The Doctor stared at the two hands clasping her own, her chest surging with a wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. The sheer depth of her excitement was entirely beyond the reach of words; she wanted nothing more than to break into a wild victory dance right then and there!
Her hyper-active mind was already spinning grand illusions of winning over Fafnir, deploying the young dragon to orchestrate a lightning strike against Theresis and his royal army encampments, and bringing this brutal civil war to a swift, effortless conclusion. What a beautiful blueprint!
With a legendary flying dragon firmly secured on their side, victory was practically staring them in the face. How could Babel possibly lose under these conditions? It was statistically impossible! A dragon charging down the frontline was the ultimate win condition!
"Hey, hey, hey! If you don't snap out of it right this second, I'm going to have to administer a physical wake-up call! I'm counting to three. One—two—three!"
Jeanne stood watching the Doctor, who had been gripping her hand for an eternity without letting go. Recognizing that words were proving completely useless against whatever grandiose fantasy the strategist had slipped into, Jeanne resolved to use a touch of aggressive motivation to break the spell.
She raised her free hand high into the air, aiming to bring her knuckles down sharply against the hard polymer of the Doctor's visor.
The moment the phrase "physical wake-up call" reached the Doctor's ears, a massive wave of survival reflex kicked in. She snapped back to reality, violently wrenching her hand away and diving to the side just an instant before Jeanne's fist cut through the empty air.
Staring at the space where her head had just been, the Doctor let out a ragged sigh of relief, thanking her stars that her defensive instincts were still perfectly sharp. If she had sustained a direct hit from the Saintess, the sheer volume of structural damage to her skull would have been a historic tragedy.
"My apologies, I simply allowed my enthusiasm to override my composure for a moment," the Doctor managed, a breathless chuckle escaping her hood. "But truly, with the two of you committing your strength to our cause, every single challenge ahead just became infinitely simpler to untangle."
Listening to the heartfelt exclamation, Jeanne scrutinized her companion. The strategist's overall demeanor seemed to have undergone a distinct, fundamental shift, though Jeanne couldn't quite pinpoint the exact nature of the transformation.
"By the way, little Fafnir," the Doctor cooed, pivoting with the dramatic speed of a seasoned stage actor. Her tone melted into a syrupy, overly affectionate cadence that sounded precisely like a shady character trying to lure a child into an alleyway. "This big sister needs a little bit of help dealing with some very nasty bullies. Is there anything your heart desires? Just name it, and I will do everything in my power to secure it for you."
The sudden change in pitch was so deeply unsettling that Jeanne had to forcefully squeeze her fists to keep from delivering a heavy blow to the strategist's jaw.
The bizarre voice sent a violent wave of goosebumps sweeping across Jeanne's skin, and even Fafnir felt the predatory energy, whimpering softly as she burrowed deeper into the safety of the Saintess's embrace.
Still, Jeanne understood the underlying strategy. The Doctor was striking while the iron was hot, capitalizing on Jeanne's personal alignment to immediately sweep the young dragon into Babel's employ.
"..."
Confronted by this eccentric stranger, Fafnir maintained the absolute, rigid caution expected of an ancient apex predator. She kept her back turned to the Doctor, refusing to utter a single sound for a long moment.
Eventually, the young dragon peeked over her shoulder to look at Jeanne. Seeing the Saint offer a gentle, encouraging nod, Fafnir finally turned back, dropping her chin into her hands as she drifted into a deep, lengthy silence.
In truth, she fully comprehended the Doctor's proposal. The strange robed lady wanted to trade material assets in exchange for her physical output on the battlefield. This was a concept she was remarkably familiar with—the mortals called it a mercenary contract, didn't they?
Fafnir harbored no real aversion to the idea. To her draconic soul, combat wasn't a terrifying concept; as a true dragon, she lacked the capacity to fear warfare.
"Meat! Gold! Cash!" Fafnir declared, listing her three absolute priorities with supreme brevity. The demands aligned flawlessly with her primal nature, leaving Jeanne completely unsurprised.
The Doctor let out a massive sigh of relief upon hearing the terms. Aside from the gold, the administration could easily secure a vast, consistent supply of sustenance and currency. No matter how severely their war chest was bleeding, Babel could always scrape together basic rations and standard cash.
As for the gold... wasn't that technically redundant alongside the cash? Then again, the Doctor recalled that the Rhodes Island landship housed several industrial production lines dedicated entirely to refining pure gold bars. Once they integrated a few more workers into the fabrication sectors, they could simply task them with minting custom gold bullion to satisfy the child's draconic greed.
"Excellent! We have an absolute deal!" the Doctor announced, bringing her palm down on the desk to ratify the agreement. "Whenever the situation demands your direct intervention, we will sit down and calculate the exact volume of rewards you will receive. How does that sound?"
With the pact sealed, Fafnir realized she had successfully established her own stream of revenue to secure food, treasures, and spending money. She spun around in Jeanne's lap, looking up at the Saint with a face overflowing with immense pride.
To Fafnir, gold wasn't a medium of economic exchange; it was a sacred collectible, an absolute lifestyle necessity for any self-respecting dragon. She possessed no concept of inflation or currency markets; she simply craved the brilliant, glittering allure of precious metals.
"Well, that settles the broad strokes of our arrangement," Jeanne murmured, watching the Doctor enthusiastically perform a pinky-promise ritual with the young dragon. The sight made the legendary strategist look remarkably like a child herself.
