciousness, or maybe the sheer lack of restorative sleep was simply eroding her patience.
"We truly know nothing! We beg of you, whoever is in charge, please just let us down! We will march straight back and act as your inside eyes! Is anyone listening up there?!"
Long after Jeanne's departure, the desperate mercenaries continued their forced acrobatics in the upper atmosphere. The passing crew members of the vanguard company didn't even bat an eye at the spectacle; they had grown entirely accustomed to the sight over the past week.
If anything, seeing the enemy force converted into a sky-high circus brought a grim satisfaction to the defenders. The operators were thoroughly exhausted by the endless series of hit-and-run provocations.
While Jeanne was drowning in pure irritation, the mercenary captains tasked with sabotaging Babel's advance were experiencing a profound existential crisis. They were practically tearing their hair out in clumps because their ranks had completely broken—no one was willing to ride out anymore!
Every single deployment into the valley had become a one-way trip. Those winged nightmares circling the landship systematically erased every squad sent into the grid. Under those conditions, who would willingly volunteer to throw their life into a meat grinder?
Yet, the contract had been sealed in blood. If they tore up the agreement and attempted to flee the territory, Theresis's enforcers would undoubtedly hunt them down to make a brutal example of them, leaving their heads on spikes no matter what corner of Terra they fled to.
It was a choice between two distinct paths to the grave. Fortunately, today marked the absolute final dawn of their active contract. The commanders quickly selected a handful of gullible, low-ranking squads to carry the remaining ordnance toward Rhodes Island, using them as a final screen while the senior officers packed their crates to flee the country. Anything was better than staying in Kazdel.
But they hadn't run more than a few leagues into the canyons before they collided with a wall of heavily armored, elite operators. The glint in the defenders' eyes was exceptionally predatory.
"We've been hunting for your nest for three days," one of the vanguard elites growled, a dark smile stretching across his face as he unholstered his weapon. "You boys seemed to be having a lot of fun throwing those pipe bombs at our hull. Let's see if you can keep that same energy."
That very night, another massive detonation rippled through the valley. The sheer volume of the blast indicated the saboteurs had brought their entire remaining stockpile, fully intending to crack the landship's armor platings.
"Are you... kidding me right now?!" Jeanne snarled, storming out onto the deck only to find the entire crew had been shaken awake once more. Dozens of operators stood along the catwalks, their faces darkened with pure fury as they stared down at the battered saboteurs who had just been dragged into the light.
"You're awake too? Judging by those circles under your eyes, the past few days have been an absolute nightmare for you."
As Jeanne marched past the command alcove, the Doctor offered a casual wave. The strategist didn't harbor a single ounce of resentment about her broken rest; it was glaringly obvious she had simply spent the entire evening working through another mountain of tactical readouts.
"Do you ever actually close your eyes?" Jeanne asked, staring at the perfectly alert strategist in genuine bewilderment. "Aren't you worried you'll simply collapse from a sudden heart failure one of these days?"
"I possess a few unique counter-measures for exhaustion," the Doctor replied with a mysterious glimmer beneath her hood. "But I suspect this nuisance ends tonight. I dispatched our strike teams to permanently dismantle their staging grounds hours ago. If we don't clear these insects out now, we won't have the mental stamina required for the true confrontation ahead."
"I see." Jeanne let out a long, relieved breath, but a sudden realization caused her to narrow her eyes. "Wait a minute... if you were planning a full sweep of their lines, why didn't anyone call for my assistance?" She pointed toward a nearby platform, where a group of operators—with the enthusiastic help of Fafnir—were hauling the surviving saboteurs away in chains.
"A minor skirmish like this doesn't require our ultimate deterrent," the Doctor answered, offering a gentle shake of her head. "While your presence would have undoubtedly concluded the battle within minutes, our internal squads aren't so fragile that we must rely on a guest asset for basic security. We can handle our own weight."
The strategist paused, her voice losing its lighter edge as a heavy gravity settled over her features. "Besides, your primary directive is to preserve the integrity of this vessel. Go get some proper rest. In a few days, an incredibly critical clash will require your full strength. When that hour strikes, you will be the center of the stage."
Jeanne could hear the invisible weight resting on the Doctor's shoulders, a burden so intense the strategist couldn't even spare a few more words before hurrying back toward the central terminal.
However, the moment the phrase "center of the stage" left the Doctor's lips, Fafnir's eyes lit up like twin stars. The young dragon looked up at Jeanne with an expression of pure, unadulterated excitement, clearly imagining a grand spectacle where they would take to the skies and shatter an entire kingdom together.
To the young creature, this entire campaign was likely nothing more than an elaborate game. The mortal armies crawling through the dust posed zero threat to her prehistoric hide; she was simply incredibly bored from being cooped up on a metal ship and desperately wanted to stretch her wings.
Looking down into those wide, pleading eyes, Jeanne experienced a sudden, bizarre sensation—it felt exactly like an owner being begged by an energetic puppy to take it out for a run in the park. A wave of profound maternal guilt washed over her chest.
Wasn't I supposed to be cast as the gentle, protective older sister in this narrative? Jeanne thought, scratching her head in confusion. Why does it suddenly feel like I'm playing the part of a wicked, neglectful stepmother keeping a child locked indoors?
"Alright, alright," Jeanne murmured, patting the girl's head as they walked back inside. "Let's see how the situation develops. If the skies clear up over the next few days, I'll find an open stretch of the badlands and take you up for a long flight, okay?"
As she negotiated with the child, the lingering feeling of walking a family pet grew so vivid she couldn't shake it off.
At that moment, Jeanne remained entirely oblivious to the true scale of the grand conflict the Doctor had hinted at. She had zero inkling that the spectacle waiting for her on the horizon would be one of the most breathtaking displays of raw martial power the continent had ever witnessed.
When Rhodes Island finally cleared the mountain passes a few days later, Jeanne stepped onto the forward prow and froze. Spreading across the vast basin below was a literal ocean of Sarkaz warriors, their blades catching the pale sunlight in a terrifying display of military might. The sheer density of the host defied all her expectations; it felt as though every blade-for-hire on Terra had gathered in a single valley.
The Doctor had been entirely correct. The mercenaries they had managed to recruit or scatter along the border territories were a microscopic fraction of the nation's true military power—not even a quarter of the terrifying host currently blocking their path.
"The tide of battle rests entirely on your shoulders now," the Doctor murmured, stepping up beside Jeanne as she looked down at the teeming millions below, a look of profound relief washing over her tired face. "The fact that they abandoned all tactical maneuvers to mass their entire strength in this single basin caught us off guard. But thank goodness we have you to tip the scales."