How should one describe the surge of morale the Saintess's draconic beasts brought to the vanguard operators? Jeanne heard rumors that if they weren't actively in the middle of a deployment cycle, these operators would have already found a mess hall to set out the liquor and drink themselves under the table!
After all, they had experienced the raw power of these creatures firsthand. Even with their elite coordination, they had almost been taken off the board entirely. Compared to their own capabilities, the rogue mercenaries marching under the Regent's banner stood zero chance. To these massive drakes, the enemy soldiers would probably look like bite-sized snacks.
Perhaps their overwhelming joy was tied to the fact that this was the most spectacular piece of good news they had received in a very long time, allowing them to finally loosen their iron-clad focus and relax their frayed nerves.
As for how Jeanne learned about their aborted victory party? The operators had actually tracked her down to extend a formal invitation to join the festivities, though the gathering ultimately never materialized.
Then again, the base wasn't under such immediate threat that every single soul needed to maintain a high-alert defensive posture around the clock. As long as the scheduled sentries kept watch, the rest of the crew was perfectly entitled to enjoy a glass of wine during their downtime.
Since the vanguard squad had just endured a relentless thrashing from her manifestation, the Doctor had generously granted them a full day of administrative leave. This meant that as long as they kept their celebration reasonably quiet, nobody would raise an objection.
Unfortunately, the operators were mid-sentence inviting the Saintess when Kal'tsit abruptly walked around the corner. The instant she materialized, the entire plan evaporated. Without the medical officer even uttering a word of reprimand, the veterans voluntarily called off the party, shifting the entire event into the indefinite future.
Jeanne stood there, thoroughly at a loss for words. Her intuition told her that Kal'tsit hadn't stepped out to ambush the operators; she had clearly been searching for the Saintess to discuss an independent matter.
Yet, the moment the vanguard scrambled away, Kal'tsit merely stood in place, offering Jeanne a long, unblinking look before tossing out two casual, unrelated remarks and walking away, looking exactly like a pedestrian who had simply wandered into the wrong corridor.
Watching her retreat, Jeanne couldn't help but voice her profound internal confusion. What on earth was wrong with the people in this facility? Did everyone here possess a fundamental inability to look someone in the eye and state their true intentions plainly?
The Saintess found the entire corporate culture completely beyond her comprehension! Why couldn't anyone just sit down and have a straightforward conversation? Was she the one missing a piece of the puzzle, or were all of them thoroughly unhinged?
Unable to deduce an answer, Jeanne glanced down at her little ornament, promptly abandoned the high-level philosophy, and carried her tiny companion back to her private quarters.
Forget it, there was zero point in wasting mental energy on these riddles. Instead of burning her remaining brain cells on the social dynamics of Babel, she might as well spend the evening coddling little Fafnir.
Still, considering she would likely be embedded with this unit for a considerable stretch of time, she should probably send a brief update to Talulah. As for the situation regarding Fafnir... it was probably best to keep that a closely guarded secret for now.
As she mentally prepared to report her whereabouts to her other draconic companion back home, Jeanne completely overlooked the mechanics of the manifestation cycle. She failed to realize exactly what kind of physical ordeal awaited her in the coming days.
If anyone were to ask Jeanne later how she felt once the reality finally set in, the Saintess could only offer a confession of profound, unadulterated regret. She was thoroughly, deeply remorseful. Why on earth had she blindly agreed to field a whole battalion of lesser drakes to secure their transport route?
Over the subsequent days, Jeanne's daily routine descended into a harrowing cycle of consuming raw Originium crystals and swallowing highly concentrated Originium solutions. She quickly learned that she desperately needed to engineer a superior methodology for replenishing her mana; otherwise, she was going to chip her teeth down to the bone chewing on raw rocks.
Yet, despite tinkering with her arrays for days, she failed to discover any alternative magical catalyst. She desperately wanted to break the cycle; if she had to swallow one more crystallized rock, she was going to suffer a complete psychological breakdown!
Jeanne sat at her small desk, mechanically forcing a spoonful of standard rations into her mouth. Her entire taste profile had been violently assaulted by her magic replenishment regimen over the past forty-eight hours, leaving her regular food completely flavorless.
She had learned the hard way exactly what a high-density Originium solution tasted like. It was a treacherous blend of bitter and stinging heat, overlaid with a sharp brininess and a thoroughly bizarre, chalky aftertaste that caused a violent shiver to run from her scalp all the way down to her tailbone.
Look at her now! Even a glass of pure water tasted entirely hollow.
