The stone-paved passage seemed to stretch on endlessly, a work no doubt of Semiramis's magic.
However, Joan of Arc was sure that she was moving towards her goal, because the aura of the Holy Grail was becoming more and more obvious.
The width of the passage is quite narrow, only two people can walk side by side at most. In contrast, the ceiling is so high that it is almost invisible. The air is filled with a cold earthy smell, which is a nostalgic feeling.
Aside from being separated by that unexpected trap, they had not encountered any obstacles until now. Was it because they had prepared a countermeasure against themselves? Or -
No, it wasn't, she already sensed the person who was "greeting" her.
"Come out, Red Caster—Shakespeare."
"Oh, oh! I would have come out even if you hadn't called out to me! Combining sincerity, spirit, true heart, and various other things from various gods, my scroll is finally complete!"
The spirit Shakespeare finally showed up. He was wearing a casual medieval aristocratic outfit, holding a pen in his hand and a thick book under his arm.
The two were quite far apart. As if he were speaking on a stage, Shakespeare bowed deeply and said:
"It's the second time we meet, although it's the first time we speak, you crazy country girl! From now on, I will be your opponent."
Jeanne simply frowned at his theatrical tone.
"You?"
Whether it was the knowledge granted by the Holy Grail or the information displayed on the Servant Panel, it showed that Shakespeare had no other ability to fight against her except for his fame. Jeanne originally thought so, but before the battle, Shinji reminded her to be careful of Shakespeare. If she met him, she must kill him as quickly as possible.
Recalling Shinji's extremely serious expression, Jeanne gritted her teeth and rushed towards the writer who was supposed to be weak.
Shakespeare sighed in confusion: "Ah, ah, what a madman! He doesn't even give me time to speak my lines?"
"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in listening to your nonsense here... !!"
She rushed as fast as a bullet. Since she had decided to trust her companions, she would never doubt Shinji's words.
Unfortunately, the distance between the two was quite far, giving Shakespeare enough time to activate his treasure.
"What a shame! I want to explain my Noble Phantasm. Come on, my Noble Phantasm is about to be unveiled! Sit down! No smoking! No filming! No rude insults! The world is in my hands, it's my stage! Now let's start - please give us thunderous applause!"
The script in Shakespeare's hand was opened, and the world was closed off, becoming a stage for the forced performance of the story - just before the holy flag was about to pierce Shakespeare's body.
"Huh...?"
The scenery changed. Before she could comprehend it, the nostalgic smell of green grass swept through Jeanne's nose.
"This is, my hometown...!?"
She looked at her hands. Because she had helped with farm work at home since she was young, her joints looked a little bulging—hands that made her feel a little ashamed. The armor she was wearing and the holy flag she was holding in her hands had disappeared.
"... is this an illusion...?"
What a bad taste—Jeanne couldn't help but frown. This was indeed her hometown, Domremy Village. It was here that she received God's revelation and then walked out into the outside world.
The entourage consisted of six people. They took the men's clothes and horses and went to the service of Charles VII.
Although it was a very nostalgic memory, now was not the time to dwell on it. How could I destroy this illusion
Jeanne looked around and spotted a figure.
"Red Caster..."
Joan of Arc was about to approach Shakespeare, who bowed solemnly, but he suddenly disappeared.
"That's useless. Whether you want to hurt me or the other characters, this story won't stop. This is the kind of Noble Phantasm that can do that. Even if you're the Ruler, it's no exception."
"If it's an illusion, I can break it with my anti-magic power."
"This is not an illusion, it's a story. And the protagonist is you, Jeanne d'Arc. You must know that this is my attack. Please recall your life and experience an impossible story."
This is Shakespeare's theatrical treasure. Facing Jeanne who can block all attacks with the holy flag, magical attacks are completely useless.
However, his treasure belongs to a realm beyond that kind of magic - in simple terms, it has the same degree of coercive power as the inherent barrier. Once sent to the stage, all you can do is play your role well until the end of the story.
It is a treasure that targets the spirit rather than the body.
