Over the next two weeks, the situation unfolded exactly as Jeanne had foreseen. Egged on by a handful of ambitious instigators, nearly a thousand villagers packed their carts and walked out of the settlement, loudly declaring their intentions to build a rival haven where they could live on their own terms.
Yet, Jeanne knew down to her bones that their future held no such fortune. The moment they stepped beyond the valley's defensive perimeter, the raw cruelty of the wilderness would find them. If even forty percent of those who departed managed to survive, it would be a miracle of pure luck.
Still, a smaller population brought its own set of advantages. The avenues grew delightfully quiet, and the vanguard no longer had to stretch their forces thin across multiple residential sectors. Best of all, the suffocating atmosphere of sabotage and covert agitation vanished overnight.
As for Talulah, ever since she let out her burdens through that good, long cry, she had thrown herself back into coordinating the community's daily routines with her usual vigor. It was as though the lingering shadows of the past week had been swept clean by a fresh winter wind.
Her mood had rebounded so spectacularly that Jeanne personally witnessed the Draco devouring two extra bowls of rice at noon. For a fleeting second, Jeanne genuinely wondered if Fafnir had undergone a sudden growth spurt.
The dramatic shift left the remaining inner circle thoroughly bewildered. Everyone had witnessed Talulah's crushing despondency just days before, so her instantaneous transformation into an energetic leader sparked a great deal of quiet curiosity and gossip among the ranks.
"Are there any families still waiting to depart...?" Jeanne sighed, leaning against the counter of the nearly deserted storehouse.
Her hectic schedule was finally winding down to a baseline of normalcy. Distributing nearly a thousand packages of grain and tools over the past fortnight had been an exhausting ordeal, leaving her thoroughly spent.
A nearby guard glanced over the empty square, pondering the question before answering softly, "There should be none left, Sister Jeanne. Those who wished to break away formed large bands to travel together, since venturing out into the snow drifts alone is a guaranteed death sentence."
The logistics crew had endured endless headaches while dealing with the departing crowd. The physical labor was nothing compared to the mental exhaustion; bargaining with those greedy dissenters was a thoroughly taxing chore.
The outcasts had concocted every imaginative excuse under the sun to demand extra portions. Some had even resorted to throwing childish tantrums, rolling around in the slush and threatening to occupy the storehouse indefinitely if their sacks weren't packed to the brim.
They behaved this way simply because they could see the vanguard's vaults still held a wealth of grain. Overcome by a sudden urge to hoard everything, they cared nothing for the survival of the loyalists remaining behind, nor did they spare a single thought for the companions who had sheltered them.
Since they were parting ways, why should they care about anyone else? If a bit of ruthless greed could secure them a more comfortable winter, they were more than willing to snatch the survival bread right out of their neighbors' mouths. A few factions had even harbored a dark impulse to resort to outright banditry.
Had Jeanne and the heavy guards not been standing at the gates to enforce order, dozens of rogue bands would have undoubtedly set up ambushes right outside the village boundary, robbing their fellow exiles of their meager belongings just to pad their own wagons.
Jeanne, naturally, possessed zero tolerance for such parasitic scum. Her cleansing flame was the only suitable answer for those who attempted to rob the vulnerable, ensuring the stolen goods were returned to the rightful owners while leaving the surviving thieves to the cold mercy of the blizzards.
As for the victims who were rescued from these ambushes, the terrifying ordeal seemed to shock their memories, forcing them to recall a brutal reality they had forgotten during their months of peaceful village life: the fact that this land was a monster that swallowed the weak whole.
Regret choked their hearts. They suddenly realized the sheer madness of forfeiting the umbrella of protection provided by Talulah and her fighters, but their second thoughts came far too late. The vanguard possessed no desire to welcome back those who had already turned their backs on the movement.
Talulah noted every ripple of this chaos. Though she witnessed the ugly breakdowns outside her walls, she chose to offer no public commentary, quietly observing the final fractures of the old settlement.
When the loyalists barred the gates against the desperate exiles who begged to return, the outcasts screamed foul curses into the wind, branding Talulah a heartless, unfeeling monster. Watching their dramatic reversal, the Draco actually found a trace of dark irony in the spectacle.
The surrounding unrest persisted for nearly half a month, lasting until the exiles exhausted the traveling rations they had taken from the storehouse. When they realized the vanguard wouldn't grant them so much as a single cup of clean water, they finally slunk away into the wastes, completely drained of the arrogance required to mount a violent raid.
What those fools failed to realize was that even if they had succeeded in breaching the village walls, they wouldn't have found a single scrap of bread. The old settlement was already an empty shell.
A vast majority of the loyalists had already relocated to the moving town hidden within the mountain fissures. The nomadic city would trail safely behind the vanguard's advance, its security guaranteed by Jeanne's Wyverns to ensure no imperial scouts could compromise its infrastructure.
"In just a few days, we strike camp and march!"
Within the borders of the abandoned village, only a single cottage still cast a warm, inviting glow into the winter night. Talulah, Jeanne, Alina, and Fafnir sat around a small wooden table, sharing a quiet conversation amidst the enveloping silence of the dark valley.
Talulah was exceptionally animated tonight. Perhaps it was the thrill of their imminent journey, or perhaps she was simply savoring the rare luxury of sitting with her family without a single strategic parameter clouding her mind.
With the civilian populace settled comfortably aboard the moving town, even the small vanguard units left behind were busy exploring the mechanics of the vessel. For one beautiful night, there were no disputes demanding their intervention.