"However, there is one specific matter I wish to untangle..." Jeanne's tone shifted, a sharp edge of curiosity bleeding into her voice as she leaned across the desk, lowering her pitch to a whisper. "Assuming I had never entered the equation... what was your original plan for bringing this war to a definitive conclusion?"
The moment the question left her lips, the Doctor's entire body went completely rigid, as if a master technician had suddenly hit the pause button on her nervous system.
Jeanne stared at the frozen strategist, a sudden wave of unease washing over her. Had she accidentally crossed into some deeply classified, forbidden topic? Even through the thick polymer mask, she could practically feel the cold sweat pouring down the Doctor's face.
Before Jeanne could ask what was wrong, the Doctor erupted from her chair with a sudden, violent motion. Her movements betrayed an immense level of panic as she sprinted across the room and yanked the heavy door open.
Standing directly outside the threshold was Kal'tsit, waiting in absolute, chilling silence for Jeanne to emerge. When the door swung open, the ancient feline simply cast a cold, emotionless glance at the Doctor, offering zero verbal commentary.
It was glaringly obvious that she had business with the strategist and had chosen to wait out the meeting in the corridor. But Jeanne's sharp instincts gave her a terrifying certainty: Kal'tsit had intercepted every single syllable of their conversation through the thin walls.
"Do you require something?" the Doctor asked, her voice maintaining a facade of calm, though Jeanne could distinctly detect a subtle tremor in her delivery. Why on earth was the brilliant commander this terrified of her chief medical officer?
"Nothing urgent. There are a few logistical files that require your review. I am perfectly content to wait until you have concluded your business. Please... take your time."
Kal'tsit's cadence remained as smooth and unyielding as ever, but Jeanne could hear the dangerous undercurrents shifting beneath the surface. The feline's underlying disposition toward the Doctor felt remarkably... toxic.
In fact, the raw hostility radiating from Kal'tsit right now felt infinitely worse than the day the Doctor had staged her own mock funeral. There wasn't even a trace of hot anger left in her stance—just a cold, absolute detachment.
A sudden realization clicked in Jeanne's mind. Good heavens, don't tell me the Doctor's grand blueprint was designed in complete secrecy, entirely hidden from Kal'tsit's oversight? Did I just accidentally throw my new partner straight under the bus?
"There is no need to wait! Jeanne and I have already concluded our discussion!" the Doctor scrambled to clarify, turning back to the Saint to offer a hasty, deeply apologetic farewell.
"I will track you down tonight!" the Doctor hissed, the words forced through a tightly clenched jaw as Jeanne prepared to step out.
Jeanne offered a sympathetic nod, scooped up her dragon, and vacated the room. She lingered in the corridor for a brief moment as Kal'tsit stepped into the administrative office, closing the door firmly behind her. Jeanne resolved that if she heard the word "help" echo through the wood, she would immediately breach the structural barrier to execute a rescue.
Yet, ten minutes ticked away, and the interior remained entirely, eerily silent.
Perhaps I am simply letting my imagination run wild, Jeanne thought, shaking her head. There is a distinct possibility Kal'tsit didn't intercept our conversation at all.
Dismissing the dread, she turned and navigated the corridors toward her personal quarters.
"Jeanne, Fafnir is a high-earning professional now! Once I collect my gold, I'm taking you out for a massive feast!" the young dragon announced happily as they walked down the unpaved path of the camp. Her prideful tone was so immense that any bystander would assume Jeanne was an absolute deadbeat parent relying on her child to avoid starvation.
"Yes, yes, Fafnir is truly spectacular," Jeanne praised, a warm smile melting her features. She understood why the young creature, despite possessing zero native understanding of economic frameworks, had forcefully included cash in her demands.
Over the past few days, Fafnir had watched Jeanne systematically settle every single dining bill with physical currency. Even though the concept of a financial transaction was foreign to her, she had deduced that those paper slips were essential to secure their survival, and she desperately wanted to lift the burden of her massive appetite off the Saintess's shoulders.
How did this child turn out so incredibly precious? Jeanne wondered, her heart aching slightly. With a creature this fundamentally sweet, how on earth did Sir Siegfried find the heart to slay her original incarnation in the legends?
Perhaps it was a simple failure of communication. After all, even the greatest heroes of old lacked fluency in the ancient draconic tongue, and the original Fafnir certainly harbored zero desire to manifest a human form just to engage in diplomatic dialogue.
The pair returned to their quarters, and Jeanne patiently waited out the hours until the dead of night. It was long past midnight when a frantic, chaotic knocking finally echoed against her door. The Doctor slipped into the room like a fugitive, instantly launching into a wave of heavy complaining.
"I am telling you, trying to out-maneuver that ancient feline is an absolute nightmare! I spent hours grinding my teeth down to dust, and I still couldn't successfully steer her out of my business! We came within a hair's breadth of a full physical altercation..."
The absolute first thing out of the strategist's mouth was a desperate monologue detailing the sheer volume of suffering she had endured at Kal'tsit's hands.
Jeanne sat quietly on the edge of her bed, one hand gently resting on the sleeping form of Fafnir while she endured the rant, patiently waiting for the Doctor to return to the core topic and reveal the true nature of her original blueprint.
"Right, you were curious about our initial strategy to end the conflict," the Doctor's voice suddenly dropped, her entire demeanor shifting into an intense, heavy gravity. She leaned in close, her visor inches from Jeanne's face. "You must promise me on your life that this information stays between us. According to the original execution model... Queen Theresa was scheduled to lose her life within the year."
The devastating revelation hung in the quiet room. Jeanne's eyes widened to absolute circles, her jaw dropping as her mind went entirely blank, completely unable to formulate a single word of response.