Jeanne remained in the parlor conversing with the gathered Sankta, creating a spectacle that looked thoroughly bizarre to the casual patrons shifting through the establishment. To the outside observer, the scene carried the distinct aura of a massively popular, continent-spanning superstar suddenly making an unannounced public appearance.
A few bystanders lingered near the edge of the lounge, staring at Jeanne for a considerable interval. Yet, no matter how hard they racked their brains, they simply couldn't recall which grand stage or visual chronicle this strikingly beautiful maiden belonged to; they possessed zero memory of her face!
After failing to unearth a single clue, they turned to question the remaining staff members. These individuals were among the rare few Sankta in the shop currently focused on actual culinary duties, and they smoothly engineered a plausible cover story to appease the curious crowd.
When pressed by the patrons regarding the bizarre spectacle unfolding in the center of the lounge, the employees executed a series of masterfully bewildered expressions, feigning total ignorance as if they were just as mystified by the commotion.
"Perhaps... a few of their childhood companions from Laterano arrived on a surprise visit?" a clerk offered, her tone a flawless blend of innocence and mild confusion. "I have zero recollection of this particular customer purchasing confections here before... It must be something of that nature, I suppose?"
Her performance was so thoroughly organic that had a local studio scout been present, she would have undoubtedly been offered a leading role on the silver screen. It was an exceptionally natural piece of misdirection.
Hearing the explanation, the onlookers dispersed with a collective wave of disappointment. They had briefly harbored the exciting notion that a legendary celebrity had graced Chernobog with her presence, which would have provided magnificent ammunition for bragging to their associates later in the evening.
But if the girl was merely a personal acquaintance of the staff, the novelty vanished instantly. The lingering crowd turned on their heels to attend to their own affairs; everyone in the metropolis maintained a demanding schedule, leaving them with zero leisure to invest in matters of such low consequence.
Jeanne endured the gathering at the dessert shop for nearly three hours. Throughout that interval, the sheer exertion of maintaining a polite, flawless smile left her facial muscles feeling thoroughly rigid. Fortunately, Hellagur finally stepped out of the private office, signaling that she could at least make her escape from a sanctuary she deeply adored yet secretly feared.
Her followers were simply far too enthusiastic. At times, Jeanne found herself completely at a loss regarding how to properly manage their overflowing devotion, and maintaining a festive front for hours on end was undeniably exhausting.
"Wishing you a flawless journey, Lady Jeanne!"
"Please grace our establishment with your presence again whenever your schedule permits, Lady Jeanne!"
"I am officially Lady Jeanne's loyal hound!"
"Subdue that disgraceful fellow at the front immediately! Drag him to the back quarter; his mind requires a thorough cleansing!"
As Jeanne crossed the threshold, the passionate, chaotic farewells echoing behind her brought a helpless sigh to her lips. Seriously, that last individual crossed a major line! she thought wryly.
Declaring such a sentiment in broad daylight—did he harbor zero anxiety regarding a total social demise back within the grand plazas of Laterano?
Jeanne cast a parting glance at the careless youth, who was already being firmly pinned and escorted back into the kitchen by three stern-faced Sankta. His immediate future within those walls promised to be anything but comfortable.
With a warm smile, Jeanne waved a final goodbye to the staff, while Fafnir, her hands overflowing with a mountain of complimentary treats, mimicked the gesture with immense enthusiasm. Watching the two, Hellagur couldn't shake the bizarre impression that they had drifted into an entirely different genre.
Why does my side of the script involve a grim narrative of desperate survival and seeking covert alliances, while your sequence looks precisely like a grand corporate dignitary visiting a branch office to inspect the welfare and operational standards of her workforce?
Though the scene was undeniably peculiar, the encounter firmly cemented Hellagur's understanding that Jeanne commanded an exceptionally close, influential bond with the people of Laterano. He even harbored a quiet suspicion that the society's sudden desire to coordinate an alliance with Azazel was largely due to her personal intervention.
In truth, his assessment was entirely accurate. Following a detailed discussion with the cell leaders and a thorough review of their terms, the veteran general had officially accepted the formal assistance proffered by the Infinite Love Mutual Aid Society.
After all, the faction demanded zero concessions or compromises from his network. Their explicit objective was to cooperate fully to rescue the infected population of the metropolis and extend a vital lifeline to the destitute residents facing starvation within the slums.
An arrangement that mirrored a massive, unconditional injection of capital was almost too magnificent to believe, yet tracking the unyielding, earnest gleam in the Sankta representative's eyes assured him that the offer was entirely genuine.
