Jeanne felt absolutely certain that either she or the Doctor had completely lost their mind today! The way this conversation was unfolding felt utterly bizarre. Had everyone in this camp fallen under some strange, chaotic spell?
Truth be told, Jeanne had already mentally prepared herself for this long ago. The exact moment the Doctor sent word that she needed to discuss an urgent matter, Jeanne had a strong inkling that she would end up stepping into the local theater of war.
But looking at the Doctor now... why on earth was she this hysterical over a simple agreement? Had Jeanne miscalculated something, or had the strategist completely misread her from the start? One thing was undeniable: someone here had suffered a massive misunderstanding!
Jeanne sat perfectly still, watching the robed strategist slumped in her chair, unable to tell if she was laughing or crying. For a fleeting second, she seriously considered stepping outside to fetch Kal'tsit, just to verify if the woman was having another massive neurological episode.
In reality, looking at Jeanne's bright, open smile had brought the Doctor a wave of absolute, liberating relief! The crushing weight lifted so suddenly that this normally unflappable strategist—someone who prided herself on never cracking under pressure—had entirely broken character.
The emotional whiplash was simply too intense to handle. Before she could even drag her spirit out of the dark pit of failure, she was suddenly hit with a massive, glorious surprise!
"So... you truly mean it? You agree?" When the Doctor spoke, her voice lacked its usual smooth confidence or calculating edge. Instead, she sounded incredibly tentative, as if terrified that Jeanne was merely playing a cruel joke on her.
Jeanne found this fragile side of the Doctor remarkably refreshing. A sudden, mischievous urge flared in her chest to yell "Psych! I change my mind!" just to see how she would react, but she forced the impulse back down before the words could escape.
The Doctor was clearly hanging by a thread; Jeanne genuinely feared that if she pushed her luck with a prank, this fragile strategist might actually faint from the shock. While that would certainly be a spectacle to behold, it felt a bit too wicked.
After a brief silence, Jeanne offered a firm, reassuring nod.
"Of course I do. During my time in Kazdel, I've seen enough to know this war needs to be brought to an end as quickly as possible. Besides, I honestly feel that throwing my weight behind your faction is the right choice. Is it really that shocking that I agreed?"
Jeanne spoke with an ease that suggested she was merely answering a casual question about what to have for breakfast, treating a monumental alliance as a matter of complete indifference.
The Doctor let out a massive, exhausted sigh, her shoulders dropping. "I had calculated that the probability of you joining us was incredibly low. I spent days agonizing over how to construct the perfect speech to win you over!"
In truth, the Doctor had spent countless sleepless nights mapping out every conceivable argument and rhetorical angle. From a logical standpoint, this conflict offered Jeanne absolutely zero material benefits.
What could she possibly gain by helping Theresa reclaim this broken land? Kazdel was a ruined husk of a nation with nothing to its name except a population of starving, desperate Sarkaz. What earthly reward could they offer someone of her stature?
The honest answer was absolutely nothing. If Jeanne ever required resources or political leverage, she wouldn't dream of petitioning a ragtag group like Babel; the Sankta nation next door was practically begging her to issue them commands!
Weighing all these factors, the Doctor realized that any reward Babel could offer would be an empty, unbacked check, payable only in some distant, unmapped future.
That was precisely why she had brought up the transparent Originium shards earlier. She had hoped to build a solid layer of goodwill before introducing the heavy request of joining their war.
Furthermore, according to her psychological profile of Jeanne, the Saintess was the type of person who became incredibly self-conscious whenever she felt she had taken unfair advantage of someone. Once that guilt was unlocked, she became infinitely easier to persuade.
Yet, after executing such a flawless, meticulous plan—and sacrificing days of sleep to ensure its success—the Doctor never expected Jeanne to simply shatter the barrier without a single counter-argument!
"Would you mind terribly if we staged a quick rewrite? You could reject me first, and then I can deploy my brilliant arguments to win you back. Don't you think that would give this moment a much grander sense of ceremony?"
The Doctor spoke with absolute, unhinged relaxation, her mental discipline temporarily snapping to the point where the words spilled from her lips before her brain could intercept them.
The moment the sentence hung in the air, she wanted nothing more than to violently throttle her past self. Have you completely lost your mind?! What if she actually finds that entertaining and decides to take you up on the offer?!
"???"
Jeanne tilted her head, her face twisting into an expression that plainly asked the Doctor, Are you entirely insane?
