Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

Perhaps this sleep will be a little longer.

The ancient serpent murmured silently, its eyes gently closing, its body arching backward as it sank into the azure lake, the gates of its consciousness closing as well.

Time flies, a dream spanning a thousand years.

After an unknown amount of time, whispers that sounded like murmurs in a dream, like confessions, like songs, like prayers, like praises, kept seeping into Samael's heart. They were indistinct and vague, like hundreds or thousands of earthworms wriggling and crawling in his mind, gradually shattering the silent dream.

Beneath the dark waters, violent ripples spread out.

As space twisted and distorted, the increasingly intense call gradually became clearer in my ears.

A moment later, in a cell filled with the smell of mildew, a dark figure emerged from the shadows, its serpentine vertical pupils slowly opening as it silently gazed at the source of the sound.

As far as the eye could see, a blonde girl in a white coarse prison uniform raised her shackled hands and clasped them together in prayer before her chest. Her head was bowed as she prayed repeatedly to the window that let in a little light.

"Lord, I entrust this body to you; please look upon it with mercy and love..."

Her stunning profile, bathed in soft light, possessed a familiar yet unfamiliar contour, with a seemingly ancient wooden cross pendant swaying on her chest.

Martha's thing...

As his gaze fell upon the object, memories flooded back, and a moment of speechlessness appeared on the man's handsome face.

So this is what woke me up...

The dark figure shook its head and emerged from the shadows.

However, the blonde girl who was praying suddenly stopped, turned around subconsciously, and stared at the man in the darkness with her clear blue eyes. Her gaze instantly became alert, and her hands instinctively cupped the cross in front of her chest.

"You actually harbor such hostility towards me? I'm curious, what am I in your eyes?"

The dark figure stopped in his tracks, standing before the prison, raising his fingers to stroke his chin, looking at the girl before him with interest.

The blonde girl looked quietly at the pair of dark, snake-like vertical pupils and spoke calmly.

“You unclean one, step back. You cannot shake my faith, and I refuse to answer any of your questions.”

"Hahaha! This is hilarious, so hilarious!"

Upon hearing this, the man raised his hand to cover half of his cheek and burst into hearty laughter.

Immediately, the dark figure raised a hand to his chest, bowed slightly, elegant rather than polite, and a pleased smile appeared on his lips.

“Well then, welcome to Britain, welcome to hell, Jeanne Darc…”

The man seemed to have thought of something, paused slightly, and looked at the devout blonde girl as if he were examining a caged canary, his smile widening.

"Of course, I prefer to call you Joan of Arc!"

Epilogue

1. This volume has indeed been delayed for too long. Apologies for the delay due to my personal condition after the New Year.

However, there was no cutting corners, so the quality is considered guaranteed.

2. Regarding Meryl, why wasn't she killed?

On the one hand, the fear of death cannot threaten a creature like a fairy. The most terrible punishment is to make her experience the pain of being human and endure a thousand years of confinement.

On the other hand, Meryl is despicable, but the question is, since Samael knew everything about what she did, why didn't he stop her?

Because everything that happened was in his favor, he didn't have to get his hands dirty, and he could later shift all the blame to Mary's unauthorized actions.

So don't think snakes are good things; they're the real culprits.

High-level demons often appear in the form of angels.

3. Regarding Artoria's future, hint: there's foreshadowing in this volume.

"Whoever draws this sword shall be the King of Britain."

In addition, legends such as "The Eternal King" and "The Return and Pilgrimage of a Thousand Years" still circulate in Britain, so you can guess the answer yourself.

4. The next volume featuring Joan of Arc is coming, along with Demon and Saint, God and Witch, and Fate/Zero is also expected to be released. In short, it's a game with a strong sense of destiny, so please look forward to it.

5. Finally, should we add the information about Meryl's education to the group file queue?

Chapter One: The Saintess is for sale, 70,000 each!

In the early morning, in the spacious office, the warden, squeezed into a pine chair, brandished his knife and fork, and devoured the sumptuous breakfast on his plate.

The main course was delicious and juicy beef short ribs and white bread with fig jam, while the side dishes included salted quail eggs, pigeon meat, and other side dishes, all exuding a rich aroma.

