The Hermit of the Countryside, Miracle Manifest—Human and God

The chill of autumn cut deep, the air sharp and clean. The forest was thick with yellowing leaves, like swarms of fluttering brown-winged butterflies.

Rustling sounds whispered through the trees.

And in the next moment, a quiet, idyllic village appeared before them.

"What an incredible place..."

The figure walking at the front paused slightly. Her violet-blue eyes peered through the last veil of thick foliage—as if penetrating an invisible barrier. The noise of war and chaos beyond faded away, and a gentle breeze swept through her golden hair, soft as silk. The interwoven farmland and winding ridges before her brought a sudden peace, calm from the outside in.

It was... a truly extraordinary place.

Such was her impression.

"No presence of mana... not even the faintest trace of magical barriers. It's truly remarkable."

The man walking behind her kept a respectful two paces' distance. Dressed in silver-white armor, he looked every bit the loyal knightly retainer. Tall and slender, with thick black hair and a pale, aristocratic face, he wore an expression of faint astonishment.

"Right?" The woman in front turned slightly, flashing a bright and beautiful smile. "The vision granted to me by the Lord could not be wrong—"

"If we can gain the help of this 'Hermit of the Hills,' then I believe we'll have a much better chance of breaking the siege of Orléans!"

Compared to her reserved companion, the girl at the front was brimming with spirit and confidence. She stood just at the edge of the forest's shadow—not tall, even rather petite. Her long golden hair danced in the wind, the woven braid at its end swaying like a sparrow's tail.

Her face was delicate and clean, her eyes the color of blooming lilacs. She wore only a simple deep-purple uniform dress, yet every movement radiated boldness and grace.

Upon hearing her words, the "retainer" responded respectfully:

"Indeed, Lady Jeanne."

Jeanne d'Arc.

A young girl from a rural farming family, with little formal education.

At twelve, she claimed to have encountered the holy angels in the service of the Lord.

And this very year, she had successfully prophesied a defeat for the English army—an event that earned her recognition from the Dauphin Charles, despite the great distance between them. Through formal correspondence, she had been granted the role of commander at the frontlines, tasked with lifting the siege of Orléans.

To place such honor and burden on a sixteen-year-old—in the eyes of most outsiders, this was nothing but a desperate move. After the death of King Charles VI, France had been retreating defeat after defeat, and now the Dauphin was grasping blindly at a final straw before collapse.

But Gilles de Rais didn't see it that way.

Even though he came from noble blood and was heir to a long line of knight-lords, even though he had initially scorned this common village girl—and raged upon learning he'd been reassigned under her command by the Dauphin—

He had changed.

These past days, traveling at her side as a humble escort, he'd witnessed her boundless energy and unwavering spirit. She seemed tireless, filled with faith and vitality. Her presence lit a fire in his own heart, stirring a hope that maybe... just maybe... France still had a chance.

That perhaps, this girl called Jeanne d'Arc truly could perform a miracle for France.

Of course, he was also well aware: even with her divine inspiration, mere human strength alone was far from enough to stand against the English iron cannons that continued to roar across the land.

Hence this journey.

They had come to visit a "sage in seclusion," a man removed from courtly affairs yet revered by many across the land—a country philosopher, wise and peerless.

His name was "Victoire"—meaning "Victory" in French.

"I believe it as well," Gilles added. "Anyone held in such high esteem by my elder sister cannot possibly disappoint you."

When he learned of Jeanne's desire to visit Victoire, his own sister—who had inherited their family's mystical path—personally wrote to praise the man, lavishing him with compliments rare even for her.

Isabelle de Rais—the famed Ice Beauty of the Loire—wasn't someone easily impressed. For her to describe anyone as a "miracle," a "man born with knowledge," a "god-like being"...

He could scarcely believe it.

But the familiar handwriting left no room for doubt.

And it had ignited in him a deep curiosity about Victoire.

He had read the man's books, was aware of the acclaim surrounding Victoire's sharp thought and succinct writing. People praised his perfect foresight on matters of war and politics—so uncanny it was as though he could see the world from his mountain home.

Yet that still wasn't enough to satisfy Gilles' curiosity.

He knew his sister—a magus—would never praise such worldly intellect without reason.

So he followed Jeanne.

Into a village that, though technically within English-controlled territory in France's central plains, bore no signs of oppression—more like a paradise hidden from the world.

[You sense outsiders have stepped into the village you've lived in for over a decade.]

[You sense something unusual about their presence.]

[And yet, you remain calm.]

[For years, you've studied and written here. Though you've yet to break past the barrier of mental magecraft, your understanding of this era's Mysteries has grown ever deeper.]

[Unless you allow it—no one short of a Grand-ranked magus can wield their sorcery in this village.]

[You feel their presence drawing near.]

[You already know who they are—and what they seek.]

"The weather's nice today... might as well go out and take a look."

In an ordinary countryside home, Lucan looked up at the deep azure sky—the midday sun shining brilliantly above.

He set down the parchment-bound book in his hands, his mood just as bright.

He rose, opened the door.

The quiet days had lasted long enough.

And truthfully, he was starting to get bored. It was time to look for some "fun."

"So this is it? The home of Victoire, as the villagers described it?"

Meanwhile—

Staring at the humble country home in the distance, Gilles de Rais looked somewhat uncertain. It was hard to believe a legendary sage could live in such a plain cottage.

Jeanne, on the other hand, looked completely untroubled. Her smile remained full of energy, confidence, and warmth.

"Whether it is or not, it doesn't hurt to knock," she said, stepping forward to knock on the door.

Her behavior clashed with all noble etiquette Gilles had been raised with—she truly was a wild child from the countryside. But her sincerity made it impossible to dislike her.

And then—

In the very next moment—

A sudden wind howled along the country path, kicking up a storm of dust and dirt. Alarm bells exploded in Gilles' mind.

From within the gust, a shadow approached fast and silent—a killer's strike!

A trained knight, Gilles immediately drew his sword.

His palm filled with mana, coating his blade with shimmering energy.

But it was too late.

The shadow moved with deadly grace—like a pouncing leopard, like a stream bursting through the air.

Jeanne turned her head, and in that instant, her violet-blue eyes were filled with cold light.

A glint of steel.

An assassin.

Boom!

A second passed. Then another.

Jeanne remained motionless.

But the assassin who had attacked her—was already flying backward.

Blasted through the air.

Crashing down with a thunderous impact, flinging dirt and stone in all directions.

His fate—unknown.

Gilles de Rais could barely react.

But Jeanne paid the fallen attacker no further attention.

Her eyes were fixed on the home ahead.

At the figure stepping out through the open doorway, clad in thick, black, old-fashioned robes—a tall and slender young man.

She—

Had seen a god.

[A god whose essence lies in the soul—who stores Mystery within the self.]

[You struck down the would-be assassin not with magecraft—]

[But with something purer.]

[A miracle born of prayer to your own inner being.]

At that moment—before she was ever known as the "Holy Maiden"—Jeanne would later say:

He was not merely human.

He was also...

A god.

Thus began the encounter of the saint and the sage—

The dance of humanity and divinity.

—Excerpt from Collected Biographies: Jeanne d'Arc,

Archived in the Great Library of London.