Chapter 7

30 May 1431, Place du Vieux-Marché: Rouen.

Words of damnation came to her, like a melody from an infinitely distant country. She paid them little mind. It would be a lie to say that she was not in pain - but that was something she could endure.

She also had also little fear. Such emotions as disappointment and regret had been left behind from the moment she decided to fight. They would no longer find their way back to her.

She did not want to be dragged about, so she walked without a falter in her step. Unconsciously, she reached for her chest - but her cross had been taken from her. There was no longer anything to support her heart. For this, she felt some sadness.

Just as she realized this, an Englishman ran up to her and reverently held up a wooden cross that looked as though he had just fashioned it then and there. She quietly thanked the man as he knelt, tears streaming down his face. Among the condemnation, there were still those who would cry for her.

As damnation is like a melody from far-off countries, grief is like a mother's lullaby.

Her hands were tied to a tall wooden stake behind her - rather tightly, perhaps to remind her that there would be no reprieve. But what meaning is there to escape after having come all this way?

The priest completed the recitation of her final judgment and promptly threw a torch, which slowly began to burn below her feet. They believed that the loss of the flesh was the greatest of fears... To them, this was the cruelest punishment of all.

...

Jeanne d'Arc was a common farmer's daughter who received a revelation from the Lord, the voice contained no glory or victory, no obligation or sense of purpose but only the Lord laments. She caught his small, feeble murmurs that everyone else failed to hear. She responded by throwing away her life as a simple villager and the joy of loving someone and being loved back. Furthermore, there would be no compensation. She knew she would surely be scorned by the masses of both enemies and allies alike, considering their beliefs in the church's guidelines for proper behavior in women. It was a very terrifying thing to contemplate. It was mad for a mere village girl from the countryside to leap onto the battlefield where people's killing intent swirled about. She would not turn her back on the Lord's cries. She decided to devote her life to oppose this world's hell to help stop the Lord's tears and soothe Him. She clad her armor on her body, hung a sword on her waist and carried the flag. She fought alongside with Gilles de Rais.

Having been born to a peasant family, Jeanne never knew the contents of the many books of prayer. She did try hard to learn them, but it seems she was simply born incapable of reading or writing. The most she ever managed was learning how to sign her name. While she worried about this, in the end, she decided that she needed little more in order to pray to the Lord. As she recalled, one of her comrades who rode beside her, Gilles, once laughed and promised her that this was more than enough

—Still, all these were things of the past now.

The flames began the burn the wooden platform underneath her feat, scorch her flesh, all while she spoke the name of the Lord and the Holy Mother against those who denounced her prayers as only a lie. She could only find such thoughts strange, believing that prayers are nothing more than prayers, no matter to whom is prayed, that carry no intrinsic truths or falsehoods. Although she wished to tell them of the thought, she was unable to produce any sound. As she burned, she saw visions of her past, her ordinary family in her rustic village and herself, "the fool who ran away and tossed all of that aside." Having known how her journey would end from the start, she felt that she may have certainly been foolish in her actions, that she may have been able to have lived a regular life, gotten married, and lived together with her husband and child.

Had she simply shut away the voice and abandoned the lamenting soldiers, she could have had that life.

Just she was about to close her eyes and accept her death, she felt the gruelling pain slowly leave her body, she slowly opened her eyes and saw all her injuries(burned skin) started to heal at a speed she cannot fathom. The red flame around her started to change and turned completely pure white with a tint of crimson in it.

"Even at death doors, you are still willing to sacrifice your whole-being to the one who is dead?" An amused elderly voice resounds in her head.

"W-Who!?" Just then, the flame around her disappeared in the blink of an eye. Not only shocking her but everyone present on her final judgment. Before they could comprehend what's going a wise old man shrouded in the divine white glow appeared in the sky above them. The old man wore a white robe with a pattern of a mighty eastern dragon on it, he has a long white beard, long eyebrows, and bright golden snake-like eyes.

Everyone on the ground felt a strong desire to worship this man, but before they could kneel and worship this man everyone fell down on the ground like a row of dominoes, knocked out cold.

"O, Lord you finally..." The old man interrupted her before she could her words.

"Lord? I am not your lord, young woman" The old man replied with a smile on his face.

"Th-Then who you are? And why did you saved me?"

"Me, I am nothing but a mere servant of the Supreme One, the reason I saved you because I need loyal and faithful people like you to serve my Lord"

"Supreme One...?!" The old man chuckled.

"One Who Is Mightier Than All The Gods and Supreme Beings[He is talking about Momonga and other Guild members] And Deserving Of The Title Of The "Supreme One" A wise man who makes decisions and acts on them quickly. Truly, a man worthy of the title 'inscrutable." The old man did not pause to think about his answer before he gave it. From the lack of delay in his reply, Jeanne could tell that he had been speaking from the heart.

"The God you believe in is long dead! You are nothing but a tool for the Heaven factions to stop the war..."

TO BE CONTINUED.