The meal lasted a full half hour before the warden finally let out a satisfied burp, leaned back in his chair, poured himself a large glass of wine that had been decanted in a wide-mouthed bottle before the meal, and drank it all in one gulp.

Seeing that it was time for the inspection, the warden leisurely got up, preparing to condescend to go to his own territory for an inspection, just as a post-meal exercise.

Keys, lantern, wooden whistle, handbell, and clothes...

The warden, now middle-aged and feeling his memory was failing him, gathered all the items he needed to take, one by one, and then, before looking in the dressing mirror, carefully fastened each button on his clothes and tidied his attire.

However, because they were too full, the last two buttons were difficult to fasten even with the help of a few clumsy fingers as thick as carrots.

After trying for a while, the warden finally gave up, and with his belly protruding like that of someone eight months pregnant, he slowly moved out from behind the somewhat cramped desk.

Accompanied by the jingling of his keychain, the middle-aged man waddled out of the room, resembling a plump penguin, and climbed the stairs step by step, holding onto the railing.

As usual, the warden would glance inside each cell as he passed by, and only proceed to the next area after confirming that everything was alright.

Based on the terrifying legends of various cruel punishments and cannibalistic practices in prisons, this obese warden treated the few prisoners in the cell with remarkable kindness.

Sometimes, when the mood strikes, he might even stop and listen attentively to a few of the prisoners' complaints and requests, jotting them down in his notebook, seemingly genuinely intending to grant them their reasonable desires.

In reality, this is not a prison in the ordinary sense. From the outside, it is a tower about 70 feet high, with soldiers guarding each checkpoint. The space inside is also quite spacious. Compared to those dark basements that are comparable to slaughterhouses, it is simply paradise.

Therefore, most of those imprisoned inside are not the poor, destitute criminals from the countryside.

Uh, wait, there actually is one from the countryside...

It was just recently brought in, and it was a "distinguished guest" that His Majesty King Henry VI of England bought from the Burgundians at a high price.

Whether he's a guest or not is another matter, but it's definitely expensive. That price is enough for him to eat for several years.

Of course, this person is definitely worth the price.

Jeanne Darc, known in French parlance as the Saint of Orléans, has been Britain's number one problem since her appearance, causing repeated setbacks in their military campaigns.

Fortunately, God blessed Britain.

Not long ago, who could have imagined that this woman, who seemed divinely inspired to defeat the British army on the main battlefield and capture Reims, would be captured by the Burgundians in a minor skirmish in Compiègne while covering the rear?

It is said that the woman could have retreated safely, but in order to ensure that everyone returned to the city, she chose to cover the rear. As a result, the city of Compiègne, fearing that the British army would follow and break in, closed its gates before all its troops had retreated, abandoning Jeanne Darc and her allied troops who had covered the rear.

Thus, the Burgundians, who had caught up, easily captured the Saint of Orléans, who was now surrounded by few remaining guards.

What's even more ridiculous is that the Burgundians were close relatives of the French, so being captured on the battlefield wasn't a life-threatening matter for them.

According to tradition, paying a ransom would allow one to take this saintess back.

As a result, this saintess led an army to escort them all the way to Reims, and in the end, King Charles VII of France, who was crowned, refused to pay the ransom.

It was the nearby French soldiers who spontaneously raised money to ransom their hero.

Finally, I heard from the Burgundians that the other party had only managed to scrape together a paltry 10,000 livres (currency that could now be converted to approximately 72,000 RMB; with just 70,000 RMB, they could have...).

This gave Britain an opportunity, and to this end, Britain showed its utmost "sincerity" by buying back the Saint of Orleans.

After all, the Britons, who had suffered at the hands of the Saint of Orleans more than once, knew all too well that if she reappeared on the battlefield, the price Britain would have to pay would be far more than just the ransom.

It's truly absurd that someone who personally escorted Charles VII, then a prince, to his coronation in Reims has fallen to such a state.

The warden shook his head, sighing inwardly. He then caught his breath and continued his steps toward the solitary cell at the top of the tower.

I climbed the steps with great effort and looked into the distance.

In the dimly lit cell, sunlight streamed through the window, and the girl in the white dress knelt quietly in the light, her hands clasped in prayer, as always.

Her long, golden hair cascaded down her shoulders like ripe ears of wheat, and her fair skin resembled the finest milk.

Even just a glimpse of her back is enough to make one yearn for her.

