Jeanne turned to glance at Outcast, who seemed to be in a remarkably good mood today. The old woman radiated a different energy compared to recent days, clearly uplifted by the encouraging news from Rhodes Island.
It was completely understandable. Having lived through the long struggle alongside Kal'tsit and the others, how could she not feel relief at seeing their efforts finally bear fruit?
Jeanne could easily picture the Babel veterans aboard the main landship breaking into celebration, marking the day their years-long civil conflict finally came to a definitive close.
"You seem pretty happy about how things turned out," Jeanne noted casually, looking over at the elderly Sankta.
Outcast blinked in mild surprise before her composure returned in an instant, her warm smile broadening slightly.
"I'm just happy for Theresa and Kal'tsit," she said, gazing out toward the distant sky with a soft sigh. "Having this matter resolved like this is good news for everyone involved. We can finally put this chapter to rest."
As someone who had survived the grueling conflict, the old Sankta found the outcome deeply satisfying.
"Is it really completely over, though?" Jeanne pressed, still harborings doubts about the former Regent. "No one knows how Theresa plans to handle Theresis yet. Isn't she worried he'll turn around and cause another mess?"
Jeanne couldn't bring herself to trust the man. He didn't seem like the type to accept defeat quietly. Who knew what scheme he might conjure up once the dust settled?
She refused to believe a single defeat would render him harmless. After all, even after his forces were battered into near collapse, he still had the nerve to lay a trap for them at the Resting Place of the Kings. Had Jeanne not been capable of fighting her way out, the outcome might have ended disastrously.
A man like that would never sit idle in Kazdel just because he was brought back in chains. To believe otherwise was pure wishful thinking—especially since his status as a legendary hero among the Sarkaz remained largely intact.
"Don't worry," Outcast reassured her comfortably. "Theresa hasn't explicitly stated how she'll deal with him, but she isn't the type to let personal feelings blind her judgment. My guess is he's facing lifelong confinement—or spending the rest of his days under her Arts. Don't forget, Theresa is the Demon King."
Outcast showed little concern over the matter. If anything, she trusted that the Demon King already had a firm plan for her sibling, a belief shared by nearly everyone on Rhodes Island.
While Her Highness appeared gentle and soft-spoken on the surface, she understood the weight of her ideals and knew when to act decisively. Jeanne's fears were unlikely to come to pass.
"It's a bit of a shame we won't see him meet his end," Outcast mused, "but thinking of him wandering Kazdel like a puppet beyond his own control... that's not the worst outcome either."
Hearing that possibility made Jeanne shudder. Ending his life outright felt almost merciful by comparison. Turning a man like him into a mindless vessel was a terrifying thought.
Knowing how prideful the former Regent was, Jeanne was certain he would rather suffer death than endure such an existence. He was hardly the sort to crawl in the dirt just to keep breathing.
"Still, if you're really that worried, you could always ask Theresa directly!" Outcast suggested with a small smile. "After all, you were the one who helped capture him. You have every right to know how he's being handled."
"Me?" Jeanne blinked, suddenly realizing she could simply ask Kal'tsit or Theresa for the details. She scratched her head with an embarrassed grin, having completely overlooked that option.
She rarely gave much thought to such formalities. If Outcast hadn't brought it up, she likely would have waited until Rhodes Island docked to learn anything.
"I'll just ask when we meet up," Jeanne decided. "I'm mostly worried that Theresa's hard work might be undone by a moment of leniency. That would be a terrible waste."
It wouldn't take long for Rhodes Island to reach their current location anyway, so waiting a little longer was no trouble at all.
As the two were chatting, a sudden commotion broke out in the streets outside. Loud shouts and panicked running echoed through the city, drawing their attention instantly.
"What's going on out there?" Jeanne asked, stepping toward the window to get a better look at the bustling crowd below.
People were fleeing deeper into the city as if they had seen a ghost, their faces pale with terror as they cast frantic glances toward the outer boundary.
Jeanne tried to catch a couple of passersby to ask what was happening, but the terrified citizens dodged right past her, sprinting for safety without slowing down.
"Looks like another disturbance," Outcast said, reaching for her patron gun. "Come on, let's go take a look outside."
She was genuinely puzzled. What could possibly scare these battle-hardened Taran refugees to such an extent? Had some ancient horror unearthed itself from beneath the earth?
When the two reached the outskirts, they realized the threat wasn't a giant beast or a Catastrophe. It was something far more eerie: a tide of the undead.
Approaching the city walls was a crowd composed of people in Dublinn uniforms alongside others in plain attire. Yet every single one of them felt unnervingly wrong.
They didn't move like living beings. They shuffled forward in silence like animated corpses, marching relentlessly toward the city gates.
It was no wonder the civilians had panicked. Anyone coming across such an unholy sight would feel their courage shatter—especially after enduring months of constant strife.
"What is this?" Outcast observed from a distance, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the advancing soldiers. "They don't look alive."
Jeanne nodded grimly. She could feel it too—there was no life left in those bodies. They were mindless husks driven solely by Arts fire, shuffling forward on instinct.
It was an Arts technique Jeanne had encountered before, which made their appearance all the more baffling. Why were these puppet-like corpses appearing here now?
This was supposed to be the signature technique of Dublinn's Draco leader. They had seen her use similar Originium Arts back during the uprising. Had that woman rallied Dublinn and returned for round two?
Before Jeanne could step in, a burst of bright orange flame erupted in the distance.
Talulah arrived at the defense line ahead of them. Channeling her own flame Arts, she severed the magical hold binding the corpses. The lifeless figures collapsed instantly to the ground, dropping like puppets with their strings cut.
It seemed the Arts of the Draco bloodlines could interfere with one another. Even though Talulah's fire behaved differently on the surface, its underlying essence possessed enough commonality to disrupt the spell.
"What happened? Is Dublinn attacking us?" Jeanne asked, hurrying to Talulah's side. Looking out at the endless stream of corpses still marching forward, she felt a chill creep up her spine.
It wasn't fear of ghosts or monsters; it was the sickening, unnatural manner in which the bodies moved, enough to give anyone goosebumps.