Flandre blinked her bright crimson eyes. "So what?"
Warfarin nodded slowly. "True, it doesn't really matter—I'm just far too curious. You and your sister possess such staggering strength, yet both of you were completely unknown until recently. I had never even heard the surname 'Scarlet' mentioned among our bloodlines before. But never mind, I am hardly a census officer, nor did I drag you over here to inspect your family registry. Even if I wanted to, that falls well outside my scope of work."
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I simply heard through the grapevine that you flatly rejected Duq'arael's personal invitation, and Smarty mentioned you previously clashed with Theresis himself outside the gates of Londinium. So... why?"
By the end of her sentence, Warfarin looked utterly perplexed.
"Why...?" Flandre tilted her head, her expression surprisingly nonchalant. "Because back when I snuck out of home, I received word that Her Highness had passed away. I didn't understand a single thing back then, and I ended up being snatched by a group of human traffickers who carried me all the way to Leithanien. I only learned about Her Highness's death from listening to those traffickers talk. Later, after I disposed of them, I got completely lost. I wandered around aimlessly until I ended up in Ursus, saved a few Infected along the way, and stayed with the Reunion Movement through a harsh winter. After that... well, life with Reunion was far too bitter, and I couldn't get used to it at all, so I ran off to Lungmen. I heard it was quite nice over there, and you can probably guess the rest."
Flandre's narrative was an intricate weave of half-truths and fabrications.
The route she described traveling was real, and the overall timeline matched perfectly, but the underlying motivations for her journey were entirely fabricated. Yet, because these details pertained to subjective personal events, even if Warfarin or the intelligence apparatus of Rhodes Island attempted a verification, there would be no paper trail to trace.
"Then why did you reject Duq'arael's offer so decisively?" Warfarin asked, bringing the conversation back to her central question.
Flandre spread her hands wide. "Isn't it obvious? I couldn't even stand the harsh living conditions of the Reunion Movement, and Kazdel isn't a single bit better than Reunion! Lungmen, on the other hand, is a genuinely wonderful city. Since I can settle down in Lungmen, live happily, have fun, and buy every single thing I like, why on earth would I want to return to a godforsaken ruin like Kazdel just to starve?"
When Flandre finished her blunt declaration, Warfarin froze in place for a long, stunned moment before covering her mouth and bursting into a fit of laughter.
She had envisioned countless complex justifications—grandiose political ideals, ancient ancestral grudges, or deep-seated ideological rifts. She had never imagined Flandre's reasoning would be so brutally pragmatic: she refused to join simply because Kazdel was too terrible a place to live!
Thinking of the bleak, war-torn reality of Kazdel, and contrasting it with the famously sprawling prosperity of Lungmen, Warfarin had to admit that Kazdel couldn't hold a candle to it in any conceivable metric.
The girl's assessment was painfully realistic—realistic enough to inflict emotional damage. It had likely left Duq'arael quite depressed back when he received her refusal.
"Now that your sister has tracked you down, do you no longer plan on living in complete seclusion?" Warfarin asked after her laughter subsided.
Flandre shook her head cheerfully. "When I was in Lungmen, I read a passage in a book that said, 'The greatest hermit hides in the bustling city, while the lesser hermit hides in the remote wilderness.' Back when we lived in Gensokyo, buying anything was a major hassle. Even though living in isolation meant outsiders couldn't track us down, life there was only marginally better than in Kazdel or Reunion. I have zero desire to go back to that kind of life. Living in Lungmen is so much better—there are endless varieties of delicious food, countless fun things to do, and so, so many people!"
Flandre spoke with such unreserved sincerity that Warfarin was left momentarily speechless. The child before her was simply far too grounded in reality, to a point that felt almost heartbreaking for a Blood Demon.
"So... you refuse to stay aboard Rhodes Island for those exact same reasons?" Warfarin asked, her tone carrying a hint of playful grievance.
Flandre offered a nod, then immediately shook her head. "Yes, but that's not the whole story."
"Oh? Do tell!" Warfarin sat up, eager to hear what structural flaws the young girl had diagnosed in Rhodes Island.
Flandre raised her hand, counting off her fingers one by one. "Hmm... first of all, the interior corridors are far too narrow, which makes me feel incredibly stifled."
Hearing this, Warfarin threw up her hands in surrender. There was nothing to be done about that; the main corridors of Rhodes Island had already been widened to the absolute engineering limit to ensure smooth traffic flow. Expanding them any further was physically impossible on a landship of fixed dimensions. Furthermore, with the core operational decks sealed off, the remaining functional space was strictly budgeted. The current corridor width was the absolute best they could manage.
Flandre raised a second finger. "The metallic atmosphere is far too heavy. It's cold, industrial steel everywhere you look, making it feel like it's hard to breathe freely."
Warfarin winced, once again unable to offer a counterargument. Truth be told, the Operators had put significant effort into softening the oppressive environment—installing wooden floorboards in designated residential sections, scattering potted greenery, and pinning up colorful drawings made by the children on the bulkheads. But at the end of the day, Rhodes Island was an armored mobile vessel constructed of heavy steel plating from top to bottom. That cold, industrial weight was an unavoidable reality.
Flandre then raised a third finger. "The smell of disinfectant inside Rhodes Island is far too strong. I really don't like it..."
"Uh..." Warfarin looked down at her own crisp white lab coat, then looked back at Flandre, confirming that the young girl was expressing a genuine distaste for medical chemical odors rather than making a subtle jab at her profession, before letting out a helpless sigh.
There was zero fix for that issue either! What was the foundational pillar of Rhodes Island's standing on Terra? It was, unequivocally, the Medical Department. Furthermore, Dr. Kal'tsit—who personally oversaw the department—served as the operational head of the entire organization. Under such circumstances, the Medical Department naturally held the highest status on the vessel, and its staff worked tirelessly around the clock. For an organization built around advanced medical research and Oripathy treatment, a pervasive scent of disinfectant was entirely inevitable.
Flandre had listed three core issues with the landship, and Rhodes Island couldn't solve a single one of them. As for the countless other ways Lungmen outperformed a mobile fortress, Flandre didn't even need to spell them out. In almost every aspect of daily life, Rhodes Island simply couldn't compete with a thriving megacity.
"Stop, stop, stop! Say no more," Warfarin held up a hand in a timeout gesture, signaling for a cease-fire. "If you keep going, I'm going to start believing Rhodes Island is completely devoid of merit!"
She took a breath before shifting the topic to avoid further damage to her pride. "I heard that you are extraordinarily powerful—not only can you fly with total freedom, but you can also split into four identical bodies, and you command those overwhelming salvos of Magic Bullets... You clearly possess an immense breadth of knowledge. Tell me, what is the true nature of your Originium Arts? Of course, this is merely a private inquiry—I'm purely curious. After all, as you might know, I am a senior medical doctor specializing in the study of Originium Arts and Oripathy pathology. I dare say I've achieved quite notable results in this field."
Warfarin proudly tapped the lapel of her white coat, implying that while she might occasionally seem unhinged, when it came to the medical and Arts authority within Rhodes Island, she considered herself a leading pioneer. Since Oripathy progression and Arts execution were intrinsically linked, learning that Flandre commanded such diverse forms of Magic had thoroughly ignited her academic curiosity.