——————
HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator – Seraph]
[Proofreader – Draxx]
Join our Discord for release updates!
https://discord.com/invite/dbdMDhzWa2
——————
Chapter 20
The blonde-haired girl with violet eyes looked straight at me and asked,
"Did you call for me?"
"No, I did not."
"Then what do you mean?"
"It would be more accurate to say you were drawn here. That’s how everyone arrives at this place."
Napoleon, Yi Sunsin.
They had all been drawn to this place, by the pull of my awakened ability.
And the same was true for this girl.
She stared at me for a moment before finally speaking.
"Jeanne D'Arc."
"……"
"You may call me Jeanne."
— The Maiden of Orléans, Jeanne D' Arc.
[PR/N: Saint Joan of Arc or The Maid of Orléans (also called Jeanne d'Arc) was a national heroine of France. She is also a Catholic saint.]
[Protect the girl who became a sacrifice in the Hundred Years' War.]
[Reward: The Banner of Saints]
The girl before me was the miraculous saint who had ended the Hundred Years' War.
She was Joan of Arc.
***
If one were to name the most enigmatic figure in human history, Joan of Arc would be an unquestionable contender.
The Maid of Orléans, the Saint of Arras, the Miracle Girl; she had many titles, but carried even more mysteries.
A simple peasant girl, unable to read or write, suddenly claimed to receive divine revelations… and went on to save an entire nation in its darkest hour.
It was a tale so miraculous that even fiction writers would hesitate to pen such an unbelievable story.
Yet it was historical fact, recorded in both English and French archives, and still debated by historians to this day.
Unlike great figures like Yi Sunsin or Napoleon who had built their careers from the ground up, rising through the ranks with proven skill Joan of Arc had no prior experience.
She was just a 16-year-old farm girl from the small village of Domrémy.
Yet, when she proclaimed that God had spoken to her, the French leadership handed her command of their army.
And in just over a month, she led them to victory over England.
A feat that even seasoned military commanders had failed to accomplish.
A feat that could only be described as a miracle.
Because of this, theories about Joan of Arc had always followed her name.
That she was a fabricated hero created by the French government.
That she was not a single person, but multiple individuals under one identity.
That she was actually the daughter of the French king.
That she had hired mercenaries to fight in her place.
And then there were the wilder theories
That she had made contact with aliens, that she was a real witch, that she was intersex, or even that she was a homunculus.
The list was endless.
But the Joan of Arc standing before me now was no mystery.
She was a simple girl.
Sweeping the courtyard of a monastery, handing out bread to children, helping the villagers, praying at Mass.
Her life followed the same pattern as any devout member of the Catholic Church.
Aside from her breathtaking, doll-like beauty and the maturity beyond her years, she seemed no different from any other pious girl.
It was almost impossible to believe that this was the saint who had saved France.
"I am Bishop Cambrai."
A kindly-looking bishop extended his hand to me.
"My name is Choi Seojun."
"Jeanne calls you a saint, brother."
"That’s a misunderstanding. I’m nothing more than a devout believer, not a saint."
For the record, I was an atheist.
I believed in 21st-century science and technology, and the only time I had ever set foot in a church was when I tagged along with a friend as a kid.
But in medieval Europe, where the Catholic Church ruled over all aspects of life, declaring myself non-religious could easily get me labeled as a heretic.
This was a world where the existence of God was an unquestioned reality.
Where even the royal court had handed command of its armies to a teenage girl because she claimed to hear the voice of God.
"A devout believer, you say? That is admirable. The Lord shall bless you, brother."
Bishop Cambrai was warm and kind in all his interactions with me and it wasn’t just him.
Simply being Jeanne D'Arc’s guest earned me the utmost hospitality from the citizens of Orléans.
It didn’t take long to understand why.
It was because of Jeanne herself.
"Please, bear with it for just a moment."
Chiik…
"Ghhhk…!"
At the monastery, the young girl treated the wounded with holy water.
To my modern eyes, it was no different from a low-rank healing potion.
But to the people of this era, it was nothing short of a divine miracle.
"Thank you, Saintess."
Despite her small frame, Jeanne pulled a wagon filled with holy water, personally tending to the sick.
"How long will you be doing this?"
"Until the bells for Mass ring."
"And when will that be?"
"When the sun rests upon the Loire River."
"……"
In other words, by sunset.
Which meant she still had at least five more hours to go.
