When Theresa stepped out of the room, everyone stared in absolute awe. Her skin, now cleanly hidden beneath her clothing, showed no lingering trace of the aggressive Oripathy that had plagued her. Before this, the infection had been so severe that the dark Originium clusters practically tore through her garments, making them impossible to hide.
Theresa walked with a light, effortless stride. For the first time in years, she no longer felt that agonizing weight—the heavy pulling sensation of dark crystals dragging at her flesh from deep within.
Her spirits were incredibly high, her expression far more relaxed and open than it had been in ages. The haunting shadow of sorrow that usually clouded her face had completely vanished, and seeing her like this instantly lifted the spirits of everyone around her.
To the people of Babel, Theresa was their singular, guiding light. Now that their light was restored to full health, a vibrant, joyful energy rippled through the entire base.
Yet, amidst this wave of celebration, Jeanne was the only one not entirely thrilled. Now that Theresa's successful cure had proven the absolute validity of her divine therapy, the crew had completely embraced the treatment.
This sudden success meant Jeanne was now firmly stuck in the clinic day in and day out. She spent her hours sitting there out of sheer boredom, flipping through historical records about the Sarkaz that she had borrowed from little Amiya, though she couldn't bring herself to truly like the place.
Even though she didn't need to perform hands-on surgery for every single patient—she usually just checked their compatibility with a drop of Holy Water before a procedure—Kal'tsit insisted she remain on standby just in case anything went sideways.
No matter where you went in the world, a clinic always smelled of that faint, distinct scent of disinfectant. Though the odor was barely noticeable to a regular person, Jeanne's senses were incredibly sharp, and she happened to absolutely despise the smell.
She could tolerate it to a point, but when the stuffy air became too much to bear, she would slip outside to find an open area with a better breeze to catch a breath of fresh air.
"Oh, you're... Ascalon, right? Are you feeling unwell?" Jeanne asked, turning her head. While she was out catching her breath, she caught the sound of an incredibly soft footstep—so quiet that she had almost missed it entirely.
Realizing someone was there, Jeanne snapped out of her daze and looked over to see a tall, striking woman passing by. The newcomer had likely softened her steps on purpose, trying not to disturb her.
Jeanne recognized her instantly; she was one of the Sarkaz warriors she had personally treated just yesterday. Because Ascalon's skin had reacted violently to the Holy Water—bubbling up like it had been touched by burning acid—Kal'tsit hadn't been comfortable letting anyone but Jeanne oversee her case.
"Hello. Did I disturb you?" Ascalon asked, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her face when she realized that despite her best efforts to remain completely silent, Jeanne had still picked up her approach.
Have my skills grown that rusty? Ascalon wondered silently, briefly questioning her own stealth training if she could be detected this easily while actively trying to suppress her presence.
"Not at all. I just heard someone walking by and wanted to take a look," Jeanne replied easily, before letting her curiosity get the better of her. "Are you here to see Kal'tsit? Did something go wrong after yesterday's session?"
Jeanne was genuinely anxious to know the reason for her visit, secretly worried that some unforeseen complication had arisen in the warrior's body after the purification.
"No, nothing like that. My own condition is fine," Ascalon replied, shaking her head to put the young girl's mind at ease. "I am simply delivering an elite operator who refused to come in for treatment."
Jeanne understood immediately. Unlike the regular soldiers who lined up voluntarily, Kal'tsit had issued a strict directive making the treatment mandatory for all elite operators.
Because elite operators held a vastly different standing within the organization, the moment they achieved that rank, Kal'tsit possessed the absolute authority to enforce certain medical mandates for their own good.
"I think the one scheduled for today is... Misery, right? Why would he be against it?"
Jeanne was always willing to listen if someone harbored reservations about her methods. After all, if they had legitimate concerns, it might give her some valuable insight to think about.
Unfortunately, it wasn't a flaw in her method that worried him. Misery was resisting the cure simply because he feared that without the dark crystal infection ravaging his body, his Arts would lose their devastating edge.
Misery was an incredibly formidable specialist within Babel, and Jeanne had heard that his expertise lay in complex space-bending illusions. She had always wanted to experience his techniques firsthand, but because her natural Magic Resistance would simply nullify them, she had to give up on the idea.
This wasn't the first time Jeanne had encountered this mindset. For exceptionally powerful casters, Oripathy served as a dangerous shortcut to amplifying their power—a reckless shortcut fueled by burning away their own lifespan.
Once the infection was suppressed and cleansed, it meant their Arts would inevitably weaken. For those who pursued raw power at all costs, completely disregarding their own survival, refusing a cure was a very common reaction.
Before Jeanne could offer any words on the matter, Ascalon offered a polite farewell and went on her way, heading in the direction of the training grounds. Lately, a massive number of operators had been spending all their free time training.
Many of them hoped to push through their limits and regain the raw strength they had lost when their Oripathy was rolled back, though Kal'tsit had strictly forbidden them from pushing themselves to the point of causing a relapse.
