Even though Jeanne had completely abandoned all hope regarding the engineering division's progress—and had fully prepared herself for the Doctor to arrive with a formal notice that the operation was being postponed—she never anticipated that these eccentric individuals would actually initiate the grand departure exactly on schedule!
She remained thoroughly mystified as to how Closure's crew managed to maintain absolute confidence in the massive giant's structural safety, especially given that the facility had been plagued by multiple blackouts every single day. Nevertheless, the reality stood: the Demon King had officially authorized the deployment.
On the morning of their departure, Jeanne watched in awe as the gargantuan landship moved like a prehistoric apex predator shaking off its slumber. Within moments, its reinforced prow violently ruptured the upper layers of earth, tearing free from the excavation pit to bask in the raw, brilliant sunlight of Terra.
The spectacle gave the Saintess a newfound appreciation for the sheer structural integrity of the vessel. Even though the dense sediment above the hull had been systematically cleared over the years, forcing a multi-million-ton iron fortress to punch through the remaining crust was still a monumental feat.
While Jeanne sat in a quiet corner of the observation deck pondering these thoughts, Rhodes Island executed its very first forward march, rapidly gathering momentum as it charted a direct course toward the borders of Kazdel.
Outside intelligence scouts who had been keeping a quiet watch over the excavation zone were thrown into absolute, unmitigated shock. Not a single spy had anticipated that this ragged organization would unearth a mobile fortress of this staggering scale from a simple dirt pit! What an incredibly enviable stroke of cosmic luck!
Indeed, in the eyes of the surrounding factions, the leaders of Babel had simply stumbled upon a historic lottery ticket. Tales of heavy industrial crews discovering ancient tech caches within the deep mining networks of Rim Billiton were relatively common, though historical records had never documented a discovery quite this priceless or intact.
More than anything, the local observers were utterly consumed by curiosity regarding the hidden hand backing this pharmaceutical front. The raw capability required to overhaul and successfully launch a titan-class landship from scratch suggested a tier of resourcefulness they had severely underestimated.
Left with zero alternative, the field scouts frantically dispatched encrypted reports back to their respective high commands. They could do nothing but watch helplessly as the massive iron mountain swept away from the canyon, scrambling to organize reconnaissance teams to trail behind its wake.
"On a serious note, how on earth did your people resolve the endless mechanical faults across this giant in such a compressed window?"
Aboard the cruising vessel, Jeanne watched the jagged wasteland scenery rapidly receding through the massive viewport. She casually tossed the question toward the Doctor, who was resting in the seat beside her, finally addressing the mystery that had been puzzling her for days.
As for the grand strategist? She looked thoroughly spent, slumped in her chair as if her life force had been completely drained by a mountain of paperwork. Hearing the Saintess's inquiry, she let out a long, ragged sigh, taking a prolonged moment to gather her thoughts before offering a reply:
"We resolved absolutely nothing! Closure and her crews simply bypassed the corrupted nodes and systematically shut down the power grids to every single compromised sector. To be completely frank, if we hadn't spent the last few nights pulling grueling overtime shifts, I doubt we would have even restored the basic localized communications network."
Jeanne's lips twitched slightly at the revelation. While she had privately considered the possibility of a rough patch job, hearing the strategist explicitly confirm such a brutally simple methodology left her entirely speechless.
Still, the sheer resourcefulness required to execute such a high-stakes gamble was undeniable. Jeanne knew that if she had been placed in charge of overhauling the controls, the enterprise would have likely ended with little Fafnir physically lifting the fortress into the sky to fly them across the continent.
Bypassing the mechanical issues, the Saintess shifted her focus toward the looming hazards of their route. Evaluating the Doctor's uncharacteristically intense posture, it was glaringly obvious that their upcoming journey would be anything but tranquil.
Realizing the stakes, Jeanne rose from her seat, intending to handle a critical piece of preparation. There was a vital asset she had promised to deliver for their vanguard, and the current window felt entirely appropriate to set the wheel in motion.
"Hm? Where are you heading?" the Doctor inquired, her eyes tracking the Saintess's movement with sudden curiosity.
"To summon your vanguard reinforcements, of course! If I wait until our vanguard actively collides with an enemy blockade to initiate the summoning arrays, do you truly believe we will have enough time to match their numbers?"
With a casual wave of her hand, Jeanne marched toward a massive, high-ceilinged bay. According to the structural breakdown the Doctor had provided, this hollow cavern had originally been designed to house heavy logistics vehicles. Presently, however, the floor was entirely barren of machinery, replaced instead by vast mounds of raw Originium crystals.
The Doctor followed closely behind, stepping into the cavernous chamber. This specific sector had been designated as the optimal crucible for Jeanne to manifest her wyvern legion. Now that the landship was cruising through open territory, the timing was ideal to begin the ritual.
"Tell me," the Doctor remarked, watching the Saintess position herself before the crystal mounds, finally voicing a lingering question that had been drifting through her thoughts. "Are these creatures exclusively bound to your personal command?"
Her concern didn't stem from a lack of trust, but rather from basic biology—Jeanne was a mortal being who required regular cycles of deep sleep! If the sub-wyvern legion decided to stage a behavioral rebellion while their commander was unconscious, the internal security crisis would be catastrophic.
"In a purely theoretical sense, yes," Jeanne replied, pausing briefly to review her spiritual connection to the legion. "As of right now, I am the only soul alive who can direct their movements, though little Fafnir can also boss them around to a certain degree. The primary distinction is her methodology—she doesn't issue tactical commands so much as she simply terrifies them into absolute compliance."
