Upon learning that Theresis's army was actively marching toward their position, the residents living within the mobile city could clearly sense a shift in the atmosphere. The heavy anxiety draping the streets made it feel as though the sector had regressed to its previous, bleak state—the only saving grace being that the grueling, backbreaking labor was no longer forced upon them.
Having only recently tasted a life that was undeniably superior to their past misery, the populace now faced the bitter reality that this hard-won reprieve might be violently shattered at any moment. This looming dread bred a heavy, suffocating discomfort among the families, driving some to the brink of utter despair.
Fortunately, Babel possessed Theresa, whose gentle presence and voice were remarkably effective at anchoring the fractured spirits of her people. Her timely reassurances prevented a massive wave of panic from fracturing the municipal block, though judging by the seamless efficiency with which she handled the crisis, she had likely executed this exact stabilizing routine countless times before.
In truth, Theresa's innate capability was spectacularly suited for governing the Sarkaz. The unique knack for settling the frayed emotions of a volatile crowd all by herself made her an exceptionally potent leader for building and maintaining a loyal following.
During this interval, Jeanne quietly kept to the shadows, silently monitoring the daily routines and subtle movements of the city's residents. She spent her hours perched in hidden nooks, observing their lives unfold until the designated day arrived to depart for the frontlines.
As for Fafnir, Jeanne remained entirely blind to the exact amount of gold Theresa had offered the young dragon for her upcoming assistance. The girl had grown remarkably tight-lipped regarding the details of the arrangement; whenever Jeanne drew near, Fafnir would flash a fiercely protective, anxious look, as if terrified that the Saintess was plotting to plunder her secret hoard.
Jeanne, however, was thoroughly accustomed to this behavior. When Fafnir had secured her very first batch of gold bullion, she had hoarded it with the exact same frantic intensity, refusing to let Jeanne handle the gleaming metal for more than a few fleeting seconds. Experience told her that within a few days, the child would inevitably cave to her own excitement and enthusiastically share the specific terms of the deal.
Besides, when one took into account that Fafnir was a true dragon, the fact that she allowed Jeanne to touch her wealth at all without launching into a lethal fury was an extraordinary testament to their bond. After all, historical lore was filled with tales of dragons reducing entire landscapes to ash the moment a mortal dared lay a hand on their treasures.
A few days later, Theresa finalized the deployment of her advance divisions, sending her army marching toward the chosen field of engagement. This time, she saw zero reason to conceal the presence of Jeanne's aerial assets; well before the main columns clashed, she instructed the wyverns to initiate their deployment.
The winged beasts commanded by Jeanne would patrol the high currents, granting the vanguard a flawless view of the enemy's shifting formations while simultaneously executing devastating diving strikes once the fray commenced, ensuring the loyalist vanguard would drop into a distinct disadvantage before the primary lines even met.
There was truly no longer any point in hiding Jeanne or her flying mounts. By now, the Regent's commanders had undoubtedly received frantic reports indicating that Theresa's forces were backed by a formidable beast-tamer, whose terrifying avian monsters possessed no known counter-strategy.
Even with this intelligence in hand, the loyalist infantry remained entirely lost as to how to respond. They possessed no tactical doctrines that addressed how to repel a sustained assault cascading from the open skies—the entire concept simply exceeded the boundaries of their military experience.
At that moment, Jeanne was perched securely upon the leather saddle of the lead wyvern, guiding a small detail of scouts through the upper clouds to chart the enemy's approach. They maintained a remarkably high altitude; from the ground looking up, their silhouettes would easily be mistaken for nothing more than a flock of large, predatory raptors.
Unlike Jeanne, the scouts flanking her were outfitted with heavy, specialized respirators and custom-woven flight suits, ensuring that not a single patch of bare skin was exposed to the biting elements.
This stringent protection was a absolute necessity for the Sarkaz scouts. Unlike the Saintess, who possessed a natural resilience, common soldiers lingering in the upper atmosphere were highly susceptible to the dense concentrations of airborne Originium dust, which could easily cause a catastrophic flare-up of their Oripathy.
"Miss Jeanne, please steer the mount toward that eastern ridge! I believe I've spotted the vanguard of their column!"
From the adjacent saddle, a muffled, metallic voice echoed through the wind. Due to the thick framework of the respirator, the words were so heavily distorted that Jeanne couldn't even guess which specific scout was addressing her.
Nevertheless, she promptly guided her beast toward the designated coordinates. Within minutes, a dense cluster of black specks materialized against the barren terrain below. Interestingly, the various enemy squads were maintaining a highly scattered formation, purposefully breaking their ranks into isolated pockets.
This spread-out layout was clearly designed to mitigate the threat of a sudden wyvern strike, preventing a single payload of flame from wiping out an entire detachment. One couldn't help but marvel at whatever magnificent incentives Theresis had promised these men to ensure they would fight so fiercely for his Regency under such bleak circumstances.
"This is definitely their main vanguard line. They aren't far from the central divisions... Their hardware appears remarkably advanced, suggesting an elite unit... Watch out!"
A scout began to analyze the formation when his tone suddenly spiked with alarm. He barked a frantic warning, shouting for the squad to evade an incoming projectile—a blinding, rapid streak of polished iron rising from the earth!
