"You've all seen my explanation now! That is our official stance! The Paleroches Clan will never back down or compromise with you over a few loud complaints, unlike the Silverash Clan!"
Arctosz's booming voice resounded through the square, but the crowd below remained dead silent. The sudden, violent force of the blast had left the workers completely stunned; not a single soul dared to utter a word.
Whatever courage had buoyed them—born purely from the sheer impossibility of making ends meet—was thoroughly snuffed out in that single instant. Every worker present was shaken to the core by Arctosz's ruthless display, too terrified to even make a stray movement.
"Kjerag is facing mounting troubles right now. We must shut down those facilities. But if you dare to cause another disturbance here..."
He pointed his massive battleaxe toward the smoldering debris nearby. "That destroyed storehouse is the exact fate waiting for every other factory! Now get yourselves back to where you belong, and don't let me catch sight of you again!"
Watching the scene unfold, Jeanne was left completely astounded. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined Arctosz would tackle civil unrest with such reckless, heavy-handed brute force—a method every bit as dense as the man himself.
In her view, even if the workers' demands were a nuisance, any sensible ruler would at least attempt to pacify the crowd first. Did he truly harbor no fear that a thousand desperate people might swarm forward and beat him to a pulp on the spot?
Yet as Jeanne swept her gaze across the workers, taking in their terrified eyes and seeing how not a single person dared step forward, a sudden realization struck her. There was a reason for this passive surrender.
Though the Clan guards were few in number, every laborer present knew all too well how formidable the Paleroches Clan could be. A century of ingrained fear could not be dismantled by a handful of protests.
These workers might nurse a burning resentment deep within their hearts, but none possessed the nerve to raise a hand against the chief of a high clan right here, right now.
With heavy hearts, the crowd began to disperse in bitter disappointment. Everyone understood that any hope of the factories reopening in the near future was utterly dashed; their only choice now was to scramble for whatever meager odd jobs they could find to feed their families.
"If only the Silverash Clan were still in charge... at least we'd still have a way to make a living..."
Deep within the retreating crowd, an unknown worker muttered the thought aloud, instantly drawing sympathetic nods from those nearby. Nostalgia for the Silverash Clan began to spread among them—the very family whose rule they had once taken for granted.
Why had they felt so indifferent when the Silverash Clan was stripped of its administrative power? Perhaps because they assumed high-level politics had nothing to do with common folk. Looking back now, that apathy felt painfully ironic.
Resentful whispers like these began to spread through the crowd like wildfire. Jeanne could feel the shift in the air; these people were like a mountain of dry tinder, waiting only for a single spark to ignite their pent-up fury into a inferno.
Jeanne's expression turned grim. It wasn't just a lingering suspicion that this disaster played straight into Enciodes's grand scheme—it was that Arctosz's sheer lack of forethought was beyond belief.
Gazing up at Arctosz, who stood there looking rather pleased with himself amidst the wreckage, Jeanne set her face in a hard scowl and marched straight toward the massive Ursus. As she approached, she caught sight of a familiar orange-furred Zalak stepping out from the crowd.
"You've gone completely out of your mind, Arctosz!" Ratatos barked, her voice laced with sharp fury. "You have zero right to blow up that storehouse! This land belongs to the Silverash Clan—which makes it the Saintess's divine domain!"
Ratatos had only wandered over to satisfy her curiosity after hearing rumors of a commotion, never expecting to witness such an absurd spectacle—a disaster tailored perfectly to Enciodes's exact hopes.
"I am merely instilling a proper sense of dread in those who don't know their place!" Arctosz countered, completely unbothered by her scolding. "Or are you suggesting I should bow to their whims like the Silverash Clan and reopen those cursed factories?"
With the monks of the Vine-Bear Court backing him, Arctosz saw no reason to care about Ratatos's disapproval. What could possibly go wrong?
"You had a dozen better ways to handle this!" Ratatos snapped, her ears twitching in sheer frustration. "All you had to do was tell them the plants were undergoing a routine inspection and would resume production soon! They would have dispersed peacefully instead of leaving with hearts full of venom!"
Ratatos was nearly driven mad by her thick-skulled ally. She had explicitly warned him that Enciodes was actively plotting a moves against the realm, yet the man refused to exercise even a shred of restraint.
"That is precisely why I must remind them!" Arctosz boomed back, puffing out his chest. "The Paleroches Clan and the Vine-Bear Court remain as mighty as ever! Only by maintaining that fear will these commoners stay in line and refrain from foolish rebellion!"
"Then go ahead and live with your absolute foolishness!" Ratatos spat, her tail swishing so fast it blurred into a phantom image. "I only hope that when you finally face Kjeragandr, you can maintain that exact same arrogant tone!"
Furious beyond words, she whirled around to leave, refusing to waste another second arguing with a wall. She was determined not to let her own people, the Browntail Clan, be dragged down into the abyss by this utter blockhead.
