"Great, great!" Flandre clapped her small hands, her red eyes sparkling with excitement. She had always been fond of games, races, and any lively spectacle.
"That's settled then. I happen to have the day off after tomorrow, so we can all go down to the track together," Beatrice replied with a warm smile, gently squeezing Flandre's hand.
As they were chatting, Patchouli emerged from her room wearing her soft purple pajamas. Seeing Flandre and Beatrice standing near the doorway, she tilted her head with quiet curiosity. "Why are you two awake so early?"
"Because we slept out here!" Beatrice pointed to the living room sofa, which still bore a distinct, rumpled depression where the two had been curled up all night.
Patchouli adjusted her nightgown slightly. "Alright... Since you can't handle catnip, Ms. Beatrice, please be more careful next time."
Beatrice's cheeks instantly flushed a deep, embarrassed pink. "Um... I'm sure Flandre didn't mean any harm by it," she murmured, shifting her feet.
"I know," Patchouli replied mildly. "Still, you need to make it clear to Flandre so we don't have a repeat of last night."
Not long after, Hong Meiling emerged from her room, stretching lazily as she joined them for breakfast. Over the morning meal, Beatrice brought up the upcoming outer-ring motorcycle race again. "Are you interested, Lady Patchouli? Why don't you join us?"
Although tickets for the venue were notoriously difficult to secure on short notice, Beatrice held considerable sway within the Guard Department; securing entry passes for their group was hardly a challenge.
Patchouli shook her head softly. She rarely cared for noisy, crowded events, preferring the quiet solitude of a library. "I think I'll pass. Reading is a better use of my time."
Beatrice looked at her, her expression turning earnest. "I've heard that ever since you arrived in Lungmen, Lady Patchouli, you've spent nearly every single day buried in the grand library. I truly admire your boundless thirst for knowledge... but Flandre is your family. Now that you're here in this world, wouldn't it be better to spend a little more time together?"
Patchouli paused, her amethyst eyes widening slightly in surprise. She stared at Beatrice for a few silent seconds before letting out a soft, resigned breath. "You make a valid point. The day after tomorrow, correct? I will come along."
Seeing Patchouli concede, Beatrice flashed a triumphant wink at Flandre.
Flandre beamed, bouncing in her seat. "That's wonderful! We can all go together!"
After breakfast, everyone set off to handle their respective affairs.
Flandre and Meiling hadn't gone far from the residence when Flandre's phone rang. It was Ch'en. A sizable group of Sarkaz refugees had recently arrived in the southwestern territories outside Lungmen's jurisdiction. They had migrated all the way from the scorched wastes of Kazdel after rumors reached them that Lungmen had harbored a high-ranking Blood Demon—referring, of course, to Flandre.
The higher-ups of the Lungmen Guard Department had tasked Ch'en with leading a small recon unit to ascertain the refugees' true motives. Thinking of Flandre's unique status among the Sarkaz, Ch'en hoped the little girl could accompany her to inspect the settlement.
"Sure thing, Sister Ch'en! Meiling and I will head over to the Guard Department right away," Flandre agreed without a second thought.
Hanging up, she relayed the situation to Meiling.
"Going outside the city limits?" Meiling asked, stroking her chin. "Will we be able to make it back before nightfall?"
"I'm not sure," Flandre replied after a moment's thought. "But we don't have anything urgent scheduled for tomorrow anyway. As long as we're back in time for the race the day after tomorrow, it'll be fine!"
"That's true," Meiling nodded.
When the two arrived at the Guard Department headquarters, Ch'en was already waiting beside an extended, heavy-duty off-road vehicle. She gestured for them to hop in. Aside from Ch'en herself, the vehicle carried an official from the Lungmen Household Registration Office and three armed escort guards. With Flandre and Meiling on board, the large transport was completely filled.
After a three-hour drive across the uneven wasteland roads, the vehicle pulled up outside a small, desolate encampment.
Stepping out, the group surveyed the settlement. The gathering consisted of roughly thirty to forty people, all clad in threadbare, tattered garments. They were a pathetic sight—malnourished, weary, and visibly impoverished. Children made up nearly a third of their total numbers, alongside elderly folk and exhausted women.
In the entire encampment, there were only five adult men.
The moment the vehicle arrived, the Sarkaz refugees turned their gazes toward the newcomers. Their eyes instantly locked onto Flandre, recognizing the distinct aura and physical traits of a Blood Demon. Seeing her standing safely alongside human officials, a collective wave of relief swept over the ragged crowd.
The elder of the group stepped forward to state their purpose.
Life in Kazdel was a ceaseless nightmare, where food was scarce and death was a daily guarantee. The young and strong could sell their bodies and lives as mercenaries for a bowl of soup, but the elderly, the sick, and the children had no such option. Yet despite the hardship, the community desperately wanted their children to survive.
When news traveled to their ears that Lungmen had accepted a Blood Demon into its borders, the desperate refugees saw a faint sliver of hope. Pushed to the brink of starvation, they reasoned that if Lungmen could tolerate a Blood Demon, perhaps it could grant asylum to a handful of harmless refugees.
Or, if the authorities feared that adult Sarkaz posed a security threat, the five capable men were entirely willing to enlist directly in Lungmen's defensive auxiliary forces as contract warriors—promising their loyalty and lives in exchange for a secure, stable shelter for their women, children, and elders.
Hearing their plea, Ch'en's brow furrowed tightly.
Before setting out today, she had consulted several senior officials regarding how to handle potential Sarkaz refugees. The overwhelming consensus was that the Sarkaz were a dangerous hot potato; admitting them in significant numbers could destabilize Lungmen's strict social order. A few hardliners had even suggested turning them away outright, arguing that the political entanglements surrounding Kazdel were far too hazardous for Lungmen to touch.
After all, Lungmen was geographically close to Kazdel. If one of these refugees turned out to be a wanted fugitive or a former insurgent, outside factions might eventually come demanding custody. Handing them over would destroy Lungmen's diplomatic prestige and make Great Yan look weak; refusing to hand them over would invite retaliation from hostile mercenary warbands.
Most of the advisers Ch'en spoke with harbored deep-seated prejudices against the Sarkaz, making rejection seem like the safest, most logical path. Yet looking at the hollow cheeks of the starving children, Ch'en found herself utterly unable to give the order to drive them away. That was why she had brought Flandre along—hoping the little girl's presence might offer a fresh perspective.
Flandre scratched her head as Ch'en quietly explained her dilemma. She wasn't Satori Komeiji; she couldn't read minds to figure out if these people had hidden motives. But looking at the thin, fragile children huddled against their mothers, her inherently gentle nature made it impossible to turn them back into the harsh desert.
After a moment of thought, a sudden idea struck her. She pulled Ch'en aside by her sleeve.
"Sister Ch'en, what if we let them stay, but pick out the smart, clever ones among the children and send them over to Rhodes Island for school and training?" Flandre suggested softly.
Ch'en blinked, considering the proposal before shaking her head slightly. "Leaving aside whether these parents would part with their children, would Rhodes Island really agree to train talent on behalf of another faction?"
Flandre then patiently explained the unique operational structure and educational philosophy of Rhodes Island—how they functioned as an independent medical and humanitarian organization dedicated to rescuing the Infected and educating youth regardless of background.
Listening to Flandre's explanation, Ch'en fell into deep thought. The more she considered it, the more sensible it sounded. At the very least, it provided a humane, structured path forward for these desperate people without compromising Lungmen's security—and she certainly didn't have the heart to abandon those starving children to the waste.