Late at night, a soldier's focus inevitably wavers. Even the highly disciplined loyalist forces serving under the Regent found their attention slipping in the heavy darkness. The sentries had to resort to crude banter and idle gossip just to keep their heavy eyelids from closing entirely.
The primary topic of their discussion was the host of Babel divisions encircling the perimeter. They debated endlessly about when those forces would mount an assault, or if the enemy would simply lose heart and march away entirely.
In the eyes of these arrogant defenders, the opposing forces were nothing more than cowards who lacked the nerve to challenge their thick defenses. To them, the retreat of the besiegers was merely a matter of time; it was only a question of when they would secure a flawless victory and earn the supreme favor of Theresis.
As the talk went on, the soldiers burst into raucous laughter, completely indifferent to the common Sarkaz laborers toiling under their boots, and utterly oblivious to the raw hatred smoldering in those workers' eyes.
Then again, the guards didn't care about the silent fury of the populace. In their minds, the common folk had no choice but to endure this miserable existence; if they didn't like it, they were perfectly free to cast themselves out of the gates and scratch out a living in the lethal blizzards of the barrens.
Because functional nomadic structures were exceptionally scarce across Kazdel, virtually every mobile platform operated strictly as a brutal industrial hive. The local Sarkaz residents were naturally relegated to production work—though unfortunately, most were treated as low-tier, disposable labor.
"Hey, look over there. Is there something moving in the courtyard? I could swear a dark shape just darted through the shadow of the annex. It didn't look like a rat. Are my eyes playing tricks on me?"
A sentry frowned, peering intently into a pitch-black stretch of the industrial sector. He took immense pride in his exceptional night vision, so as he spoke, he raised his heavy blade, his posture shifting into an alert stance.
Still, he couldn't be absolutely certain. To ensure the factories could run well past their standard capacity, power to the vast majority of the residential and storage decks had been entirely cut. The manufacturing zones were shrouded in total darkness.
Yet, he refused to let his guard down entirely. Signaling his squad mates, the defenders raised their weapons and advanced in a tight, disciplined formation, systematically sweeping the darkened yard. They searched the perimeter for several minutes but found not a single footprint in the dust. It seemed his vision had played tricks on him after all.
"I told you your mind was wandering!" another soldier remarked, clapping the anxious guard on the shoulder with a hearty chuckle. He used the moment to playfully swipe a flask of liquor from his comrade's belt. "Who in their right mind would be sneaking around a heavily fortified sector at this hour? Besides, even if an intruder managed to slip past the outer trenches, the wall guards would have sounded the alarm first, right?"
Though they joked, the squad understood that caution kept them alive in a war zone. Even the slimmest possibility of an infiltration demanded total readiness, so no one truly complained about the brief, unnecessary detour.
Meanwhile, Jeanne stood atop a darkened rooftop, silently mapping the surrounding structures. Judging by the layout, this entire sector was purely dedicated to smelting and assembly; the primary mechanism required to open the massive city gates would never be housed in a common factory.
Still, she made a mental note of the location. If the city fell and the desperate loyalists attempted to take the civilian laborers hostage, she needed to know exactly where the workers were concentrated. Jeanne harbored zero illusions about these soldiers showing mercy to their own kin.
If the Regent's forces possessed even a shred of compassion for their fellow Sarkaz, they wouldn't have driven these families to labor day and night under such sweatshop conditions. Jeanne doubted these exhausted workers received a single coin for their agonizing labor; they were likely given just enough slop to keep them from dropping dead on the line.
At that moment, Jeanne recalled a conversation with Mudrock, who had once described the horrific state of the capital. The young woman had mentioned that the bodies of the impoverished in the royal slums were piled so high they nearly scaled the defensive walls. At the time, Jeanne had wondered if the description was merely a dramatic exaggeration.
Now, looking at this miserable industrial hive, she could easily visualize what an absolute living hell the capital must be. To think such horrific cruelty was being inflicted upon a people by their own rulers—it made Babel's desperate campaign entirely understandable.
Though one could theoretically blame the endless war for these atrocities, such an excuse carried very little weight with Jeanne. She simply couldn't fathom how anyone could inflict such misery upon their own blood. What twisted rationale could possibly justify this?
"I am truly sorry," Jeanne whispered into the night air, her eyes tracking the exhausted laborers below. "It isn't the right moment for me to strike just yet. But endure a fraction longer... this nightmare is about to reach its absolute end."
