Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

As for why it's "again"...

That's because she had already failed more than once in the past few days.

The initial setback was undoubtedly due to a lack of familiarity with the classics.

Even in the later stages, despite her excellent memory allowing her to memorize the entire Bible that this guy was reciting, she still suffered defeat after defeat.

Ultimately, it's all about the devil's questions and methods. They're incredibly varied, ranging from dissecting the beginning to removing the end, to using examples to prove the point against it—in short, they're extremely tricky and often come with very subtle linguistic traps.

Compared to this devil, the priest who preached at the entrance of his hometown, Dongremi village, was practically illiterate.

Therefore, the simple-minded Holy Maiden was naturally no match for the cunning and treacherous demon before her, and was basically tricked every day, never truly passing this question based on the Bible.

"The Lord says, 'For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and everyone who humbles himself will be exalted.'"

Samael recited the hymn solemnly, then raised his hand and patted the slender shoulder of the Saint of Orleans, sighing deeply.

"Therefore, we must be extra careful when we are close to the pinnacle of success. See, this is a lesson."

However, this seemingly sincere advice was overshadowed by the undisguised schadenfreude and mockery in those vertical pupils.

A universally acknowledged saint is being educated by a demon from the darkness using the original text of the Bible. The scene is absurd and full of irony.

Joan of Arc looked at the wicked thing who was almost bursting with laughter, a strong sense of shame overwhelmed her, and her fair face flushed red.

In her rage and shame, she even wished she could slice the snake-like demon in front of her into pieces and swallow it whole.

Unfortunately, no matter what, I ultimately failed.

The losing party, according to the rules, must be punished.

That is, defeat and humiliation.

"Sweetie, stick your head over here..."

At this moment, the demon in front of him spoke in a drawn-out tone, his smile radiant.

Joan of Arc gritted her teeth and finally, unwillingly, bowed her head before the darkness.

Yo-ho, yo-ho, yo-ho! This time, Xue Ma wins!

Then, a paw landed on the saintess's head and rubbed it around. A grin spread across the person's face as they mumbled words and phrases that Joan of Arc couldn't understand.

In fact, according to Christian tradition, the zenith should be a sacred area blessed by the clergy with the laying on of hands, representing love and blessing, but now it is being toyed with by a demon.

But compared to the uncleanliness of the body, the defilement of the soul was even more unbearable for the devout young girl.

At this moment, a strong sense of humiliation lingered in the saintess's heart, making her teeth itch slightly and giving her an urge to bite.

The changes in her body intensified Joan of Arc's grief and indignation.

For some reason, ever since she encountered this demon, her once calm and undisturbed state of mind has become increasingly difficult to maintain. Her stable emotions are more and more easily stirred up. Now, she seems to be getting further and further away from her past self who devoutly served the Lord and wholeheartedly saved France.

Sure enough, I'm becoming increasingly unclean...

Ugh, in this situation, you might as well just kill me...

"Snapped!"

Just as Joan of Arc was about to break down and was on the verge of resistance, a sharp rap on the head struck her, and a throbbing pain shot through her head, making her scattered thoughts buzz.

"Alright, the punishment is over. I'm satisfied. Let's continue tomorrow."

Samael glanced at Joan of Arc, who had come to her senses and was grinding her teeth at him, and couldn't help but smile mischievously. He leaned against the corner of the wall, feeling refreshed, and while savoring the pleasure of teasing the saintess, he waved the Bible in his hand and spoke with a playful tone.

"Given your silly mistake today, I'm assigning you some homework."

With her emotions and reactions completely controlled, the Holy Maiden held her breath, her face dark as she nodded in a muffled voice.

Next time, next time she will definitely surpass this demon in her understanding of the classics! Then she'll find a way to throw him back to hell!

Samael's lips curled up, and he slowly opened his mouth.

Do you feel blessed by God?

"I……"

"Have you forgotten the lesson you just learned? Don't rush to answer; think it through before you speak."

Joan of Arc pondered for a moment, and just as she opened her mouth, the demon in the darkness raised his hand, interrupting her answer with a meaningful reminder.

The saintly goddess's expression hardened, and she immediately fell silent, frowning in deep thought. Then, as if realizing something, her brows furrowed even more tightly.

"Let's do it tomorrow. I'll give myself one night to think about it."