It doesn't matter if you are a hero or a saint - this is the poison that can kill anyone who lives with sin in his heart.
"Are you ready?"
"My life is nothing compared to the lives of many heroes. Even if I were to act out something like that, it wouldn't make any sense."
In response to her answer, Shakespeare just shook his head silently and then disappeared.
Let me experience my life again, as a Noble Phantasm, it can only be considered third-rate at best. ... Of course, the coercive force that can even involve Ruler, who has the strongest resistance to magic, is indeed quite powerful. But even so - even so, I can't succumb to such a Noble Phantasm.
"Jeanne."
When I heard this voice, my spine shivered. I felt a complex feeling between joy and nausea. It was a very scary and at the same time very nostalgic voice.
She looked back and could not believe it. This was just a dream, the power of Shakespeare's Noble Phantasm. However, the person in front of her was so similar to the one in Jeanne's memory that she almost forgot this fact.
The person who calls herself by her childhood nickname is a gentle and amiable woman.
"Mother."
I separated from her when I was seventeen, and never saw her again until I died. Although I had already realized this, when I recall it now, I can't help but feel full of guilt and nostalgia.
"Do you have to go anyway?"
"Yes, I must go."
As if it was natural, the words came out of his mouth naturally. Yes, it was just like the past. It was the conversation between him and his mother when he was about to leave Domremi Village.
"I cannot ignore the sighs of the Lord. Perhaps after this separation, we will never see each other again in this life - but please watch over me. As long as you and the Virgin Mary watch over me, I will never be defeated."
"I will pray that the light will always illuminate your path."
That's right, after keeping these words in mind, I left the village - that's what I should have done. However, my mother continued to speak:
"... but you didn't come back."
"Mother... ?"
Jeanne's mother shook her head as if she was in pain. There was no malice in her expression, only sadness.
"Why were you burned at the stake and mocked for eighteen years afterwards?"
"this... "
"Your will is made of fire and steel. No matter how hard it is or how desperate you are, your faith will never die. But I just feel so sad."
It would be nice if she could just accuse her of being a fake. However, this is the true state of mind of mother Isabelle. Joan of Arc knows it... She can feel it.
"So - you shouldn't go. You should understand what the consequences will be, right?"
After a moment's hesitation, Joan of Arc still firmly held her hand and said:
"Mom, even so, I still have to go. To save this village and this country. I have to stand up no matter what."
Such an answer certainly had no comforting effect. The mother just shed tears sadly, and her heart felt as if it was being stabbed by a knife.
"But you still picked up the holy flag. You are worthy of being Joan of Arc. Such awareness is not something that ordinary heroes can compare to!"
Hearing the whisper coming from somewhere, Jeanne responded honestly:
"It's useless even if you borrow my mother's guise, Caster. If you are satisfied, then release me immediately."
"No, no, your story has just begun! Well, let's move on. The second act begins!"
The sound of snapping fingers rang in my ears. The girl just blinked and the stage changed.
The smell of earth, blood, and gunpowder—
Joan of Arc is now standing in the center of the battlefield.
On the battlefield, he held the holy flag in his hand, was fearless in the face of the rain of arrows, and galloped forward on a white horse.
It’s okay. Although the urge to give up and kneel down is almost at its limit, I can still hold it in.
Suppressing the screams of fear, he bravely advanced with the soldiers—
"No matter how many times this happens—"
No matter how many times you repeat it, what you want to do will not change, and the path you want to take will not change. Your past will not change, and you will not regret your past.
Even if I face death... my heart will never give in.
"I see, it's just as your mother said. Your heart is made of fire and iron. No matter what the situation, as long as you know what you should do, you will run straight to the finish line. It's really wonderful!"
Joan of Arc barely managed to hold back from saying "It's so noisy" and continued to deal with the story constructed by Shakespeare.
There were many conflicts on the battlefield, such as enemy soldiers begging for mercy and soldiers who insisted that they did not need to take prisoners and should kill them.
She was a saint but she was fighting on the battlefield, and she was a saint but she accepted being killed by her own people.