In her haste, however, Ratatos turned around without looking and bumped straight into a surprisingly soft obstacle, bouncing back half a step.
Snapping out of her surprise, Ratatos hurriedly offered an apology to the person in front of her. Standing before her was Jeanne, whose chest rocked slightly from the impact. Ratatos quickly realized what part of the taller woman she had just slammed into.
"My apologies, I wasn't looking where I was going..." Ratatos murmured, her face flushing slightly.
"Don't worry about it. I approached without speaking up first anyway," Jeanne replied with a dismissive wave, completely unbothered. Turning her gaze back toward the giant, she added, "However, there are a few pressing matters I intend to settle with Mister Arctosz."
"Oh?" Arctosz grunted, his tone still gruff, though the sharp edge in his voice had softened somewhat. "And what guidance does the Saintess of Laterano have regarding my actions today?"
"I have no idea whether your previous methods were always this recklessly blunt," Jeanne began, stepping forward to look the giant straight in the eye without backing down an inch, despite him standing nearly thirty centimeters taller than her. "But I will say this—a massive portion of today's crisis rests squarely on your utter failure of duty!"
Jeanne pulled no punches, delivering a scolding that left zero room for his pride. His reckless stunt today had brought all her lingering frustration from the past few days bubbling straight to the surface.
"You shut down every processing plant without a moment's thought, stripping these working families of their ability to put food on the table! Then, through sheer carelessness, you exposed the workers to heightened infection risks, leaving them stranded without adequate medicine—"
She shredded the Ursus chief's dignity in front of everyone, laying out his failures without a shred of hesitation.
The remaining onlookers stared at Jeanne as if she were a legendary hero. She was giving voice to the very thoughts they harbored but lacked the courage to speak aloud.
Arctosz's face turned a violent, blotchy red, his broad chest heaving like a forge bellows as he swelled up like an enraged toad.
He had never imagined Jeanne would show him such utter disrespect, dressing him down in public like a misbehaving child. As chief of a high clan, when had he ever suffered such a humiliating public disgrace?
If he weren't acutely aware of her formidable combat prowess and her status as a noble guest, Arctosz would have ordered his guards to drag her off for a public whipping this instant, just to teach her what respect meant in Kjerag!
"Kjerag operates under its own unique circumstances," Arctosz squeezed through gritted teeth, his eyes gleaming with clear hostility. "Your advice might suit the grand cities outside our borders, but it has no place in this realm. I suggest you refrain from meddling in affairs that do not concern you."
His stare burned with deep distrust. Ever since this foreign Saintess set foot in Kjerag, chaos and unrest had erupted in every corner of the country. Even if she wasn't directly pulling the strings, his deep-seated dislike and suspicion toward her had only grown stronger by the day.
Seeing his stubborn, unyielding posture, Jeanne realized that further reasoning was a complete waste of breath. There was no point offering advice to a man marching straight toward his own undoing.
"Then it seems we have nothing left to discuss," Jeanne said coldly, giving him one final, piercing look. "I will leave you with a single warning: your outdated methods might have worked in the Kjerag of yesterday, but they will fail you miserably today."
Ratatos cast a contemptuous glance at the old traditionalist who refused to adapt to the changing tides. Reaching out, she took the arm of the Laterano warrior—who looked ready to lay into him further—and pulled her away from the ruins, leaving Arctosz standing alone with his battleaxe gripped tight in his fist.
"Chief..." a nervous guard whispered, shuffling forward cautiously, terrified that a wrong word might trigger his leader's explosive wrath.
"Clear this trash away," Arctosz barked through gritted teeth, turning his back on the crowd. "Level the ground and turn it into a drying square for grain."
With that final order, he strode heavily back toward his fortress walls.
Once they had put a safe distance between themselves and the guards, Ratatos finally unleashed the torrent of rage she had been suppressing.
"That complete and utter muscle-brained fool! He is sprinting headfirst toward his own grave!" Ratatos roared, pacing back and forth in an empty alleyway. "What on earth is stuffed inside that thick skull of his?!"
A string of colourful Kjerag curses spilled from her lips—phrases so archaic and creative that even Jeanne had never heard their like before.
"What's your next move?" Jeanne asked quietly, leaning against the alley wall once the Zalak's tirade slowed down. Given the current state of affairs, any hope of the Browntail Clan collaborating with the Paleroches Clan was officially dead.
Ratatos went silent for a long moment, her ears twitching as she weighed her remaining options. Finally, a look of grim resolve settled across her features.
"We go to the Silverash estate," Ratatos declared. "I need to see if there's any room left to forge an alliance with Enciodes. But I'll need a favor—I need you to come with me and lend a hand with my personal security."
With the political landscape unraveling into complete chaos, she could no longer afford the luxury of remaining neutral.
First and foremost, she had to ensure the Browntail Clan didn't end up dragged down into ruin alongside that muscle-brained fool.