"Are you holding up alright? If the physical toll is too severe, we can simply abandon the design and formulate a different approach! We cannot allow a defensive recruitment strategy to permanently compromise your health," the Doctor noted, her voice laced with genuine concern as she watched Jeanne stare blankly at her plate. She was truly worried the Saintess might sustain lasting damage from the process, which would completely defeat the purpose of their alliance.
"No!" Jeanne countered, her delivery absolute and unyielding. The Doctor could practically see a pair of raging fires ignite deep within the Saintess's eyes.
"I have already endured days of absolute torture! If we abandon the project now, then every single ounce of misery I swallowed will have been entirely in vain!"
To emphasize her point, Jeanne aggressively shoved a massive mountain of rice into her mouth. The Doctor stared at her as if looking at a legendary warrior marching into a hopeless battle, offering a soft, cautious reminder:
"Based on our calculations of your current magical reserves, and judging by your present rate of absorption... you will need to continue this diet for at least another full week to completely clear your deficit."
The Doctor's voice lost its steady edge. She was genuinely struggling to predict whether Jeanne would reach her absolute limit and break out of the facility to escape the culinary nightmare.
The fierce, defiant aura surrounding the Saintess instantly deflated. She slumped in her seat, listlessly moving her spoon through her food as the bleak reality of her immediate future loomed over her.
"I will find a loophole. There must be a more elegant shortcut that bypasses this agonizing process, allowing me to execute the manifestations without converting my stomach into a refinery."
Despite her brave words, Jeanne knew that if a superior methodology existed, she would have deployed it days ago instead of subjecting herself to this chemical warfare. What was she supposed to do?
More importantly, a deeper anxiety began to take root. If she eventually joined a massive frontline operation alongside Talulah and required an entire legion of flying wyverns to turn the tide of a major battle, how would she manage? This was a critical vulnerability that demanded a permanent solution.
In the past, her skirmishes had been minor, localized encounters requiring only a handful of drakes. But what about the future? When she eventually faced a grand, world-altering conflict, how would she bridge the gap?
Dear God, how am I supposed to survive the coming week? Jeanne's internal composure shattered completely. She desperately wished for an ancient, all-knowing scholar to materialize and deliver her from this living nightmare.
Wait...
When exactly had she completely forgotten about her own household guardian? She possessed a direct line to her supreme Deity! She could have simply petitioned her God to provide an elegant solution to the magical deficit! How had she managed to overlook such an obvious option for days?
Jeanne desperately wanted to punch her own forehead a few times. Was she completely devoid of basic common sense? During her nightly prayers over the past week, she had somehow managed to completely omit a formal request for divine assistance regarding her dietary crisis!
The Doctor watched as Jeanne suddenly froze in place, sitting entirely motionless with her large eyes wide open, staring into the middle distance as if processing a profound revelation. Then, in the very next heartbeat, the Saintess unconsciously snapped the heavy metal spoon in her hand completely in half.
The Doctor: "..."
She was seriously beginning to wonder if the crystal diet had finally fractured the Saintess's psychological stability. Was the girl about to experience a sudden psychotic break and systematically dismantle the dining hall?
Surely... not... right?
Under the strategist's anxious watch, Jeanne finished her dinner with mechanical efficiency, ignoring the environment entirely like a phantom before drifting silently out of the room.
That very evening, Jeanne integrated the crisis into her daily devotions. The sheer, pathetic desperation vibrating through her internal prayers was so profound that little Fafnir began to suspect someone within the base had severely mistreated her caretaker.
Though the Saintess repeatedly assured the young dragon that her distress was tied to a complex web of logistical variables, the little creature remained thoroughly skeptical.
Fafnir delivered a sharp, squinting look that made Jeanne wonder if the young dragon had somehow discovered that she had quietly sneaked a few bites of her private emergency rations the night before.
When Jeanne finally drifted into a deep sleep that night, a magnificent cascade of gentle radiance materialized in her dreams, wrapping around her frame. The warmth of the divine light washed away every ounce of exhaustion and chemical bitterness she had accumulated over the past week, leaving her in a state of absolute, blissful comfort.
The moment she opened her eyes the following morning, Jeanne felt a surge of physical vitality that could only be described as unprecedented! She felt as though her entire biological frame had been completely reborn.
More importantly, a brand-new miracle had been etched into her consciousness—a sophisticated technique that completely bypassed her internal mana channels, allowing her to manifest the draconic entities by directly utilizing raw Originium or refined Originium primes as a external catalyst.
Praise be to the all-powerful God! She was finally liberated from the agonizing necessity of chewing on raw crystals every single morning. Why on earth had she forgotten how utterly dependable her God truly was? She honestly couldn't comprehend her own temporary foolishness.