The battle was over, but the fire would not die. According to Jeanne's estimation, the flames of vengeance would burn until noon the following day.
"What a miraculous power," Talulah marveled, staring at the black inferno. "To turn human emotion—something usually so powerless—into an actual weapon... on this suffering continent, that is an invincible ability."
She noted with a hint of awe that the intensity of Jeanne's flames exceeded even her own. Though Talulah was still growing, she had always been confident in her fire-based Arts. To see them surpassed by "hatred" was a sobering realization.
"I feel like everyone's spirit has changed since the fire began," Alina noted, using her own Arts to sense the emotional landscape. "Those screaming souls from earlier... they are so peaceful now. It's as if they've been purified."
"Of course," Jeanne replied as the trio descended from their vantage point. "Their hatred was given form and returned to their oppressors. They've found catharsis without losing themselves to bloodlust."
The villagers were no longer cheering. They stood in a quiet, somber reverie, watching the flickering silhouettes within the flames. They spoke softly of the friends and family they had lost, their eyes filled with nostalgic longing rather than bitter rage.
"Let's leave them to it," Jeanne whispered. "They'll be here a while. Let's see what this mine was actually hiding."
They headed to the storage sector, where five massive warehouses stood. Jeanne was struck by a wave of irritation: these buildings were newer, sturdier, and better insulated than the barracks where the villagers had been left to freeze.
"The owner was beyond stingy," Jeanne muttered. "He could afford these fortress-like warehouses but wouldn't spare a kopek for a decent roof for his workers. Some people in Ursus are truly beyond saving."
But as they broke the sophisticated locks on the doors, a new question arose: why did a low-yield mine need five massive warehouses?
In the fourth warehouse, they found the answer. Rows upon rows of black crates filled the space. When pried open, they revealed military rations and high-grade weaponry. There was enough here to arm two thousand men for a month.
"This isn't just a mine," Talulah whispered. "It's a transit hub for a corruption ring."
Alina emerged from a dusty corner clutching a stack of documents. "Jeanne, Talulah! Look at these!"
They were ledgers—records of incoming and outgoing shipments. Most were only a month old, suggesting older records had been destroyed. The primary destination for these arms? Kazdel. The civil war in Kazdel was likely the engine driving this demand. But it wasn't just the Sarkaz. As they checked the other warehouses, they found ties to Victoria, Leithanien, Siracusa, and Yan. This wasn't a small-time operation. High-ranking officials were using this "worthless" mine as a shadow depot to sell military surplus to foreign powers. The mine owner was likely just a useful idiot—a "scapegoat" who provided a cover story while the Patrol Captain and his superiors moved the real money. The villagers were merely disposable tools to keep the facade running.
In the fifth warehouse, they found the "small-time" loot: grain, alcohol, meat, and gold. It was a treasure trove that would have taken several trucks to move.
By noon the next day, the fires had vanished, leaving only ash where the oppressors had stood. The "Hell on Earth" had finally reached its end.
To the girls' surprise, out of the nearly 500 survivors, more than 380 chose to follow them. They had expected maybe a hundred. Perhaps it was Jeanne's speech, or perhaps it was the "miracle" of the light that had convinced them that following these girls was their only path to a real future.
Talulah ensured those who chose to leave were given enough food, meat, and vodka to survive the trek to the nearest neutral settlement.
They found a second truck in the motor pool, and luckily, one of the villagers knew how to drive it. After a day of frantic packing—loading weapons, food, gold, and most importantly, the ledgers Alina had found—the caravan was ready.
On the morning of their departure, the blizzard that had raged for days finally broke. The sky cleared into a brilliant, crystalline blue.
Before they left, Talulah unleashed a final, towering inferno, reducing the remains of the mine buildings to cinders. It was a signal to the survivors: the past was dead. They were free.
Jeanne took the lead, her white banner snapping in the cold wind, heading toward the rising sun.
"My heart tells me there is a home for us that way," Jeanne said, looking back at the long line of people following them.
The journey of the Reunion Movement—though they did not yet call themselves that—had officially begun.