If you were to ask the loyalist sentries stationed near the command hub what they felt when they first heard report of an intruder, they would tell you they were utterly shocked. But when they witnessed Jeanne standing there entirely by herself, that shock instantly mutated into a chilling terror!
These veterans weren't foolish enough to believe Jeanne was some disposable grunt sent here to throw her life away. Especially when the woman looked upon their massed ranks without a single flicker of fear in her eyes, the soldiers knew with absolute certainty that they had run headfirst into a monstrously difficult adversary.
Yet, before they could even form up or take defensive positions, they witnessed an impossible sight. Jeanne, who was glaringly outnumbered in this tight corridor, didn't choose to fall back, seek cover, or employ any sort of fluid skirmishing tactics. Instead, she raised her heavy weapon and launched a direct, sweeping charge right into their teeth!
The defenders couldn't comprehend it. We fully grant that you might be an exceptionally fierce combatant, lady, but aren't you looking down on trained infantry a bit too much? Are you truly not going to take our weapons seriously?
What followed was a dense, frantic wall of crossbow fire and iron bolts. But to Jeanne, such desperate trajectories were nothing more than minor annoyances. She swung her heavy arm, her weapon whistling through the air as she effortlessly batted the incoming projectiles down onto the stone floor.
The scene that unfolded next was an absolute display of martial dominance. Facing a weapon that looked like a common banner but functioned as a devastatingly fluid spear, the loyalists possessed zero capacity to resist. They could only watch the iron tip flash past before the raw sensation of agony registered across their bodies.
How should one put it? It could only be said that Jeanne had fully captured the ancient spirit of a master assassin during this assignment: so long as every single witness is cleanly neutralized, the infiltration counts as a flawless success!
Jeanne rested the butt of her weapon against the floor, scanning the surrounding mass of fallen soldiers, unsure if they were merely unconscious or broken permanently. She briefly felt tempted to utter a cold, dramatic taunt—Are these the so-called elites?—but ultimately chose to swallow the words, turning to depart with an aura of detached grace.
It wasn't that she felt self-conscious about boasting; it was simply because there wasn't a single living soul left in the corridor to hear her! Uttering grand dramatic monologues entirely to herself felt a fraction too awkward.
As she stood in the quiet hall, the muffled thud of distant detonations rumbled through the superstructure. It appeared the main vanguard divisions were systematically pushing deep into the municipal sectors, though she couldn't gauge the exact progress of the frontline skirmishes from here.
It didn't take long before a company of armed fighters came rushing down the adjacent corridor toward her position. Peering through the dim light, she recognized the distinct markings of Babel's advance scouts.
The incoming warriors halted abruptly upon seeing Jeanne lounging near the threshold, their expressions frozen in absolute disbelief. A second later, the entire squad snapped into a rigid, orderly formation before her, their eyes shining with profound reverence.
"We... we are the vanguard unit dispatched to secure this hub," the lead scout stammered, his voice laced with awe. "Are you unharmed, Saintess?"
They had originally intended to announce that they were here to reinforce her, but taking in Jeanne's pristine appearance—her dark armor completely unmarred and her hair perfectly in place—the scout wisely changed his phrasing to indicate they were merely here for administrative handover.
Looking at this lady's casual posture, did she look like someone who had sustained even a single scratch in a fierce fray? To think she had systematically dismantled an entire garrison contingent all by herself; her raw capability exceeded their wildest imaginations.
"Very well, you may begin securing the machinery," Jeanne remarked with a nod, pleased by their efficiency. "The soldiers inside have already been neutralized, but remain alert as you sweep the inner chambers. Don't let a careless oversight compromise the control console!"
Seeing the scouts immediately move to comply, Jeanne turned and slipped out of the pavilion. Her instincts pulled her back toward the heavy industrial factories she had passed earlier; she felt an intuitive prickle that something dark was brewing down in those manufacturing sectors.
The surrounding guards had wanted to ask if she required an escort or if they could assist her in some capacity, but before anyone could find their voice, the black-armored Saintess had already vanished into the shadows.
Faced with her swift, wind-like movements, the infantry could only marvel at their inability to keep pace. Offering silent prayers for her safety, they turned their attention back to securing the vital systems of the city.
Meanwhile, down in the industrial sector, the remaining loyalist officers were driving the populace into the manufacturing blocks like common livestock.
"Get inside! Every single one of you, move your legs! If I catch anyone attempting to sneak away during the confusion, don't blame us for what happens next! Do not forget that your families are still under our watch!"
Having received word of the breach at the gates, the desperate garrison showed zero mercy to the workers, utilizing heavy whips and blades to herd them into the central complex.
