Once the master stonecutters and repair crews completed the restoration of the blown-out masonry walls in the royal wing, the seemingly terrifying plot was officially snuffed out by Babel's collective strength before it could cause any real devastation.
What virtually no one expected, however, was that the grandest contribution to the entire security operation had come from a minor individual who wasn't even an official part of the protective detail—young Fafnir, who had simply been enjoying premium treats inside the inner chambers all morning.
At the minor cost of a shredded dress skirt and a pulverized storage annex across the hallway, the young dragon had successfully escorted every single intruder straight to their final resting place.
Unfortunately, the extreme nature of the defense left the intelligence division entirely empty-handed. The invaders had been completely incinerated by a single torrent of dragon fire, rendering the collection of actionable data or confessions completely impossible.
Consequently, despite the immense fury circulating through the ranks, the command staff couldn't definitively pin the blame on a specific faction. Still, everyone knew Theresis was undeniably the mastermind behind the curtain. That absolute scoundrel had to be the primary architect!
"It is a massive relief that you were present to intervene," the Doctor murmured from her quarters later that afternoon. "Even if our internal guards had been fully prepared, dealing with that cell would have forced Theresa to draw her own blade. In truth, she harbors a deep aversion to spilling the blood of her fellow Sarkaz."
At that moment, Jeanne was accompanying Fafnir to check on the strategist, whom Kal'tsit had recently dragged back from the threshold of death. The commander was currently pinned to her recovery mattress, her entire frame completely immobilized by the residual effects of heavy medical numbing agents.
The single exception, naturally, was her mouth.
Within the confines of this highly restricted recovery chamber, the Doctor was finally permitted to discard her heavy visor, allowing her to breathe the harsh, sterile air of the clinic and converse freely with the visiting Saintess.
"An aversion to slaughtering her own kin? She truly possesses a remarkably gentle soul," Jeanne remarked, settling onto a stool beside the frame. "Yet, seeing such a benevolent monarch forced to repeatedly wield steel in this barrens conflict... it leaves me somewhat speechless."
Jeanne studied the commander's exposed features. It had been an exceptionally long time since she had seen the face beneath the shadow of that standard helmet.
The instant her eyes adjusted to the low light, Jeanne knew Kal'tsit's earlier assurances regarding the Doctor's condition being "under control" were a complete fabrication designed to minimize panic.
The strategist's physical decline was vastly more severe than it had been during their previous encounter. Back then, she had merely looked somewhat sickly, yet still maintained the appearance of a living mortal. Now, her countenance resembled a phantom more than a human being.
Her cheeks had sunken to a hollow, skeletal degree, her frame thoroughly drained of vitality as if some parasitic entity had systematically siphoned away her life force, leaving her on the verge of becoming a desiccated husk.
Because of this critical status, Kal'tsit had issued an absolute prohibition against any movement whatsoever. The Doctor was confined to this single room, hooked up to an endless sequence of heavy nutritional drips to slowly restore her broken constitution. Any outside assignments were completely out of the question.
Furthermore, outside of a select circle consisting of Jeanne, Amiya, and Theresa, Kal'tsit had blocked all personnel from entering the wing. Even the premium health supplements sent by concerned vanguards were personally inspected by the physician and promptly discarded if they failed to meet her standards.
Very few offerings managed to pass the clinical review, with the vast majority returned to the senders. The remaining survival assets consisted entirely of fresh seasonal fruits.
Crunch—crunch—crunch!
At that exact moment, Fafnir was diligently helping the commander eliminate the surplus fruit supply under explicit authorization, transforming into a relentless consumption engine as she systematically demolished a mountain of produce intended to last the Doctor three full months.
Jeanne privately suspected Kal'tsit had allowed the massive accumulation of items to remain in the room solely because she knew the young dragon would arrive to act as a flawless waste disposal unit.
"Tell me... given your current condition, can you truly endure the coming campaign?" Jeanne asked, her eyes clouded with worry. "If things are this dire, perhaps it would be wiser for me to personally escort you to that specialized sarcophagus for immediate preservation. Otherwise, you are going to tumble straight into a real one!"
Jeanne couldn't shake the profound sense of vulnerability radiating from the strategist. Despite receiving world-class medical intervention, the phrase 'my time is running out' was practically carved into the woman's pale features.
Yet, despite the staggering physical toll, the Doctor sat amidst her medical monitors with an expression of complete indifference. Jeanne struggled to comprehend what could possibly hold a higher priority than preserving her own existence at this stage.
"Not yet," the Doctor replied, a firm, unyielding resolve anchoring her gaze as she rejected the suggestion, even though she knew Jeanne's counsel was rooted in genuine concern. "At the very least, I must survive until Theresa is officially accepted by the capital as the rightful ruler of this nation."
