Jeanne studied the middle-aged Sarkaz standing before her. He truly was an exceptionally ordinary individual—so utterly unremarkable that he blended seamlessly into the crowd, looking like anyone you might pass on a street corner.
Like his wife, this Sarkaz was just a regular civilian. Had it not been for the harsh reality of their differing races, the two of them would undoubtedly have built a quiet, cozy life together. Had little Cecilia not been born a Sankta, they wouldn't have found themselves in this predicament—though, looking at it now, things hadn't degenerated to the absolute worst-case scenario just yet.
Noticing the silver hair beginning to speckle his head and the faint, lingering exhaustion etched into the lines of his face, Jeanne could tell he had spent countless sleepless nights worrying over his child's future.
"You are far too kind. I really didn't do much at all," Jeanne said, offering a gentle shake of her head with a modest smile.
Perhaps her mere presence had coaxed the old Pope into granting the child a sliver of official clemency, but Jeanne firmly believed the true credit belonged to his Holiness. She, after all, had barely uttered a handful of words during the entire proceeding.
Whether the man truly believed her was another matter. The profound, overwhelming gratitude radiating from his face made it clear he assumed she was simply being humble, convinced she had secretly moved mountains behind the scenes to secure Cecilia's safety. After all, he knew the inner workings of Laterano too well; no matter how indifferent the Pope might be, his Holiness would never have allowed Feoria to take the child across the borders for a family reunion—let alone without a single official shadow openly monitoring their movements.
Yet, the man was clever enough to perceive that Jeanne had no desire to dwell on the politics of the matter. He dropped the subject gracefully, remaining quietly by her side to act as a silent guide.
He clearly wasn't a man of many words.
"I must admit, I'm surprised the Sarkaz here tolerate Sankta merchants," Jeanne murmured, watching the workers systematically unload crates from the back of the Sankta caravan. Her curiosity was piqued by the bizarrely harmonious coexistence before her. "I was under the impression that the moment a Sarkaz and a Sankta crossed paths, weapons were drawn instantly."
In her mind, the generational blood feud between the two races meant they should be actively trying to wipe one another off the face of Terra. Had the relationship between them truly thawed this much?
Jeanne wanted to gauge exactly where the modern needle stood on the scale of racial tension. Was it still a matter of immediate execution upon sight, or had they truly reached a point where they could sit across a table and trade?
The Sarkaz man cast a glance toward the laborers hauling the heavy freight. A shadow of dim resignation flitted through his eyes, and he let out a long, heavy sigh before speaking.
"The relationship is nowhere near that kind. Everyone has simply gathered here out of a desperate need to survive. Besides, surely you've noticed that even now, those Sankta haven't let go of their weapons? They won't allow themselves a single moment of complacency."
Jeanne followed his gaze and noticed the Sankta guards gripping their guardian firearms tightly, their eyes sweeping the perimeter. Their rigid, stony expressions practically screamed a warning to the locals to keep their distance.
"But you can't blame them," the man continued softly. "This place has a dark history of Sarkaz inflicting terrible harm upon their kind. Even so, despite how cold they look right now, they're actually quite reasonable once you talk to them..."
Jeanne wasn't entirely sure what his baseline for "reasonable" was. To her, those hyper-vigilant Sankta looked like the most unapproachable individuals she had ever encountered from Laterano.
"Even with all that history, this town is probably the best example of coexistence you'll find in the region. Though, at the end of the day, everyone is only rubbing shoulders for some money."
Looking at the crates being transferred, Jeanne instantly understood the economic engine driving the peace. Judging by the distinct markings on the cases, the cargo consisted entirely of medical supplies—a commodity that commanded an absolute king's ransom within the lawless borders of Kazdel.
Trading in such high-value contraband was undeniably lucrative. It was precisely that staggering profit margin that compelled these Sankta to gamble with their lives by venturing deep into enemy territory.
"So, is it because the friction between the Sankta and Sarkaz is muted here that you decided to settle down?" Jeanne inquired, genuinely curious.
The man shook his head. "No, I've lived here my entire life. It's precisely because I grew up in this environment that my views on the Sankta were never as radical as other Sarkaz. If I had been raised like the rest, I never would have met Feoria..."
A note of deep, quiet contentment resonated in his voice as he spoke of his home. Jeanne found herself listening to a brief, tender recounting of their romance, feeling very much like a bystander unexpectedly handed a heavy dose of public affection.
"Well then, I won't keep you from your family any longer!" Jeanne kept the conversation brief. Realizing how anxious he must be to finally reunite with his wife and daughter, she prepared to take her leave.
"Please wait a moment, Lady Jeanne."
Before she could guide little Fafnir away, the man's voice called out, staying her steps once more.