For those long hours, Jeanne walked the streets, healing the sick beggars, the elderly, anyone in need.
To the starving, she distributed bread from her wagon.
To the suffering, she gave holy water.
She carried herself as if such selflessness were second nature, never once showing a hint of fatigue.
And so, I followed her through an entire day watching the daily life of the girl called a saint.
Daaang—! Daaang—!
"It’s time for evening Mass."
The bells rang.
Jeanne stopped what she was doing, packed up her wagon, and made her way back to the monastery.
"Thank you, Saintess."
[PR/N: Although she has the Title of ‘The Saint’ she is called ‘The Saintess’ because ‘Saint’ is a gender neutral term that is allotted to someone regardless of their gender and as to what they are called by the masses is decided based on their, aka, ‘Saintess’ in this scenario.]
As she passed through the streets, people bowed their heads and called out to her.
"Saintess."
"Saintess."
"Saintess."
I couldn’t help but wonder.
"Why do they call her a saint?"
It wasn’t that her dedication wasn’t extraordinary.
A girl her age, working tirelessly for others, was certainly remarkable.
But she wasn’t the only one providing aid.
There were other nuns and priests who healed the sick with holy water.
And yet, the people never called them ‘Saint' or ‘Saintess’.
"Hahaha, heading to mess, Saintess?"
"Saintess, we have some extra bread. Would you like some?"
"Saintess, may I have a little holy water?"
"Saintess…"
They called only her that.
Only this young girl was permitted to bear the title of Saint.
Even the old men who cursed at passersby… even the mischievous children playing pranks all of them treated her with kindness.
It was a heartwarming sight.
Yet, I couldn’t shake the strange disconnect I felt.
As if their kindness wasn’t just affection but rather, a wall separating her from them.
And before long…
I understood what that wall truly was.
I learned why Jeanne D'Arc was called a Saint.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
"The English! The English are attacking!"
That evening the army of Henry VI had arrived, surrounding Orléans.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The bells rang furiously, filling the once-peaceful town with the stench of war.
Civilians fled indoors. The streets emptied, save for knights patrolling on horseback.
Archers took position along the battlements.
Beyond the walls, the English forces stood five times larger than the French.
"……"
The soldiers’ faces were pale with fear.
It was then that Jeanne climbed the battlements.
In her hands, she held a flag.
A pristine white banner, adorned with golden lilies and angels dancing in a field of light.
It was just a flag.
"We have the Saint on our side!"
"WAAAAAHHH!!"
The air in Orléans shifted.
The fear, the tension, was obliterated in an instant.
The sheer fervor in the soldiers' eyes couldn’t be explained by mere faith.
It was as if the banner itself was guaranteeing victory.
Like zealots intoxicated by religious hysteria.
Creeeaaak!
The gates of Orléans opened.
"Charge! CHARGE!!"
"WAAAAAAAHHHH!"
It was an insane tactic for a defending army.
And yet, knights stormed forward, galloping toward the English ranks.
Clang! Clang!
Steel clashed, screams echoed.
As dusk fell, the battlefield was soaked in blood and iron.
Flutter… Flutter…
Jeanne began to wave her banner.
And that’s when something impossible happened.
The fallen soldiers… rose to their feet.
Wounds closed, severed flesh regenerated.
Neighhh!
Exhausted horses reared up, their riders gripping their swords once more.
"As long as the Saint waves her banner, we will never be defeated!"
"UWAAAAAHHHH!!"
"CHAAAARGE!!"
It was a miracle and at the same time a sacrifice.
Flutter… Flutter…
As the young girl waved her immaculate banner, scarlet blood began to trickle down her back.
It matched the very angels painted upon her flag.
They were the crimson wings of a fallen angel.
"You did well today, Jeanne."
Bishop Cambrai greeted her with a warm smile.
Chiik—!
He poured holy water over her blood-soaked back.
"Ghh…!"
The girl bit her lip, enduring the pain.
And yet, the bishop smiled at her so kindly.
"Your sacrifice has made France safer."
That smile was the most cruel thing I had ever seen.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
"The English! The English are attacking!"
Flutter… Flutter…
The young girl raised her banner.
Spilling the holy blood of an angel.
——————
HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator – Seraph]
[Proofreader – Draxx]
Join our Discord for release updates!
https://discord.com/invite/dbdMDhzWa2
——————
