"We're really about to get started now. If you feel any discomfort whatsoever, you need to speak up ahead of time—I don't possess that incredibly convenient mind-reading ability of yours!"
Following the "joint cooperation" contract hammered out with the Doctor, Theresa's surgery was fast-tracked onto the operational schedule with remarkable speed, leading to active treatment preparations just a few short days later.
Even though Jeanne had repeatedly insisted that the procedure required nothing more than her individual prayer, Kal'tsit, prioritizing baseline operational safety, had mobilized the entire medical wing to stand by in case of a sudden, unforeseen emergency.
To find herself completely encircled by a crowd of elite white-lab-coat-wearing professionals while technically acting as the chief primary surgeon was a highly surreal, unique experience for Jeanne. She knew better than anyone that she wasn't a licensed medical practitioner!
Faced with this awkward reality, Jeanne opted to turn around and engage in casual banter with Theresa. Meanwhile, the surrounding medical staff were busy prepping various clinical pharmaceuticals—compounds covered in massive, multi-syllable chemical designations that made Jeanne feel like she would rather step outside and physically throw up than continue reading them!
She recognized every single individual character printed on those medical labels, yet the exact moment they were chained together into medical syntax, her brain completely short-circuited into pure, unadulterated confusion. Was her baseline intelligence score truly this tragic?
Theresa, currently robed in a pristine white patient gown, sat in quiet serenity as the final clinical preparations unfolded around her, likely contemplating what her post-Oripathy existence would actually look like.
The Monarch of the Sarkaz had already braced herself for the absolute worst-case scenario: even if Jeanne successfully managed to purge the terminal progression of her Oripathy, the volatile properties of the Holy Water might still inflict severe, lasting internal trauma upon her unique physical makeup.
Of course, that was merely a conservative, worst-case baseline. According to Kal'tsit's projections, an adverse systemic collapse was highly unlikely—especially with Jeanne personally present to consciously dictate the flow of the Holy Water's purifying attributes, meaning the statistical risk remained exceptionally low.
Yet, when forced to confront a completely unprecedented medical paradigm, almost every onlooker in Babel maintained a cautious, wait-and-see posture. Even Theresa herself didn't possess absolute certainty regarding the outcome, but she chose to place her complete, unwavering trust in the hands of the Doctor, Kal'tsit, and Jeanne.
"I imagine the upcoming weeks are going to be incredibly grueling for you," Theresa murmured, turning her head slightly to offer a gentle smile. "The number of Babel operators currently suffering from terminal, advanced-stage Oripathy is by no means a small figure. Once my procedure proves successful, I'm afraid we will desperately require your strength to help them as well."
Jeanne followed Theresa's gaze toward the far end of the corridor, where a significant cluster of active-duty operators had gathered. They were loitering at a distance, quietly observing the sterile prep zone to monitor the situation, making absolutely no effort to approach the perimeter.
More accurately, Kal'tsit had explicitly banned them from breaching the clean zone. A vocal faction within the ranks still harbored deep, unyielding reservations regarding Jeanne's mystical methodology, secretly terrified that this unknown treatment would simply result in the swift, high-efficiency assassination of their beloved King rather than a medical cure.
However, bound by the unanimous authorization of the three primary directors, they possessed no formal avenue to lodge a bureaucratic veto. Left with no other choice, they could only linger in the distance, their eyes locked onto the surgical theater in quiet, hyper-vigilant observation.
"Please don't take their attitude to heart," Theresa added softly, noting the wary expressions of the soldiers. She offered a look of genuine apology, well aware that her people still held a powerful bias against the newcomer. "They are simply consumed by intense anxiety regarding my personal well-being. Because they lack a fundamental understanding of your abilities, a defensive vigilance is their natural response."
