Shortly after accepting the strategist's request, Jeanne mounted her dark wyvern and arrived at the absolute vanguard of the campaign. Spread out before her was a mobile city securely ringed by Babel's surrounding battalions—marking the very first mobile metropolitan block of Kazdel she had ever seen with her own eyes.
That being said, when she actually took in the full layout of the settlement, it struck her as incredibly, almost pitifully compact compared to the grand nomadic structures she had encountered elsewhere on Terra.
If one were to draw a direct comparison, this nomadic platform wasn't even a fifth of the size of Lungmen or Chernobog, let alone the monumental spires of Laterano. The available territorial plates beneath its foundation were simply few and far between.
Jeanne had heard through casual talk around the base that these specific mobile sections were old scrap blocks from neighboring empires. Roughly two centuries ago, during a period of widespread international warfare, Theresa and Theresis had covertly salvaged and welded them together to form a functioning refuge.
In all honesty, the fact that an ancient piece of antiquity from two hundred years ago was still chugging along left Jeanne entirely speechless. Were the structural foundations of this world truly that durable? To think an absolute behemoth of metal could endure the elements for so many generations.
While she analyzed the distant city, the wyvern glided downward, sticking a clean landing within a staging area where the local vanguard had congregated. The nearby troops watched the black-armored woman arrive, maintaining a respectful silence so as not to disrupt her thoughts.
On this particular assignment, Jeanne had traveled entirely solo with her wyvern. She had left young Fafnir back at the main landship, trusting Theresa to look after the child for a brief spell, since this specific deployment didn't require the young dragon's unique destructive talents anyway.
Besides, if any unforeseen crisis materialized down the line, Jeanne could always leverage her unique bond to summon the child directly from Babel's quarters to her side. Leaving her behind was simply more practical, ensuring the little glutton's culinary needs were fully covered without becoming a logistical burden on the front lines.
"Who coordinates the local vanguard here?"
Jeanne scanned the surrounding infantry. These individuals possessed the hardened, fierce aura of veterans who had survived decades of brutal frontline combat—a completely different breed from the disorganized mercenaries she had easily thrashed weeks prior.
Yet, despite their fierce appearance, the Sarkaz soldiers greeted Jeanne with exceptional courtesy. Not a single warrior looked down on her simply because she was a young woman; every veteran present was fully aware that this Saintess was a high-profile asset personally invited by the Lord.
With remarkable politeness, the guards escorted Jeanne toward a central briefing tent, their orderly demeanor making her feel less like a warrior entering a dirty war room and more like a VIP entering a premium hospitality establishment.
The sheer deference displayed by these imposing fighters was almost disorienting. Even the primary vanguard commander was exceedingly gracious upon her arrival, looking as though he were entirely prepared to hand over absolute control of the entire siege right then and there while he sat on the sidelines.
This came as a pleasant surprise to Jeanne, who had initially worried that dealing with these battle-hardened veterans might spark some internal friction, or that some arrogant sub-commander would refuse to follow her lead—a classic trope she had frequently read about in the pulp Yan novels she sometimes borrowed from Ch'en's quarters.
Then again, it made perfect sense. These seasoned survivors were far too pragmatic to indulge in the shallow, short-sighted behavior of fictional villains. Had they been that brainless, Theresa undoubtedly would have issued a cautionary warning before Jeanne departed.
"So, what is the precise layout of the current situation?"
Jeanne addressed the masked Sarkaz officer seated before her. Privately, she couldn't help but wonder: Do the Sarkaz truly harbor an absolute obsession with these bizarrely shaped visors? I've been marching through this camp for an hour and I've barely seen a single individual show their actual face!
Perhaps wrapping their features in heavy iron plating was an ancient tribal tradition. Otherwise, there was no logical explanation for why every single soldier insisted on completely concealing their countenance before entering a fray.
"The current situation is relatively straightforward: we have cleanly encircled the nomadic platform," the commander explained, his tone tinged with a slight edge of embarrassment. "However, the loyalist garrison is utilizing the city's heavy bulkheads as a defensive fortress to resist our advance. Furthermore, our administration harbors a strong desire to preserve the infrastructure intact. After all... it is an authentic mobile city."
The officer's expression softened. If Babel chose to completely disregard the structural consequences, their heavy artillery divisions could undoubtedly breach the gates through sheer brute force. The sticking point was their fear of inflicting irreversible damage on the internal machinery, which had brought the entire campaign to a grinding halt.
To these nomadic warriors, preserving a functioning mobile platform was worth risking their own lives. Kazdel possessed precious few municipal blocks to begin with, and in their estimation, every single scrap of technology was vastly more valuable than their individual survival.
These structures represented the primary foundation for the future of their civilization. If their own aggressive assault reduced the precious factories to smoking ruin, the victory would feel entirely hollow.
