Upon hearing that Jeanne also harbored intentions of leaving the area for a while, Kal'tsit cast the Doctor aside and imdiately began discussing the finer operational details of the plan with her. The primary objective was simply to successfully deceive those watching eyes.
Kal'tsit's main concern was that if things continued along this trajectory, Rhodes Island would be thoroughly drawn into the crosshairs of these various factions long before Fafnir was even officially discovered. When that ti ca, Kal'tsit had absolutely zero faith that these people would be noble enough to honor their agreents and refrain from making a move against Rhodes Island.
On Jeanne's end, she had originally intended to put so distance between herself and the camp anyway. Her chief priority was to ascertain the exact paraters of Fafnir's combat threshold, ensuring she would be ntally prepared for the child's future conduct.
Furthermore, she needed to teach this little girl to properly regulate her physical output. Just this morning, when the child knocked on her door, she had nearly punched a clean hole right through the wood. Fortunately, Jeanne's reflexes had been swift enough to restrain the little guy in the nick of ti.
Jeanne was well aware that it wasn't a matter of Fafnir being incapable of controlling her strength; rather, she simply chose not to expend any focus on such trivial matters. Otherwise, how could the child manage to regulate her force so flawlessly whenever she embraced Jeanne?
Perhaps this was simply the typical cognitive process of a Great Dragon. They paid little heed to the vast majority of mundane affairs. If she expected the child to adapt seamlessly to human society, Jeanne estimated she would have to toil diligently for quite a long ti to co.
"Since the arrangents are settled, I shall not impose upon your ti any further..." Following a brief exchange of pleasantries with Jeanne, Kal'tsit prepared to take her leave, prompting a palpable sigh of relief from the Doctor, who scrambled to make a swift exit of her own.
"You, co with . I still require your assistance with quite a few matters on my end." The exact instant Kal'tsit crossed paths with the Doctor, she forcefully apprehended her and dragged her along.
The Doctor was transparently resistant to this achingly familiar grip of death. Yet, just as she was marshalling her strength to break free from the ruthless, iron-clad hands of the rciless Feline, she collided directly with Kal'tsit's completely unblinking, deadpan stare.
"My deepest apologies. Compared to those cats you've been raising, I am indeed far too ungentle. However, those gentle cats of yours will be entirely incapable of resolving the volu of work currently demanding your attention."
Even though Kal'tsit spoke without a single shred of emotional fluctuation, the Doctor could acutely discern a distinct trace of displeasure and impatience laced within her words. If she failed to cooperate any further, the consequences would surely defy imagination.
Like a stray cub caught red-handed by the matriarch, the Doctor was unceremoniously hauled away by the scruff of her neck by the cat mother... or rather, by Kal'tsit. Jeanne could do nothing but offer a sympathetic wave of farewell from where she stood.
Jeanne's expression was a highly complex blend of profound pity and blatant schadenfreude, perfectly encapsulating the look of a bystander who thoroughly enjoyed watching a chaotic spectacle. Had the circumstances been slightly more appropriate, she likely would have tagged along just to spectate the unfolding entertainnt.
As for little Fafnir, though she couldn't fathom what these humans were doing, seeing Jeanne wave her arm prompted her to mimic the gesture, stiffly swinging her own arm as if delivering a formal send-off to the Doctor.
The Doctor: Don't just stand there watching! Figure out a way to rescue ! If this keeps up, it won't be long before I find myself physically strung up from the highest point of the landship's bridge!
Jeanne: Safe travels!
Imdiately after, Jeanne scooped Fafnir up into her arms and swiftly evacuated this hotbed of trouble. It was probably for the best that the child didn't witness whatever horrors were slated to occur next. It was ti to pack their effects and prepare for departure!
Jeanne operated with imnse celerity, managing to stealthily slip away from the camp in under half an hour. To an outside observer unaware of the context, her guarded posture would have easily gotten her mistaken for a thief sneaking out with stolen goods.
"Jeanne, why are we walking like this?" Tugging at her from behind, Fafnir voiced her confusion. She couldn't comprehend why Jeanne was departing with such agonizing caution. Wouldn't it be much simpler to just take flight and soar away like they did yesterday?
"For concealnt, of course! Right now, it's paramount that we avoid being spotted by the surrounding scouts. Besides, it isn't the opportune mont to completely wipe those fellows out just yet!"
Relying on the passive guidance of her Revelation, Jeanne navigated a path that ensured they remained completely undetected. Though it sounded sowhat far-fetched, the two of them traversed the desolate wasteland without attracting a single wandering eye.
After a considerable duration, Jeanne and her companion—now mounted upon a sturdy earth-dragon—gazed back toward the distant plains where the camp had vanished from sight. This isolated, empty stretch of terrain was indeed a perfect theater for what was to co!
However, the imdiate problem was that their advance had to be temporarily halted. The bumpy, jarring rhythm of the journey had triggered Fafnir's hunger once more. At this very mont, she was busy gnawing on a heavily roasted rabbit, pairing it with a loaf of bread that bore a striking resemblance to a long French baguette.