When Jeanne stepped back into the clinic, her mind was still drifting back to Misery. Right now, he was undoubtedly enduring Kal'tsit's treatment; after all, no one in Babel possessed the courage to defy Kal'tsit within the boundaries of her operating room.
But Jeanne couldn't help but wonder: Is this really going to solve anything? Even if they successfully cured his infection today, a few high-intensity battles down the road would likely plunge him right back into the exact same condition.
Treating them like this felt like scooping boiling water out of a pot to stop it from overflowing while leaving the fire burning underneath. If someone like Misery truly didn't care about his own survival, these temporary cures wouldn't change a single thing in the long run.
The thought weighed heavily on Jeanne's heart, leaving her with a lingering sense of melancholy. Yet, she knew she had no real way to fix it—the illness wasn't in their bodies; it was rooted deeply in their hearts.
She had seen Misery around before. To put it mildly, the man always radiated a deeply gloomy, melancholic aura, and his voice carried a perpetual, heavy downbeat whenever he spoke.
As Jeanne sat by the desk lost in her thoughts, a figure suddenly drifted into the office like a wandering ghost. Completely ignoring Jeanne's presence in the corner, the shadow marched straight toward the inner office.
Jeanne, of course, had noticed the intruder the exact moment they crossed the threshold. In one swift motion, she lunged forward, grabbed the figure, yanked their helmet off, and unceremoniously forced a bottle of Holy Water straight down their throat.
The intruder was none other than the Doctor. She had clearly burnt through her Sanity again and was undoubtedly planning to slip into Kal'tsit's office to cause some absurd mischief. Jeanne had no idea what kind of ancient grudge existed between those two, but whenever the Doctor lost her mind, Kal'tsit was always her very first target for pulling pranks.
The Doctor thrashed wildly against Jeanne's iron grip, but Jeanne didn't let up for a second. She knew exactly how much force to use, balancing her strength perfectly so she wouldn't actually hurt her.
This was far from the first time Jeanne had caught the Doctor in this tragic state. Over the last few days, whatever the Doctor was working on was draining her completely, causing her Sanity to evaporate far more frequently than usual. Jeanne was honestly doing this out of pure self-defense for the woman.
Kal'tsit was already completely exhausted from dealing with the stubborn elite operators; if the Doctor chose this exact moment to barge in and cause a scene, the consequences would be catastrophic. At the very least, Kal'tsit wouldn't hesitate to deliver a thorough, brutal beating.
To save her from an early grave and stop her pathetic wailing, Jeanne had no choice but to take matters into her own hands.
The purifying essence of the Holy Water was incredibly effective at snapping someone back to reality. After a brief, chaotic struggle, the Doctor's flailing limbs gradually relaxed, signaling that her mind had finally cleared.
"You know, even if you have a literal death wish, this is a terrible way to go about it!" Jeanne sighed, leaning back as she looked at the now-lucid Doctor sitting beside her, unable to hold back a sharp retort.
Having finally regained her senses, the Doctor let out a long, heavy sigh, sinking into her seat without a word. Judging by the sheer exhaustion in that sigh, she had been pushed to her absolute limit over the past few days.
"The overtime lately has been absolutely brutal," the Doctor groaned, her voice muffled. "I had no choice but to resort to some unconventional methods just to keep my focus sharp. I'm going to need you to keep a close eye on me for the next few days—I really can't afford to push Kal'tsit's buttons right now."
Her tone carried the immense relief of someone who had somehow managed to cheat death for another day.
Jeanne naturally asked what had been keeping her so incredibly busy. The last few times she had saved the Doctor from a similar sanity collapse, the woman had merely offered a rushed thank you before sprinting off, looking utterly consumed by her work.
Today, it seemed she had finally reached a temporary stopping point; otherwise, she wouldn't have the luxury to sit here and chat.
"Ah, it's all because of that massive project we're excavating," the Doctor explained, leaning back. "Ever since that meteor crashed down, the entire region has been under immense scrutiny from various factions. We're doing everything we can to push the construction schedule forward, trying to time it perfectly so it matches up with when you go to retrieve the actual core."
The Doctor suddenly paused, snapping her head toward Jeanne as if waiting expectantly for her to ask a follow-up question.
Jeanne, however, remained perfectly silent, simply staring back.
"Hey, aren't you going to ask me about it? This is the exact moment where I'm supposed to leave you on a cliffhanger, and you're supposed to eagerly ask me what it is we're actually digging up..." the Doctor grumbled, muttering under her breath.
Jeanne, who had grown quite close to the Doctor by now, chose to say absolutely nothing, quietly waiting for her to finish her little dramatic tangent.
Seeing that Jeanne wasn't biting, the Doctor kept rambling on, throwing a minor pity party for herself. Eventually, Jeanne began to feel a little sorry for her and finally relented, giving in to her antics.
"Alright, alright. Would the esteemed and brilliant Doctor be so kind as to tell me what exactly it is you're helping everyone dig up?" Jeanne asked, playing along with a small smile.
The Doctor quickly looked around the room, ensuring the coast was completely clear before leaning in close to whisper directly into Jeanne's ear.
"It's a landship from the ancient civilization..."