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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator – Seraph]
[Proofreader – Draxx]
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Chapter 22
A bow cannot defeat a gun.
In terms of speed, range, destructive power, and rate of fire, a gun completely overwhelms a bow.
Most importantly…
Ding!
[The presence of the battlefield has been detected.]
[Napoleon’s Rifle is unlocking a trait.]
[Grape Shot General, Napoleon]
[Accuracy: +60%]
I held a unique-rank relic in my hands.
Bang!
With a 60% increase in accuracy, Napoleon’s Rifle shot down the arrow that had been aimed at Jeanne D' Arc.
The startled archer quickly nocked another arrow, but…
Bang!
A bullet pierced his forehead, sending him tumbling off the fortress wall.
By the time it took him to pull back his 70kg draw-weight bowstring, I could have fired at least ten rounds from Napoleon’s Rifle.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I eliminated every archer who posed a threat to Jeanne D' Arc.
Of course, arrows weren’t the only danger she faced.
“There! The saint is there!”
“Capture the saint!”
Realizing that they had no chance of victory unless Jeanne D' Arc was eliminated, the English soldiers abandoned the fortress walls and charged straight at her.
But that was not my concern.
Jeanne D' Arc was protected by elite knights who would lay down their lives for her.
“Sir Gilles de Rais.”
“Worry not.”
A knight with a pale complexion stepped forward.
Gilles de Rais.
Jeanne D' Arc’s closest companion, a brilliant knight who, after witnessing her being condemned as a witch and burned at the stake, succumbed to madness and delved into black magic.
A tragic figure.
But at this moment, Gilles de Rais was one of the finest knights on the battlefield.
Alongside him were other legendary warriors:
Duke Alencon, Jean de Dunois, La Hire…
Heroes of the Hundred Years’ War stood beside Jeanne D' Arc, forming an unyielding iron wall against the advancing English army.
Jeanne D' Arc’s survival was not just due to her own abilities, but because of the unwavering devotion of these great knights.
And so.
“The gates of Tourelles have been breached!”
“Advance!”
Jeanne D' Arc had overcome her first death.
***
Having survived her first death, Jeanne D' Arc continued to face relentless threats.
Arrows rained down on her.
Assassins lurked in the shadows.
Poisoned food was delivered to her.
An unnaturally large number of dangers lay in the young girl’s path.
Yet, not a single one succeeded in claiming her life.
It was not because of some divine miracle.
“Jeanne, today, you must wear your helmet.”
"Understood."
Beside her stood someone who knew the future.
Kaaaang!
A trebuchet stone aimed at the girl's head ricocheted off Yi Sunsin’s helmet.
Bang!
An arrow meant for her knee was intercepted by a bullet.
Thud!
The Saint's banner struck the head of a soldier who had tried to push her off the fortress walls.
Death.
Death.
Death.
The three recorded deaths in history had passed. And Jeanne D' Arc had overcome them all.
Not through a 'miracle', but by her own strength and with my help.
Now, only her final death awaited her.
The death that would complete the legend of the Saint.
It was ‘burnt by fire’.
***
At dusk along the banks of the Loire River, countless wounded knights and soldiers lay scattered.
They were war prisoners captured by English and Burgundian soldiers now held by the French.
Ssssht!
"Urgh… Thank you, my lady."
Jeanne D' Arc treated the injured, tending to wounds inflicted in battle.
Among those she healed were not only French soldiers but also English prisoners.
She made no distinction between friend and foe. If they were wounded, she helped them.
From the first light of dawn to the evening, when the river was dyed red by the setting sun.
With bloodied hands and stained clothes, she never ceased tending to the fallen.
Ssssht!
"Kh… Th-Thank you…"
As holy water was poured over his bleeding knee, an English prisoner murmured in gratitude.
The pale face of a man who had been on the verge of death regained a touch of color.
By that evening, Jeanne had saved over two hundred lives.
"That’s enough, Jeanne."
As she tended to another man, a voice interrupted her.
A middle-aged man with a kind expression approached.
Bishop Cambrai.
He smiled gently and raised his hand.
Schlk!
A knight accompanying him drove a spear into the chest of the man Jeanne had just healed.
Thud!
The man died instantly.
Jeanne’s eyes trembled.
"Why…?"
"We did not receive ransom for him."
Bishop Cambrai sighed, offering Jeanne a look of sympathy.
"It’s unfortunate, but there was no other choice, Jeanne. Without ransom, the only mercy we could offer was a swift death."
"……."
"I'm sure he has found peace in the Lord's embrace."
His words were cruel, but not incorrect.
The notion that killing prisoners was an unforgivable atrocity.
That was an idea humanity had only truly embraced within the past hundred years.
The Geneva Convention, which first established the principle of humane treatment for prisoners of war, was introduced in 1864. A version incorporating human rights protections did not emerge until 1949, after the end of World War II.
Before that, the prevailing idea was that prisoners were the property of the victor, to be dealt with as the victor saw fit.
Even considering this, Bishop Cambrai’s decision could only be seen as cruel.
"Make sure to send the prisoners off as mercifully as possible."
"Understood, Your Excellency."
Bishop Cambrai cloaked the massacre in the guise of 'mercy'.
That day, the banks of the Loire were stained red with thousands of corpses.
It was the moment when rumors of Jeanne D' Arc being a ‘witch’ began to spread.
***
"You need not concern yourself with such rumors, Jeanne."
