"Look, I know you lot have a history with this guy, and I'm hardly his biggest fan either, but... isn't this getting a bit brutal?"
Jeanne stared at the heavy iron constraints with a look of mild disbelief. When she used to tie up farm animals back in the village, it hadn't taken half this effort. A solid right hook to the skull for some instant physical anesthesia was usually all it took, and you wouldn't have to worry about a thing after that.
She even tried selling the elite operators on her trusty physical knockout method. But when she accidentally punched a massive hole through a nearby stone wall while demonstrating her technique, every single operator present unanimously rejected the offer.
As little as anyone here liked the fallen Regent, they all understood one thing: he needed to be alive when he reached Kazdel.
Unless Theresis completely lost his mind and decided to end his own life, the operators were not about to risk killing their high-value prisoner beforehand.
"Your suggestion certainly offers a fresh perspective," one operator offered diplomatically, "but that method is... a little too straightforward and brutal. We are concerned that Theresis's skull might not survive the journey back to Kazdel, and none of us want to be known as the person who accidentally murdered a famous Sarkaz hero."
Reluctantly giving up on her favorite field-tested method under the weight of everyone's frantic protests, Jeanne could only stand by and watch as they jabbed syringe after syringe of heavy-duty sedatives into the man. Lucky bastard.
Is she really a Saintess? Why does it feel like this girl is far more ruthless than any Sarkaz?
The operators thought in collective silence, forcing their gazes elsewhere. Even Talulah showed zero intention of speaking up on Jeanne's behalf—the blunt-force alternative was honestly a bit too terrifying to contemplate.
Are you sure you aren't just looking for an excuse to vent your anger because his men cornered you earlier?
Fortunately, Jeanne didn't dwell on Theresis's fate for long. There was another familiar face sitting tied up in the dark corner—someone she was fairly sure she had crossed paths with twice before.
"Your memory serves you well. We have indeed met on two previous occasions," the Confessarius remarked smoothly, retaining a veneer of courtly elegance despite his current predicament. He sat bound in heavy iron chains, his expression entirely hidden behind his solemn mask.
Judging by his tone, however, the man was practically dripping with bitter regret. Every word carried an underlying sting of resentment; he clearly wasn't enjoying his current predicament as much as his composed posture suggested.
Being captured twice by the exact same person—and having his life held hostage each time—was a profound insult to a proud Confessarius, especially when he lacked the power to fight back.
"I'm actually a little curious," Jeanne admitted, leaning in slightly. "What makes you keep coming back around me time and time again? What's so special about the people around me that you're willing to throw your life away for it?"
"He doesn't care about his own life," Shining cut in, stealing the floor from the prisoner to answer on his behalf. "The lineage of the Confessarii frees them from the fear of death. I am not certain if he has produced an heir yet, but I imagine he has already made preparations elsewhere. One way or another, he will return to the family in a different form."
Jeanne listened to Shining's cryptic explanation, suddenly questioning her own intelligence. Was it a lack of brainpower, or was her education level just too low? That was the real question.
Hearing Shining speak, the bound Confessarius finally reacted, raising his masked head to face her with a deeply unsettling tone. "Exposing our family secrets so casually... my dear sister, you really are something..."
It was almost hard to believe that this figure—whose outer appearance gave no hint of his true age—was actually Shining's younger brother. For the longest time, Jeanne had assumed he was her father.
Then again, the physical aging process of the Sarkaz made it nearly impossible to guess anyone's real age. Look at Theresa—who would ever guess she was pushing two hundred? A number like that didn't just make her old enough to be Jeanne's elder sister; she could easily be Jeanne's great-grandmother. It was thoroughly mind-boggling.
Rule number one: Never try to figure out Sarkaz family trees, Jeanne thought to herself, firmly holding onto her belief that she was an eternally nineteen-year-old maiden.
