Over the subsequent weeks, the Doctor systematically directed Babel's vanguard divisions to push deeper into the territories governed by Theresis's loyalist factions. The underlying intent was simple: use these aggressive maneuvers to force the Regent's hand and uncover whatever hidden scheme he was weaving in the shadows.
Yet, as the campaign unfolded, the Doctor ran headfirst into a glaring anomaly. Every single mobile town and outpost they breached was entirely devoid of defending garrisons or hired mercenary companies. It was as though Theresis was deliberately gifting them empty settlements, leaving behind nothing but civilian populations.
The moment Jeanne received these scouting reports, her first instinct was that Theresis was attempting to stage a massive deception—luring Babel's forces into spreading themselves too thin across newly claimed zones, only to spring a catastrophic ambush when their guard was completely down.
However, the high command quickly dismissed that hypothesis. Theresis was far too brilliant a strategist to assume the Doctor would blindly stumble into such an transparent snare, especially with the supreme commander directly steering every single scouting detachment.
Regardless of the motive, the reality was blindingly obvious to anyone with eyes: the Regent's behavior had completely diverged from his historical doctrine. Even the average Sarkaz citizens living in the barrens were beginning to notice that their once-uncompromising ruler seemed to have undergone a sudden, inexplicable shift in temperament.
The strategic balance between the two factions had flipped with baffling speed. Outside observers who had no stake in the civil war began whispering that the Regent must have suffered a catastrophic, unspoken defeat in the deep barrens, resulting in the total annihilation of his primary legions.
After all, under normal circumstances, Theresis's established response would have been to deploy his elite vanguard to deliver a crushing blow to Babel's advancing forces, reasserting his absolute dominance to remind every Sarkaz on Terra of his iron grip. That was his undeniable pattern.
Yet, as Theresa seamlessly reclaimed administrative control over town after town, a wave of profound optimism swept through the populace. People began to openly envision the righteous Lord returning to the royal capital to unify Kazdel once more, finally restoring lasting peace to a scarred land.
Naturally, these grand declarations were still in their infancy. Even though Babel appeared to be enjoying an uninterrupted string of triumphs, their actual territory and material reserves remained vastly inferior to the immense wealth Theresis still commanded in the central core.
As Babel continued its steady march, bizarre rumors began trickling into the tavern houses. A widespread theory emerged claiming Theresa's sudden military supremacy wasn't due to her own tactical genius at all; rather, she had allegedly secured the services of an omnipotent, otherworldly champion who could shatter Theresis's elite battalions with a casual wave of a hand.
The speculative reasons behind why this mythical powerhouse was aiding the royal cause varied wildly. Jeanne herself overheard a dozen different narratives during her perimeter walks, and the sheer creativity of the tales left the primary subject herself entirely speechless.
One popular story claimed Theresa had formally surrendered her royal title, promising to divide the sovereignty of Kazdel equally with this mysterious entity once the Regent was deposed, effectively allowing the outsider's personal will to dictate the future of the nation.
An even more theatrical rumor insisted the enigmatic champion had simply fallen madly in love with the beautiful Lord, choosing to wage an incredibly costly war against the Regent's terrifying legions solely to win her favor. Otherwise, why would any sane individual willingly submerge themselves in the absolute meat-grinder of Kazdel's internal politics?
Whenever Jeanne slipped into the local settlements to evaluate civilian morale, listening to these wild fabrications left her in a state of profound emotional complexity. Some of the grander conspiracies crossed the line into absolute absurdity.
In fact, one faction of rumors claimed the gentle Lord had been thoroughly brainwashed by the Laterano Curia. According to this theory, Babel was nothing more than a hollow proxy state, and the individual wielding absolute authority behind the curtain was a fanatical Laterano emissary. The monarch was allegedly a mere puppet!
Amusingly, Jeanne conceded that this particular theory possessed a tiny sliver of internal logic. However, she was entirely prepared to swear on Talulah's tail and her own golden ahoge that she had zero interest in managing Theresa's administration, nor did she possess the slightest understanding of how to dominate the mind of a Sarkaz.
At this exact moment, what was the individual at the absolute epicenter of these shifting rumors—the mythical future sovereign, the devoted admirer of Theresa, and the dreaded Laterano shadow-master—actually doing? Miss Jeanne was diligently performing her core duty as the royal bodyguard.
As noted previously, the Doctor had once anticipated that Theresis would deploy specialized assassination cells to target Theresa, aiming to create a public tragedy that would prematurely conclude the stagnant civil war.
Even though the strategist had entirely abandoned her plans to facilitate such a betrayal, Theresis's independent network of killers wasn't going to dismantle itself simply because Babel's command structure refused to cooperate. The individuals designated for the strike were still bound to arrive.
