Upon the scout squad's swift return to the lines, there was no need for Jeanne or Theresa to prompt them for a breakdown of the layout. The scouts immediately stepped forward, eagerly recounting every detail they had witnessed along the rugged terrain and highlighting the critical hazards that required the vanguard's utmost caution.
Theresa listened to the report with an intensely severe expression. After glancing toward Jeanne—who offered a concise nod of affirmation to back up the scouts' findings—the Monarch immediately began drafting plans to deliver a breathtaking surprise to the approaching loyalist vanguard!
Logically speaking, since the enemy commanders surely recognized that their stealthy approach had been thoroughly compromised, they were left with only two tactical avenues: either dig in across the eastern ridge and wait for Babel to initiate an assault, or seize the initiative and launch an immediate, aggressive push before Theresa's divisions could organize a counter-strategy.
The opposing commander's logic aligned perfectly with Theresa's estimates. Moving with massive, resounding strides, the loyalist columns pressed forward at full speed, fiercely determined to strike while the report was still settling in Babel's central tents, hoping to crush the local positions before any fortifications could be established.
This time, Jeanne didn't even need to send her flyers aloft. The outermost century guards monitoring the valleys caught sight of the dense dust clouds kicked up by the advancing infantry. Notably, however, the enemy's forward pace wasn't nearly as rapid as their aggressive posture suggested.
They were clearly haunted by the dread of Jeanne launching another sudden, devastating diving strike with her wyverns. Even as they raced through the flats, the units kept heavy carriage-mounted ballistas explicitly trained on the upper clouds—as these massive iron frames remained the solitary hardware capable of tearing through a wyvern's leathery hide.
Yet, from the moment they crossed the outer flats until the exact second they collided with Theresa's primary battle lines, the terrifying winged monsters they had spent hours dreading never materialized. The complete absence of an aerial assault left the high-ranking loyalist officers, who had spent the entire march in a state of suffocating vigilance, feeling a distinct urge to spit blood from sheer frustration.
At that moment, Theresa stood at the absolute front of her army, flanked by a phalanx of elite Elite Operators who guided her steps directly into the neutral zone separating the two forces. Utilizing a subtle strain of Arts to project her voice across the barren expanse, she addressed the opposing lines:
"It was my profound hope that none of you would ever set foot upon this field of conflict, just as it remains my deepest wish that the horrific sight of our kind slaughtering one another never becomes a reality here. Therefore, I desire to bring a definitive end to this struggle using nothing but words!"
Theresa's tone completely lacked the gentle, spring-breeze warmth that usually characterized her speech. Instead, her voice carried a spectacular, suffocating weight, instantly evoking the ancient, terrifying concept of the Lord of Fiends in the minds of everyone who heard it!
Her words bore the unshakeable force of an absolute decree. Even though her phrasing wasn't explicitly structured as a martial command, the raw majesty radiating from her person compelled every soul on the field—Sarkaz and non-Sarkaz alike—to instinctively bow their heads in submission.
The opposing Sarkaz infantry naturally possessed zero capacity to resist the heavy influence of the Monarch's voice. Although their officers were fiercely reluctant to engage in diplomacy with the rival sovereign, the supreme commander of the loyalist army ultimately stepped beyond his vanguard line to face Theresa directly.
"It has indeed been a great many years, Your Highness," the tall Sarkaz commander remarked, his voice echoing across the flats. "If my memory serves, the last time I beheld your countenance, you were still seated upon the grand throne of the capital. Allow me to offer my respect, and may the ancient souls of our ancestors shield your steps as you press forward."
Watching the exchange from the secondary line, Jeanne had initially assumed this massive warlord would launch into a furious, vitriolic tirade the moment he emerged, treating Theresa like a mortal foe. She hadn't anticipated the two figures would calmly engage in a civil, nostalgic dialogue.
Calling this commander massive was an absolute understatement. Among all the individuals Jeanne had encountered across Terra, this warlord stood only a fraction shorter than Patriot himself, and his colossal set of horns was so spectacularly wide it made her wonder if he had migrated from the borders of Minos.
"It has indeed been a long time, Theros," Theresa replied, matching his nostalgic tone. Yet, the moment the syllables left her lips, her voice grew noticeably sharper. "However, I recall our very last encounter was the exact day you aligned your banners with my brother and launched a bloody rebellion against my crown. That remains a highly unpleasant memory."
Theresis's commander fell silent for a long moment as the atmosphere across the field grew remarkably taut. On both sides of the neutral zone, elite guards subtly adjusted their grips on their weapons, fully prepared for a sudden breakout of violence.
"Let us bring an end to the historical reminiscences, Your Highness!" Theros finally answered, his voice tightening. "If your primary objective today is to convince my vanguard to abandon their duty through mere rhetoric, I must inform you that such an outcome is entirely impossible!"
His deeply ingrained pride simply wouldn't permit him to surrender to Theresa without striking a blow. Furthermore, as a warrior who had explicitly betrayed the Monarch years ago, he couldn't find a logical way to reconcile his internal code with the concept of turning his coat a second time.
"My solitary desire is to ensure this fractured conflict ceases to claim the lives of our people!" Theresa countered, her peaceful demeanor unwavering as she pressed her point, showing zero concern for his rigid posture. "The Sarkaz have already sacrificed far too much to sustain this civil war—a price that has expanded far beyond what our civilization can endure. I am fiercely resolved to mitigate further bloodshed wherever possible!"
