Deep within the northern reaches of the Ursus tundra—a region long dismissed by the wider world as a desolate, poverty-stricken wasteland—a cluster of villages thrived around the base of a massive mountain, resembling a hidden paradise cut off from the cruelty of the era.
The locals from the surrounding territories understood perfectly well that these settlements were established by an infected resistance movement known as the Reunion Movement. Yet, to their lingering disbelief, the standard of living enjoyed by the infected residents within those borders was vastly superior to their own!
Furthermore, the people dwelling in that sanctuary harbored not a single shred of dread toward the notorious Infected Patrols. It remained a mystery whether those black-clad enforcers simply failed to unearth the location or chose to actively turn a blind eye, but they treated the entire sector as though it were nothing but empty air.
In truth, the Patrols were genuinely incapable of navigating the approach. Even if they maintained a vague awareness that the settlements were anchored at the foot of the peaks within the dense timberlands, any vanguard attempting to cross the threshold invariably lost their bearings, with several scouts failing to return alive from every expedition.
After a few disastrous attempts, no one among the gendarmes was willing to volunteer for such a hazardous assignment. Venturing into those woods yielded zero results save for losing comrades to a bizarre variety of environmental perils, and none of the officers desired to play the fool for a fruitless campaign.
Moreover, the terrifying reputation of the Reunion Movement had traveled far across the wastes. This was the very faction that had shattered the regular imperial army in three separate engagements; tracking them down to stir up trouble was nothing short of a death wish.
Defeating a force of that caliber would require the deployment of an entire military group. Yet, the high command had recently withdrawn their focus from the northern frontier, leaving the local garrisons with zero incentive to provoke a hornets' nest.
Gradually, the authorities chose to pretend the resistance didn't exist, deliberately charting wide detours whenever their paths happened to cross. If we lack the strength to challenge such grand figures, surely we possess the sense to stay out of their stride, they reasoned.
This unprecedented peace left the ordinary peasants in the neighboring territories burning with a quiet, bitter jealousy. They watched the thriving settlements with narrowed eyes, their hearts twisting with resentment. By what right did a gathering of the infected enjoy a lifestyle vastly superior to their own? Those wretches were supposed to be outcasts!
These were individuals who clung stubbornly to the belief that uninfected citizens naturally occupied a higher social tier, and that the quality of their daily existence should mirror that status. In their estimation, the damned infected deserved only to be ground beneath their boots.
They harbored intense envy toward these outcasts who now enjoyed abundant provisions and sturdy shelters. Yet, as a disorganized rabble, they lacked the capacity to orchestrate any genuine harm, restricting their malice to muttering dark curses from the corners of their taverns, praying for the resistance to meet a swift, agonizing demise.
Setting aside those dark-minded individuals, however, the vast majority of the local peasantry actually maintained an exceptionally favorable impression of the Reunion Movement. The reason was entirely practical: whenever a harsh season struck, the resistance was more than willing to rent out agricultural seeds to ensure the neighboring farms could sustain their crops.
What truly earned their profound gratitude was that the movement demanded next to zero interest on the loaned provisions—a stark contrast to the extortionate rates levied by the merchant caravans. Given such benevolence, how could the common folk harbor anything but a high regard for the organization?
So what if those providers carried the traits of the infected? In a world where starvation was a constant shadow, nobody possessed the luxury to worry about the origin of their savior. Any hand offering seeds and sustenance to preserve a family's life registered as a steadfast ally.
In fact, had the Reunion Movement possessed a greater surplus of cleared territory rather than being forced to painstakingly reclaim the wild terrain, many of the surrounding peasants would have gladly integrated with them. Facing the prospects of a slow winter, becoming an infected was infinitely preferable to watching one's family starve to death.
Under these unique environmental conditions, the organization grew at a staggering pace. The multitude gathering under its banner expanded by the day, rendering the daily administration of the network an increasingly complex challenge.
Within the current ranks of Reunion, the populace was comprised of both infected and uninfected residents. Yet, the dividing lines of Oripathy failed to fracture their unity; they coexisted within the same quarters, maintaining a remarkably harmonious daily rhythm.
Fortunately, the woman steering this massive vessel, Talulah, had previously experienced managing Kashchey's mobile metropolis. That intense trial ensured she didn't lose her composure when balancing the logistics of the expanding settlements, and she was hardly weathering the storm alone.
Though, at this exact moment, she was indeed engaged in a fierce physical struggle.
She was utilizing every ounce of her arts to counteract a barrage of freezing projectiles launched by the companion whose elemental affinity was the exact antithesis of her own. A massive white rabbit of a woman was presently staring her down with a thoroughly grim expression.
A faint trail of scorched fur marked the tips of FrostNova's long ears, and a few strands of her silver hair bore the unmistakable signs of singeing. She had accidentally been caught in the crossfire while Talulah was refining a complex flame incantation. Though her sharp reflexes had allowed her to evade the brunt of the blast, her pristine coat had taken a minor hit.
Even though FrostNova had entered the training ground fully aware that such accidents were a regular risk when working alongside a flame wielder, the moment the heat actually nipped her fur, her composure vanished. She decided a thorough thrashing was the only proper response.
"Keep the pressure on, Big Sister! Do not let her off the hook!"
"Think of your poor ears! That beautiful, snow-white fur has been turned completely black by her reckless sparks!"
"Exactly! We aren't even permitted to brush Big Sister's ears, yet Talulah goes and singes them with her flames! How can anyone harbor such casual cruelty? It fills me with immense envy... wait, I mean intense resentment!"
"Those ears are the crown jewel of the entire Yeti Squadron! You have single-handedly ruined our collective treasure, Talulah! Do you have any concept of how many heads of cabbage we had to feed her to maintain that flawless coat? You owe us a brand-new pair of pristine white ears!"