Case in point: Jeanne was currently pinning a masked Sarkaz combatant against a stone wall, her expression entirely frigid. She couldn't help but wonder why these covert operators possessed such a universal obsession with wearing grotesque, stylized visors. Was there some unwritten cultural tradition demanding it?
"Tell me, is every single assassination attempt in the Sarkaz playbook this incredibly reckless?" Jeanne asked, her tone laced with genuine bewilderment. "You didn't even attempt to weave a basic camouflage shroud. The way you charged across the perimeter looked less like a stealth infiltration and more like a loud, suicidal frontal assault. Does Theresa genuinely inspire this level of absolute hatred within your ranks?"
Jeanne honestly struggled to comprehend the psychology. The assailant had executed his approach with the explicit intent of trading his own life to take Theresa down with him. Upon searching his gear, she had uncovered nearly ten pounds of volatile Originium demolition charges strapped to his chest!
Ten pounds of raw explosives! Even a manic demolition specialist like W wouldn't dream of packing that much raw destructive payload onto her own body. If Jeanne's divine Revelation hadn't triggered a split-second hazard warning, this desperate fanatic would have detonated the fuses the moment she closed the distance, attempting to vaporize them both.
While Jeanne possessed absolute confidence that her personal defenses would shield her from the brunt of a raw explosion, tearing her favorite traveling cloak over an anonymous skirmish would have caused her significant emotional distress, regardless of her current financial solvency.
"Cough... who on earth are you?" the Sarkaz warrior wheezed, dark blood pooling past his lips. Jeanne's initial physical intervention had been executed with zero restraint, shattering his internal framework. "The intelligence reports never listed an asset of your caliber lingering near the inner chambers!"
"That information is strictly confidential," Jeanne replied coldly. She possessed zero inclination to share her personal history with a dying assailant, nor did she care to flaunt her combat prowess to an enemy.
"Heh... fair enough. A hidden vanguard like you would naturally guard their identity with extreme paranoia," the soldier muttered, coughing up another crimson streak. Judging by the sheer volume of internal bleeding, the man was bound to expire within the hour even if she left him untouched. "As for... how much I despise the Lord? Heh... how could any of us truly harbor hatred toward a monarch who treats our broken people with such profound tenderness?"
His voice was steadily losing power, his breathing growing shallower by the second. Surviving Jeanne's opening strike was already a testament to his innate Sarkaz resilience.
"We simply recognize that the future our beautiful Lord envisions is far too distant... so incredibly remote that it feels entirely impossible to manifest within our lifetimes. We simply place our faith in the practical reality offered by the Regent..."
The words faded to a bare whisper. If Jeanne's sensory perception didn't vastly exceed standard mortal limitations, she wouldn't have captured the faint syllables over the rustling wind.
She remained entirely indifferent to his philosophical musings regarding distant futures. To her, the entire bloody conflict simply boiled down to a tragic ideological divide between a brother and a sister who couldn't reconcile their visions for their race.
"Aren't you even a little curious as to why I am deliberately stalling for time?" the soldier suddenly asked, his fading tone twisting into a mocking sneer as he locked eyes with her. "Did you honestly believe an operation targeting the sovereign would consist of a single vanguard cell? You are far too naive, little girl..."
Jeanne merely raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine amusement dancing in her eyes at his dramatic reveal.
Even though she instantly deduced what he was implying, she made no move to sprint back to Theresa's private quarters. According to his logic, the primary assault sequence should have already reached its conclusion.
The dying Sarkaz watched her closely, expecting to see a wave of pure panic shatter her calm demeanor. Instead, Jeanne remained completely stationary, exhibiting zero urge to rush back and evaluate the monarch's status. The reaction left the soldier profoundly bewildered.
Does this woman possess zero loyalty to Theresa, or did Babel leave a hidden contingency in the inner chambers? He scrambled for an explanation. According to our orchestration, every single Elite Operator should have been thoroughly delayed by our perimeter diversions!
Could it be that this terrifying woman simply viewed her employment as a mercenary transaction, harboring zero personal investment in the monarch's survival? That felt plausible; after all, she wasn't a child of Kazdel. She was likely just an expensive blade hired to execute a contract.
BOOM—!!!
Before the soldier could finalize his theories, a deafening roar shattered the quiet of the sector. The rear structure housing the command suites suddenly erupted, a torrent of primordial, white-hot draconic flame tearing through the upper windows and rocketing into the sky like a massive thermal vent.
As the column of fire incinerated the masonry, several charred, unidentifiable objects tumbled from the upper balcony, hitting the courtyard cobblestones with a series of dull thuds. Even a passing glance confirmed that whatever had been caught in that inferno had been thoroughly reduced to ash.
"It appears your companions encountered a slight complication," Jeanne remarked, her tone carrying the casual amusement of an onlooker watching a distant spectacle. A mocking smile touched her lips as she glanced down at the stunned assassin, completely dismantling his final victory speech.