The Saintess weighed the variables carefully. Truly, across the entire face of Terra, only she and the young dragon possessed the capability to dictate terms to these creatures. Not even Talulah, despite the ancient royal Draco blood flowing through her veins, could command this specific brand of obedience.
While the leader of the Reunion movement could theoretically utilize her Draconic heritage to negotiate a truce or request assistance from wild sub-beasts, forcing them to serve as an organized military vanguard was an entirely different tier of difficulty. Talulah would much rather handle a structural threat with her own two hands than waste her breath arguing with a stubborn and arrogant wyvern.
"But your security teams have zero reason to worry," Jeanne reassured her, a reassuring smile gracing her features. "I can systematically dismiss the bulk of the legion back into spiritual stasis whenever we are docked. As for the vanguard contingent we keep active on the decks, I will ensure they remain perfectly docile and obedient. Your only obligation is providing their daily rations."
As the final word left her lips, Jeanne focused her intent, channeling her newly mastered arts into the massive mounds of crystalline Originium before her. Instantly, a vibrant wave of biological energy rippled through the glowing minerals. Within a compressed window, the jagged outer shells began to violently crack apart as fully formed sub-wyverns ruptured forth into the material world.
Watching the spectacular genesis of over a hundred roaring beasts, the Doctor stood frozen. Although her historical memory held visions of far more cataclysmic, reality-shattering conflicts, witnessing a localized legion materialize out of raw minerals right before her eyes left her struggling to articulate the sensation.
Particularly when she factored in the reality that this terrifying force fought exclusively under Babel's banner, the strategist realized this might be the most beautifully simple campaign layout she had ever engineered since setting foot in Kazdel. If they simply executed a straightforward, frontal push utilizing this draconic vanguard, victory would be an absolute certainty.
After all, the forces guarding the border were primarily fragmented bands of mercenary outcasts, supplemented by a few standard regiments loyal to Theresis. The individual threat matrix of those soldiers wasn't exceptionally high; their only real strategic value lay in their overwhelming numbers and their frustrating tenacity...
"No... I must maintain absolute caution," the Doctor muttered to herself, violently shaking her head to suppress the dangerous wave of overconfidence swelling within her mind. "Even when holding a massive material advantage, a commander cannot allow arrogance to warp their judgment. Allowing oneself to inflate with pride will inevitably introduce fatal blind spots into the grander design..."
The strategist forced her focus back to the chamber, watching Jeanne interact with the newly born wyverns while little Fafnir stood off to the side, wearing a thoroughly displeased pout. Annoyed that her guardian's attention was being shared with other lizards, the young dragon was actively directing a low, terrifying growl at the sub-wyverns, scattering the lesser beasts in pure terror. Looking at the duo, the Doctor couldn't help but view them as the ultimate harbingers of good fortune for her cause.
"By the way, there is one more detail I meant to verify," Jeanne remarked, stepping away from the circling wyverns to address the brooding strategist. "Where exactly are the mercenary contracts your administration hired currently stationed? We have officially launched our deployment, yet I have seen zero sign of their vanguard elements aboard the vessel."
Caught completely off guard while lost in her own internal calculations, the Doctor let out a sharp gasp before recovering her composure. Once her brain processed the query, she offered a cool, detached breakdown:
"They are currently deployed along the perimeter zones, scouting the border terrain. Even though we have established a foundational itinerary, our final infiltration vector into the capital must be adjusted dynamically based on the localized defensive structures we encounter. You will cross paths with their vanguard elements in a couple of days."
When discussing the mercenaries, the Doctor's voice was entirely hollow of emotion, completely devoid of personal attachment. It was as if she were describing a series of autonomous instruments rather than living soldiers, showing zero underlying anxiety regarding their survival rates in the field.
Jeanne gave an understanding nod, letting the matter rest without pushing for further technical details. It had simply been a passing thought that had surfaced in her mind, prompting a casual inquiry.
Unbeknownst to the Saintess, the situation along the Kazdel frontier was already vastly more volatile than her calculations suggested! Because Theresis maintained an incredibly tight surveillance network around the Rim Billiton borders, the precise moment Rhodes Island initiated its forward march, the titan-class vessel had slid right into the Regent's crosshairs.
While the supreme commander of the military commission couldn't fathom what grand design his sister and her cloaked strategist were attempting to execute, one variable remained absolute: if Theresa attached monumental strategic value to this ancient landship, he would stop at nothing to wrest control of the hull for his own vanguard—and if seizure proved impossible, he would gladly see the entire structure reduced to molten slag!
This aggressive mandate had completely shattered the standard scouting phase. The mercenaries marching under Theresa's banner had already collided with the advance guards and elite shock troops loyal to Theresis, triggering a violent, bloody skirmish across the borderlands. Presently, the defensive elements of the Babel contracts were facing a severe, exhausting disadvantage.
The frontal assault had materialized days ahead of their strategic models, catching the mercenary bands completely off guard. Fortunately, the veterans weren't entirely lacking in tactical readiness.
As of this exact moment, the frontier had devolved into a brutal, grinding stalemate. The surviving mercenaries holding the line for the Demon King could do nothing but hold their ground in the trenches, praying that their sovereign's mobile fortress would accelerate its approach before their lines were permanently overrun.