Neither Jeanne nor Theresa was blind to the deep skepticism radiating from the gallery. Even though the core leadership who knew Jeanne's true identity as a Saint had refrained from broadcasting the classified data to the public, rumors of the massive, world-altering theological upheaval in Laterano had naturally trickled down to the crew—especially since Jeanne's physical features shared a ninety percent correlation with the descriptions of that legendary figure.
Jeanne, for her part, was completely unfazed by their suspicion. She had never demanded that total strangers immediately embrace her supernatural authority as absolute truth. For a crew of battle-hardened soldiers to maintain a high degree of operational caution around an enigmatic, unverified young girl who had appeared out of nowhere was completely normal behavior.
"The operating room is fully prepped. You two may step inside," Kal'tsit announced, stepping out of the clean room clad in sterile surgical scrubs.
The moment she stepped inside the surgical suite, Kal'tsit's internal aura underwent a profound transformation. Within the boundaries of this clinical sanctuary, the ancient lynx radiated a supreme, terrifying authority that demanded total compliance—even Theresa didn't dare challenge her protocols.
In fact, the sheer weight of Kal'tsit's commanding presence was so immense that it completely eclipsed Jeanne's aura, making the designated "chief surgeon" look like a minor medical assistant by comparison.
Then again, if one analyzed the logistics objectively, wasn't Jeanne functionally acting as an assistant here? After all, her entire approach to "medicine" didn't involve a single shred of actual anatomical science; she was relying entirely on cosmic revelations to guide her hands while she manually dispensed Holy Water.
"Do you require any additional clinical instruments or specialized resources?" Kal'tsit inquired, approaching today's central practitioner once the standard baseline systems were fully operational. Truthfully, she still had no mechanical understanding of how Jeanne intended to execute it.
Even during in the frozen expanses of Ursus, Kal'tsit had never personally witnessed Jeanne conducting a targeted medical purification. To put it bluntly, Jeanne possessed zero formal training in clinical medicine, and because her unique physiology rendered her entirely immune to biological pathogens, she belonged to an ultra-rare category of entities within the medical wing—a character archetype that practically never spawned in a standard hospital layout.
"Nothing else is needed, honestly," Jeanne admitted, scratching her cheek with an embarrassed chuckle. The complex medical apparatus and the sheer gravity of the setup were actively triggering her social anxiety; she had never operated within an environment this advanced before. "My methodology doesn't actually qualify as a standard medical surgery. I can manage the entire process completely on my own."
She cast a curious, wide-eyed look around the hyper-modern room, finding every piece of advanced machinery utterly fascinating. She felt a powerful temptation to reach out and tap a few buttons, but the strict, professional atmosphere kept her hands firmly to her sides.
Under the unblinking, analytical gaze of the assembled medical staff, Jeanne stepped up to the table to begin Theresa's treatment. Yet, finding herself pinned under the collective scrutiny of so many certified, top-tier medical professionals left her feeling incredibly self-conscious and awkward.
She wasn't a real doctor! A total imposter like her infiltrating a gathering of legitimate, highly credentialed scholars felt exactly like a Siberian Husky trying to blend into a wild wolf pack—the psychological friction was tangible.
Though, if she were being completely honest with herself, there was a tiny, undeniable thrill of excitement mixed in with the panic... Was there something fundamentally wrong with her psychological wiring, or was this a completely normal reaction to high-stakes situations? Jeanne couldn't quite find the words to articulate her internal crisis.
Sensing the young girl's mounting discomfort, Kal'tsit made a swift executive decision. With a brief flick of her wrist, she dismissed the auxiliary personnel, retaining only herself and Warfarin inside the room while ordering the remaining staff to wait quietly outside the viewing glass. With the crowd minimized, Jeanne felt a massive wave of relief wash over her.
From that point onward, the actual execution proceeded with fluid simplicity. Jeanne produced the vessel of pre-stabilized Holy Water, launching into a sequence of ritualistic actions that looked absolutely nothing like a clinical operation. Yet, despite the complete lack of standard medical logic, the terrifying, terminal progression of Theresa's Oripathy visibly began to recede.