Theresa's tone suddenly grew exceptionally sharp. The sudden flash of royal anger in her voice caused the seasoned warlord to instinctively take several paces backward, though he did his best to maintain a flat, unbothered expression.
"Whether this clash possesses strategic meaning is not for Your Highness to decide! My divisions will absolutely never—"
Seeing the warrior remain so stubbornly entrenched in his position, Theresa simply lifted the small radio clipped to her collar and uttered a concise directive. On the other end of the frequency, Jeanne received the signal perfectly.
"Unleash her."
This was the core of Theresa's layout. She was well aware that these hardened veterans wouldn't simply drop their heavy shields because she stood in the dirt and delivered a pair of moving speeches. To dissolve their resolve and force a clean compliance, she needed to introduce a single, undeniable factor: absolute despair!
She needed to make them recognize that their probability of achieving victory was a flat zero. She wanted them to see that their massive army was nothing more than a lone mantis attempting to halt a grand, unstoppable juggernaut, leaving them with no logical choice but to lay down their iron and yield.
Of course, if certain individuals witnessed the spectacular disparity in strength and still insisted on playing the part of the stubborn mantis, Theresa was fully prepared to grant them the final reward they desired—a warrior's death upon the field of battle.
Upon receiving the directive, Jeanne glanced down at her side. The young dragon was currently in the middle of a massive eating binge, vacuuming up a substantial cache of provisions with spectacular speed. Jeanne gently tapped Fafnir's head and chided:
"Pause the feast for a moment, we have urgent work to execute! You still remember the exact task your Sister Theresa requested of you, right?"
"Of course I do!" Fafnir huffed, tossing her remaining rations aside as she puffed out her chest with immense pride.
A heartbeat later, Fafnir unleashed her true power, transforming into her colossal dragon state. The moment her massive, iron-gray bulk blotted out the midday sun and draped the entire valley in a suffocating shadow, Theros—who had been right in the middle of a sentence—went entirely rigid, his mind freezing flat from sheer terror!
Clatter, clang, crash—!
Across the loyalist lines, a chaotic chorus of heavy iron hitting the dirt echoed through the ranks. Theros could clearly tell without looking back that his frontline infantry were dropping their weapons, their martial resolve entirely shattered by the sudden appearance of the mythical beast.
They simply couldn't comprehend how such a terrifying entity could exist within the boundaries of Terra! What possible tactical doctrine could a common soldier employ to overcome a living mountain? Even their most formidable, carriage-mounted ballistas looked like nothing more than common toothpicks when measured against her massive bulk!
In that freezing instant, every loyalist soldier finally understood the true meaning behind Theresa's warning. When she had spoken of avoiding meaningless sacrifice, she wasn't bluffing; the fate awaiting them if they pressed forward was nothing short of a swift, absolute annihilation!
A profound, breathless silence blanketed the entire valley. No matter how courageous these veterans had proven themselves in past campaigns, facing a true dragon caused their spirits to fracture entirely; they were mere mortal soldiers, and dealing with an apocalyptic entity of this scale was a task best left to ancient heroes!
Even the battle-hardened Theros stood entirely speechless, his mind spinning. He now fully believed the Monarch had offered terms out of genuine mercy to preserve Sarkaz lives, yet the thought of initiating a total surrender left his pride in absolute tatters.
Right at that tense moment, the colossal dragon suddenly leaned forward, opened her massive jaws, and took a spectacular, crunching bite directly out of the adjacent ridge. In an instant, the entire peak of the mountain simply vanished into her maw. The beast chewed methodically a couple of times before tilting her head toward the loyalist camp and exhaling a massive, roaring fireball.
Fortunately for the vanguard, the roaring projectile missed their ranks entirely, crashing into the adjacent flats. Yet, judging by the sheer, devastating shockwave kicked up by the distant explosion, the soldiers knew that had the payload landed directly on their formations, eighty percent of their strength would have been reduced to ash instantly.
As for why the beast hadn't wiped them out entirely... they could only assume it was an act of supreme mercy from the Lord of Fiends herself. Perhaps everything aligned with what Theresa had stated: she genuinely took no pleasure in watching Sarkaz blood saturate the dirt.
In reality, Theresa herself was thoroughly puzzled as to why Fafnir had suddenly unleashed a massive fireball; this specific display hadn't been part of their prior script. Left with no other choice, she maintained a perfectly rigid, enigmatic expression, staring down the trembling enemy lines with absolute calm.
The spectacular display had occurred simply because Fafnir was an unmitigated glutton. She had been fiercely reluctant to abandon her hoard of travel rations, so she had simply scooped up the entire pile of food along with the mountain peak, chewed the bread, and spat the remaining rock out as a blazing projectile.
"You have exactly thirty minutes to deliberate," Theresa announced, her voice echoing across the silent ranks. "Once the half-hour mark passes, our vanguard divisions and wyvern units will initiate a total advance. Until that window closes, you remain entirely free to surrender your arms or depart from this sector. Those who choose to remain will be met with the full force of our vanguard!"
With that final declaration delivered, Theresa didn't linger to receive Theros's answer. Turning her back to the loyalist lines, she calmly walked away alongside her inner circle, showing zero concern that a desperate soldier might attempt to loosen a stray bolt at her exposed shoulders.
Behind her, within the ranks of the loyalist army, a frantic, desperate debate immediately sparked to life among the soldiers.