"Welcome back! You must be exhausted."
The moment Jeanne stepped back onto the reinforced deck of Rhodes Island, carrying the young dragon who had happily shifted back into her human form, she was greeted by the Doctor.
The strategist was visibly radiating excellent spirits. Though her posture and words remained standard, her foot was secretly tapping a rhythmic beat against the steel flooring in a quiet corner. It was glaringly obvious she wanted nothing more than to burst into a celebratory song right then and there.
Unfortunately, the setting didn't exactly permit a musical number. They were in the middle of a brutal civil war; a supreme commander singing a joyous tune out in the open would look incredibly bizarre and could easily damage her reputation among the more conservative factions.
Granted, the Doctor's reputation among the local mercenaries wasn't particularly pristine to begin with. In fact, within the barracks, the stories surrounding her tactical ruthlessness were terrifying enough to silence crying children in the dead of night.
"Exhausted? Not in the slightest," Jeanne replied, waving her hand dismissively. "There isn't a single soul in this valley capable of scratching either of us. If anything, she was simply growing restless cooped up in those quarters. Think of this as a quick afternoon stroll to stretch her wings."
To Jeanne, the entire engagement hadn't even qualified as a decent warm-up. For her young companion, it was merely a brief breath of fresh air. Neither of them had experienced a shred of difficulty.
Still, Jeanne recognized that she needed to acclimate to this reality. As long as she brought the ancient dragon along, every single conflict on Terra would inevitably conclude with this level of simplicity—unless she actively desired the absolute destruction of a nation.
"Please, spare me the bragging," the Doctor sighed, though her expression beneath her hood held zero jealousy. She merely offered a look of profound envy toward Jeanne's ability to effortlessly dissolve a crisis that had given the command room a massive headache. "If every campaign I oversaw concluded this smoothly, I wouldn't be losing my hair from pure stress week after week."
If Babel possessed this tier of raw military dominance, or if she had simply crossed paths with Jeanne earlier in the campaign, this brutal war of attrition would have been settled years ago. Theresa would already be drafting the architecture for national reconstruction.
But the Doctor kept those wistful thoughts to herself. She understood that securing Jeanne's alliance and convincing her to shield their voyage was an unbelievable stroke of fortune.
"You worry too much," Jeanne chuckled, shaking her head. She looked down at the child beside her, who was still beaming with pure delight after her brief excursion. The young dragon was remarkably easy to please.
A short while later, Theresa returned to the landship under the dense, watchful security detail led by Kal'tsit. The Doctor immediately marched over to receive the Lord Fiend, eager to evaluate the psychological state of the battlefield.
"How did it go? What is the mood among the remnant forces?" the Doctor asked, falling into step beside Theresa. She was desperate to know how the regiments Theresis had press-ganged were reacting to their presence.
Babel had secretly hoped to leverage the victory to absorb a few fractured warbands into their own ranks. Even if these mercenaries weren't entirely trustworthy, they would serve perfectly well as common frontline fighters to bolster their defenses.
Their current labor shortage was severe. If they possessed any logistical alternatives, no commander in their right mind would willingly invite yesterday's enemy into their active garrison.
"The outlook is grim," Theresa answered, offering a gentle shake of her head. Her features, however, remained entirely serene, devoid of any real disappointment. "While they harbor zero intention of taking up arms against us again, convincing them to actively swear allegiance to our banner is a boundary they refuse to cross."
Theresa had fully anticipated this reluctance. A single speech from a foreign monarch was rarely enough to sway hardened blade-hires into switching sides on a whim.
In truth, the only reason these shattered factions had abandoned their contracts without launching a counter-offensive was the absolute display of primeval destruction Fafnir had unleashed. The sheer disparity in power had permanently crushed their will to resist.
"I see. That makes sense," the Doctor murmured, nodding to signify her understanding. She had braced herself for this outcome. The mercenaries viewed neither sibling as a viable savior for Kazdel. In their cynical eyes, the continent would probably be infinitely better off if both royal figures vanished entirely, sparing the land from their eternal tug-of-war.
The Doctor knew such systemic changes couldn't be rushed. Furthermore, their primary directive wasn't aggressive recruitment; it was ensuring Rhodes Island safely completed its journey to central territory. They couldn't afford to lose sight of their ultimate goal.
