A certain crossover anime's nuclear-powered sword immortal

Despite all entrances being sealed tightly, the light could not be stopped from entering.

Places that should be sealed in darkness will also receive the sun's blessings as day and night alternate.

"Ha ha……"

Doors and windows are simply places for things to enter and exit.

Even with a tight seal, it's impossible to fill all the gaps, and they can't function as passageways.

If you want to completely escape from the sunlight, you shouldn't prepare any entrance in the first place.

If you like darkness, you should dive underground, until you reach that abyss from which there is no return.

"Ugh..."

Joan of Arc's pained voice echoed in the basement.

This basement cannot be called perfect.

Whether it's the sunlight that can expose all secrets without any scruples, or the basement that simply loses its secrecy.

"Uh... Orihara Shirou... Waaah... Your actions will surely bring divine punishment...!"

Unable to suppress her pain, Joan of Arc lost control of her voice.

Shirou would naturally not do anything too outrageous to her, but it would be different if someone else did it.

"How is she?" Shirou asked Medea beside him, looking at Jeanne's current state.

"This isn't some harmful magic. I just wanted to weaken her will and punish her a little. But I didn't expect her resistance to magic to be so high. If I hadn't continuously used the Divine Age Magic to weaken her, it would have been difficult to force her into this situation."

Medea chuckled softly, her lips, painted with purple lipstick, curving into a captivating arc.

"I see. Then let's let this saintess calm down and think things through." Shirou nodded.

"Leave it to me," the witch said with a smile.

Saber, standing behind them, watched Jeanne d'Arc, who, though not suffering, seemed to be being tickled while bound.

Despite being in a state of 'torture' where he couldn't move, and despite the discomfort caused by the other party's repeated Command Seals last night, he still felt a sense of kinship after understanding what kind of person this saintess was.

"Wouldn't it be a bit inappropriate to do this...?"

“It’s just a little lesson, don’t worry,” Medea replied.

As she spoke, the witch turned her gaze to the saintess who was clenching her teeth and enduring the pain.

tick tock...tick tock...

Sweat trickled down the girl's forehead and dripped down her chin.

Just looking at those tightly closed lips, bearing the shame, warmed the cold basement.

Caster's Age of Gods magic, while allowing Jeanne d'Arc to avoid damage due to her "Magic Resistance: EX" ability, still had negative effects that seeped into her body as the magic accumulated.

“If we use Command Spells again, it shouldn’t be long before we can have the Holy Maiden completely at our disposal,” Medea said to Shirou.

However, Shirou gently shook his head.

"If we do that, it will completely melt away her rationality and ruin her completely."

"I see. Master, you do indeed have a unique interest in women in distress," Medea said with a charming smile.

Shirou could sense the deeper meaning behind her words.

"Heh, yes, otherwise I wouldn't have kept you here." Shirou deliberately leaned close to Medea's pointed ears, which were unique to elves, and said to her.

Suddenly, half of his face under the hood flushed red.

If you were to lift the hood that was covering half of her face at this moment, you would be able to see the woman's blushing cheeks.

However, Shirou knew when to stop. If he did this when they were alone, Medea might only offer a token resistance before letting Shirou admire her, since Shirou had already seen her face before.

"Let's go... it's getting light."

Shirou glanced at the sunlight streaming in from the exit and spoke.

After taking one last look at the saintess who was struggling to maintain her spirit, he left the basement.

Perhaps out of curiosity about this saintess, Shirou had a somewhat unexpected dream that night.

That concerns the witch trials that this saint experienced during her lifetime.

Chapter Fifty-Six: Flame and Cross

April 1431, 5.

The execution was taking place on an open field.

A blonde girl with her hair tied in a ponytail was wearing a gray robe and walking barefoot on the ground of Rouen.

The surrounding audience watched in silence as the French hero walked step by step toward the stake.

Many of them were unaware of what was happening; they were simply curiously gathered in the market square when they saw the girl wearing a tricorn hat inscribed with "traitor, fallen woman, heretical witch" being led to the square by executioners and two soldiers and burned at the stake.

Whatever happened, it was just a lively scene for the locals.

For these people, simply to witness the scene of a witch, defined as a "heretic," being burned to ashes by God's flames was both a cruel form of entertainment and a purification of the soul.

Apart from Joan of Arc's hushed prayers and the crisp clinking of her shackles, there was no cheering, no discussion, and no rebuke; it was like a silent mass.

Everyone was watching the stake, anxiously awaiting the moment.

"Father, may I hold the cross?"

