Over the next few days, following the moment Jeanne handed over the "quest item"—Mudrock's regional map—to the Doctor, the strategist completely vanished. It was as if the woman had vanished off the face of the earth.
Jeanne could easily guess that the Doctor had plunged right back into an endless void of work, but the sheer volume of labor this woman endured was borderline insane. It was the kind of brutal schedule that would make even the most ruthless corporate CEO feel a pang of guilt and force her to take a vacation!
This wasn't some standard corporate grind; this was a relentless, 365-day, 24/7 meat grinder! Jeanne truly wondered if the ancient civilization had been entirely devoid of basic humanity to produce a system like this. They were treating a human being like a piece of industrial machinery, ruthlessly squeezing every drop of utility out of her.
Jeanne half-expected that as she sat there in the clinic, a frantic team of medics would come bursting through the door pushing a gurney, yelling that the Doctor's heart had given out from pure, unadulterated exhaustion.
Because she hadn't crossed paths with the Doctor since their last chat, Jeanne had no way of knowing how much of an impact Mudrock's map was making on the operation, or if it had managed to alleviate any of their strategic headaches.
However, she could actively feel the gears of Babel shifting. The entire organization was mobilizing for the recovery of the landship named Rhodes Island and the excavation of the massive meteor intended for her. A vast number of operators had already packed their gear and quietly departed the base for undisclosed locations.
The clearest indicator that the vanguard had already moved toward Rim Billiton was the prolonged absence of Closure. Jeanne hadn't seen the grease-stained, oil-covered Vampire prowling the corridors for quite some time now.
Under normal circumstances, you couldn't pace down a single hallway without crossing paths with that mechanic at least once or twice a day. Her sudden disappearance meant only one thing: she had been deployed to lead the mechanical restoration of the ancient vessel.
Even if they couldn't fully restore the landship in such a tight timeframe, Closure's priority would be getting its engines online—just enough to ensure the massive vessel could crawl its way out of Rim Billiton and make the long trek back to Kazdel.
It was highly likely that the Doctor had quietly departed alongside her. As the sole individual who thoroughly understood the intricate structural design of Rhodes Island, her physical presence on-site would guarantee the vanguard's success.
"What's caught your mind?"
While Jeanne sat on the couch lost in her endless stream of thoughts, the heavy office door slid open without her noticing, and a familiar figure stepped into the room.
Kal'tsit looked down at Jeanne, noting the heavy, contemplative look on the young girl's face. She asked what was troubling her, offering to help resolve whatever was weighing on her mind if it lay within her power.
Babel owed Jeanne an immense, unpayable debt. Day after day, she had faithfully remained inside the clinic, utilizing her divine purification to ensure that every single one of their elite operators survived the high-risk surgeries completely unscathed. In Kal'tsit's eyes, a single piece of Originium Prime per week wasn't nearly enough to compensate for a miracle of that scale.
"It's nothing, really," Jeanne replied, offering a polite nod as she greeted the clinician. She decided to speak her mind honestly. "I just can't help but notice how incredibly swamped you all are. It feels like every single day, there's an endless mountain of work that never shrinks."
The primary reason Jeanne felt so intensely hyper-aware of this environment was simple: when you place a casual, leisure-loving slacker in the exact middle of a hyper-competitive workspace filled with absolute workaholics, a sense of secondhand guilt inevitably creeps in. It made her feel incredibly self-conscious about just sitting around doing nothing.
Of course, if Jeanne remained in this environment for a few more weeks, she would likely skip past the guilt entirely, accept the reality that these people were simply built different, and happily resume her peaceful lifestyle in the corner.
"It is a necessary burden given our current objectives," Kal'tsit replied, nodding slightly as she lifted her mug to take a slow sip of water before sinking into her office chair to catch a brief moment of rest. "The convergence of multiple crises has amplified our operational load. Under ordinary circumstances, Babel's daily logistics are nowhere near this demanding."
From sunrise to late afternoon, Kal'tsit had already performed four consecutive, high-intensity surgeries. Throughout the grueling process, her total resting time didn't even amount to a full hour; she had spent practically the entire day on her feet under the harsh operating lights.
Even with a physical constitution that rivaled an iron android, the sheer frequency of these demanding procedures was beginning to take a visible toll on her. Even the feline ears atop her head looked slightly limp, radiating a distinct aura of profound sleep deprivation.
"Yet, a state of constant occupation is far preferable to absolute stagnation. When an organization finds itself with nothing left to strive for, the inevitable consequence is..." Kal'tsit drifted off, slipping right back into her habit of delivering deeply philosophical, heavily layered statements—the exact kind of abstract prose that Jeanne found utterly incomprehensible.
Jeanne simply stared back, her eyes glazing over into a beautifully vacant, utterly bewildered expression. The ancient doctor was brilliant in every imaginable aspect, save for her infuriating habit of turning a casual conversation into a cryptic riddle.
Given Jeanne's complete lack of literary depth, she possessed absolutely zero ability to decipher the hidden meanings buried beneath Kal'tsit's monologues. Left with no other choice, she simply nodded along, offering a classic, empty response: "Ah, right, right. Completely agree."
Kal'tsit immediately caught the hollow, superficial tone in Jeanne's voice. Realizing that the young girl hadn't absorbed a single word of her philosophical insight, the lynx simply lowered her head and let out a quiet, defeated sigh.
Her distinct speech patterns were far too deeply ingrained to be altered anytime soon, which meant communicating with Jeanne would always remain a bit of an uphill battle. In moments like this, she couldn't help but miss the Doctor; conversing with her fellow strategist was a significantly more fluid experience.