This added a layer of complexity to Jeanne's assignment. While the probability of the enemy garrison actively detonating their own home was minimal, a full-scale assault led by her wyvern would inevitably reduce the surface architecture to complete ash.
Fortunately, a viable vector remained. According to the internal intel, the active garrison guarding the primary gates wasn't nearly as dense as she had initially feared. Therefore, her objective was simply to engineer an opportunity to force open the main access corridors from the inside; once the gates fell, Babel's infantry could handle the rest.
As Jeanne sat in quiet contemplation, the commander watched her with an anxious expression. He desperately hoped the Saintess would opt for a precise, low-impact infiltration rather than unleashing the devastating elemental power of her dragon.
Though the wyvern's raw strength was undeniable, a reckless aerial bombardment would easily incinerate the vital industrial plants lining the upper decks. If that occurred, the outcome of the campaign wouldn't differ much from a total defeat.
Furthermore, a vast civilian populace of Sarkaz families remained inside the lower sectors. Prior to the commencement of hostilities, the defending garrison had shown zero intention of evacuating the non-combatants, demanding an exceptional level of tactical caution from the attackers.
"Let's proceed this way: tonight, I will attempt a solo infiltration to manually lower the main security bulkheads," Jeanne decided after a lengthy silence. "The moment the primary corridor is cleared, your divisions must be entirely prepared to execute a high-impact breach into the sector."
After weighing the tactical options, a stealth entry emerged as the only method capable of preserving the infrastructure. If this precise vector failed to yield results, she would be left with no choice but to fall back on her most blunt, destructive options.
Jeanne's decision brought a surge of relief to the commander. He quickly stood up to express his profound gratitude, though a flicker of worry crossed his face when he realized she intended to cross the perimeter entirely unassisted.
"Do you truly intend to move without a vanguard support squad? Should we deploy a handful of our specialized scout units to assist you? While our standard infantry cannot match the legendary capabilities of Elite Operators, their stealth proficiency is remarkably solid."
"There is no need! Infiltrating the sector entirely alone is vastly more efficient than dragging an entire squad along," Jeanne countered, waving off the suggestion. Managing a delicate insertion was always simpler when she only had her own movements to worry about.
At the very least, she wouldn't have to worry about external variables compromising her position, and her innate Revelation would guide her through the dark corridors safely. Yes, it should be a relatively smooth assignment.
By midnight, Jeanne was prepared to initiate an operation that was technically categorized as a stealth infiltration, but would likely devolve into an absolute display of martial dominance if things went sideways. Clad in her dark armor and mounted upon her pitch-black wyvern, she vanished seamlessly into the dim, cloud-swept night sky, rendering her form virtually invisible to the naked eye.
Utilizing the heavy shadows of the late hours, Jeanne advanced toward the glowing silhouette of the mobile city from a high-altitude vector. Far below, the ranks of Babel's infantry stood in perfect formation, their silent gazes tracking her departure as they offered internal blessings for her success.
The midnight hour provided a flawless shroud for both the rider and her mount. The two dark entities blended so perfectly into the night that when they finally reached the airspace directly above the nomadic platform, the automated searchlights and perimeter lookouts failed to register even a flicker of their presence.
From her high vantage point, Jeanne looked down upon the vibrant, illuminated grid of the industrial sectors. The city was a sprawling, mechanized hive, its factories continuously churning out heavy ironwork and refined materials to be forged into armor and weapons.
The labor force consisted entirely of the local Sarkaz citizens. Virtually every able-bodied resident had been systematically gathered into the production plants to construct armaments. Jeanne couldn't help but marvel at the sheer volume of raw materials the garrison had managed to accumulate to sustain such a massive manufacturing run.
Guiding her wyvern toward an exceptionally isolated, unlit sector near the rear edge of the platform, her instincts assured her that dropping down here would completely bypass the local patrol routes. Deciding this was the ideal insertion point, she prepared to dismount.
Rather than forcing the massive wyvern to risk a loud landing on the superstructure, Jeanne stepped clean off the beast's back while still high in the air, sending the creature back into the clouds to circle the airspace until summoned.
Jeanne executed a nimble, silent descent through the darkness, plummeting toward the structural deck. However, the moment her boots made contact, she realized she hadn't landed on solid iron plating at all, but rather inside an exceptionally deep, loose mound of industrial processing sand. The soft material instantly gave way, swallowing her legs up past her waist in a single second.
Wriggling slightly to orient herself, she scanned the immediate surroundings. Forget an active military patrol—there wasn't so much as a stray hound in sight. Jeanne smiled, thoroughly satisfied with her chosen landing site. In her estimation, she had just established a spectacular beginning for her infiltration assignment!