The strategist understood her internal breakdown better than anyone else on Terra. She had undoubtedly reached a critical threshold where prolonged medical stasis was required, but vanishing from the board now was a tactical impossibility. She had to endure this final stretch, no matter the cost.
Whether this desperate persistence was for Theresa's sake or her own desires remained secondary. She had poured her entire soul into sustaining this campaign for years, and her mind refused to rest until she witnessed the monarch reclaim the throne.
"Very well. Since Kal'tsit has authorized your current regimen, I won't badger you further on the matter," Jeanne sighed, offering a soft nod of understanding as she let the topic drop.
Crunch—crunch—crunch!
While the two discussed the grim realities of the war, Fafnir continued her whirlwind assault on the nutritional gifts. The sheer velocity of her eating habits gave the distinct impression that Jeanne had been starving the child for weeks.
Once the young dragon had thoroughly cleansed the room of all the rich snacks the Doctor was forbidden from consuming, Jeanne offered her farewells and guided the child out, heading straight toward the central mess hall for a proper meal.
Yes, a real meal. To an entity with Fafnir's draconic metabolism, the massive pile of fruit she had just vacuumed up amounted to nothing more than a casual pre-dinner appetizer. It couldn't possibly be categorized as actual sustenance!
"Hey! Jeanne! I just caught wind that the Theresa survived a major infiltration attempt! Is that true? Tell me it isn't true!"
Before they could traverse the length of the main corridor, a frantic cockroach-themed mercenary covered in fresh medical dressings came sprinting toward them, shouting queries without even offering a basic greeting.
W had only just returned from a high-priority perimeter assignment. Because she had been deployed in the deep barrens, she had only learned about the dramatic assassination attempt against Theresa through casual gossip in the break rooms earlier that hour.
The disclosure had sent her into an absolute panic! To a person who had been entirely captivated by Theresa's ideals, the monarch represented the absolute light of her existence. Now, her light had been targeted by killers, and she had been entirely absent during the crisis!
The sheer emotional shock had temporarily paralyzed her analytical faculties, causing her to entirely overlook the obvious reality: if Theresa had actually perished, the atmosphere throughout the landship wouldn't be this calm.
She had been charging toward the central office when she randomly crossed paths with Jeanne and the child. Seizing the opportunity, she grabbed the Saintess's cloak with trembling hands, her eyes wide with desperation.
"Calm yourself first! Take a deep breath..." Jeanne replied, finding the mercenary's complete lack of composure rather fascinating. Still, her immediate priority was to stabilize the frantic woman before she accidentally tore her own stitches.
"What is her status!"
W couldn't possibly settle down. She needed an absolute confirmation regarding the monarch's safety to determine whether she should continue her recovery or immediately deploy into the waste to hunt down every single accomplice.
"Think about it. If Theresa had actually sustained injuries, would the crew be moving about this peacefully? Every single assassin has been thoroughly neutralized. The vanguard that managed to breach the inner sanctum was completely taken care of by Fafnir."
Jeanne offered a reassuring pat to Fafnir's head. The young dragon immediately puffed out her chest, her expression radiating immense pride over her successful defense of the monarch.
Hearing the definitive update, the manic mercenary finally let out a long breath, her frantic energy dissipating. When she forced herself to analyze the surrounding environment, she realized the lack of emergency alarms validated Jeanne's words perfectly.
W slowly released her grip on Jeanne's cloak. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the sharp, biting pain from her own unresolved combat injuries surged back into her awareness, causing her features to twist into a grimace of agony.
"So Fafnir was the one who shielded the Theresa? My goodness... you have my authentic gratitude, little champion! Once my physical framework has mended sufficiently, I will find an opportunity to treat you to a massive feast... of candy!"
W had initially intended to offer a full banquet, but a sudden recollection of the child's legendary consumption capacity warned her that fulfilling such a promise would require selling her entire weapon inventory just to settle the bill. She hastily downgraded the reward to sweets.
Fafnir stared at the grimacing mercenary, privately concluding that this strange older sister looked remarkably eccentric today. Is she plotting some bizarre trick?
Before the conversation could expand, a heavily armed medical officer marched down the corridor, cleanly intercepting the rogue mercenary and executing a firm escort back to the clinic to complete her mandatory treatment.
Meanwhile, within the grand chambers of the Regent's fortress.
Theresis stared down at the Confessarius standing before his dais, his deep voice dripping with dark amusement as he addressed his colleague.
"It appears your infiltration cell encountered a definitive failure? Your ridiculous design was thoroughly dismantled before the main sequence could even begin, forcing a premature abandonment of the entire endeavor."
The ancient Sarkaz ritualist looked up at the Regent, maintaining a heavy, prolonged silence under the mocking commentary.
"That is correct, my Lord. We are left with no choice but to discard this specific vector."
Tightening his grip around the hilt of his ancient blade, the Confessarius offered a respectful bow, his tone laced with a bitter sense of unfulfillment as he confirmed the tactical defeat to Theresis.