Hearing the chaotic commentary from the sidelines, FrostNova felt her blood pressure spike dramatically—not because of Talulah, but due to the unprincipled clowns she called her subordinates. She silently questioned what great sin she had committed in a past life to be saddled with such a ridiculous crew. They were clearly sent by the heavens as a personal penance.
Though her hands were currently occupied maintaining her defensive barriers, FrostNova logged the visages of those mocking yetis deep into her mental ledger. The moment this training session concluded, she would remind every single one of them the true meaning of her authority.
"Though this is hardly a novel occurrence, watching your subordinates operate always inspires a deep concern within me," Talulah remarked with a casual grin, deflecting a shard of ice as she conversed with FrostNova. The duel hadn't reached a level of genuine peril; she simply needed to bide her time until the white rabbit's frustration ran its course. "If their particular behavioral model infects the rest of our ranks, the structural integrity of the entire movement will collapse within a month."
Alternatively, she could deploy a strategic shift in focus. Talulah deftly attempted to guide FrostNova's attention toward the raucous onlookers, encouraging her to utilize the shouting yetis as a convenient outlet to vent her remaining irritation. Once that fury was spent, the matter would resolve itself naturally.
After all, a minor mishap during an intense sparring session was hardly an unprecedented crisis. Talulah had grown thoroughly accustomed to the hazards of their training; a quick glance in a mirror would reveal that her own hair bore a few singed tips from rogue embers.
Her calculations proved entirely accurate. Upon absorbing Talulah's observation, FrostNova ceased her offensive strides against the leader, turning on her heel to descend upon her disgraceful squad with an aura of absolute frost.
Sensing the sudden shift in the wind, the yetis scrambled in every direction, desperate to flee the immediate sector. They ran, but FrostNova pursued; they veered, but she matched their strides; and before they could clear the tree line, she effectively cornered the entire group.
Listening to the comical shrieks of terror echoing through the woods, Talulah fished a small tin of salve from her coat and set it upon a prominent boulder. It was a rustic, traditional remedy she had acquired during her travels—a specialized ointment that ensured singed fur or hair would regenerate flawlessly by the following dawn.
Her smooth, practiced movements made it glaringly obvious that this sequence had unfolded many times before.
Without the aid of that particular remedy, the encampment would frequently play host to a leader whose hairline looked thoroughly uneven, occasionally missing an eyebrow entirely. Such were the unavoidable occupational hazards of command when one's primary art involved unbridled thermal energy.
"Talulah, did your training session result in another accidental injury to FrostNova today?" Alina inquired with a warm, knowing smile the moment the leader crossed the threshold of their shared quarters. "Even from across the eastern clearing, I could hear the yetis stirring up a massive ruckus."
"It cannot be classified as an injury; it was merely a localized burn," Talulah immediately countered, launching into a defensive explanation as she took a seat. "Can a minor singe truly be counted as harm? If you look closely, my own strands were nipped by the heat as well."
She offered the justification with immense earnestness, refusing to concede that her mastery over her arts lacked proper refinement. This specific exercise had involved a highly sophisticated, demanding technique, which was the precise reason she had requested the presence of her elemental opposite to act as a stabilizing anchor.
"Of course, of course. Our Talulah is unmatched in her prowess," Alina murmured, her tone carrying the gentle, indulgent quality one might use to soothe a stubborn child.
The placating response left the dragon leader thoroughly speechless. Whenever she adopted this particular defensive front, Alina invariably treated her like an adolescent throwing a mild tantrum.
"That is because your internal thought process remains fundamentally juvenile in several key sectors..." A certain Black Snake chimed in.
"Silence! One more syllable and I shall request Alina to join me in an extended prayer session this evening!"
The lingering echo within her consciousness had barely begun to offer its cynical commentary before Talulah firmly crushed the intrusion. While her own unpolished attempts at sacred recitation caused the voice little actual distress, Alina's spiritual devotion as a practicing sister had advanced to a standard that comfortably rivaled Jeanne's own.
Faced with the threat of a prolonged spiritual purging, the shadow of Kashchey chose to retreat into silence. He could only marvel at how thoroughly the natural order had decayed. For a "daughter" to command her own "father" with such casual disrespect pointed toward a profound failure in her upbringing.
Alina paid little heed to the fleeting manifestation of the deathless black snake. Ever since Jeanne had departed on her northern expedition, she had noted that the shadow within Talulah's thoughts had become noticeably more active.
Yet, as her thoughts drifted back toward the silver-haired maiden, Alina's expression softened into a quiet, pensive look. A gentle sigh escaped her lips as she murmured:
"It feels as though an eternity has transpired since Jeanne last walked through these gates. Talulah... do you harbor any anxiety that she might have encountered a severe crisis out on her travels?"
She couldn't suppress a wave of concern for her dear friend. An immense interval had slipped away since their last audio transmission, leaving her completely in the dark regarding Jeanne's current welfare or whether she was securing proper nourishment along the trails.
Talulah's posture stiffened for a fraction of a second at the mention of the name, though she quickly adopted a casual front, waving her hand dismissively to soothe her companion's worries.
"There is zero cause for alarm. The campaigns across Kazdel concluded months ago, meaning she faces no active military peril. I estimate that within a handful of weeks, that wanderer will inevitably navigate her way back to our doorstep..."
Though her tone remained light and unconcerned, the depth of her eyes betrayed a powerful, unshielded longing for the friend who had remained absent from their side for over half a year.
Prior to this expedition, Jeanne had never left the core of the movement for such an extended duration. Consequently, while everyone maintained absolute faith in her capacity to sustain herself across any wilderness, both the leadership and the rank-and-file of Reunion kept a constant, watchful eye on the northern horizon, eagerly awaiting the first sign of her return.