Samael turned to look at the sun gradually sinking towards the western horizon outside the window, gave a faint deadline, then leaned against the corner of the wall, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, waiting for the long night to begin.

Chapter Six: Congratulations, you've graduated!

The next day, the first light of dawn shone through the window into the dimly lit prison, falling on her beautiful face.

The Saint of Orleans, kneeling silently by the window in prayer, gradually relaxed her brow as dawn broke.

In the corner, the demon, who had been dozing against the wall, noticed the movement and opened his eyes a crack, asking with interest in a lazy tone.

"Do you understand?"

Bathed in sunlight, the Saint of Orleans slowly opened her eyes, gently raised her clasped hands, and bowed a handful of pure white radiance upwards. In the midst of holiness and beauty, she turned her head back to the darkness, and her azure eyes regained their clarity.

"If I have not received it, I hope God will give it to me; if I have received it, I hope God will still give it to me."

"Clap clap clap!"

At that moment, a smile spread across Samael's face, and crisp applause echoed through the prison.

Do you feel that you are blessed by God?

The question itself contains a pitfall. According to scriptures and church doctrine, no one can be certain that they have received God's grace. If Joan of Arc gave an affirmative answer, she would prove that she was a heretic, deceiving others in God's name.

If her answer is negative, it would be tantamount to her admitting that her claim of hearing divine voices is a sin.

Joan of Arc's answer, however, returned the difficult judgment to the person who raised the question, a response that was both perfect and witty.

"Your progress is quite good, Your Highness."

Samael smiled, the corners of his lips curving upwards in a pleased arc, his expression playful.

"You're the best teacher..."

Joan of Arc gave a slight bow, her reply neither warm nor cold, making it unclear whether it was more of a thank you or a sarcastic remark.

After all, without this guy's wickedly difficult challenges, she wouldn't have been able to make such rapid progress in just a few days, not only becoming thoroughly familiar with the Bible but also learning sophistry and applying it to other situations.

"You're welcome, that's right."

The ancient serpent, unashamed at such a remark, laughed even harder. Before Joan of Arc could speak, it turned to look at the stairwell, uttered a meaningful whisper, and then disappeared back into the darkness.

"It seems you're ready to graduate."

Just as Joan of Arc was feeling confused, a series of chaotic footsteps came from the stairwell. Dozens of English soldiers, clad in chainmail and carrying long spears, led by a slightly overweight warden, went up to the top floor of the prison tower, opened the cell door, and expressionlessly pulled up the chains attached to the shackles from the withered grass, roughly dragging the Saint of Orleans out.

"Go, you filthy witch, today is the day you stand trial!"

Today... on trial?

Yes, the British bought her back in order to spiritually kill the French will to resist.

Time flies, and they've probably already prepared all the necessary measures.

But how could he have known...?

Thinking of this, the Saintess of Orleans subconsciously turned around and looked at the figure in the dark corner who was flipping through a book with great interest while waving goodbye.

"Hurry up, you damn French bitch!"

Under the soldiers' impatient shouts, Joan of Arc was dragged out of the cell before she could even stop for a moment.

With an unfriendly push and pull, Joan of Arc stumbled down the stairs, nearly falling several times.

Outside the prison tower, Joan of Arc, finally safe and sound, looked around. The lush greenery on both sides of the road was all in sight. A gentle breeze, carrying the fragrance of flowers and the fresh scent of grass, brushed against her cheeks and hair, bringing a slight tickle.

Finally, it's out...

As the Saint of Orleans murmured silently, she paused, took a deep breath through her delicate nose, and the earthy fragrance of the air filled her nostrils, invigorating her spirits and causing a slight upturn of her lips.

After being captured by the Burgundians and eventually falling into the hands of the British, she woke up every day to find herself in a dark and gloomy prison.

When she first entered this prison tower, she took advantage of the laxity of the guards and thought about escaping. She even jumped from the 70-foot tower while still in shackles, but fortunately landed on the soft mud of the dry moat and was not seriously injured.

But this was on British soil, and her remaining magic was completely dissipated by the special incantations on the chains and the potions in her daily meals. Therefore, she was discovered by the guards and imprisoned again before she had gone very far.

After that, he rarely even had the chance to keep watch.

In theory, this was the first time she had seen the light of day in months.

However, the feeling of freedom and relaxation did not last long before the prisoner was ruthlessly shoved forward.