As she directed the radiant energy, Jeanne felt a profound sense of relief that Kal'tsit and her staff hadn't attempted to independently administer Holy Water to Theresa prior to this meeting. She could feel a distinct, underlying systemic friction—the Holy Water harbored a powerful, inherent hostility toward Theresa's baseline biological signature, reacting to her presence as if it had locked onto a high-priority demonic target.
Had Jeanne not been physically present to exert absolute, conscious dominion over the fluid, the process would have instantly devolved into a violent, localized exorcism. It was fascinating; when she had performed a similar purification on Buldrokkas'tee, the Holy Water hadn't exhibited a single shred of this aggressive turbulence. Theresa was clearly an entirely separate, highly anomalous case study.
Standing right beside the table, Warfarin looked as though she were actively fighting the urge to turn around and sprint straight out of the room. Perhaps because her specialized Vampiric senses were significantly more attuned to raw biological and spiritual energy than standard Sarkaz sub-species, the mere presence of the activated Holy Water was causing her skin to crawl with massive goosebumps.
However, her internal discomfort was instantly obliterated by pure, unadulterated shock. Her expression shifted into a look of absolute, breathless awe as she watched Jeanne calmly scatter the fluid across Theresa's exposed skin, witnessing the external Originium structures begin to undergo an impossible physical transformation.
Within the established framework of Terran medical science, Oripathy was universally classified as a non-curable, entirely irreversible affliction. This was an unshakeable, fundamental axiom of reality embraced by every single researcher, academy, and institution across the length and breadth of the continent—yet this universal law was being casually, effortlessly rewritten right before her eyes!
The horrific, jagged shards of black crystal anchoring themselves into Theresa's flesh began to lose their structural integrity, dissolving away like winter snow melting beneath a brilliant summer sun. Though the internal metabolic shifts remained unverified by physical labs, the superficial, external indicators were improving at a rate that was completely visible to the naked eye.
Kal'tsit, meanwhile, kept her focus entirely anchored to the diagnostic monitors, her eyes scanning the scrolling streams of medical data to confirm that Theresa's primary vital signs remained perfectly stable, showing no indicators of systemic shock or cellular trauma as the Originium deposits vanished from her system.
"How are you feeling? Are you experiencing any localized pain or internal discomfort?" Jeanne asked, leaning over the table as she noticed a strange, intensely complicated expression ripple across Theresa's face.
Theresa simply offered a gentle shake of her head, indicating that her physical vessel was under no distress. Her biological systems were operating flawlessly; the true anomaly was manifesting deep within the metaphysical matrix of her soul, where the collective memories of her lineage were suddenly boiling with unprecedented turbulence.
Triggered by the intense, purifying properties of the Holy Water, the ancestral inheritance of the Sarkaz Lordship had become violently hyperactive. It wasn't causing her actual spiritual harm, but the sudden awakening had unleashed a cacophony of ancient voices roaring and shouting directly into her consciousness, leaving her head spinning with a mild, dizzying disorientation.
Fortunately, the mental noise completely subsided the exact moment Jeanne concluded the final application of the fluid, allowing Theresa her first real opportunity to evaluate her newfound physical baseline. It had been decades since her physical body had felt this incredibly light and unburdened.
By the time the containment fields were powered down, the monstrous clusters of Originium that had once dominated her skin had shriveled into microscopic, negligible specks. Comparing her current state to her previous terminal diagnosis was like comparing a mild, asymptomatic sniffle to a patient who had completely abandoned all medical hope—a revelation that left every single observer in the room utterly paralyzed with shock.
The medical staff stared through the observation glass, their minds failing to process the sheer magnitude of Jeanne's efficiency. Could this even be classified as a medical treatment? At this rate, it looked less like they had cured a patient, and more like they had actively swapped Theresa out for an entirely healthy clone!