"What did she mean by that?"
Hong Meiling was completely bewildered. That woman had charged up the ridge like a lit fuse, bristling with hostility, only to take a couple of looks and turn right back around.
Flandre blinked her bright red eyes. "Perhaps she meant that we were not accomplices in the murder of Her Highness Theresa back then."
"Huh?" Meiling's head tilted further.
"I heard about it," Flandre explained softly. "In the years since Theresa died, any Sarkaz who participated in or was even remotely linked to her assassination has been hunted down relentlessly."
Her words caused Ines—who had remained behind in the shadow of a nearby outcropping—to freeze, her hidden ears pricking up. She certainly knew who the hunter Flandre was referring to; after all, that very white-haired mercenary had just stormed back down the mountain in a huff. But Ines hadn't expected a young Blood Demon girl to possess such keen insight into the inner fractures of Kazdel.
"Then why isn't it Theresis tying up loose ends?" Meiling pressed. In her view, since Theresis had dispatched assassins to kill the opposing leader—who happened to be his own sister—the probability of him purging the conspirators out of guilt or secrecy was far higher than Theresa's remnants seeking vengeance.
Flandre smiled, shaking her head. "That's why you don't understand the Sarkaz."
She looked down toward the valley floor, where the dust of conflict was settling. The victorious mercenaries were already combing through the scorched ruins, salvaging anything that could be repurposed. The Sarkaz were simply too impoverished to discard gear after a single engagement like the standing armies of wealthy nations.
"Yet there is one truly remarkable thing about them," Flandre mused. "The Sarkaz possess an extraordinarily pure faith. It isn't directed toward a deity or a monument, but toward a singular concept—Kazdel. The eternal home of the Sarkaz, their promised land, where they might finally cease their endless wandering and live a stable life on Terra. Every war they fight, whether against foreign invaders or among themselves, stems from this solitary obsession."
She looked back at Meiling. "So, while you could say the Sarkaz are largely unlettered, their blades are drawn with absolute loyalty to that singular goal—either for victory or for sheer survival. Even the notorious Sanguinarch of the Blood Demons only swings his weapon at those he deems enemies of the realm.
"Coupled with Theresis's immense pride, since he authorized the act, he would never deny it. Furthermore, the executors on the ground firmly believed at the moment of betrayal that they were sacrificing themselves for the future of Kazdel, not out of personal malice. Afterward, those participants might commit suicide, vanish into obscurity, or be hunted down by Theresa's loyalists—but Theresis himself would never raise a hand against them."
Hong Meiling rubbed her nose, feeling Flandre's analysis was rather profound. But she genuinely found the Sarkaz difficult to grasp. To her, they seemed less like a unified race and more like a loose coalition of distinct sub-species. After all, what kind of singular race was split into dozens of wildly different branches that looked nothing alike, save for the fact that they walked on two legs?
Vampires and Banshees could hardly be called the same species, right?
Flandre stood up, stretching her small arms high above her head. "We've rested long enough! Shall we continue on our way?"
Not far off, Patchouli, who had kept her head buried in her tome, quietly stood up and brushed the trail dust from her purple dress. Hong Meiling bounded up from the dirt with a fluid kip-up, while Flandre offered a cheerful wave to Ines, who was still standing near the tree line.
"Big sister, we'll be going now!"
"Wait..." Ines stepped out from the shade, looking at Flandre with a curious, searching gaze.
"Is there something else?" Flandre asked, stopping.
"What kind of place is Rhodes Island in your eyes?" Ines inquired softly.
"Rhodes Island?" Flandre recalled her time aboard the landship, her eyes twinkling. "In my eyes, it's just a pure medical institution dedicated to the Infected. They cheer and rejoice over the success of every single operation, and they'll spend an entire day passionately debating a patient's subtle diagnostic changes. Aside from the atmosphere feeling a bit heavy at times, it's actually quite wonderful!"
Hearing her genuine answer, the corners of Ines's mouth curved upward into a subtle smile. She offered a brief nod of gratitude, turned, and melted back into the valley shadows.
"Who were they anyway? It sounded like you knew their history," Meiling asked as they set off.
"You should know that after Theresa died, her faction wasn't completely eradicated," Flandre explained as they glided over the treetops. "The core members established Rhodes Island, while many of the others scattered to make a living as mercenaries or seek their own paths. Those two were part of that original movement—Babel. Though they live as mercenaries now, they served Theresa until the very end."
Hong Meiling nodded in realization. That explained the strange shift in demeanor the moment Rhodes Island was mentioned. As for Patchouli, she had already pieced together the connections from her reading.
Continuing northeast, the trio crossed the fractured expanse of Kazdel a day later, finally stepping over the border onto the verdant, rolling hills of Yan.
In just two short days of crossing the territory, they had witnessed four distinct mercenary skirmishes and been targeted by bandits twice. Honestly, if the three of them weren't formidable enough to flatten a small army, ordinary travelers wouldn't have stood a chance of coming out alive.
"It can't be helped; such hostility is born of utter scarcity," Patchouli noted smoothly, closing her book with a quiet snap. "The resources within Kazdel are severely limited. To survive, its people have been forced to rely strictly on fists and fangs. Yet one must admit the Sarkaz are remarkably resilient.
"I've read numerous historical texts regarding their history recently. They have endured thousands of destructions and rebirths, yet they stubbornly endure. In that regard, their tenacity surpasses almost any other culture on this world."
Patchouli truly admired that unyielding spirit. To endure countless catastrophes without ever relinquishing the dream of a home was a trait worthy of respect.
Flandre clapped her hands together, pointing ahead with a bright smile. "We're officially in Yan now! The environment here is so much better... there definitely won't be a repeat of what happened back in Kazdel... right?!"
Before Flandre could even finish her sentence, seven or eight burly men burst out from the surrounding woods, wielding an assortment of rusted pitchforks, scythes, and heavy wooden sticks.
The leader stepped forward, puffed out his chest, and roared at the top of his lungs: "This road was cleared by my hand, these trees were planted by my sweat! If you wish to pass through here today, leave your silver behind!"
...
Feeling the silent, heavy gazes of Patchouli and Hong Meiling drilling into the back of her neck, Flandre felt her face flush burning red with pure, utter embarrassment.