"To think, after all this time, I am actually staring at the high walls of this city once again."
Standing just outside the perimeter of the royal capital, Theresa gazed upon the majestic, sprawling city and let out a soft, emotional sigh. Even for the Monarch herself, arriving at this very gate under these circumstances felt distinctly surreal, as if she were drifting through a fleeting dream.
When the dark currents of the civil war had forced her to flee these streets, she had braced herself for a grueling, decades-long struggle. She had fully expected to pay a catastrophic price in blood and ash just to earn the right to look upon her homeland again, to touch the familiar stone carvings of her youth.
As the conflict dragged on, she had eventually stopped letting herself yearn for this place. The frozen, unyielding lines of the front had offered zero hope of a swift resolution, whispering to her that the road home was permanently blocked. She had genuinely resigned herself to the reality that she might never set foot within these gates again.
Yet, a mere matter of months had passed, and here she stood, poised before the grand entrance of the capital with the opportunity to guide her fractured nation once more. The sheer speed of the reversal draped the entire expanse in an otherworldly, dreamlike haze.
Watching her divisions methodically press against the formidable outer bastions of the grand fortress, Theresa could already visualize the moment she would stride back into the royal palace. Her mind automatically conjured the image of her brother, Theresis.
When the final confrontation arrived, how was she supposed to face him? The mere thought of the Regent brought a faint, prickling irritation to the depth of her heart. Theresis remained, without a doubt, the greatest riddle she would have to unravel to truly heal this land.
Of course, all of these grand designs hinged entirely on her successfully reclaiming the seat of power today. If her forces somehow botched the siege and were driven away from the city walls a second time, it would be an absolute embarrassment. She would be permanently branded as a historical laughingstock in the annals of Kazdel.
Standing nearby, Jeanne watched the shifting colors of emotion wash across Theresa's face. She didn't dare disrupt the sovereign's deep train of thought, fiercely determined to let the Monarch retain her focus as she prepared for the final trial.
Truth be told, Jeanne was feeling rather restless just sitting on the sidelines. She wasn't entirely certain what to do with herself, given that Theresa had explicitly requested that neither the Saintess nor Fafnir intervene in this particular engagement. The Monarch was profoundly resolved to reclaim the capital using nothing but the intrinsic strength of Babel.
It was a perfectly understandable choice. Jeanne recognized that Theresa needed this triumph to demonstrate her unyielding resolve and military teeth to the entire populace of Kazdel, and most importantly, to the skeptical lords of the Royal Court.
Furthermore, this city was the historical heart of the Sarkaz race. Theresa naturally couldn't allow Jeanne and Fafnir to unleash their full, terrifying power within the municipal borders, as reducing the ancient capital to a sea of glass and pulverized rubble would leave her with a hollow victory she could never forgive herself for.
There was also the matter of morale. Because the previous campaigns had been rendered so spectacularly smooth by the terrifying presence of the wyverns and Fafnir, the opposing garrisons had practically been ready to hoist white flags the moment Babel appeared on the horizon. Theresa's regular divisions had essentially been reduced to a clean-up crew, merely processing prisoners and securing empty ground.
To cement her authority, Theresa needed to showcase the raw power of her own banner, sending a clear, undeniable message to all of Terra that Babel was far from a fragile faction that could only win by relying on external terrors.
Babel's core warriors were completely aligned with this sentiment. Reinvigorated by their recent string of triumphs, they were eager to prove their mettle upon the streets of the capital, fiercely determined to let the world know they possessed the martial teeth required to shield their homeland.
With the situation settled in this manner, Jeanne was more than happy to enjoy a rare, peaceful reprieve. Lounging safely behind the active lines and watching the grand clash unfold wasn't a bad way to pass the time at all—especially since she had a spectacularly adorable companion to keep her company!
Jeanne smiled, cradling the small, resting form of the dragon in her arms. Compared to the serene quiet of their observation post, the thunderous roar of detonations echoing from the front lines was incredibly intense. The rhythmic, earth-shaking booms left Jeanne deeply curious about the exact weight of the explosives the demolition squads were burning through.
Under her watchful eye, the days bled together as the defenses of the capital were methodically whittled away. Step by step, the outer wall grew closer to its breaking point. The momentum shifted so dramatically that even Theresa frequently rushed to the vanguard lines to direct her divisions personally, eventually drawing her own blade to join the fray.
"Come to think of it, once Theresa wraps up the campaign here, the Doctor is supposed to be placed into that stasis casket, right?" Jeanne murmured to herself, a faint sigh escaping her lips as she recalled their prior discussions. "From what Theresa hinted, the mental strain has become so severe that they might even have to wipe away all of her memories just to stabilize her..."
The concept of the sarcophagus left a heavy weight in Jeanne's chest. While she understood the procedure was an absolute medical necessity to preserve the tactician's fractured mind, the thought of a dear friend awakening with zero recollection of their shared journey was deeply saddening.
Though they hadn't known one another for an exceptionally long time, the reality of the situation felt incredibly tragic. To open one's eyes and find a complete blank where a lifetime should be... the mere thought of it was terrifying.
"Wait, if that's truly how it's going to play out..." A sudden, mischievous glint flashed across Jeanne's face. "The moment I help pull her out of that casket in the future, could I just tell her she owes me a astronomical sum of gold? I could totally trick her into signing a massive promissory note while her mind is still a total blank!"