"Is something the matter?" Jeanne asked, turning back to him with a curious tilt of her head.
"If you wouldn't mind the modest accommodations, you are more than welcome to stay at our home tonight. The roads outside have grown treacherous lately, and it is far safer to avoid traveling after dark."
The man gestured toward the horizon, where the sun was already dipping below the jagged silhouette of the wasteland. By his calculations, Jeanne had nowhere near enough daylight left to reach the subsequent settlement.
Furthermore, a foul wind had been blowing through the region. Even as a local Sarkaz, his instincts warned him that a violent storm was brewing. For Jeanne to wander out into the open country now was nothing short of a suicidal gamble.
Of course, that calculation was built entirely on the assumption that Jeanne was merely an ordinary nineteen-year-old girl with no extraordinary means of self-defense.
"Ah, I appreciate the offer, but I've already made prior arrangements!" Jeanne declined gently. She possessed absolute confidence in her ability to secure herself in the wilderness, and she had no intention of intruding upon a long-awaited family sanctuary. "However, you should keep your guard up as well. I caught wind of some rumors earlier—it seems a few unsavory characters are plotting to stir up trouble inside the town."
"I am aware," the man replied, though his casual tone couldn't entirely mask the tightening anxiety around his eyes. His expression betrayed a far deeper concern than his words let on, signaling that the situation could easily spiral into a bloody catastrophe. "The major mercenary companies that usually police the perimeter have all mobilized and left the area for separate assignments. The local hyenas view this temporary vacuum as a golden opportunity to make a reckless move..."
Jeanne instantly recalled the two brigands she had observed in the tavern. It was blindingly obvious now that they hadn't crossed the threshold merely to secure a hot meal; they were active scouts mapping out the town's vulnerability.
Choosing not to burden him with the granular details of her encounter, Jeanne simply offered a polite farewell wave and dissolved into the winding streets of the settlement.
Watching the location where she had vanished, the Sarkaz man felt a pang of sheepish embarrassment over his inability to offer her any real assistance.
Slowly, his expression hardened into a grim scowl. If a traveler who had arrived a mere twenty-four hours ago was already picking up whispers of the conspiracy, then the fuse was already lit. A major upheaval was imminent.
With that reality staring him in the face, he realized he had to ensure Cecilia and her mother evacuated the area the moment tomorrow's sun rose. He let out a bitter, sorrowful sigh. They had only just reunited today, yet circumstances were already forcing them apart. He wanted nothing more than to keep his wife and daughter by his side, but the unvarnished reality of modern Kazdel was simple: this land was fundamentally unfit for human life.
Meanwhile, Jeanne and Fafnir finalized their departure after paying their respects to the Sankta merchant caravan. The guards had enthusiastically urged her to take shelter with them, arguing that it would be infinitely safer to resume her journey under the protection of the morning light.
Having weathered countless close calls on the road, the caravan possessed a robust series of contingency protocols and the martial confidence to neutralize localized threats.
Seeing their readiness, Jeanne refrained from offering further warnings. Expressing her gratitude one final time, she and Fafnir turned their backs on the village and melted into the gathering dark.
Late that night, when a suffocating exhaustion blanketed the settlement and even the sharpest eyes of the night watch began to glaze over, a massive horde of Sarkaz raiders silently coalesced in the shadows outside the perimeter.
With the formidable mercenary companies that usually guaranteed the town's sovereignty entirely absent, the settlement's defensive matrix had withered to its absolute weakest state. The vacuum proved an irresistible siren song for those consumed by avarice.
The raiders stared greedily at the distant, flickering lights of the village. In their minds, the prize was already won. In a matter of moments, they would breach the perimeter, slaughter the occupants, and plunder every scrap of wealth stored within. With that bounty, they could finally abandon the grueling life of the wastes and live like kings in the interior cities.
Step by silent step, they closed the distance to the seemingly defenseless village.
Yet, the exact moment the lead scouts prepared to cross the threshold into the town's outer limits, the night sky erupted. A roaring wall of catastrophic fire violently consumed the landscape, incinerating the vanguard into unrecognizable pillars of ash before a single scream could pierce the air.
"My deepest apologies, but a family inside is celebrating a very rare, hard-won reunion," a voice cut through the roaring flames—a terrifyingly elegant, mocking cadence that sent an instinctual shiver down the spines of the surviving raiders. "Such a beautiful moment really doesn't require the boorish intrusion of unwelcome guests ruining the peace."
Illuminated by the dancing, infernal glow of the blaze, the raiders looked up to see a woman draped in a flowing black cloak, flanked by a deceptively small child.
And locking onto the terrified horde were two pairs of golden eyes, burning with the absolute, freezing cold of absolute winter.