One month later, Jeanne and the others had settled on a derelict mobile sector. They were working tirelessly to build a new home for the survivors.
Thanks to Jeanne's efforts, they were actually able to plant crops in the dead of winter. However, Jeanne looked a bit... bloated.
To melt the permafrost and make the earth fertile during a tundra winter required a level of "miracle" far beyond simply suppressing Oripathy. It required high-concentration Holy Water and prolonged prayer—or rather, prolonged contact between the water and her body. For an entire week, Jeanne had soaked in the water vats to sanctify the volume needed for the fields, leaving her skin pruney and swollen.
Meanwhile, Talulah, who had been "boiling" the water from beneath with her Arts, was half-delirious from the effort. On the bright side, she had gained perfect control over the shape of her flames; the fire on her tail was now constant and stable. She had officially evolved from a "Charmander" into a "Charizard."
The scene at the time—a dragon girl boiling a girl in a pot—looked like something out of a horror story. Anyone with a weak heart might have fled the village thinking Talulah was prepping a Saint-flavored soup. But the result was worth it: they had fertile land for a month, and with the snow season ending, they would have fresh food by spring.
During this month, Talulah had solidified her role as the leader. Though she loathed Kashchey, she had refined the administrative skills she learned from that "Snake" to manage the camp effectively.
As for Jeanne? She was a mascot. A total figurehead. You could ask her to fight a war or hold a line, but asking a farm girl to manage the bureaucracy of a growing settlement was a bridge too far.
While the camp was secure, new problems arose: they were out of medical supplies, salt, and kerosene. They lacked everything they couldn't manufacture themselves.
"The main issue is still the lack of manpower," Talulah sighed, leaning over her paperwork. "If we take in more Infected, we won't have enough food to go around..."
Snore... slurp... hrr-phuuu...
Talulah's forehead darkened as she looked at Jeanne, who was face-down on the desk, sound asleep. If Alina weren't busy teaching the children, Talulah wouldn't have even bothered bringing Jeanne into the "office." Alina could offer advice and encouragement, but the moment Jeanne heard the word "logistics," she fell into a sleep deeper than any sedative could provide.
Talulah reached out and popped the snot bubble on Jeanne's nose.
"Mmph... the heartless administrator is abusing a poor maiden again!" Jeanne groaned, blinking awake.
"Who's the heartless one here?! Help me out for once!" Talulah yelled in frustration.
"Oh, my old friend," Jeanne said, switching to a bizarre, theatrical accent. "You must realize these things are hard to find. Only the mobile cities have them... but, my friend! We cannot enter! An Infected trying to sneak in with a truckload of gold would end up very dead!"
"Oh, my Jeanne! I swear, if you use that weird tone again, that Advanced Mathematics book you're drooling on will be the only thing you'll ever sleep with again."
Talulah had grown used to Jeanne's antics; they were the only thing keeping her sane. But the problem remained: they needed supplies. They had plenty of premium vodka—the trucks had nearly emptied two warehouses of the stuff—but they couldn't drink top-shelf spirits every day. One bottle was worth a hundred bottles of the cheap stuff, but even a spendthrift wouldn't trade that way forever.
"Fine, we have enough for the short term," Jeanne comforted her, patting Talulah on the back. "I'll head out in a few days to find a merchant caravan and see if I can make a trade."
"Stop patting me! You're breaking my train of thought!" Talulah sighed. The "Mascot" relied on intuition, but they couldn't run a revolution on gut feelings alone. They needed a plan for the worst-case scenario.
"I'll work overtime for the next two days to make more Holy Water to act as medicine," Jeanne offered. "As long as the symptoms aren't too severe, it can help people recover."
"That would be a huge help. Get some rest after that, and I'll handle the rest," Talulah said, rubbing her temples.
She thought about finding allies. She remembered some miners Jeanne had rescued previously. They had mentioned the "Shield of the Infected," a legendary figure named Patriot and his Yeti Squadron. If they could find them, their problems would be solved—but finding a guerrilla legend in the vast tundra was a needle in a haystack.
"By the way, Talulah," Jeanne said as she got up to leave. "I'm coming to your room tonight. Be back early."
Talulah's heart skipped a beat. She stammered, turning a bright shade of red. "W-what for? I'm not... I'm not ready! Can't we wait a few years for that kind of thing?"
Jeanne: "???"
Alina (who just walked in after class): "...? What happened? I was only gone for an hour, and you two have progressed that far?!"