Jeanne froze slightly upon hearing the Demon King's question. For a moment, she couldn't quite wrap her head around what the other woman meant by "carry such an unimaginably loud, screaming madness inside your mind, yet still walk through this world with your sanity completely intact?" Did she really possess that kind of spectacular, profound ability?
But as she carefully looked back over her memories, she realized she truly had never been corrupted or swayed by the intense, bone-deep hatred of her dark avenger self. Even when she actively embraced that dark persona's endless grievances, she had never once lost her core identity to that bottomless pit of wrath.
Though it was undeniably miraculous, if you were to ask Jeanne exactly how she managed to achieve such perfect psychological balance, it would be incredibly difficult for her to give you a coherent explanation. The mechanics of it were a complete mystery to her.
It was exactly like asking her how she managed to wrap her sword in blazing holy fire, or how she summoned those terrifying, jagged black iron thorns. Jeanne existed in a constant state of knowing exactly how to use her powers, but being utterly incapable of explaining the theory behind them.
"To be completely honest, I don't really have a solid answer for you," Jeanne said, waving her hands in a helpless, casual gesture. "Even I don't fully understand why those intense emotions don't end up twisting my mind. It's just... whenever I step into that state and feel all that raw fury, I can still perfectly hold onto who I am."
Jeanne's tone was entirely devoid of pretense; she genuinely had no secret method or training regimen to share. From the very day she had manifested in this world, the immense hatred and chaotic madness represented by that dark form had simply been hers to command, fully tamed from the start.
It was a lot like the time she had curiously asked Talulah whether her tail naturally swung to the left or to the right when she walked. The Draco had simply rolled her eyes and given her a thoroughly exasperated look, clearly thinking the question was incredibly stupid.
The funniest part was that after being asked, Talulah had spent the rest of the day completely forgetting how to walk normally.
Hearing the explanation, the Demon King gave a soft nod of understanding. She figured that Jeanne must simply possess an innate, miraculous psychological resilience—a natural, ironclad gift that perfectly insulated her consciousness from slipping into that terrifying, dark abyss.
"I suppose it's just one of those things that's impossible to put into proper words," Jeanne murmured, scratching her head as she struggled to find a better analogy. "But look, it's essentially like this. I can actively turn into that terrifying version of myself whenever I need to, but the personality itself doesn't actually overwrite who I am."
To give a clear demonstration, Jeanne didn't hesitate to trigger her internal transformation. In a split second, she shifted smoothly back into her dark avenger form, using that cold, menacing appearance to continue her casual chat with the ruler.
Seeing Jeanne instantly swap into her black-clad form, the Demon King felt her breath catch in her throat for a brief, heavy second, especially when those pale golden eyes—reminiscent of some ancient, overwhelmingly powerful apex predator—locked onto her.
Up close, she could distinctly feel that a wild, utterly manic beast was indeed crouching within Jeanne's gaze. However, unlike the volatile, uncontrolled explosions of fury she had witnessed within the soul vision, this terrifying madness was currently being held down tightly, bound completely by Jeanne's unyielding willpower.
Once she fully recovered her composure, the Demon King began studying the transformed Jeanne with immense, unhidden fascination. Her curiosity had shifted to a much more practical question: How on earth does she pull off that trick, and more importantly, can I learn it?
Jeanne, however, found the Demon King's intense gaze incredibly familiar. After thinking about it for a second, she realized it was the exact same intensely curious expression she always wore whenever she was staring at Talulah's tail. She never imagined a day would come where she would be the one receiving that exact look.
Is this karma? Jeanne wondered bitterly. Still, something about the situation felt slightly off. Given the pink-haired woman's highly respected status as the ruler of a nation, there was absolutely no way she would copy Jeanne's mischievous behavior, march straight over, and start ruthlessly petting her, right?
Furthermore, considering the older sister's current state of total physical exhaustion, even if she secretly harbored a wild desire to lunge forward and give her a thorough petting, she simply lacked the physical strength required to put those treacherous thoughts into action.
Right as Jeanne was confidently comforting herself with that logic, she suddenly felt a slightly cool hand gently press against her forehead. The delicate fingers slid smoothly across her skin, tracing the contours of her brow and lightly tapping against the heavy, protective headpiece she wore. Jeanne couldn't help but note that the hand was remarkably chilly!
It seemed the Demon King's physical condition was indeed far from ideal; her skin carried almost none of the natural, comforting warmth you would expect from a living, breathing person. Isn't Kal'tsit supposed to be a world-renowned doctor? Jeanne thought, a frown tugging at her lips. How could she let her leader's health degenerate to such an alarming degree?
Or perhaps this profound weakness was entirely the result of her recent witchcraft backfire. Jeanne hadn't anticipated that an internal magical surge could inflict such a devastating toll on a caster; she had assumed that a severe backfire would, at worst, leave a person feeling a little drained and tired.
"Is this truly your actual body?" the Demon King asked, her voice filled with childlike wonder as she continued her gentle exploration. "I always assumed your change in appearance was merely some sort of advanced illusion or a high-tier Arts manifestation. Tell me, is this an ability that all humans from your homeland possess? The only human in our household has never shown anything remotely like this; the only thing she's remarkably good at is shifting her mental sanity back and forth."