Then again, she had grown quite accustomed to the Doctor's periodic lapses into madness. After all, she could count on one hand the number of times she had actually witnessed this woman acting like a well-adjusted human being. It was just a standard Tuesday at this point.
Still, the more Jeanne reflected on the suggestion, the more appealing it sounded. What if she did throw out a sudden rejection, just to watch the legendary strategist scramble, rack her brains, and sweat through a desperate persuasion routine?
Good heavens, I am turning into an absolute menace, Jeanne thought, a wave of self-awareness hitting her. The innocent girl who had once wandered the frozen wastes of Ursus had vanished entirely, thoroughly corrupted by the chaotic entities running Babel.
"I was joking! Purely joking! My brain completely misfired just now!" the Doctor yelled, instantly throwing up her hands in absolute surrender, desperate to keep the Saint from launching a fresh prank. "Please, wise and powerful Saintess, show some mercy and wipe that sentence from your memory entirely!"
"Alright, let's return to reality," Jeanne laughed, losing the desire to tease her any further. She shifted back into her chair, returning to her favorite pastime of casually petting her dragon.
Little Fafnir remained perfectly content on her lap, sitting as still as an oversized plush doll. Her eyes were half-closed, her tiny features melting into pure bliss as Jeanne's fingers stroked her scales.
Watching her look of absolute serenity... she looked exactly like a thoroughly spoiled, gentle cat!
Why on earth is my lynx infinitely more hostile and ill-tempered than an actual, apex fire-breathing dragon?! the Doctor grumbled internally, staring at the pair with a gaze dripping with pure envy. She briefly compared Fafnir's sweet disposition to her daily, bruising interactions with Kal'tsit... and felt like weeping.
"Eyes on me! This dragon belongs to my household," Jeanne declared instantly, cutting off the Doctor's longing stare and claiming absolute ownership over Fafnir. The young dragon let out a happy chirp upon hearing the validation, her status as a cherished house pet permanently sealed.
"Now, down to business. While I have given my formal word to assist your cause, I have a few baseline boundaries that must be laid out clearly right now. I want to ensure we don't trigger any unnecessary friction down the line."
Jeanne's face grew intensely serious, her sharp gaze signaling that she was drawing a hard line in the sand.
The Doctor immediately mirrored her posture, sitting up straight to receive the terms.
"First and foremost, whether you categorize this as assistance or a mutual partnership, this is strictly a personal endeavor on my part. Under no circumstances will Laterano be drawn into Kazdel's internal civil war because of my individual presence!"
Jeanne delivered the term with absolute gravity. Even though she knew Babel's leadership wasn't foolish enough to attempt such a massive diplomatic provocation, it was a boundary that needed to be explicitly voiced on the record.
"Furthermore, while I am committing myself to your campaign, if your high command ever requires Fafnir's destructive output on the battlefield, you must secure the child's explicit, personal consent. I will never force her to execute an act she rejects!"
To emphasize her point, Jeanne lifted Fafnir up by her underarms, holding her so her golden eyes locked directly onto the Doctor's visor. Fafnir, playing her part flawlessly, offered a proud, emphatic nod of agreement.
Granted, the Doctor was reasonably certain the young creature hadn't comprehended a single syllable of their high-level conversation.
"Lastly, your administration must enforce an absolute media blackout regarding my identity. I am still operating under this specific face, and it would invite a massive wave of complications if my presence became common knowledge across the frontier."
As the Doctor processed the requests, Jeanne concluded her list. Reviewing the points, the strategist realized that the terms were remarkably gentle.
Jeanne hadn't even brought up the matter of personal compensation or material rewards!
"You have my word; every single one of these terms is fully ratified," the Doctor affirmed, rising from her seat with absolute solemnity. "I stake my personal reputation on this guarantee. If anyone within our ranks attempts to overstep these boundaries or pressure you into standard compliance, I will personally eliminate the problem."
After waiting a moment to ensure Jeanne had no further conditions, the Doctor extended her hand, her voice softening into a genuine smile.
"To a spectacular partnership!"
"To a spectacular partnership," Jeanne echoed, reaching across the desk to seal the contract with a firm, decisive handshake.
"To a spectacular partnership!" a tiny, scaled claw suddenly entered the mix. Even though Fafnir had zero understanding of the grand political pact being forged over her head, she mimics Jeanne's movements flawlessly, eagerly placing her little hand atop theirs with a bright, happy chirp.