Along the way, groups of English people who had received news of the public trial gathered on both sides of the road, glancing at the witch being led to the courthouse in the city center and whispering among themselves.

With her keen senses, Joan of Arc could clearly perceive the gazes that converged there—gathering hostility, hatred, mockery, and pity…

The Anglo-French War lasted for nearly a century, with countless lives and fortunes lost on both sides in this bottomless abyss.

Basically, every family bears some scars from the war.

Therefore, given their long-standing enmity, the atmosphere displayed by the surrounding bystanders was naturally far from friendly.

In response, the captured Saint of Orleans remained silent, buried her head in prayer, and silently carried on with her burden.

By morning, the somewhat humiliating journey was finally over.

In the crowded square outside, Joan of Arc was pulled step by step up to the high platform and finally locked in front of the makeshift trial bench.

At the same time, more than forty clergy members dressed as priests entered the venue one after another, sat upright on the high platform, exchanged glances, nodded to each other, and silently recited the Bible to show their piety.

Amidst the sounds of scripture reading and the solemn silence of the hall, Archbishop Pierre Cochon, wearing a small round cap and a magnificent red and gold robe, rolled from behind the curtain to his seat. His obese, carrot-sized fingers held a golden cross inlaid with jewels in one hand and a Bible in the other.

It's clear that he wanted to use these luxurious objects to demonstrate his authority and the holiness of the church.

However, his obese body, resembling a wriggling ball of flesh, his comical double chin, and his facial features squeezed out of his fat made the cardinal look rather ridiculous and clumsy, a typical example of someone who was bloated and bloated.

"boom!"

With a dull thud of a gavel, the trial officially began.

Pierre caressed the golden cross in his arms with obvious affection, his eyes, almost invisible from being sunken in his flesh, widened and gleamed with cunning. He was the first to launch a cold attack.

"Jeanne Darc, do you feel that you are blessed by God?"

Before the judge's bench, Joan of Arc's breath hitched upon hearing this, and a look of astonishment appeared in her azure eyes.

Chapter Seven: The Saintess Who Fell into the Pit

As the sun dipped below the horizon, dusk had arrived without us even realizing it.

Although a cool breeze was blowing, the priests on the judge's bench felt unusually hot, and they would frequently take out handkerchiefs, their hands trembling, to wipe their sweat-covered foreheads and necks.

The noisy square gradually fell silent. The people who had been waiting to watch the barbecue spectacle held their breath, staring dumbfounded at the beautiful young woman on trial, their minds racing.

It's been a whole day! A whole day!

Forty-four priests, plus a cardinal, took turns attacking this French village girl who had not received a proper education.

However, this impressive and professional team of theologians not only failed to find fault with their opponent and convict them, but was also rendered speechless and utterly defeated.

At the same time, those brilliant answers, with their profound yet simple reasoning, were like a wake-up call, resolving many onlookers' doubts about the Bible and making everyone forget their own stance, applauding their brilliance.

Could it be that this young girl has truly received divine revelation from the Lord?

Gradually, even the most malicious onlookers began to waver and start to believe that divine intervention might have truly manifested in her.

Otherwise, it is impossible to explain how a rural girl who had never been to a battlefield and had never received an education could lead an army invincible in Orleans and how she could refute a group of professional clergy, leaving them speechless.

Seeing the increasingly strange atmosphere around him, Archbishop Pierre, who was somewhat overwhelmed, broke out in a cold sweat. Fearing that the situation would get out of control, he immediately raised his hand and struck the wooden mallet several times, hurriedly summoning the soldiers and announcing his presence.

"Ahem, given the complexity and number of your crimes, today's trial is adjourned. We will continue tomorrow..."

Immediately, the group of theologians who had entered with an air of arrogance and self-importance felt as if they had been granted a pardon. They grabbed their Bibles and manuscripts and hurriedly left the scene as if their lives depended on it.

Under the watchful eyes and silence of the crowd, the young girl from Orleans, who was in enemy territory, was led back to the prison tower by soldiers on chains.

This time, however, there was no more cursing or hostility. Even the soldiers escorting Joan of Arc showed no sign of urging or pressuring her; their glances revealed a hint of awe.

As night fell, with the creaking sound of the door being pushed open, Joan of Arc, who had been away for trial all day, was locked back in the prison, along with a plate of dinner.