The enemy soldiers who were supposed to be dead condemned this.
"If it was the Saint, why did she kill us?"
"You hold the holy flag in your hand, and yet you still want to harm us?"
"We are not sinners, we are just ordinary people who stand on a different side from you."
Jeanne quietly accepted the insults. They were all right. She was a saint, but she waved the flag and approved of the behavior that hurt others. That was not what a saint should do.
In the past, Saint Martha used the power of prayer to drive away the dragon.
What he was doing now was just working with others to defeat their commander.
"That's true. I'm definitely not a saint. That's what I think."
Even though I have an extremely devout faith and pray to the Lord every day - and even become a being who receives revelations, I still believe this.
"In that case, why did you stand up?"
The enemy soldier whose head was pierced by an arrow asked. A bloody head, empty eyes, and tight purple lips.
Facing him who had turned into a zombie, Jeanne responded with a solemn attitude:
"Because even so, I firmly believe that this path leads to the right path."
That was not anger, but a display of resolute will.
The words she spoke shattered the enemy and her own soldiers. They turned into dust and slowly disappeared along with the battlefield filled with blood and smoke.
Trampling on the helpless feeling of guilt, Jeanne shouted:
"Caster! You have a third act, right? Can you please start it soon!"
"Okay, okay, of course. This is a story about whether your life is wrong, and if so, whether it should be corrected. So now let's move on to Act Three!"
The scene goes dark - after the scene changes, Joan of Arc is seen riding a white horse in the parade, and the people around her are shouting with joy.
Without even looking, I knew where I was, just by the cheers. The coronation of King Charles VII, a miracle that was finally accomplished. In Reims Cathedral, Charles VII received the ritual of holy oil being poured into his forehead, and the coronation was completed here.
The smiling angel statue at the front entrance of the cathedral - while looking up at the angel statue, I was also sharing my inner feelings with my companions.
Charles VII stood up and turned his face towards him. Although he was thin, he had eyes that showed a strong will, and asked Joan of Arc with a sincere expression:
"Joan of Arc, why don't you stop here?"
The cheers stopped, and everyone in the cathedral looked at her with doubtful eyes. Ignoring the slight pain in her heart, Joan of Arc asked:
"—what do you mean?"
Charles answered immediately:
"It is here that I embarked on a different path from you. From this moment on, your fall - even if it is not the Lord, it should be understandable. You are so smart, I believe you are not ignorant of everything."
"... "
"Answer me, Jeanne. Do you still think that the path you are on is the right one?"
"Yes."
"You are totally unfounded. The revelation you received was given to you alone by the Lord. The results came later. Why should others follow you in believing in the right path that only you believe in?"
"—To put it bluntly, the path I have taken is this path. This is different from your majesty who is suspicious but tries to trust others."
Charles VII wanted to make peace with the enemy Burgundians, which became the decisive reason for his separation from Joan of Arc.
Although packed with people, the cathedral was in complete silence, as if it was frozen. This was the story of Joan of Arc, and as supporting characters, they could not speak without permission, and certainly could not disappear without permission.
Charles VII said with a voice as if he were vomiting blood:
"Looking back at history, you were indeed proven right. However, that was just a post-work added by later historians. At that time, under that situation, was my choice wrong? Can it be said to be wrong! And Jeanne, why didn't you try to make me believe in you! As long as you have the power, I should believe in you! It's not that I didn't believe in you! It's that you didn't believe in me!"
That is the distress caused by being accused of "making mistakes" in later history.
At the same time, she was also upset because she had abandoned the girl she loved. Joan of Arc held Charles VII's hand and shook her head in denial:
"No, it was destined that Your Majesty and I would take different paths here. ... And even if Your Majesty chose to believe me, the result would probably not be any different. We are just a brick that makes up the huge ladder of history. But, it is right. I may be right. But, it is also wrong. Your Majesty and I have fought with all our strength. Just this - just this, isn't it enough?"
The moment he said this, everything disappeared.
"—That's exactly what I want to know. Very well, let's move on to the next scene."
The next person to appear is a character who can perhaps be described as "as expected".
