Unlike Jeanne, who kept her cool when Theresa showed up, practically every single Sarkaz on the field froze in absolute shock the moment the pure white woman made her entrance.
When her Highness spoke, asking for the fighting to stop, something incredible happened: even though these mercenaries knew perfectly well they were on Theresis's payroll, every single one of them lost the will to keep fighting from the bottom of their hearts. Jeanne could clearly feel their battle intent melting away into nothing, yet she hadn't felt the woman use even a shred of hidden power. She had truly tamed these wild, beast-like warriors using nothing but her gentle words.
Is the Demon King's influence really that terrifying? Jeanne wondered, watching the weapons drop. To quiet down and disarm a horde of mindless, bloodthirsty mercenaries with just a single, quiet sentence?
But if she truly had that kind of absolute hold over her people, why on earth had Kazdel split in two in the first place? Why had they been locked in such a long, bloody civil war? Shouldn't a single word from her have settled the entire conflict years ago?
Jeanne's understanding of Theresa was still incredibly shallow, built entirely on the thin, paper-like descriptions she had heard from others, and the distant memories Patriot had shared about what kind of person the Demon King used to be years ago. She didn't know what kind of power the woman truly held, just as she didn't fully understand this fractured land called Kazdel or the mysterious nature of the Sarkaz race itself.
Jeanne let her gaze drift over the elite operators guarding Theresa... and realized she didn't recognize a single one of them. To her, these heavily masked fighters who barely showed their faces all looked pretty much the same.
Though that wasn't entirely true. Among the well-hidden elite operators, there was one person who stood out like a sore thumb. That person was just too glaringly obvious to miss!
The glowing halo floating above her head looked exactly like a bright fluorescent light tube, and there was absolutely no way to hide it. Standing among a sea of dark-horned Sarkaz, this Sankta woman looked like a crane standing in a flock of chickens, drawing a lot of strange, uneasy looks from the surrounding mercenaries.
What is wrong with this world? Jeanne thought, blinking. Why is a Sankta standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the forces of Babel? Since when did the relationship between the Sankta and the Sarkaz get this friendly?
The two races had been locked in a bloody cycle of killing each other for countless centuries. To see a member of a hated enemy race show up out of nowhere put everyone on edge. Even if this Sankta was technically one of the Demon King's subordinates, the surrounding mercenaries subconsciously raised their guard.
The Sankta woman seemed to realize she was a bit out of place standing there. After whispering a few words to Theresa, she stepped away from the main guard detachment and walked straight through the camp toward Kal'tsit.
Meanwhile, Kal'tsit was standing completely still, like a stone statue, her eyes locked onto Theresa. Even Mon3tr, who usually hovered aggressively at her side, had gone perfectly quiet, curling up like a well-behaved house cat.
After the Sankta woman chatted with Kal'tsit for a brief moment, the ancient doctor cast a long, lingering look back toward Theresa. Without making any move to speak with Jeanne, Kal'tsit turned and walked straight out into the middle of the field to join the Demon King, who was currently talking to the lingering crowds.
Why do I feel like I'm a guest who's been completely forgotten about? Jeanne thought, her sword still resting firmly in her hand as she stood her ground, watching the strange scene play out.
Then again, am I even considered a guest here? If I am, shouldn't someone at least introduce me to the big boss of Babel? Why am I just standing out here in the dirt all by myself?
Jeanne suddenly caught herself on that realization, but after a second thought, she figured it was probably for the best. If Theresa walked straight over to her, it would draw way too much attention. It was smarter to keep a low profile, especially since this country wasn't exactly friendly territory for her.
Jeanne remembered perfectly well that she still had some bitter enemies lurking within Kazdel's borders! Both the leader of the Confessarii and the Sanguinarch held a massive amount of power and influence across this land.
If word got out to them that she had willingly crossed the border into Kazdel, those old monsters would undoubtedly call up their entire personal squads to come look for a rematch. After all, she had beaten them both pretty badly during their last encounter.(No, they wouldn't)
Even though she wasn't remotely afraid of those guys, having to fight a massive, high-scale war against them would be a total pain. Jeanne generally hated anything that wasted her internal magical energy.