Joan of Arc asked cautiously.

"This……"

The priest hesitated for a moment, but seeing the pleading look in the French girl's eyes, he finally softened and agreed.

"Ok."

After handing the crucifix to Joan of Arc, the girl clutched it tightly, a relieved smile on her face, and this time walked without hesitation to the stake.

Seeing this, the priest turned away, unable to bear it any longer, and dared not look at what was about to happen.

Joan of Arc stood before the stake, her hands gripping the cross, and slowly closed her eyes, listening quietly as the church pronounced judgment on her sins.

"After evaluation by the doctors of the University of Paris, Joan of Arc has committed twelve serious crimes!"

“At the age of thirteen, you claimed that the archangels Saint Michael, Saint Margaret, and Saint Catherine appeared before you and gave you revelation. The pastors declared that this was because you had worshipped Satan since childhood and wove such a huge lie to deceive people.”

Joan of Arc lowered her head and looked at the grass growing from the cracks in the wooden platform, without saying a word.

The bishop continued to announce Joan of Arc's crimes.

“You claim that your king knew she was sent by God and went to the palace with you to discuss matters. You say that an angel holding a crown bowed to the king and handed the crown to the Archbishop of Lance, who then handed it to your king in front of all the princes and lords.”

"The priests have declared this unbelievable, Joan of Arc, you worship the devil, you are cunning and treacherous, you are fanatical and arrogant."

And yet, they've fabricated another lie that damages the dignity of angels.

“You say that you wear men’s clothing according to God’s will and still wear men’s clothing to this day. You wear men’s clothes, have short hair, and go against the nature that God gave to women to participate in Holy Communion.”

"The University of Paris declares that your wearing of men's clothing is blasphemy, contempt for sacraments, disobedience to divine will, the Bible and religious law, and proof that you are tempting others to idolize you in the name of divine revelation."

Joan of Arc remained silent with her head down after hearing these words, only thinking of her past years on the battlefield.

"How can women fight a war?"

The demoralized French soldiers could only find some solace in mocking Joan of Arc, this peasant girl.

She simply smiled, cut off her long hair with her sword, and then gracefully leaped onto her warhorse, as skillfully as the most valiant knight.

"For France!"

She once fought valiantly on the battlefield, but was ultimately captured while covering the retreat of civilians, and even betrayed by her own kingdom.

“The twelve charges against you are irrefutable. We are certain that you are a false saint, a follower of the devil. You blaspheme God and his saints, despise sacraments, violate sacred laws, and are inciteful, bloodthirsty, and apostate!”

The bishop looked at Joan of Arc with a stern expression.

"Without a doubt, be burned at the stake! In the name of God, for your final mercy, Joan of Arc, do you have any last words?"

The girl raised her head, looked around at the people and the bishop, and said calmly:

"God will punish the guilty."

“And that person is you now!” the bishop said sternly.

As the bishop finished reading the final verdict, a torch was thrown over and began to burn at Joan of Arc's feet.

For someone who considers the disappearance of the body to be the most terrifying thing, this must be the most severe form of punishment.

The flames gradually scorched her skin, charred her flesh, and burned her bones, but Joan of Arc only kept chanting the names of God and the Virgin Mary.

Countless people have told her, "Your prayers are hypocritical!"

Joan of Arc found such statements incomprehensible, because in her view, there was no distinction between true and false prayer; prayer was simply prayer, and its essence did not change because of the object of the prayer.

Although she wanted to say it, she could barely make a sound.

In her final moments, the girl suddenly saw scenes from the past: the simple village, the ordinary family, and herself leaving all of it behind.

If I had covered my ears and ignored that sound, abandoned the soldiers who would have died, and fled the battlefield to live an ordinary life, perhaps I would have lived a life without suffering.

But if she could do it all over again, Joan of Arc knew she would make the same choice.

Because this is who she truly is.

"Whether my choice was wrong or not, many lives were saved because of it, so... it was not a mistake."

Flames soared into the sky, spreading into a sea of ​​fire in an instant.

The crackling and popping sounds drowned out the whispers of the onlookers.

Despite the noisy environment, the girl's beautiful face showed no fear; instead, she spoke with the utmost sincerity and devotion, filled with faith.

"The glory of the Lord is with me!"

Flames erupted, and the girl on the cross perished in the flames.

Regardless of past circumstances, impossible futures, or harsh realities, all will turn to ashes.

Amidst the raging flames, the girl did not scream, and departed without a trace of regret.

Those who heard Joan of Arc's words belatedly cried out in horror.