Trusting her divine Revelation to guide her path, she slipped away from the rooftop, sprinting with exceptional speed toward the core of the sector.
Having a direct line to cosmic guidance was incredibly convenient. Jeanne had zero need to capture officers or interrogate scouts for navigational intelligence; she simply allowed her spiritual compass to pull her forward through the dark.
Fortune favored her further, as the night sky remained completely starved of moonlight. Aside from that single sharp-eyed sentry who had caught a fleeting glimpse of her silhouette against a dim lantern, her advance remained entirely undetected.
When Jeanne finally arrived at the primary command pavilion, she immediately recognized the architectural origins of the structure. This mobile section had undoubtedly been plundered from Ursus during Theresa and Theresis's early campaigns; the shape of the command center was instantly familiar to her.
The frozen northern tundras were littered with abandoned Ursus nomadic blocks, and this command hub mirrored that heavy, industrial aesthetic perfectly, displaying the brutalist style of the empire from top to bottom.
Jeanne neutralized the patrolling guards at the threshold with effortless efficiency. As for whether the fallen men were merely unconscious or permanently broken, she didn't have the luxury to check; she simply lacked the time to evaluate the health of her enemies.
Given her spectacular raw strength, her strikes were devastating. While she hadn't hit them hard enough to scatter their thoughts across the floor like an overturned paint shop, she certainly hadn't held back her power either.
These patrol units were required to check in at scheduled intervals. Her mission demanded that she seize total control of the primary operations room before the hierarchy realized an intruder had breached the inner sanctum.
With that objective in mind, the Saintess fully embraced her unstoppable approach to stealth. Moving through the shadows like an exceptionally agile rabbit, she lunged from the darkness, dropping every single enemy she encountered with a single, precise strike.
"Nobody move! Hands where I can see them!"
Jeanne delivered a crushing blow that sent the heavy security doors—along with the guards posted outside—flying straight into the center of the control room. She stepped through the shattered frame, her gaze locking onto the startled Sarkaz operators inside.
The moment the defenders recovered from the shock, they scrambled to raise their heavy crossbows and a few salvaged firearms they had plundered from Laterano, unleashing a frantic volley to riddle the daring infiltrator with holes.
From their perspective, Jeanne was entirely alone. While they could respect the sheer audacity required to break into a mobile fortress single-handedly, her frontal assault struck them as completely reckless—an action completely devoid of basic tactical intelligence.
Even if they were assigned to an outlying industrial block, they were still hardened soldiers of the Regent's army. Did this woman truly hold the line of the Sarkaz in such low esteem that she believed she could slaughter them all by herself?
An instant later, their entire reality was shattered. Jeanne swung her heavy banner with fluid grace, deflecting the incoming projectiles effortlessly as she systematically cut through their ranks. She didn't even bother leaving a single operator alive to open the gates for her.
There were ten elite Sarkaz warriors inside the room. Despite the enclosed space and the dense crossfire, Jeanne sustained not a single scratch, while five of their comrades were completely erased in the blink of an eye—slaughtered as easily as common poultry.
Before the remaining survivors could press the emergency broadcast keys, Jeanne's blade flashed through the air, silencing them permanently. Within seconds, the scent of fresh iron and crimson stained the floorboards, while the rhythmic thud of rushing boots echoed from the outer corridors.
The slain operators hadn't managed to alert the entire city garrison, but the nearby reinforcement squads inside the command pavilion had certainly registered the destruction of the main doors and were currently converging on her position.
Jeanne seized the brief window to scan the primary control console, slamming her hand down onto the master release toggle. The moment the command was registered by the central matrix, the heavy security bulkheads that had barred the central highway began to groan, slowly retracting into the floor and leaving the entire settlement completely exposed.
Standing in the center of the room, Jeanne drove the butt of her sacred banner firmly into the reinforced flooring. High above in the clouds, her waiting wyvern sensed the precise spiritual surge and unleashed a massive, roaring torrent of flame into the night sky—a vibrant beacon signaling that the path was clear!
The surrounding Babel battalions caught sight of the brilliant fire illuminating the heavens. Under the immediate direction of their vanguard commander, the legions launched a massive, coordinated charge toward the undefended gates, their warriors pressing forward with immense urgency to secure the perimeter and relieve the Saintess.
Jeanne paid little heed to whether the main army's assault would succeed; right now, the entire reinforcement contingent of the command hub was flooding down the hallway toward her position. She simply raised her weapon, prepared to clear the room.
Fortunately, managing a crowd of this size presented very little difficulty at all.