It wasn't that Jeanne actually desired to swindle her friend out of wealth; she simply couldn't resist the rare temptation to playfully tease the brilliant tactician while her defenses were completely down. Under normal circumstances, finding an opportunity to outwit the Doctor was an absolute impossibility!
The woman was a terrifyingly sharp, elusive genius. To successfully dupe a figure of that caliber into signing a completely fabricated debt collection would be a spectacular achievement, yielding an immense sense of satisfaction.
"That is indeed a remarkably clever ploy. If my mind were a complete void, there is an incredibly high probability I would fall for your narrative hook, line, and sinker. However, don't you feel even a single fraction of embarrassment formulating such a scheme directly in front of your intended target?"
The flap of the command tent peeled back, and the Doctor rolled into the space, her wheelchair guided by a completely expressionless Kal'tsit. She had caught the tail end of the Saintess's wicked plot from the corridor, and a sudden wave of playful indignation washed over her.
Jeanne, however, didn't display a single trace of shock or embarrassment upon being caught red-handed. By all rights, the tactician should have been stationed tightly at Theresa's flank, parsing the critical variables of this monumental siege rather than lingering in the rear tents for idle chatter.
Yet, a single glance at the Doctor explained everything. At this stage, the woman was finding it immensely difficult to even stand or take a few steps on her own, entirely dependent on the mechanical frame of her chair just to navigate the camp. To force the crushing weight of active field command onto her shoulders in this state would be nothing short of cruel.
Jeanne knew perfectly well that the Doctor was keeping her fragile body moving through sheer, unadulterated chemical support. The brilliant tactician was fiercely resolved to witness Theresa's grand return to the palace with her own eyes, needing to confirm with absolute certainty that Babel could function flawlessly without her presence before she allowed herself to fade into sleep.
"Why should I be embarrassed?" Jeanne countered with a breezy wave of her hand, completely unbothered by the Doctor's gaze. Having spent so much time studying under the tactician, the Saintess had inadvertently picked up some of her worst traits, rendering her entirely immune to a guilty conscience in situations like this. "You won't remember a single thing anyway. When that day comes, you won't possess the capacity to stop me, will you?"
The Doctor remained entirely silent, staring straight at Jeanne through the dark visor of her hood. The unblinking, heavy gaze persisted for so long that even the thick-skinned Saintess began to feel a bit self-conscious. What on earth was the woman trying to achieve by staring at her like that?
Before their silent standoff could escalate, a deafening, earth-shaking explosion detonated in the distance, followed immediately by a roaring cascade of cheers that echoed through the valleys. The two women instantly turned their eyes toward the monitors; the forward bastions had ruptured, and Babel's infantry were already pouring into the avenues of the capital.
"They've actually breached the gates this quickly? The vanguard's execution is flawless!" The Doctor's voice spiked with intense excitement. She leaned forward in her seat, her eyes shining beneath her hood. "Come, Jeanne, guide my chair into the sector immediately! I am fiercely eager to behold the exact expression written across Theresis's face when his lines collapse!"
The woman looked as though she wanted nothing more than to park her chair directly in front of the Regent just to unleash a relentless barrage of mockery and sarcasm at his expense.
Left with little choice, Jeanne took hold of the handles and guided the wheelchair forward into the municipal sector. Deep down, she recognized that entering the city at this specific interval wasn't the safest tactical choice, as the localized skirmishes were far from entirely resolved.
If the Doctor were to navigate these chaotic streets unescorted, a lone, desperate loyalist grunt emerging from an alley could easily claim her life. This danger was precisely why the tactician had requested the Saintess to act as her personal shield.
Jeanne accepted the security detail without complaint. Pushing the semi-invalid, supreme mind of Babel with one hand while keeping the world's most formidable, compact martial asset walking closely at her side, she advanced into the historic heart of Kazdel.
Their entry into the city proceeded without any major friction. Babel's elite divisions had already established clean control over the primary plazas and central thoroughfares; as Jeanne navigated the avenues, her gaze met nothing but the scattered remnants of the loyalist garrison.
In the shadowed corners of the residential blocks, isolated, small-scale firefights were undoubtedly still crackling to life. Yet, those desperate holdouts no longer possessed the leverage to alter the reality of Theresa reclaiming her throne.
Viewed objectively, the architecture of the capital possessed a distinct, mesmerizing beauty. However, having endured the brutal baptism of civil warfare, these unique structures now stood as hollow, desolate monuments to the conflict.
The sight of the fallen city guards clearly dampened the Doctor's spirits. Her expression grew noticeably bleak, and she quietly urged Jeanne to accelerate their pace toward the central palace, a sudden, heavy anxiety gripping her heart.
Her intuition proved entirely correct. Up ahead, Theresa was utilizing a powerful strain of Arts to pacify and bind the remaining loyalist units barring her path, her strides turning into a rapid march as she closed the distance to the grand palace doors.
The exact scenario the Doctor had dreaded had unfolded—though in truth, it was the most logical strategic move available to their opponent. The Regent, Theresis, had abandoned the royal capital long before their vanguard had even initiated the primary assault on the walls.
The entire defensive line they had spent days dismantling had been nothing more than a calculated stalling mechanism, a sacrifice of blood and iron explicitly designed to buy the Regent enough time to execute a clean withdrawal from the sector.