The Demon King was undeniably captivated by Jeanne's rapid transformation. Throughout her long life on Terra, she had never encountered an Originium Art capable of completely altering a person's physical profile in a single heartbeat, and she knew for a fact that this went far beyond any conventional disguise technique.
Studying Jeanne's cold golden eyes—which carried the sharp, striking intensity of a cold-blooded predator—and watching the effortless transition between her forms, the Demon King privately thought the girl behaved a bit like a highly evolved chameleon, though comparing a holy maiden to a lizard felt a bit improper.
"And your clothes actually change along with you?" the Demon King continued, her eyes sparkling with sudden inspiration. "Can you alter them to different colors as well? Is this a technique that can be taught to others? If we could somehow duplicate this ability, our entire army would only ever need a single set of uniforms. It would save Babel an absolute fortune in manufacturing expenses..."
While the color-changing aspect of Jeanne's clothes was fascinating, what truly excited the leader was the strategic potential of mass production. If this specific ability could be weaponized or taught to the general populace, it would provide a massive, unprecedented logistical advantage for military operations.
After all, a significant number of their frontline operators had frequently voiced their loud complaints regarding Babel's incredibly drab, monochrome uniform designs. The suggestion box was constantly overflowing with official petitions, begging the Demon King to show some mercy and authorize at least a few alternative color schemes, just so the troops could have a bit of personal choice.
Furthermore, because Babel's operators were routinely deployed across vastly different environmental terrains for stealth operations, clothing that could instantly adapt its coloration was a critical tactical necessity. Producing separate camouflage gear for every single theater of war was an incredibly massive drain on their limited financial resources and tailors.
So, the moment she witnessed Jeanne's clothes seamlessly shift colors, the Demon King's mind immediately started running the numbers. With a magical solution like this, she wouldn't have to stress over balancing the budget for the troops' wardrobe requests, and she could finally focus on hanging the Doctor from the very top of the command tower for a few hours so the idiot could thoroughly cool her head.
That was the absolute truth—the entire mass movement demanding colorful combat uniforms had been entirely instigated by that specific troublemaker! The Doctor had intentionally waited until Kal'tsit temporarily left the landship, firmly believing that with the ancient doctor gone, there was absolutely no one left within the tower who could successfully impose any rules on her behavior.
While the Demon King didn't particularly mind the Doctor playing a few silly pranks whenever Kal'tsit wasn't around to glare at her, she felt that actively rallying the entire military staff to demand a fashion upgrade crossed the line into insubordination, and required a bit of creative punishment.
Once she took care of the operators' requests, of course. After all, their fashion complaints weren't entirely unreasonable, and compared to the terrifying risks those brave soldiers faced on the battlefield every single day, giving them prettier clothes was a minor concession. Besides, if she were being completely honest with herself, she wasn't particularly fond of that dreary, monochrome uniform design either.
"This isn't something you can just learn!" Jeanne huffed, her dark golden eyes rolling slightly as she gently swatted the exploring hand away. "This is an innate, biological trait I was born with! And could you please stop touching my ahoge like it's a toy? It's a proper exposed nerve ending! It's very sensitive!"
Jeanne felt completely exasperated by the older sister's sudden transformation into a hyper-curious child. When on earth had her relationship with this pink-haired ruler become tight enough for them to be touching heads? Did this woman possess absolutely zero instinct for personal safety or self-defense around strangers?
Staring at the serene Demon King, Jeanne felt a profound sense of bewilderment. No matter how gentle she appeared, this woman was still a legendary sovereign, a celebrated hero who had successfully defended the fractured nation of Kazdel for centuries. How could someone with that terrifying pedigree display such a staggering, total lack of suspicion in front of an unknown combatant?
"Because it is a matter of instinct," the Demon King murmured softly, a gentle, knowing smile playing on her lips. "You carry a very strange, comforting presence around you. Now that I think about it, it must be a manifestation of your unique power—it naturally disarms the suspicion of those around you, making it incredibly easy to cast aside one's guard and simply enjoy your company."
Hearing those quiet, insightful words, Jeanne's entire body stiffened in absolute shock. A wild panic flared within her chest—had this terrifying woman just casually read her mind?
"It isn't mind-reading," the Demon King added with a light chuckle, noticing the girl's sudden, rigid posture. "You accidentally muttered your entire train of thought out loud just now. Besides, my emotional perception and spiritual arts don't actually work properly whenever I try to use them on you."
"..."
Great. Fantastic.
Realizing she had literally spoken her embarrassing internal monologue right into the room, Jeanne felt an intense wave of mortification wash over her. She desperately wanted to yank out her own ahoge, run away into the woods, and claim she suffered from a severe case of multiple personality disorder just to escape the sheer awkwardness of the moment...
"Well, it certainly looks like you two are getting along remarkably well," a dry, clinical voice cut through the air.
Kal'tsit quietly strode back into the clearing, her sharp eyes taking in the close proximity between the two girls without showing a single flicker of surprise. Her expression remained as stone-cold and unreadable as ever as she delivered the update: "The vanguard has completed the final logistics check. Everything is packed and secured. It is time for us to move out."