So beautiful, she's like an angel. If only I could throw such a beauty into my bed...

The warden couldn't help but let his mind wander, but he quickly shook his head, a hint of apprehension appearing in his eyes. He then suppressed his distracting thoughts and continued with his duties.

After all, some things can only be thought about.

On the one hand, this little girl, although she came from a French village called Domrémy, was herself a fierce warrior who led a large group of soldiers and fought against the British regular army on the battlefield.

More importantly, they went head-to-head and won!

More than once!

Moreover, according to this woman's habits, she always took the lead, carrying the flag, wielding the sword, and charging at the forefront, so her combat effectiveness was beyond doubt.

So even if she was handcuffed, her own frail body, which made climbing stairs difficult, didn't necessarily mean she was safe.

On the other hand, although she was born in a rural area, she had long been granted the title of nobleman because of her outstanding military achievements.

The tower is mostly filled with noble gentlemen.

Otherwise, why would he need to serve her so kindly?

According to the tradition of the nobility, fighting to the death was the job of ordinary soldiers. Even if captured, they would be treated with basic courtesy and await formal negotiations and ransom.

This is, after all, the rule of war in Europe that has been in place for hundreds of years. Breaking it is tantamount to provoking the entire system.

If the rules are broken, none of those noble gentlemen can guarantee that they won't be the next ones to break them.

Of course, some people may disregard these rules and the consequences of such behavior, but it's definitely not someone like him who wants to live a few more years.

Furthermore, even King Henry VI of England, who paid a hefty sum to redeem the Saint of Orleans, would not tolerate others causing trouble.

After all, he was a devout Christian, and he would certainly give a fair and just trial to this heretic who impersonated a saint and claimed to have received divine revelation from God.

At this crucial time when the witch is about to face trial, no one would dare to do anything to this French woman in private.

Because they wanted to kill France's hope, spiritually.

However, for some reason, the warden, who was watching from afar, noticed that the girl, who was usually as calm as still water, interrupted her prayers several times today, frequently turning her head to a dark, deserted corner, her brows furrowed, and even the veins on her forehead throbbing.

Chapter Two: The Despicable Demon

Meanwhile, in a dark corner of the prison, a smiling man leaned against the wall, striking up a conversation with great interest.

"I heard that when you were thirteen, you experienced your first miracle: Archangel Michael, the supreme commander of the angelic army, announced God's will to you, instructing you to drive out the English and lead the crown prince to Reims for his coronation?"

“Saint Michael… let me think… Michael, right?”

"To be honest, I know this guy well. I beat him up pretty badly. Back in the war between light and darkness, I chopped off half of his chicken wing. Did he tell you about that?"

"No? Did you encounter anything else, like the Virgin Mary or something? By the way, was she beautiful?"

With the invisible vibrations in the air, this incessant chatter reached Joan of Arc's ears.

Although Joan of Arc tried her best to resist the interference, the voice that resonated with the ether directly entered her consciousness, making it impossible for her to defend against.

The barrage of disrespectful words felt like countless flies buzzing around her ears, causing the gentle, devout young saint to bulge veins on her forehead and nearly lose control, almost feeling the urge to stab someone with a great sword on the battlefield.

However, the prying gaze from the stairwell forced the Saint of Orleans to take several deep breaths and try to convey her thoughts to someone in a calm manner.

"Sir, I am praying. Please have some decency and be quiet!"

"Uh, it seems I didn't take your religious beliefs into account. That was my oversight, I'm so sorry."

Samael, who had disappeared into thin air, apologized repeatedly, his attitude of admitting his mistake sincere.

However, before Joan of Arc could relax, the man opposite her blinked his snake-like vertical pupils, which were full of mockery, spread his hands, and retorted eloquently.

"But I'm a demon, why should I have any sense of public morality?"

"..."

This impeccable reason left Joan of Arc speechless with anger.

It seems a bit excessive to try to restrain demons with human standards.

So, shouldn't I be more understanding of you, Mr. Devil?

Joan of Arc stared at the man who showed no remorse whatsoever and was clearly playing mind games with himself, her clenched teeth grinding together.

At that moment, the warden, who was patrolling at the top of the stairs, stared in astonishment at the Saint of Orleans in the cell, who looked like she was gritting her teeth.