"It really feels like ages since we last sat together like this," Alina murmured, a nostalgic smile gracing her features as she reached down to adjust the blanket around Fafnir's shoulders before looking across at Jeanne and Talulah. "Lately, our days have been so consumed by administrative duties that we forgot how to simply enjoy each other's company."
In a matter of days, the vanguard would abandon this valley entirely and chart a course for the southern frontier. The moving town was currently hosting a lively festival to help the fighters unwind, given that none of them could truly predict the hardships waiting on the road ahead.
Yet, the leaders had quietly slipped away from the grand celebration. Choosing to spend their final night in the very house they had built with their own hands, the three women sought nothing more than a quiet evening of solidarity.
"Since this is a proper celebration, why don't we indulge in a little spirits?" Alina suddenly suggested, catching Jeanne entirely off guard.
The gentle Elafia maiden certainly didn't look like the type to enjoy heavy liquor. In all her years of companionship, Jeanne had never seen her touch a single drop of alcohol, assuming the schoolteacher was entirely abstemious.
Talulah, by contrast, was no stranger to drink, occasionally taking a swift draft to stave off the biting winter chill. As for Jeanne herself, she seemed to have completely forgotten that fact that she's in her Dragon Witch form[1].
Sensing a perfect opportunity to indulge her high spirits, Talulah eagerly bounded across the room to fetch the glassware. Staring at the clear, water-like fluid—a batch she had personally confiscated from an imperial supply train months ago—Jeanne felt a sudden wave of trepidation. Surely a single, polite sip wouldn't cause any major issues... right?
"I don't mind," Jeanne said, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness as she turned a sharp gaze toward the Elafia. "But... Alina, since when do you drink?"
"Of course I do," Alina replied with a serene, entirely natural smile. "How could a child raised within the borders of Ursus not know how to handle a glass? The only reason you haven't seen it before is because my household never possessed the financial flexibility to waste coin on liquor."
The logic sounded perfectly reasonable, yet Jeanne couldn't shake a lingering sense of foreboding.
Before she could devise a polite excuse to decline, Talulah returned to the table with three large glasses. Alina deftly uncorked the bottle and poured three generous measures of high-proof Ursus vodka, sliding the first cup directly into Jeanne's hands.
Accepting the glass of what the locals affectionately dubbed the "water of life," Jeanne brought the rim to her nose, wincing slightly as the pungent, medicinal vapor hit her senses. She was undeniably curious about the fluid, having watched the soldiers drink it around winter campfires, yet a quiet voice in her mind warned her of the consequences of indulging herself too much.
"Don't tell me... the legendary saint is afraid of a single cup?" Talulah teased, noting her companion's hesitation.
"Come to think of it, I don't believe I've ever seen Jeanne partake either," Alina added, pouring a cup of crystal-clear well water for Fafnir. The young dragon girl was far too small to be introduced to the harsh traditions of northern drinking.
Fafnir stared at her small cup with an adorable pout, her sharp senses telling her that her drink was fundamentally different from the fiery liquid the adults were holding. But under Alina's strict, maternal gaze, she accepted her boundaries and prepared to raise her water like a true warrior.
"I may not indulge often, but claiming I cannot handle it is absurd! It's merely a drink—a trivial matter like this could never best me!" Jeanne declared proudly.
Spurred by a sudden burst of stubborn pride, she cut off Talulah's impending offer to fetch her a glass of water instead. She was, after all, a mature nineteen-year-old youth; sampling the local culture was a perfectly acceptable milestone.
"If you say so..." Talulah chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she raised her glass high. "Then let us drink to a smooth journey and a flawless march into the unknown!"
"Cheers!" the four voices rang out in unison.
Even young Fafnir clutched her small cup, enthusiastically clinking it against the heavy glass of the adults.
Then, before Talulah or Alina could even bring their own drinks to their lips, a spectacular sight unfolded right before their eyes: Jeanne threw her head back and drained the entire glass of high-proof liquor in a single, continuous gulp!
A heartbeat later, the two onlookers watched in awe as a violent crimson flush rushed up Jeanne's neck, staining her cheeks a bright, vivid scarlet. Her eyes grew instantly glassy and unfocused, and her small frame began to sway rhythmically from side to side where she sat.
"Jeanne... are you alright?" Talulah stammered. She had never anticipated her friend being so reckless. Even an amateur should have known the volatile potency of Ursus firewater.
"Me? I am... I am absolutely magnificent! Never better!"
The moment the slurred declaration left her lips, it was as though a secret switch had been flipped deep within Jeanne's consciousness. Right there at the kitchen table, her form began to rapidly shift and flicker.
First came the dark, unyielding vestments of her avenging alter ego, only to instantly snap back into the pristine, snow-white robes of the holy maiden. Black, white, black, white—her appearance cycled back and forth with dizzying speed.
Talulah and Alina stared at the flickering saint in absolute astonishment.
It turned out that when Jeanne drank to excess, she didn't become a loud, disruptive brawler; she simply sat there like a broken projector, cycling through her various moral alignments.
Exchanging a highly amused glance, the two friends burst into a warm, uncontrollable fit of laughter, watching the dazed dragon-tamer mumble incoherent nonsense while her robes continued to shift colors in the firelight.
All things considered, a drunken Jeanne was remarkably endearing.
[1] I think Jalter is stated to be weak against alcohol and if Jeanne was in her Ruler state, she wouldn't drink alcohol since she considers it to be sinful.