Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

The main course consisted of white bread and bacon, along with vegetable soup, and even a small glass of wine.

"Wow, tonight's dinner looks much more lavish than usual."

From a dark corner, a flippant and mocking voice could be heard.

"Are you helping me?"

Joan of Arc, who had been standing there in a daze in front of the prison gate, came to her senses and turned to stare intently at the devil who was flipping through a book. Her brows furrowed, her voice low, and her eyes were full of confusion.

"Why……"

This young girl from Orleans, though illiterate, was not foolish.

The game that has been going on for the past few days does not seem to be a simple coincidence, but rather something deliberately orchestrated by the demon before us.

"Of course it's because it's fun! Think about it, your master's servant is judging you, while the devil is saving you. Isn't this game of reversal fun?"

Upon hearing this, Samael placed the book on his lap, replied with a smile, then stretched his arms and asked lazily.

"So, if we're going to read the scriptures, when will we begin tonight?"

"From now on, it's not necessary!"

Joan of Arc answered decisively, her tense face conveying a sense of distance.

"No matter what you're up to, as a believer in the Lord, I will never again listen to the devil's temptations."

"You don't actually think you can handle those charlatans outside with just what you've learned, do you?"

"This has nothing to do with you. This is my test, my judgment. I do not need the devil's assistance!"

Joan of Arc didn't say much. She went to the door, picked up her plate, and quietly ate her rice.

Under the deep darkness of night, a distinct sense of distance permeated the space between the demon and the saintess.

"Whatever, do as you please..."

Samael's smile faltered. He glanced intently at the Saintess of Orleans before him, his vertical pupils opening and closing as he looked into her eyes, which were full of resistance and wariness. His brow furrowed, and he couldn't help but feel a little disheartened. He then lazily sat back down and continued to flip through his books to pass the time.

Silent all night.

The following day, Joan of Arc was once again taken from her cell to the square by guards to face a new round of trial and interrogation.

It wasn't until evening that the Saint of Orleans was brought back.

Not only was she unharmed, but the soldiers who accompanied her also began to look at her with more piety and awe, and their attitude towards her became much more respectful.

Without a doubt, Joan of Arc once again triumphed in her debates with the clergy.

For the next few months, the Saint of Orleans was put on trial every few days. Despite the difficulties posed by numerous theologians, she remained composed and handled the situation with ease, leaving the priests who were holding her accountable overwhelmed and exhausted. Some even began to seriously question the meaning of life.

The residents who had once hoped that this girl from an enemy country would soon be put on the barbecue grill have gradually changed their attitude and even begun to sympathize with this slandered saint.

The location of the trial gradually shifted from England to Rouen, a British-occupied territory in France.

Seeing the situation spiraling out of control, the judges, unable to find any grounds for attack, began racking their brains to fabricate all sorts of absurd charges.

For example, men are not allowed to dress as women, and women are not allowed to dress as men. This is a precept from the Bible, and Joan of Arc wore men's armor on the battlefield, which is tantamount to blasphemy...

For example, they slander Joan of Arc, claiming that what she heard was the whisper of the devil, and that she was deceiving in the name of God… (Snake: You've all figured that out…)

The evidence is that she was not a pure being capable of serving the Lord, and had long ago secretly made a dirty deal with the devil.

Therefore, Pierre instructed a group of women to examine Joan of Arc's body, but the results were not favorable to the Church's trial.

To confirm this, the judges secretly dispatched several lustful nobles to sneak into the tower at night, intending to forcibly defile the virgin of Orleans.

However, not long after they entered, they began to jump from the tower windows in a frenzy, each suffering broken bones and fractures.

As the guards and jailers arrived, these audacious fellows actually prostrated themselves on the ground, weeping and confessing, listing one crime after another.

Furthermore, after being sent back to their residences, they gradually suffered mental breakdowns, locking themselves in their rooms all day, repeatedly praying for the Lord's forgiveness.

Therefore, Pierre's attempt to smear her not only failed to achieve its purpose, but also added more mystery and credibility to the saint of Orléans atop the tower.

Finally, months later, the exhausted judges presented a thick stack of case files, questioned Joan of Arc as usual, and placed them before her.

"With God as our witness, are you willing to take responsibility for your words and actions?"

"Of course!"

"In that case, sign it, and the Lord will give you a fair judgment."

Over the past few months, Bishop Pierre, who had lost weight, wiped the fine sweat from his forehead, handed over the quill pen, hummed a soft urging, and kept glancing in this direction.

Joan of Arc didn't think much of it, nodded, took the quill pen, and drew a crooked cross in the designated spot.

However, as the Saint of Orléans was taken back to the prison tower, Pierre, who had been nonchalant just moments before, quickly grabbed a piece of paper from the middle of the manuscript, looked at the words "Confession" at the top, and his fat face trembled violently, his heart filled with ecstasy.

Fortunately, this person came from the countryside and was illiterate.

Chapter Eight: Trust Me! You have to trust me!

Night falls on the prison tower.

Saint Mary of Orleans, who had been sent back to her cell, knelt by the window as usual, praying in the bright moonlight.

As the warden left, the air rippled like water, and the figure that had blended into the darkness emerged from the corner, arms crossed, leaning lazily against the wall, giving Joan of Arc a disgruntled snort.

"You still have the mood to whisper to that piece of cured meat? You won't even know you've been sold out."

The saintess, with her back to the demon, paused slightly, but did not reply. She continued to clasp her hands together, bowing her head in prayer, reciting King David's psalms praising God to calm her mind.