"Pierre Cauchon..."
That was the bishop who presided over the trial of Joan of Arc. He was a member of the Burgundian faction that opposed Charles VII, whom Joan of Arc supported, and should not have been a man with the power to judge her.
He is also a man who is extremely enthusiastic about executing Jeanne d'Arc as a heretic.
The man said with a mocking smile on his face:
"Here we go again, miserable bitch."
Jeanne sighed, not knowing where to turn her gaze for a moment - she could only stare into the void for the time being.
"Crimson Caster, it's useless. Even if your script recreates him, he will just repeat the same scene as when he was alive. This Noble Phantasm cannot cause physical pain, right?"
Jeanne's criticism is correct. The Noble Phantasm that graduated when was purely a spiritual thing. Even Shakespeare, who has the highest reputation in the world, could not reproduce the pain in a stage play.
Pierre Cauchon shrugged his shoulders and nodded.
"That's right, Joan of Arc. With my power, I can't even make you bleed. The only ones who can fight you are probably ancient heroes like Crimson Lancer and Crimson Rider, or my Master."
Shakespeare spoke eloquently through the mouth of Pierre Cauchon.
"... In that case, what is the purpose of this Noble Phantasm of yours?"
"Well, I'll tell you about that in the final stage."
Shakespeare, dressed as Pierre Cauchon, walked up. With just a snap of her fingers, the scenery changed - although she had already foreseen this, Joan of Arc still sighed as if she was very tired.
"This is the scene of your crucifixion."
Time is stopped.
There were people who laughed at her, people who looked at her with sympathy, and people who cried as she passed away - most of the people who mourned her execution at the Place de la Vie Marche in Rouen were ordinary citizens. Of course, there were also many people who laughed at her and called her a witch.
—If cursing is the song of a distant country, then sorrow is like a mother's lullaby—
"Did you know this was going to happen?"
Facing Shakespeare's question, Joan of Arc nodded:
"Yes, I have long been aware of this outcome."
"No regrets?"
"—Of course. Because with me as the cornerstone, I have successfully saved my country."
"Really? You said you have no regrets. Whether in this era or in the future, there is no girl who has been praised for a more tragic story than you, right?"
"Seeing things from someone else's perspective is different from experiencing it yourself. I never think there's anything wrong with my life."
That is Joan of Arc's true heart.
A life that was too short, a glory that was too short, and a lamentable ending. But even so, she could confidently assert that her life was not all about sadness.
The flames instantly enveloped her surroundings. In the square that had become empty without anyone noticing, the two of them were staring at each other face to face. They were the saint who had disappeared in the flames in the past, and the man who had given this instruction.
"Is it your destiny to die here?"
"Yes, that is the fate I cannot escape and do not intend to escape."
"Do you need to make any excuses to those who were implicated by your arrogance?"
Shakespeare used Pierre Cauchon’s face and smiled as he said: Even Joan of Arc could not help but feel shaken at this moment.
The blazing flames flickered as if accusing themselves. A pair of dark eyes were staring at Jeanne. Just like the past heresy inquisition, they were a pair of eyes full of hatred and ridicule.
Even so, Joan of Arc responded as if nothing had happened. She did not hate Pierre Cauchon. He also lived in his own way, and in the end, he also met with a tragic death. ... In a sense, they were the same kind.
"No, it's not necessary, although I find it pathetic."
That's right, there is no need for me to make excuses for those who were implicated by me, because that would be a blasphemy against their fate and choices.
Jeanne derived the correct answer without any mistake -
"That's what I wanted to hear."
He smiled at the correct answer. He snapped his fingers and the flames disappeared immediately. What appeared in his vision was not darkness, but a pure white space with nothing in it. At some point, Pierre Cauchon was gone, and Shakespeare appeared.
"Well, let's move on to the next scene."
"... What did you say?"
The next scene. Joan of Arc has no next scene. She has no next life at all. She has ended here. Facing Joan of Arc with a frown, Shakespeare smiled and said:
"Because this is a somewhat unbearable scene, please be careful!"