The defenseless laborers could do nothing but obey the harsh commands, filing into the dark structures with expressions of profound sorrow. It was clear from their hollow eyes that they had already anticipated what horrific fate awaited them.
To these broken families, it mattered little which faction claimed ultimate dominion over the city; they firmly believed they wouldn't survive to see the morning sun. The retreating soldiers would undoubtedly turn their weapons upon them before the end.
And their dark premonitions were entirely accurate. The local loyalist commander was actively organizing a total demolition of the factories and the workforce alike, fiercely determined to ensure that when Theresa's legions finally claimed the platform, not a single scrap of functional infrastructure or living labor remained.
The true wealth of this entire nomadic block resided in these massive plants and the experienced workers who ran them. While neighboring empires might view such standard machinery as rudimentary, to the depleted resources of Kazdel, they represented an invaluable foundation for reconstruction.
Right outside the warehouse, a cluster of loyalist soldiers was loudly debating how to structure the demolition, completely unconcerned with concealing their voices. They were complaining that their supply of Originium explosives wasn't quite sufficient to guarantee total structural collapse across the entire grid.
Every single word of their frantic debate was caught by Jeanne, who was perched silently on an adjacent gantry. Her gaze shifted between the terrified workers huddled inside the iron frames and the callous soldiers outside.
She continued to analyze the layout of the plant. Her objective required her to completely neutralize the fighting capacity of every single guard in a single, instantaneous strike; otherwise, the frantic men would simply scatter into the crowd of laborers and initiate a mass slaughter out of spite.
Such a constraint didn't discourage her. Slipping down from her high vantage point just as the squad prepared to distribute the demolition charges, she advanced through the shadows of the factory floor.
As she drew near, she could hear the muffled murmurs of the Sarkaz laborers gathering in the dark corners, desperately trying to formulate a plan to save themselves.
Unfortunately, the gap in equipment and combat training between the civilian workers and the garrison was simply too wide. If they were to rise up in a desperate, chaotic frenzy without outside aid, perhaps a mere thirty percent of the workforce might survive the crossfire.
Listening to their anxious whispers, Jeanne confirmed that no loyalist sentries were actively hiding inside the civilian cluster to monitor them, which eliminated the risk of an internal hostage crisis.
Satisfied, she shifted her focus back to the primary demolition detail outside the storage vaults. She watched as the soldiers hauled several heavy crates of volatile Originium explosives out onto the staging floor, preparing to plant them against the main structural pillars.
Jeanne wasn't about to let such a flawless opportunity go to waste. Summoning her divine fire, she unleashed a localized, blinding arc of dark-crimson flame, sending it whistling across the floor with such terrifying velocity that the soldiers couldn't even register the strike.
The brilliant light flashed past their boots. Before the men could even comprehend what the energy was, the intense heat lashed against the exposed Originium charges, instantly destabilizing the reactive matrices within the crates.
Boom—!
An immense, earth-shaking detonation ripped through the storage courtyard. The very weapons the loyalists had intended to use to cremate the workers and the machinery had become the instruments of their own swift destruction—a twist of profound, bitter irony.
Hearing the thunderous blast echo from the supply vaults, the remaining guards scattered across the main floor turned pale. Under the current circumstances, even a common recruit could deduce that their fallback plan had entirely collapsed.
But before the frantic survivors could decide whether to turn their blades upon the laborers or flee toward the outer docks, a forest of dark, thorned iron spikes erupted from the shadows, impaling them instantly.
For a brief moment, the exterior courtyard was filled with a chorus of agonizing wails and chaotic shrieks. The horrific, raspy screams of the dying sent a shiver of absolute terror through the workers inside the factory, who huddled together in total silence, completely blind to what sort of entity had descended upon their captors.
The laborers didn't dare utter a single syllable, listening intently to the shifting sounds outside. Fortunately, as the last of the agonizing cries withered away, an absolute silence settled over the entire industrial sector.
Hours trickled past in the dark. Just as the weary workers noticed the first faint hints of dawn creeping through the high ventilation grates, the heavy iron doors of the complex rattled with a sharp, rhythmic tapping, as if someone were manually disengaging the external locks.
A moment later, the massive security gates were thrown wide! The brilliant light of the rising sun flooded into the darkened facility, illuminating a dense company of clad Sarkaz warriors standing at the threshold.
"Please, do not be afraid! We are the soldiers of Her Highness, Theresa! We have broken the siege to ensure your safety!"
The leading officer called out, his deep voice echoing through the vast facility to reassure the terrified families. Hearing that the legendary vanguard of the true Monarch had officially secured the sector, the workers felt an immense, suffocating weight lift from their chests.
Several of the younger laborers sank to their knees right there on the concrete, tears streaming down their dirt-streaked faces. They had truly survived the nightmare.