"However... there is an exceptional piece of news," Theresa added, a soft smile returning to her lips. "The path ahead should be relatively clear of hostile blockers. The departing commanders promised to use their influence to persuade any stray warbands along our route to vacate the sector."
This was an incredible development for Babel's logistics. It meant they could bypass dozens of calculated delays and reach their destination ahead of schedule, completely eliminating the risk of a fresh ambush catching them off guard in the mountain passes.
Yet, the faction experiencing the greatest surge of pure joy wasn't Babel's high command—it was the mercenaries who had originally signed on to defend the landship. These men had literally drafted their final wills before marching out, fully expecting a total slaughter. To witness the entire hostile host dissolve without a proper fight left them utterly ecstatic. Babel certainly knew how to keep a secret!
While the troops were celebrating their survival, another individual in the office was experiencing a level of happiness that made her want to soar straight through the ceiling. The young dragon was currently seated across from Theresa, fiercely negotiating the precise terms of her deployment bounty.
Getting to fly out for a fun afternoon of burning things and receiving a massive payout for it? The child wondered why she hadn't realized humans were such marvelous, generous creatures sooner. Her affection for the horned monarch surged exponentially.
"Fifty prime sheep, one hundred pounds of pure rose-gold, and one hundred thousand Lungmen certificates!"
The child sat firmly on Jeanne's lap, leaning back against her partner's exceptionally soft armor plating as she delivered her demands with a completely straight face.
Her specific request for rose-gold stemmed entirely from a personal aesthetic preference. She found the reddish hue of the local ore infinitely prettier than the standard yellow bullion she had encountered elsewhere. To her, the precious metal was nothing more than an elegant decoration for her quarters; its actual economic value meant absolutely nothing to her.
Theresa froze upon hearing the final tally, her eyes widening in pure shock. It wasn't because the demand was exorbitant—it was because the price was hilariously low! For a long moment, the monarch didn't even dare to speak.
She was genuinely worried that accepting such a cheap contract would look like she was shamelessly exploiting an innocent child. While a hundred pounds of refined ore wasn't exactly pocket change, it was an absolute pittance compared to the deployment cost of a world-ending calamity.
Theresa had fully expected the dragon to demand five hundred bars or more. Had that been the price, Babel would have been forced to hollow out their remaining vaults to meet the transaction, though they would have gladly done so to secure her loyalty.
"Is there... an issue with my terms?" The child tilted her head, staring at the silent monarch. A sudden wave of doubt washed over her. Had she asked for too much wealth? Flying out to hurl a few bursts of fire didn't exactly feel like a grueling chore that warranted a king's ransom.
Just as the young dragon prepared to slash her prices to keep the deal alive, Kal'tsit gently cleared her throat, breaking the heavy silence and nudging Theresa back to reality. The monarch immediately offered a reassuring smile to clear up the misunderstanding.
"There is zero issue with your numbers," Theresa explained softly. "But are you entirely certain you want to limit your reward to such a small sum? In truth, our treasury can easily accommodate a much larger tribute if you wish..."
Despite Babel's strained financial framework, Theresa understood the nature of priority variables. If she attempted to save a few coins here and inadvertently fractured her relationship with a legendary entity, the logistical fallout would be catastrophic.
Jeanne, watching the exchange from her seat, couldn't help but marvel at the sheer absurdity of the scene. It was the absolute first time in her life she had witnessed an employer complain that an independent contractor's rates were far too cheap, actively begging the other party to raise their prices.
"No need!" the young dragon replied, her tone remarkably stubborn. "It was just a quick flight into the canyons. It wouldn't be proper to demand a mountain of treasure for so little effort!"
A true dragon possessed immense pride! While the child might not fully comprehend the strategic weight her presence carried, she maintained her own internal golden standard for what constituted an honest day's labor.
Defeated by the child's absolute certainty, Theresa cast a helpless, pleading glance toward the Saintess. Seeing Jeanne offer a firm, supportive nod to seal the original terms, the monarch could only smile sheepishly and sign the scroll.
It was a transaction where both parties walked away fully convinced they had utterly swindled the other. The level of mutual advantage was so skewed it actually left a few of the high-ranking officers feeling slightly embarrassed by their own fortune.
Regardless, the young dragon had officially taken her first monumental step toward her ultimate dream: building a magnificent mound of rose-gold to roll around on during her afternoon naps.