She despised wasting her magic mostly because the process of refilling her core out here was just awful. Crushing and eating raw Originium chunks tasted absolutely disgusting! The physical sensation of chewing on rocks was something she preferred to avoid as much as possible.
"It seems you must be the famous Saintess, then? You look a bit different from the statues, and your presence has changed quite a bit... I was a little worried you'd wander into this country showing your true face, but it looks like I was overthinking things."
While Jeanne was lost in her own thoughts, a slightly old, weathered voice drifted into her ear from behind. She turned around to find the elderly Sankta woman standing right there, a warm, gentle smile wrinkling her face as she looked back at her.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Outcast," the elderly Sankta said, extending her hand toward Jeanne. Her face held a kind, almost grandmotherly warmth, but her eyes were incredibly sharp and serious as she studied the girl. "As for my old name? That sort of thing isn't really important to me anymore. Barely anyone remembers it these days anyway."
"Ah, hello. You can just call me Jeanne," she replied, reaching out to shake Outcast's hand. "As for that 'Saintess' title... there's really no need to bring that up in a place like this. It wouldn't do anyone any good, right?"
As she introduced herself, Jeanne suddenly recalled what the old woman had just said. Outcast had recognized her because she saw a figurine?
"By the way," Jeanne started, her brows furrowing slightly, "I thought those little statues were only being sold over in Laterano. Have they seriously managed to expand their market all the way into this country? Does anyone here actually buy that kind of stuff?"
Jeanne couldn't believe her own merchandise had managed to spread into a war-torn wasteland like this. More than anything, she couldn't understand what a Sarkaz would even do with a statue of a Lateran Saint. Use it for target practice?
Jeanne didn't think for a second that the local Sarkaz were collecting her things out of genuine fandom. They were probably far more interested in using the statues to figure out what she looked like. She couldn't help but wonder exactly how much her head was worth on the Kazdel mercenary black market right now. Maybe I should find a way to cash in on my own bounty?
Outcast clearly hadn't expected the famous Saint's very first thought to go down such a bizarre, money-grubbing path. She blinked in surprise for a second before letting out a soft laugh.
"Of course not," Outcast clarified gently. "The only reason I have one of those things is because an old colleague of mine happened to pass through the area a while back. I asked him for some news from home, and that's how I found out about you. Otherwise, a luxury item like that would never show up in a place as poor as Kazdel."
In truth, while Jeanne's statues and merchandise were a bit pricey, they weren't expensive enough to be called a true luxury—at least, not from the perspective of a wealthy Lateran citizen.
But in a war zone like Kazdel, the amount of money needed to buy one of those figurines could easily buy you at least five high-yield Originium bombs! To the locals, wasting that much practical wealth on a useless little piece of plastic or clay was the very definition of a luxury.
"Though, now that I'm looking at you, I completely understand what my old colleague meant when he told me you were a very special person a few days ago."
As she spoke, Outcast looked straight into Jeanne's eyes. Her gaze was deep and lingering, as if she were trying to catch a glimpse of the distant, beloved city she had left behind through the girl standing before her.
"The Pope probably misses you a lot too, you know. You should really find some time to go back and visit your homeland," Jeanne said naturally. She knew exactly who the "old colleague" was: the current Pope, Yvangelista XI.V.
Yes, that poor old man still hadn't managed to win back his proper title. Jeanne figured the old guy might be stuck with that ridiculous fraction for the rest of his life.
As for why Outcast knew the Pope so well? It was obvious. This elderly woman had been a powerful Cardinal of Laterano several decades ago!
But as for why she had chosen to leave Laterano, why she had abandoned her high status as a Cardinal, and why she had dragged her old bones all the way to the mud of Kazdel to fight in a bloody civil war? The Pope hadn't shared any of those secrets with Jeanne.
"Homeland, huh... No, I think I'll pass," Outcast said softly. She turned her head, her gaze drifting toward the distant horizon where Laterano lay. A faint touch of sadness colored her face, making it clear that a part of her deeply wished she could return to see her old home one last time—even if some unspoken reason forced her to bury that desire deep within her heart.