"Kal'tsit! We've run into a highly irregular case in here! Get Jeanne in here to assist immediately!" Warfarin's sharp voice suddenly echoed out from the inner operating room, breaking the silence. Without a moment's hesitation, Jeanne stood up and marched inside to evaluate the crisis.
The patient currently prepped on the table was scheduled to be the final elite operator undergoing the mandatory purification for the foreseeable future. Jeanne recalled that the remaining elite staff either possessed incredibly minor, non-critical cases of Oripathy, or were currently deployed on long-term operations far outside the borders of Kazdel.
Given how late the hour had grown, Jeanne couldn't help but wonder what kind of severe medical emergency required an immediate, late-night operation. Over the past few days, the clinic staff had made it a point to wrap up their duties before dusk, strictly avoiding complex surgeries at night unless it was an absolute matter of life and death.
Judging by the frantic preparations, the patient's internal infection was likely reacting violently to the presence of the Holy Water. As Jeanne approached the table, racked with curiosity, the patient's face came into full view under the surgical lamps—a familiar Sarkaz warrior named Logos.
For the first time, the formidable caster had completely removed his signature veil, exposing his true features. Jeanne stared down at his face, her mind grinding to an absolute halt. The man possessed a countenance that was profoundly beautiful—not masculine or conventionally handsome, but strikingly, undeniably pretty.
Logos offered absolutely no reaction to Jeanne's prolonged, wide-eyed stare. He was entirely desensitized to this specific look; practically every individual who witnessed his true face for the very first time reacted in the exact same dazed manner.
He was simply grateful that Jeanne maintained her composure and didn't immediately burst into hysterical laughter like those absolute bastards in the vanguard division usually did. But he was completely powerless against his own genetics; could anyone truly blame him for inheriting these features? The Banshee bloodline was globally renowned for its ethereal, breathtaking beauty.
As one of the exceedingly rare males born into the predominantly matriarchal Banshee court—a race where females inherently possessed vastly superior magical traits—his distinctly feminine appearance had always been a source of quiet frustration.
Once she piece the lineage puzzle together, Jeanne quickly averted her eyes, intentionally steering her focus away from his facial features. Moving with practiced, effortless efficiency, she initiated the purification process to cleanse the Originium clusters from his system, silently marveling at the sheer, boundless diversity of the Sarkaz race.
More than anything, a profound wave of relief washed over Jeanne's heart. Her medical duties were finally, officially complete. She would no longer be forced to waste away her days confined to a stuffy office chair, waiting around just to ensure a patient didn't suffer a violent magical relapse. Her freedom of movement was finally restored.
She felt that even if she were reassigned to manual labor—like helping the logistics department haul heavy crates across the cargo bay—it would be a million times better than sitting around doing nothing. After days of complete physical inactivity, she felt as though her joints were actively rusting away.
That very evening, while Jeanne was quietly celebrating her newfound freedom inside her private quarters, the door chimed. To her absolute astonishment, Theresa stepped into the room to seek her out.
Theresa, the revered Lord of the Sarkaz and the sovereign ruler of Babel, possessed a presence that was incredibly elusive. Her appearance rate within the residential sectors was rarer than an SSR pull; unless Jeanne actively went out of her way to seek an audience in the command tower, she could easily go days without catching a single glimpse of her.
For a leader who normally remained entirely out of sight to suddenly manifest inside a guest's private room could only mean one thing: an issue of paramount strategic importance had arisen.
Jeanne's intuition was instantly validated the moment Theresa spoke. She had underestimated the sheer, infectious nature of Babel's work culture; these absolute workaholics hadn't just maximized their own efficiency—they were actively dragging a dedicated slacker like her into their relentless cycle of productivity.
"I see you have completed the final procedures," Theresa said, offering a warm, gentle smile. "Our primary vanguard detachment is scheduled to depart for Rim Billiton tomorrow morning to secure the perimeter. I came to inquire about your preference: would you care to accompany our immediate unit, or would you prefer to travel alongside the secondary logistical force?"
Hearing Theresa's words, the pieces of the puzzle instantly clicked into place. No wonder the clinic had been pushing so frantically to execute that final late-night surgery on Logos; Kal'tsit herself was scheduled to evacuate the base at dawn!
Yet, during their earlier conversation, that sly feline hadn't dropped a single explicit hint about the imminent departure... Jeanne recalled the cryptic, incomprehensible monologue Kal'tsit had delivered, remembering the way the doctor had stared at her with that slightly hesitant, lingering gaze, as if she wanted to say something more but ultimately held back.
That old woman really knows how to play her cards close to her chest! Jeanne thought, a mix of amusement and annoyance washing over her.
Had Kal'tsit intentionally withheld the concrete details simply because she knew Theresa would handle the official briefing later? Or had her own complete lack of intuition caused her to entirely miss a blatant verbal hint buried within that philosophical riddle?
"I will accompany the primary vanguard," Jeanne answered without a moment's hesitation.
While a part of her deeply yearned to opt for the second wave just to secure two more days of peaceful, uninterrupted slacking, the sheer, magnetic allure of that massive Originium meteor was far too powerful to ignore. She wanted to be on-site the exact moment it was unearthed.
Jeanne was intensely eager to find out what would happen once her body completely absorbed the boundless energy contained within that massive core. To what terrifying heights would her internal magical reserves swell?
"Understood. The primary force will mobilize in approximately two days," Theresa replied softly. "We still require a brief window to finalize our heavy transport logistics."
"Perfect. That gives me plenty of time to prepare myself as well," Jeanne stated, a bright smile gracing her lips as she happily accepted the unexpected gift of two final days of pure, unadulterated leisure.