To reiterate, if one were to lash that specific loaf of bread to a sturdy wooden shaft, it would function perfectly as a war hamr; wielded on its own, it was a lethal bludgeon capable of felling wild beasts. One couldn't help but wonder if the personnel of Babel possessed so sort of innate genetic talent for baking catastrophically hard bread.
"Fafnir, revert to your true form!" Following a brief interlude of snacking, Fafnir complied with Jeanne's command, instantly manifesting her colossal draconic physique. In that exact fraction of a second, an overwhelming sense of instinctual dread rippled through the hearts of every living soul across the region.
Every observer in the distance bore witness to a monolithic silhouette blotting out the sky. The scouts stationed in the periphery of Rhodes Island completely abandoned their surveillance duties, frantically scrambling to contact their respective superiors to coordinate a deploynt to capture the magnificent creature.
In this single instant, the sheer magnitude of the potential windfall completely unseated their rational faculties. They didn't stop to consider whether they possessed the martial capability to survive an encounter with such a entity; after all, securing a single scale or a solitary drop of its blood would guarantee them an legendary promotion!
Among their ranks were undercover operatives and corporate spies dispatched by various nations and conglorates, all embedded within Rim Billiton to unearth items of extre value and relay the intel—or the objects themselves—back to their employers.
This frenzy was heavily enabled by Rim Billiton's lenient regulatory stance, which permitted foreign corporate entities to excavate its territories. Had this occurred within the borders of any other sovereign nation, external factions would never have been permitted to conduct such operations; after all, these assets possessed the potential to alter the geopolitical balance of an entire country!
If they could successfully deliver intelligence of such monuntal worth, they might finally secure a permanent residency within a hospitable, climate-controlled Nomadic City, paired with a highly lucrative salary, rather than spending their remaining days choking on dust in this barren wasteland!
For the sake of elevating their quality of life, what did it matter if their lives were placed in jeopardy? Even if a lethal outco was a mathematical certainty, they were entirely willing to gamble their existences for a chance to shatter the shackles of fate!
Shortly thereafter, however, they discovered to their imnse dismay that the top speed of their motorized vehicles couldn't even begin to compete with the creature's velocity in the sky! Furthermore, a vast geographical expanse already separated them; had it not been for the behemoth's staggering physical proportions, they would have lost its trail within minutes.
Even so, these drivers slamd their accelerators so viciously that the pedals were on the verge of fracturing. They could only watch with wide, helpless eyes as the great beast effortlessly glided away into the horizon, leaving them utterly devoid of recourse.
Operatives backed by more formidable syndicates could at least rally their regional colleagues to maintain a relay pursuit, but the vast majority had no choice but to abandon the chase entirely. They turned back to scour the area for any secondary points of interest, hoping to salvage sothing of value.
"Forget it. Even if we managed to catch up to that thing, what could we possibly do? Do you honestly believe a ragtag band like us possesses the specialized armant required to breach its hide?"
Following a brief, exhaustive exertion, a significant portion of the scouts began to beat a retreat. A terrifying organism of this caliber was simply not sothing they could hope to contest through sheer courage alone.
Yet, a few remained intensely unreconciled to the outco. Given the current reality, however, they were powerless to act, forced to bide their ti and engineer a more viable strategy for when the creature inevitably manifested a second ti.
They could only pray that it would remain within the territorial jurisdiction of Rim Billiton. If it chose to vacate the region entirely, the logistical difficulty of securing another opportunity to harvest its armored scales would beco astronomically high!
"Jeanne, why do we not simply eliminate those pests?" As they soared through the clouds, Fafnir easily detected the motorized units trailing far beneath them. She naturally harbored an intense distaste for these irritating vermin.
Or more accurately, she currently harbored a profound aversion to the human species as a whole. Back at the camp, the only individuals who hadn't been subjected to her icy, clinical detachnt—aside from Theresa—were a select few Vouivres.
This preference was likely linked to the draconic lineage coursing through those specific individuals. Yet, even that biological affinity only served to moderate Fafnir's coldness to a minor degree; anything more substantial required far more than a basic racial baseline of goodwill.
Co to think of it, if Fafnir were to ever cross paths with Talulah, what kind of attitude would she display? As two individuals whose ancestral bloodlines were likely exceptionally close, their initial eting would presumably go a bit more smoothly, wouldn't it?
"We cannot do so just yet. Our primary objective was to let these people witness your departure anyway. Exercise a bit of patience, and I'll take you to get sothing truly delicious later."
Jeanne gently ran her hand along Fafnir's massive scales, which effectively placated the dragon's minor irritation. Her earlier comnt had rely been a passing complaint; Fafnir possessed zero genuine desire to wheel around and hunt down those fragile creatures.
Nevertheless, Fafnir's interest was intensely piqued by the ntion of "sothing delicious." Or rather, her fascination extended to absolutely anything that qualified as edible.
Perched upon the dragon's broad back, Jeanne solidified her resolve to aggressively procure logistical supplies at the earliest opportunity. If she allowed this consumption rate to persist, she would completely exhaust every available resource required to keep this child fed.
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