I reassured her as I changed the bandages over her stigmata.
Thanks to her efforts, the French army had reclaimed Paris in a stunning victory.
Yet, alongside that victory came the whispering of a new name witch.
The massacre on the Loire had spread across both the French and English camps.
What began as, ‘The French executed prisoners’, was soon twisted and magnified into, ‘The Saint slaughtered them herself’.
Despite tending tirelessly to the wounded, the truth was buried beneath the weight of rumor.
Even among the French, some began to fear her as a witch.
But it was a rumor hardly worth worrying about.
"Everyone knows you are not a witch, Jeanne."
The story had been deliberately spread by England.
Jeanne D' Arc was still the saint of France.
I wrapped a fresh bandage around her back and ran my hand through her bright golden hair.
"Have a safe trip to the coronation, Jeanne."
"Seojun, won’t you come with me?"
"No, I’m not from this place."
Charles VII had officially declared himself king.
His coronation was to be held in Paris, where Jeanne D' Arc would be granted a noble title.
"If you come with me, I’m sure it will be fine."
"I appreciate the thought, but I will wait here."
I entrusted Jeanne to Gilles de Rais, who was waiting outside.
"Sir Gilles, please take good care of her."
With a disappointed expression, Jeanne left.
I gave a bitter smile, but there was nothing to be done.
I was not meant to stay here.
One day, I would have to leave.
And so, I kept my distance.
Because if I grew attached, leaving would only become harder.
Jeanne departed for the coronation in Paris.
And she never returned.
***
Days passed, yet Jeanne, who had gone for the coronation, had not come back.
In that time, Charles VII had declared himself king,
And the English army had abandoned Paris, retreating from the city.
"She’s running a little late."
As I pondered Jeanne’s delayed return.
BOOM!
The door to my assigned chamber burst open as someone rushed inside.
It was Gilles de Rais, the knight who had traveled to Paris with Jeanne D' Arc.
But his face was contorted with rage.
Sensing that something had gone terribly wrong, I rose to my feet.
"What’s the matter, Sir Gilles?"
"The Saint… Jeanne has been captured by the English!"
"What?"
I was so taken aback that I instinctively asked again.
This wasn't supposed to happen yet.
Jeanne D' Arc wasn't meant to be taken prisoner by England.
Not until Charles VII, the newly crowned King of France, eventually betrayed her.
That moment was still far off.
"It was Bishop Cambrai! That bastard handed her over to the English Church!"
Gilles’ voice trembled with fury, but his words told me everything I needed to know.
Rumors of Jeanne being a ‘witch’ had already spread,
And Bishop Cambrai had used that as an excuse to deliver her to an inquisition.
"Was this his way of ending the war?"
The Hundred Years’ War would ultimately conclude with the noble sacrifice of Jeanne D' Arc.
Both France and England nations that had come to fear her growing influence had agreed upon her fate.
Burnt by fire.
History was repeating itself, only the process had shifted.
***
I rode at full speed toward Paris, where Jeanne’s trial for heresy was taking place.
Her execution by fire was a necessary part of history.
But I hadn’t expected it to unfold this way.
I despised that it was happening according to Bishop Cambrai’s design.
It was infuriating.
That man, always standing in the background with his gentle, hypocritical smile had used Jeanne as a pawn time and time again.
And now, in her final moments, he would torment her once more.
Even if history demanded it, I refused to accept it.
But I couldn't even set foot inside the cathedral where the trial was being held.
"My apologies, but you cannot enter."
"Why not?"
The knight guarding the entrance blocked my path, unmoving.
"The bishop has ordered that none of Jeanne’s companions be allowed inside. He fears you may attempt to help her escape."
I considered simply knocking him out and forcing my way in.
And just as I was about to put that thought into action a familiar face emerged from within the cathedral.
A priest with a gentle countenance, his lips ever adorned with a benevolent smile.
"What seems to be the issue?"
Bishop Cambrai.
After listening to the knight’s explanation, he turned to me.
"You may enter."
As if he were bestowing an act of mercy.
"I will take you to Jeanne."
He led me through the cathedral’s cloisters.
The place he took me to, however, was not the courtroom.
Instead, we arrived at a grand chapel, where mass prayers were being recited.
"This is not the trial chamber."
"If you wait here, you will see Jeanne soon enough."
"Bishop."
"Yes, my brother?"
"Why did you hand Jeanne over to the Church?"
I looked at his ever-gentle smile and asked.
"You, more than anyone, know that Jeanne is no witch."
The massacre at the Loire had been orchestrated by Bishop Cambrai.
Jeanne had been the one tending to the wounded, saving lives.
Yet she now stood accused because of the ‘witch’ rumors that had spread from that very event.
"It was to end a war that has lasted a hundred years."
"……"
"For a century, too many have suffered. Too many have died."
Bishop Cambrai spoke with a sorrowful expression, revealing his true thoughts.
"Jeanne’s sacrifice is tragic. But if the death of a single person can save many, then I will not hesitate to make that choice."
"……"
"Even if it means I will be damned to hell."
It was the face of a man who truly believed in his own righteousness.
I stared at him for a long moment before asking,
"Bishop."
"Speak."
"How many times has this happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"Jeanne… how many saints have come before her?"
"……"
"Answer me, you wretched bastard. How many have you sent to their deaths?"
The smile vanished from Bishop Cambrai’s face.
——————
HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator – Seraph]
[Proofreader – Draxx]
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