Written as Army Doctor, Read as Secretary

"Don't tell me... you can't read?"

Lucan was speechless for a moment, but he could see Jeanne's embarrassment—and he was also confused. "Weren't you from a well-off farming family in the countryside?"

Strictly speaking, medieval peasants had no real concept of wealth. Those labeled as "rich farmers" were often just rural landlords. Jeanne's family, while far from nobility, still had decent means—on par with Victoire Tourelle's simulated background in this life. At the very least, she should've had the conditions to learn how to read and write.

Not to mention, Lucan remembered her mentioning how an old country nun once praised her good memory—

"Well... of course I studied..." Jeanne began to stammer.

Lucan understood. "But you didn't learn, did you?"

"No way! I mean—those letters looked so weird! Crawling all over the place! Just looking at them made my head spin and want to sleep—"

"So you didn't learn."

Jeanne fell silent.

The Jeanne d'Arc, sunk.

"Fine. I didn't learn."

She gave up struggling.

Lucan looked at her and thought, appearances really were deceiving. Who would've guessed that someone as valiant and gallant as this girl couldn't even read? Maybe she was one of those naturally gifted types who dumped all her stats into things like Intuition, Spiritual Perception, and Vitality—but had nothing in Humanities!

"So, what—you want me to handle the war reports for you?" Lucan walked over and sat down ten steps away from her. He glanced at the parchment in her hands, immediately recognizing the writing and speaking casually.

They were war reports from all over the French front—something Jeanne hadn't received before. But perhaps because the miracle-like victory at Orléans had earned her recognition as the frontline commander appointed by the Dauphin Charles, for the first time, the reports were coming directly to her.

Though it was the first time, Jeanne knew—it wouldn't be the last.

That was her true reason for seeking out Lucan.

"The esteemed commander who can't read... Jeanne, I think I've got something on you." Lucan couldn't help but chuckle:

"You wouldn't want anyone else to find out about this, would you?"

Though it wasn't really meant as a threat—it was more teasing than anything.

But Jeanne froze.

Then—

"Please don't let anyone know about this! I'll do anything, Mr. Victoire!"

Lucan was caught off guard by how quickly and seriously she bowed, almost like a knight kneeling to a lord.

This girl... really went all in!

He was speechless.

"Anything at all?"

"Anything!"

Her eyes lifted, full of sincere seriousness. Those clear blue eyes stared up at him with absolute conviction.

From his angle, he could see the tight curve of her chest beneath the form-fitting war dress, her slender waist, the graceful arch of her back, and the gentle swell of her hips beneath her long skirt—Lucan averted his gaze, expression unreadable.

Well, he was only human.

And she was undeniably youthful, vibrant, and charming.

So—

"Starting today, you're going to learn to read and write. I once taught village kids how to read—I even compiled a whole book of basic French sentences."

Lucan's smile faded as he pulled a book from inside his robe, his tone suddenly serious.

He had no intention of working with someone who was illiterate!

"Ah...?"

Jeanne's face blanked.

"But I don't even know the alphabet..."

"Basic vocabulary guide. I've got that too."

Lucan pulled out another book.

"The letters..."

"Also have a primer."

Lucan pulled a third book.

He waved the three volumes in front of her, grinning like a man with a secret stash. "Any more excuses, miss?"

"No... I'm good."

Jeanne wanted to speak, hesitated, then stayed quiet—she was too scared he'd pull out even more arcane tomes.

She just wanted help with the paperwork... not a new teacher!

She was frustrated.

There were plenty of others she could've gone to—like the ever-loyal Gilles de Rais. Even if he learned she was illiterate, he'd never tell a soul. Yet when the battle reports flooded in like snowflakes, the first person she thought of was Lucan.

Because of that inexplicable sense of trust.

That uncanny, godlike air about him.

She believed it was divine intuition—the guidance of the Lord.

"Then it's settled."

Lucan set the books on the table. "From now on, I'll handle your reports, you'll learn to read. If you don't understand something, ask me—just know I'll yell at you first, then use a stick to teach you."

Then again...

Has divine intuition ever failed her?

Was she walking into a trap of her own making?

Jeanne's face fell.

But a pit you dig yourself—you jump in yourself, tears and all!

...

[You began living in Jeanne's tent as her army doctor, sharing meals and quarters, handling her reports, decoding intelligence, sending letters—and teaching her to read every day.]

[You quickly discovered Jeanne's talent with letters was just as she claimed—almost nonexistent.]

[But it didn't matter. You, a magus, weren't going to be defeated by something this simple.]

[You gave up.]

[You'd never seen anyone whose magically enhanced cognition still couldn't remember a single letter.]

[Still, you and Jeanne grew closer—though your personalities meshed from the start, becoming true comrades, even close friends, required time.]

[You let things unfold naturally, without forcing or severing human bonds.]

[You weren't like other magi who cut ties to the mundane world, turning into tools chasing nothing but mystery and the Root.]

[During this time, the commander of Orléans' garrison, Jean de Dunois, welcomed you both personally after confirming your identities.]

[Following Jeanne's lead, you entered the city, flags waving, torches blazing, as all Orléans cheered her return.]

[More French troops began joining you. Your army swelled beyond ten thousand.]

[Jeanne decided to march north and reclaim more of France from English hands.]

[You, meanwhile, never ceased your pursuit of mystery.]

[Your research into simulating the Great Source through a localized Small Source was reaching a breakthrough.]

...

"So this is the 'good news' you bring me, Mr. Retel Barju-Ereta?"

Across the sea, in England—in London.

Inside an opulent classical hall.

A tall man in his thirties looked down upon the kneeling figure before him. His lion-like eyes exuded immense pressure.

"You lost to Tourelle, yet lived. And now you deliver his provocation? Should I take this as betrayal—Barju-Ereta turning against the Trambelio family?"

"No... it's not..."

The kneeling man tried to explain.

"Of course you're not. I know that. But others won't see it that way."

Edmond Trambelio said coldly: "These years, through the restarted war, I've obtained enough mystery to enhance our family's ancient magical foundation and lay the groundwork for kingship. But that failure a decade ago—has always been a stain on my life."

"Retel Barju-Ereta, you understand."

"You also know you cannot be allowed to live."

"But rest assured. After your death, I'll return your magical crest to your family. I'll even help advance your lineage's foundation. Your descendants have talent. Perhaps one day, they'll be of great use to me."

"As for the 'letter' you brought—"

"This challenge from Tourelle... I, Edmond the Lion, Grand Magus of the Association and Head of the Basic Studies Department of the Clock Tower's Twelve Faculties—accept it!"

With a thunderous roar—

Magical circuits ignited like a forge.

Wild mana erupted from Edmond's body, instantly becoming a storm of elemental fury, obliterating the kneeling figure who never had the chance to react.