"The Lord is my shepherd"

I will not lack

He made me lie down on the green grass.

Lead me to the still waters

He revived my soul…

Seeing this, Samael raised his hand to his forehead and decided to speak frankly.

"Those files aren't just records of our conversations, they also include your confession. Would you like to see the contents yourself, or do you want me to read them to you?"

Joan of Arc's body trembled again, but she still did not turn around and continued to sing.

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."

Not afraid of being harmed

Because you are with me!

Bathed in the hymns, this saint of Orleans was bathed in a faint golden light, clearly distinguishing her from the darkness in the corner.

"Don't want to hear it? Fine."

Samael leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, shaking his head and chuckling, a hint of mockery in his eyes.

"However, a friendly reminder: with this confession signed, under the behind-the-scenes manipulation of those Englishmen, they will put you on the barbecue tomorrow on charges of cult worship and recidivism."

At this moment, the ancient serpent rose and strolled forward leisurely. The holy light that had gathered around Joan of Arc was stimulated and transformed into sharp swords, raining down on the approaching person like bullets.

However, when the light touched that darkness, it was like a mud ox sinking into the sea, without causing the slightest ripple, and it couldn't even slow down the man's casually advancing steps.

As darkness approached, the chanting grew fainter and fainter.

"How about it? Think it over. If you're willing to nod and accept my grace, I'll take you away from here and grant you your freedom. Anytime!"

Samael slowly raised his hand, then paused, and a smile spread across his face.

Wherever the darkness reached, the sacred runes and divine words engraved around the cell to suppress the magic power quickly melted away amidst the sizzling sound of boiling oil meeting water.

Snapped……

Immediately afterwards, the rotten and broken locks scattered and fell into the withered grass, and the tightly closed prison door slowly opened.

The escape route is right before our eyes. All we have to do is abandon the glimmer of light in this window, take this step, and walk with the darkness. Freedom is within reach.

"I can even help you send that pig Pierre who framed you to hell. To welcome your pure soul, I'm offering a buy-one-get-one-free deal."

The ancient snake smiled slyly and continued to increase the stakes.

Joan of Arc paused for a moment while reciting hymns, then spoke softly with her back to Samael.

"Their sins, their blasphemy, deserve the Lord's punishment. I have never held a grudge against anyone, I..."

"When you said those words, you already knew the answer in your heart whether you resented it or not, didn't you?"

The ancient serpent interrupted the saintess's self-defense, a smirk playing on its lips.

Joan of Arc was slightly taken aback and fell silent.

"The Lord is my salvation, my rock, my fortress."

Forgive us our debts.

Just as we have forgiven people's debts.

They do not lead us into temptation.

Save us from evil

May glory, majesty, power, authority, and kingdom all be yours.

Amen…

But soon, the saintly lady lowered her head, displaying a more humble and devout posture, and frankly repented for the resentment that had arisen in her heart.

Her exquisite face, free from distractions, returned to tranquility, her holy and pure demeanor resembling a marble statue of the Virgin Mary.

Samael's outstretched arm remained frozen in mid-air for a long time, his brows gradually furrowing, and his tone becoming more subdued and irritable.

"How's your decision? I can wait, but let me warn you, your time is running out."

Joan of Arc, whose chanting was forcibly interrupted by the forced insertion of her own space, lowered her crossed arms, rose slightly and turned to look calmly at the dappled shadows cast by the breaking light.

"If this is my destiny, if this is the Lord's arrangement, then I choose to accept it."

The Saintess of Orleans met those demonic eyes silently and gave a calm reply.

Without the slightest hesitation or wavering.

Samael sharpened his steel teeth, bit his lower lip, furrowed his brow, and remained silent for a long time before slowly raising his head to face Joan of Arc and speaking softly.

"What if I told you that I am your savior?"

Joan of Arc glanced at the demon before her and shook her head firmly.

"Do you think I would believe such a lie? The Lord would not talk about taking souls or dragging others to hell."

Then, the saintess of Orleans paused, her gaze turning icy cold, her tone rising.

"I'll give up. I won't betray my beliefs just to survive. If the only answer is you, I'd rather choose death!"

That resolute and unwavering force made Samael's face turn cold and his chest heave violently. His dark eyes opened and closed silently as he reached out to grab the woman's wrist, intending to forcibly take her away from the prison tower.

"It's no use. My body has been entrusted to my lord. Death is nothing more than returning to the embrace of light. Even if you try to defy this destiny and take me out of the prison tower, all you will get is a corpse."

However, the indifferent and calm murmur behind him made Samael stop in his tracks.

The ancient snake's face was gloomy. With a furrowed brow, it suddenly turned around, its vertical pupils staring intently at the face that was so similar to the one in its memory, yet left with so many regrets. A feeling of suffocation and depression welled up in its chest.

Artoria is like that, Morgan is like that, and so are you!

How stubborn! How foolish!

Why would you rather drown in your own ideals than follow the path I've shown you?

However, the ancient snake's lips twitched for a moment, but in the end it did not open its mouth and casually tossed aside that fair, white wrist.

"If that's how it is, then so be it!"

With a deep, cold snort, the figure of the black demon gradually faded until it completely disappeared into the night.

Joan of Arc stood still for a moment, then knelt down by the window again, preparing to continue her prayers for the night.

However, for some reason, she could not calm down.

Joan of Arc turned to look at the empty cell, and unconsciously stared blankly, a thought arising in her mind.

Perhaps it was because the noise and the playful banter of the past were gone, and the deathly silence of the prison made her feel very uncomfortable.

However, it doesn’t matter anymore.