This time, Jeanne didn't even need to guess; she could tell that Patriot was in a foul mood today. She wondered if the old gentleman, after having such a fierce row with the other man, would even be able to fall asleep tonight.
Because of the mask covering Patriot's face, Jeanne couldn't see his current expression. She could only watch those eyes, which glowed like twin red lanterns, and guess at the turmoil within his heart.
"Are you staying here? How about I watch over them tonight instead?" After standing in silence for a long time, Patriot turned to Jeanne and spoke.
In truth, he believed he wouldn't be able to get a wink of sleep anyway. The sheer amount of fury pent up inside him was enough to keep him sitting in his room until dawn without cooling off—sleep was out of the question!
Furthermore, he remembered Jeanne complaining to Talulah yesterday about how guarding these fellows left her with no time for rest... it was hard on the child. Keeping watch over such a group night after night was a heavy burden on the body.
Patriot was unaware that Jeanne did not actually require much sleep. Even if she didn't sleep for an entire week, her mental state wouldn't show any change. However, sleeping was one of Jeanne's hobbies; with her unique constitution, she could easily have gained seven or eight hours of activity time over a normal person.
In other words, she was an expert at staying up late. Though, under permissible conditions, she would never miss her daily rest—in fact, she tended to sleep longer than the average person.
"Ah, no need. You should go back and get some good rest, old gentleman. There's no need to worry too much about certain things; perhaps the way things develop won't be as bad as you fear, right?"
Faced with the temptation of being able to go back to sleep immediately, Jeanne still chose to decline Patriot's suggestion right away. As much as she loved sleep, she couldn't let an elderly gentleman pull an all-nighter in her place. Besides, missing a few nights of rest had no real impact on her.
But Patriot was different! Even if his body was incredibly strong, he was still made of flesh and blood, wasn't he? Failing to get proper rest would eventually take its toll.
Wait... flesh and blood? That thought brought a hint of irony to Jeanne's mind, considering her own body wasn't exactly "standard" flesh and blood. Though she knew there was nothing wrong with her, she was curious about how many secrets her body still held.
Given the current situation, conventional medical exams likely wouldn't find anything of value—unless she allowed herself to be sliced up for research. But she had no intention of becoming a lab rat, so she pushed those thoughts aside.
Jeanne shook her head vigorously, as if trying to shake out the mad impulse to send herself to a high-tech lab in Columbia to be dissected.
As for why she chose a Columbian tech company over anywhere else? Didn't the combination of "Columbia" and "Mad Scientist" just seem like a perfect match? They felt like they belonged together.
Perhaps it was because back in Laterano, Jeanne had watched too many of those commercial films Fiammetta bought from Columbia. The impression was so deep that she felt "Mad Scientists" and "Columbia" were a match made in heaven!
When did these neurotic thoughts start appearing in my head? She felt that if she kept overthinking like this, she'd eventually end up in Columbia as a movie screenwriter.
"It's already so late; let me walk you back!" Jeanne said, noticing Patriot looking as if he wanted to say something private several times, only to hesitate.
Even without seeing his expression or mouth, the way Patriot looked at her repeatedly as if to speak, only to swallow his words the next moment, allowed her to guess his intent.
Then again, the sight of the sub-1.6-meter Jeanne telling Patriot—who was more than twice her height—that she would "escort" him back was a scene filled with unintentional comedy.
Was she worried about the old gentleman running into danger? Setting aside the fact that they were in the village, even in the wilderness, a bear would take one look at his height and flee for its life rather than get in this powerhouse's way.
The others on the night shift heard Jeanne's words and looked at the two with complicated gazes, momentarily unsure where to even begin pointing out the absurdity.
Perhaps they were worried the winter roads were slippery? Maybe Patriot, walking absentmindedly, would accidentally trip? After all, a fall for an elderly person is a serious matter, potentially very grave... alright, they couldn't even convince themselves of that excuse.
Having campaigned with Patriot for so many years, they knew perfectly well that the old gentleman wouldn't slip on flat ground, nor even on smooth ice.
Patriot was also momentarily stunned by Jeanne's words, but he soon nodded with silent understanding. "Very well. I shall trouble you."
Under the strange gazes of the others, the two slowly departed. Everyone knew they had things to discuss, but they couldn't help thinking: Could you at least put a little more effort into your excuses?
Once they left, the guards turned their attention back to the task at hand, never forgetting that extremely dangerous individuals were still being held here.
Inside the tent, the Confessarius watched Jeanne and Patriot depart through a gap in the fabric. He simply sat back down on his cot, devoid of any other thoughts.
As for causing trouble while Jeanne was away? Forget it. He didn't believe for a second that the young girl would dare leave this place without some means of keeping them in check. Did she have to make herself as formidable as the Sanguinarch before people would stop testing her? He still had his own pursuits; it would be a true injustice to die here because he couldn't hold his breath.
"Hmph. A racial curse? I didn't expect Buldrokkas'tee to start believing in such things in his old age. I recall he was the one who disbelieved in curses and fate more than anyone."
He recalled the words Patriot used during their argument—the heavy emphasis on curses and disasters. A look of disdain crossed his face, as if mocking how old Patriot had become.
Who would have thought? The same Buldrokkas'tee who once prophesied he would die at the hands of the Demon King wearing the Black Crown—yet refused to believe the prophecy—had become like this in his twilight years.
Even if there really were a curse in this world, so what? Had the Sarkaz not received enough curses already? To halt progress for the sake of a nebulous, ethereal curse was something no one could accept.
Perhaps Patriot understood this himself. But having seen those images within his memories, he still acted like the Wendigos of old, trying his best to stop such behavior—likely out of nostalgia for the Kazdel of the past.
On the other side, Jeanne and Patriot walked along the empty, silent path. Neither spoke a word, the only sound being the rhythmic alternation of light and heavy footsteps.
Jeanne waited for Patriot to speak first. She wanted to know what that sentence he was suppressing deep in his heart truly was.
She didn't really need to guess; she knew whatever he wanted to discuss was definitely related to the Sarkaz. After all, he had just had a massive argument with the Confessarius before showing this hesitation.
But which aspect did the old gentleman want to discuss? Was it about the current state of the Sarkaz, or was there some hidden secret he wanted to share?
Patriot was clearly deep in thought. He wasn't even walking with his usual precision, his path no longer a perfectly straight line.
This silence lasted until Jeanne saw Patriot to his quarters. Patriot still seemed to be agonizing over whether to speak his thoughts to her.
"Old gentleman, do you have something you want to tell me?" Jeanne asked softly, looking at the conflicted Patriot.
She was certain that if she hadn't initiated the conversation, Patriot would never have spoken. It seemed what he had to say was something even he considered very excessive.
"Yes. There is one thing." Seeing that Jeanne had spoken first, Patriot gave a slight nod and looked at her seriously.
"I have a favor to ask of you. If one day you and Theresis truly come into violent conflict because of that Horn... I hope you can... refrain from involving the innocent Sarkaz civilians who do not know the truth."