"So spill it," Jeanne turned back to the prisoner. "Who's pulling your strings from behind the curtain? Which grand duke was resourceful enough to sneak you into Victoria halfway through the war? And what do they expect you to do for them in return?"
That was what Jeanne genuinely cared about. More importantly, if this treacherous duke posed a threat to Talulah, who had yet to leave the area, Jeanne needed to know now.
"Who can say?" the Confessarius rasped with a dry chuckle. "Perhaps Duke Wellington? Or maybe Lancaster? Golden's domain, or Normandy... none of them are out of the question..."
"Is dragging out your words right before you die a family tradition of yours?" Jeanne asked, casting a helpless look toward Shining. Had her brother been corrupted by their family environment?
The contrast between him and Shining was just way too massive!
What Jeanne didn't realize was that this sinister demeanor was actually the standard baseline for a Confessarius; Shining was the rare exception who had grown up differently.
"You may leave him with just enough breath to speak and beat him as you see fit," Shining offered calmly, displaying her duty as an elder sister by selling out her dear brother without a second thought.
"It's Duke Stafford!" the man blurted out immediately, his aristocratic composure shattering instantly. Knowing that Jeanne's little fists could shatter all his ribs in a single strike, he folded like a house of cards under his sister's merciless permission. "He's near the end of his lifespan! He wanted to use our strength to tip the scales of Victoria's political landscape in his favor!"
"So back then, you joined forces with him to target Laterano, aiming to strike while their defensive forces were stretched thin," Talulah chimed in, picking up the thread of the conversation. "When that failed, you laid low for a while."
"And after you lost your internal conflict, that duke continued providing you with everything you needed, waiting for an opportunity to help him seize control of Victoria. So when we showed up, the old duke shifted his attention toward the legendary Sigh of Kings..."
Talulah pieced the story together, marveling at how superstitious a high-ranking noble could be. Imagine derailing an entire political strategy just for a legendary sword! Did the man genuinely believe the old fable that whoever pulled the blade would become the true King of Victoria? How was that any different from the ancient emperors of Yan obsessing over elixirs of immortality?
Why would a scheming political mastermind fall for a fairytale that was basically a glorified scam? Unless...
Jeanne glanced back at the bound Sarkaz. A group of ancient Sarkaz who had lived for centuries, now reduced to desperate circumstances, feeding an old noble a tailored fable... it was incredibly easy to fall for.
"Leave the rest to us," Jeanne suddenly blurted out, her demeanor shifting as she began ushering the operators toward the exit. "I think you all should leave right away. Any longer, and this guy's backup might actually show up."
Her sudden urge to clear the room caught the unfamiliar operators off guard, but those who knew Jeanne well immediately understood. Her mysterious intuition—her Revelation—was telling her that if they delayed any further, they might not even be able to transport Theresis out safely. They needed to move, now.
The group began urging Kal'tsit to wrap up her private meeting inside. Before the Feline doctor emerged, however, a line of dejected Sarkaz soldiers filed out first, voluntarily stepping up to help carry the heavy equipment.
"What in the world did these Sarkaz go through?" one operator muttered under his breath, watching the humbled captives. "They look like they were trampled by fifty Originium beasts back-to-back."
The surrounding operators quickly glared at him, warning him not to provoke the already traumatized prisoners.
"We will escort them back to Kazdel first," an operator called out as they prepped the transport gear. "Once we return to the landship, our team will assist with the relocation..."
"We'll be taking our leave now! Next time you visit Rhodes Island, dinner's on us!"
"We really owe you one! Things would never have gone this smoothly without your help..."
As the crowd dispersed and the long-buried mausoleum of kings quieted down once more, Jeanne took in the peaceful silence of the ancient stone vault. Reflecting on everything that had transpired over the course of a single day, she reached out and slapped Talulah cheerfully on the shoulder.
"Today turned out pretty well, didn't it?"
Talulah stared back at her with wide, incredulous eyes, completely speechless at the sheer audacity of the girl standing beside her. How can you say that with a straight face?!