A few days later, when Jeanne and the others caught sight of the massive high-speed warship, they were thoroughly struck by the sheer presence of the Victorian titan.
Kal'tsit, however, observed the landship with an unfazed composure, looking as if she had encountered the floating vessel multiple times before and knew its internal architecture inside out.
"The high-speed warship Gastrell," Kal'tsit explained, offering a rare breakdown of the vessel to those beside her. "It represents the absolute pinnacle of modern Victorian engineering. Even among the sea of high-speed warships across the continent, this mobile fortress stands out as a marvel of advanced naval technology. It serves as the primary symbol of Victoria's military might."
Hearing Kal'tsit speak with such familiar authority, Jeanne almost wondered if the doctor had spent time walking its passageways in years past. In terms of national prestige, the ship held a place in Victorian hearts similar to the Steam Knights—a legendary symbol of victory.
"You sound remarkably familiar with it," Jeanne noted, glancing at her with a hint of curiosity. "Did you ever step foot aboard it in the past?"
Kal'tsit glanced back, shaking her head lightly to dispel Jeanne's whimsical theory.
"I have never stepped onto that warship. As one of Victoria's most closely guarded secrets, they would hardly grant an outsider like me access to its decks."
Despite her answer, Jeanne kept a skeptical eye on her. She couldn't shake the feeling that Kal'tsit might still know a secret hatch or two—information that could prove rather handy if negotiations went south and they needed to play hide-and-seek inside the hull.
Then again, Jeanne quickly caught herself. It was a purpose-built military warship; every corridor was cataloged and guarded. Hoping for a convenient, forgotten crawlspace was pure wishful thinking on her part.
"There is no need to look at me like that," Kal'tsit added, catching Jeanne's lingering doubt. "That warship was constructed barely fifteen years ago. Back then, I was in Kazdel at Theresa's side. I hardly had the leisure to travel here for ship construction tours."
She wanted to nip any reckless assumptions in the bud, lest Jeanne say something offhand aboard the vessel that might make the Duke suspect Rhodes Island of corporate espionage.
Amiya stood nearby, listening silently. Feeling entirely out of her depth regarding high-level naval affairs, the young rabbit simply stared at the towering warship in quiet contemplation.
"Is that so? What a shame," Jeanne sighed with a light wave of her hand. "I was hoping you had a bit of insider knowledge to give us an upper hand."
"While I lack blueprints, there is one detail you might find intriguing," Kal'tsit remarked, her voice dropping into a measured tone that instantly recaptured Jeanne's attention.
"The primary keel of that vessel was salvaged from Lingones, the former capital of Gaul—the grand city once hailed as the Capital of the World. The frame beneath its armor plating is a relic of Gaul."
Kal'tsit shared the historical detail while studying Jeanne's reaction, curious to see if the name of her namesake's ancient home would stir any emotional response.
To her slight disappointment, Jeanne merely looked surprised. There was no deep nostalgia or sudden sorrow in her eyes.
Reflecting on it, Kal'tsit realized her expectation was misplaced. The Gaul of Terra was merely a nation sharing a similar name; it held no direct lineage to the France of Jeanne's former life. Expecting the girl to grow emotional over a fallen Terran empire was a leap in logic.
"Part of its keel came from Gaul's capital?" Talulah murmured in genuine surprise. Even in Ursus, legends of Gaul persisted. To think this steel beast held the bones of that fallen giant!
Though Gaul had been reduced to ashes during the War of the Four Emperors, its cultural footprint remained vast. Even decades after its fall, the Gaullish language remained a mark of high society, and its art forms were still fiercely emulated across the grand courts of Terra.
"To think it carries pieces of Gaul..." Jeanne murmured, gazing at the distant warship. A strange, fleeting sensation crossed her heart, though she brushed it aside almost immediately.
As they conversed, a salvo of light charges burst from the warship's upper deck, filling the air with the deep, rhythmic thud of ceremonial broadsides—a formal salute extended across the plains.
Jeanne and Talulah understood the gesture clearly. It was both a formal welcome inviting them aboard and a challenge: a grand gesture asking if the Draco and her companion had the courage to step onto the crowning achievement of Victorian war engineering.
"I will await your safe return here," Kal'tsit said, her expression turning serious as she looked at the two determined women. "May your meeting with the Duke of Iron prove constructive, and may you return without harm."
Though simple, the words carried genuine weight. Jeanne and Talulah offered a quiet nod of thanks before mounting the wyvern and taking to the skies, heading straight toward the floating fortress.
"How are you feeling?" Jeanne asked, leaning forward over the creature's neck as she watched the heavy artillery batteries on the main deck glint in the cold sunlight. "If those cannons open fire while we land, we'll be swatted out of the sky before we touch the deck."
"Then my life rests in your hands," Talulah replied smoothly, without a trace of hesitation. "It wouldn't be the first time I've trusted you with my neck. I'm quite used to it by now."
Talulah had made her choice, and she was not one to indulge in second-guessing.
"So this is the warship built from Gaul's capital..." Talulah mused, scanning the sleek structure below. "You can hardly tell its core belongs to an old city, though I suppose all the old architecture was scrapped long ago."
Meanwhile, upon the grand deck of the Gastrell—a warship named after the fiercest general who once served King Gair—a solitary, weathered figure stood watching the approaching sky.
It was an elderly Feline, slight of frame compared to the broad-shouldered Victorian guards standing in stern formation around him. Yet despite his frail appearance, his eyes burned with an sharp, unrelenting intensity.
The Duke of Iron, Wellington, stood atop his proudest vessel, waiting to receive his guests.