Rather than dissecting the ultimate geopolitical motivations of the society, Hellagur found himself burning with a quiet curiosity regarding the identity of the brilliant mastermind who established the network—an individual possessed of the immense fortune required to bankroll a global charity that generated zero financial return.
Yet, the moment he had gently raised the possibility of granting the founder a formal audience, the cell leader had rejected the request without a single beat of hesitation. It appeared the true identity of their patron was protected by an exceptionally high standard of secrecy.
Still, a hidden organization of this nature was nothing out of the ordinary in Hellagur's estimation. The inner core of the very movement he currently served harbored deep secrets he had yet to fully decode, making it easy to respect their need for operational anonymity.
"It appears your discussions yielded a highly satisfactory conclusion?" Jeanne noted, tracking the subtle shift in Hellagur's features as they walked down the avenue. The tense frown he had carried upon arrival had dissolved into a noticeably softer expression.
The old general smoothly detailed the parameters of the partnership. From every conceivable angle, the society stood to gain zero advantage from the arrangement, acting essentially as a dedicated distribution pipeline for vital humanitarian goods.
The two shared a brief discussion on the matter, and Jeanne's internal emotions grew remarkably complex when Hellagur mused that the hidden patron must be a magnificent tycoon with an immense surplus of luxury capital to sustain such endeavors.
"So... your departure from our metropolis is officially set for today?" Hellagur inquired as they returned to the sanctuary of Azazel.
Jeanne had just finished presenting him with a carefully preserved supply of holy water, a miraculous elixir capable of serving as an exceptional therapy to stabilize critically ill infected patients.
Hellagur raised zero objections regarding her swift exit, assuming the silver-haired maiden simply harbored urgent, pressing duties demanded by her primary vanguard across the wastes.
"Yes, a significant interval has transpired since I last walked through my own front door. It is high time I returned to see how things are faring," Jeanne replied casually, tossing her remaining travel gear into the rear compartment of the vehicle.
In truth, a deep thread of homesickness had taken root within her chest. Her current expedition had consumed over half a year, and during that extensive separation, her communication with Talulah had been limited to a handful of brief, frustratingly sparse audio transmissions.
Jeanne had never remained absent from the vanguard for such a prolonged duration, and a mutual longing had steadily blossomed between the two women.
During their recent audio connection, Jeanne could easily discern that despite Talulah's best efforts to maintain a dignified, composed professional front, the profound anticipation of their impending reunion was glaringly obvious in her tone.
"I understand completely. A long absence invariably intensifies the desire to seek out familiar horizons... I shall not impose upon your time any further. May your passage across the wastes be entirely devoid of hardship!"
Hellagur offered a warm, parting gesture. A genuine, heartfelt smile graced his weathered features—an expression that hadn't surfaced for an immense interval amid the grinding stress of his duties.
Today had brought nothing but triumphs. Beyond securing a steadfast, resourceful partner in the society, the miraculous supply of holy water Jeanne provided would comfortably sustain Azazel's critical operations for several months, effectively preserving the lives of thousands of infected residents.
He noted that he must find a suitable window down the road to ensure the populace understood the true source of this salvation, rather than allowing them to assume Azazel had miraculously engineered a cure for Oripathy on its own. The name of Jeanne was a legacy that deserved to be known across the quarters.
"Before you depart, Lady Jeanne, a certain puzzle has been lingering at the edge of my thoughts," Hellagur suddenly remarked, his eyes shifting from the luggage toward Fafnir, who was blissfully devouring a glazed pastry gifted by the Sankta. The old general's discipline had finally crumbled under the weight of an intense curiosity. "If it does not cause any discomfort, would you mind illuminating a specific detail?"
"Oh? What is on your mind?" Jeanne inquired, lifting her gaze from the trunk, mildly surprised by his uncharacteristic hesitation.
"It concerns... the true background of that youngster," Hellagur stated, pointing a finger toward Fafnir. "I find myself burning with curiosity as to why your traveling companion bears such an uncanny, striking structural resemblance to Lady Talulah."
Hearing the query, the light in Jeanne's eyes shifted instantly, taking on a look that practically shouted: To think a dignified veteran of your stature is just as prone to gossiping as the rank-and-file!
Without missing a beat, she smoothly launched into a beautifully fabricated narrative she had engineered well in advance, spinning a tale about a chance encounter where she had discovered a stranded orphan abandoned along the wasteland trails.
Once again, Jeanne had resorted to a blatant falsehood. It was a truly sinful habit.
Fortunately, Hellagur accepted the chronicle without a single shred of suspicion. Watching the transport smoothly roll away into the distance, he could only offer a silent, philosophical sigh regarding the boundless, unpredictable mysteries of the wider world.