Without requiring a direct command from Jeanne, her exceptionally agile mount performed a swift, sweeping roll, effortlessly evading the heavy ballista bolt. The surrounding wyverns mirrored the sudden ascent, snapping their wings tight to spiral into the safer, higher currents.
A heartbeat later, a dense volley of heavy iron bolts saturated the airspace they had occupied just seconds prior, cascading through the clouds like an upward rainstorm. Knowing that aerial monsters were active in the sector, the loyalist commanders certainly hadn't marched into the field without specialized anti-air contingencies.
The defenders below were showing zero leniency, unleashing their ballistas at anything that crossed their skies. Whether it was a massive wyvern or a common migratory bird, they were fiercely determined to bring down every flying creature to eliminate any risk of surveillance.
"That was incredibly close. Those soldiers are maintaining a remarkably high level of vigilance. If one of those heavy bolts scores a clean hit, it possesses enough force to inflict substantial harm upon the wyverns..."
Despite the apparent danger of the volley, Jeanne's expression remained entirely flat, devoid of even a flicker of panic. She was currently turning a captured ballista bolt over in her hands, calmly analyzing the massive projectile after plucking it cleanly from the air.
Calling this object an arrow was a massive understatement; it was fashioned like a specialized, one-meter-long short spear. The polished metal tip gleamed with a cold, predatory light, testifying to its incredible piercing capability.
The loyalist army was far from defenseless. Even though their commanders fully understood that common infantry weapons could only achieve minimal results against such massive beasts, they had still prepared an extensive array of heavy hardware, fiercely resolved to engage the aerial monsters in a desperate, bloody struggle to the end.
Of course, such localized armaments were only capable of scoring superficial wounds against the lesser wyverns. While the leathery hides of the standard mounts weren't entirely impervious to specialized siege engines, attempting to pierce Fafnir's true dragon scales with such rudimentary iron was nothing short of a foolish fantasy.
"Should... should we maintain our surveillance pattern from this altitude, or should we initiate a fallback?" one of the scouts inquired, his voice tight. "I have a feeling that as long as we linger within their range, those ballista crews will continue to unleash their volleys without pause."
Though the wyverns had already ascended to a perfectly safe pocket of air, the crews below showed zero intention of abandoning their target. They kept their massive strings cranked tight, tracking the shifting shadows in the clouds, waiting for the mounts to drop even a fraction lower.
"Perhaps a tactical retreat serves us best for now," another scout suggested, peering down at the heavily entrenched lines. "Our reconnaissance parameters have been fully satisfied. There is no logical reason to engage their heavy hardware directly; it would be highly unfortunate if Miss Jeanne's beasts sustained unnecessary damage."
Jeanne, however, didn't share their conservative outlook. More accurately, the wyverns flanking her position completely rejected the idea of a quiet withdrawal; the continuous, stinging volleys from the ground had thoroughly exhausted their patience, igniting a fierce, primal desire to retaliate.
While Jeanne possessed the authority to completely suppress their aggressive impulses through her mental bond, she chose not to stifle their fire this time. Ensuring that the scouts were securely fastened to their respective saddles, she glanced at her flanking beasts and uttered a brief, calm command:
"Go."
It was a mere two-word directive, yet the moment the syllable left her lips, the wyverns reacted as if infused with a jolt of exhilarating sorcery. Their eyes blazed with sudden vitality, and they snapped their wings forward, vanishing down into the clouds like a battery of heavy artillery shells.
"?!"
The scouts could only gasp as the beasts dropped out of view. Below, the loyalist commanders initially assumed the sudden disappearance meant Jeanne had lost control of her mounts and had been forced to abandon the sector.
Before their cheers could even echo through the trenches, the wyverns re-emerged from the blind spot of the opposing ridge, screaming across the terrain like low-altitude projectiles and unleashing a torrent of bright, consuming flame that instantly reduced the forward trenches to ash.
In a fraction of a second, before the defenders could even form a coherent line, the eastern camp was transformed into a raging inferno. A massive cache of ballista bolts and heavy munitions cooked off within the blaze, leaving nothing but a chorus of agonizing screams echoing through the smoke.
Yet, amidst the chaos, Jeanne noted that the units stationed outside the primary impact zone weren't fracturing. Instead, they were executing an orderly evacuation of the burning sectors, swiftly reorganizing their lines to launch a coordinated counter-volley at the low-flying beasts.
This discipline yielded immediate results. Jeanne watched as several heavy bolts pierced the leathery wings of the attacking wyverns. The sudden sting of the iron cutting through their scales caused the beasts to roar in sharp irritation, their voices filled with absolute fury.
Having delivered a heavy, punishing blow to the encampment, the wyverns decided they had spent enough energy on these troublesome grunts. Whipping their long tails through the smoke, they snapped their wings and caught a rising thermal, breaking off the engagement under Jeanne's fluid direction.
The loyalist vanguard was left to pick through the ruins of their forward base, having suffered a massive loss of personnel and vital munitions, all in exchange for inflicting a few wounds upon the aerial monsters.
They were the sort of wounds that would cleanly close up within a week or two. They aren't much but still impressive from nothing more than a few ballistas.