Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

I stayed up writing from midnight on the 5th until 6 a.m. when I was called away. I didn't sleep all day and then worked until almost 10 p.m. I couldn't take it anymore.

I tried to get up around 3 or 4 AM to write something, maybe even just one more chapter, but I'm too exhausted. I need to ask for a day off to recover. I'll update again this afternoon. (To ensure I get full attendance this month, I definitely won't skip updates without a reason; I'll definitely make sure I reach 150,000 words by the end of the month.)

It seems like there are four rounds of nucleic acid testing, and this is the last one. I hope it can be postponed for another three to five days. I'll take it easy for now.

By the way, here's a screenshot of the nucleic acid test entry app I downloaded on my phone as instructed by the doctor, to prove that I can still get away with skipping this time.

Chapter Fifteen: We, your subjects, are prepared to fight to the death; why has Your Majesty surrendered first? (4.3k)

Under the crimson sunset, that faint, wispy figure blends into the darkness, strolling slowly through the fields laden with wheat ears.

But after several turns at the intersection, and then circling back to the starting point, Samael stopped in front of the fork in the road, his brow furrowed slightly.

The aura has vanished...

Immediately, the ancient serpent closed its eyes, trying to sense the almost non-existent residual aura in the air, but after searching several times, it found nothing.

Was it deliberately erased by magic?

Is it... avoiding me?

After pondering for a moment, the ancient snake raised its hand and tapped its head with a hint of helplessness, shook its head slightly and sighed, then slowed its pace.

Indeed, taking this step is an extremely difficult journey.

In fact, he had tried his best to give Joan of Arc a relatively acceptable answer by telling a story in a roundabout way, half true and half false.

If someone were to directly shout something like, "God is dead, I am the sun!", I doubt any devout Abrahamic believer could withstand such a mind-blowing truth. There would probably be quite a few fanatics who would commit suicide to prove themselves.

After all, in a somewhat absurd sense, if God comes from the devil, then Hell, presided over by the ancient serpent, Satan, is their true paradise...

Even so, for a devout believer, this overturned answer is still too heavy a burden to bear in a short period of time.

Because faith needs to be kept at a distance to inspire aspiration and reverence. Once it gets too close to reason or reality, the mystery loses its aura, and the unevenness and rough texture of those clay and wood sculptures become readily apparent.

The flaws and shortcomings that shatter the illusion inevitably become apparent, and are even magnified many times over due to the psychological gap.

Well, since we've already done what we needed to do, there's no need to push her too hard. Let's give this Holy Maiden some time to think things through on her own.

The ancient serpent made up its mind, slowed its pace, and leisurely followed the scent of gunpowder towards the frontier of the Hundred Years' War between England and France.

The war is still unresolved, and if I'm not mistaken, that battlefield of blood and fire is the destination of this holy lady's journey.

However, the slightly troublesome thing is that the war is going to continue for who knows how long, and it will probably take some time to find Joan of Arc, who is deliberately hiding herself, in that vast and chaotic war zone.

However, the rapid changes in the battle situation caught Samael somewhat off guard.

Perhaps it was because of the adage "a desperate army is bound to win," but ever since the English burned the saint of Orléans at Rouen, they suffered defeat after defeat, while the French army achieved victory after victory, constantly advancing the front line and recovering large swathes of lost territory.

With capital in hand, Charles VII began to actively mobilize his forces and decisively launched a counterattack against Paris. He even dared to leave his vulnerable territory to the Burgundians, which was tantamount to betting everything on a gamble.

Because the situation was changing too rapidly, Samael's information gathering efforts alone could not keep up with the changes in the entire Anglo-French war. As a result, his attempts to find the Saint of Orléans in the chaos of war all ended in failure.

Of course, this is also related to the fact that Joan of Arc tacitly acknowledged her "death" and did not choose to reveal her identity.

For some unknown reason, the Saint of Orleans seems to genuinely believe she should die, and to this day, no army has fought under the banner of Joan of Arc's return.

This caused considerable trouble for Samael's search efforts.

The ancient snake had no choice but to slowly investigate, relying on its intermittent senses.

Meanwhile, just as Samael was going to great lengths to find a "lost" saintess, an unexpected visitor arrived at Commander Bochte's tent late at night.

"Lord! It really is you! Am I dreaming? I really am not dreaming! Hahahaha..."

Inside the tent, the rugged and fierce-looking middle-aged man stared at the familiar figure before him. After confirming that he was not dreaming, he was overwhelmed with shock and became so excited that he even became somewhat incoherent.

Seeing her old friend in such a state of disarray, Joan of Arc couldn't help but find it somewhat amusing.

Robert de Beaufort was the French commander stationed in Vaucouleur. He had been fighting the English in his territory since Joan of Arc was old enough to remember, and was also a lord known for his brutality and callousness on the battlefield.

Joan of Arc's hometown, Domrémy, was under the control of this lord.

This young woman from Domrémy was introduced to Crown Prince Charles VII through the lord before her, and subsequently stepped onto the stage of history.

“I knew it! Those English barbarians couldn’t harm you! You will surely receive the Lord’s favor! You are right… You… Have you seen the Lord’s true face…”

The lord paced back and forth in the tent, muttering to himself, his eyes brimming with fanaticism and excitement, his spirits unusually high.

Seeing that Commander Bochumcote was losing control of his emotions, Jeanne gently interrupted her old friend's obsessive questioning and muttering.

"It's not as bizarre as you think. I was simply guided by the Lord and managed to escape from the prison tower by taking advantage of a gap in the English guards' watch."

"Those who were burned at the stake..."

"It was probably a false message spread by the English to demoralize us, but they didn't expect it to backfire and strengthen our will to resist."

Joan of Arc tightened her grip on the cross, calmly responding and rationally analyzing the situation, without mentioning any miracles or blessings.

Upon hearing this, Bo Hammercott was somewhat disappointed, but his excitement subsided.

"Should I inform your family that you are still alive? They are grieving for what happened to you."

"No need, I've already checked on them secretly. Father and Mother are both fine, there's nothing to worry about."

Joan of Arc shook her head slightly, declining her old friend's kind offer, her azure eyes clear and bright.

"As you know, many people don't want me to come back, so now is not the time to announce this news, and please keep it a secret for me."

Bochum Kurt's expression turned serious, and he nodded earnestly.

"I swear in the name of the Lord that I will never reveal any information about you!"

Receiving such a solemn promise, Joan of Arc breathed a slight sigh of relief, and a pure and holy smile appeared on her beautiful face.

"That's good. The war isn't over yet. I want to retrieve my flag, reunite my army, and drive the English out of French soil completely!"

Bochum Cort coughed slightly and reluctantly explained the current situation.

"In fact, after your death, your army was scattered and dispersed to various places, and the flag that was lowered is currently being kept by Marshal Gilles de Rais."

"What about Gil?"

"He's retired..."

Upon hearing this, Joan of Arc seemed to be deep in thought, and her brows furrowed slightly.

No wonder I couldn't find my old team along the way, and I didn't even know where my familiar subordinates had gone.

Just, why?

As his gaze fell upon those clear, azure eyes, Bo Hammercott paused for a moment, a mocking smile playing on his lips, and sneered in the flickering candlelight.

"What do you think enabled us to advance on Paris so quickly? Our little Charles is secretly making peace with the Burgundians!"

That's it!

Joan of Arc suddenly realized, and a complex expression appeared in her eyes.

The Duchy of Burgundy was a major force within France that supported the British invasion and cooperated with the English in organizing wars against France on several occasions.

Bochum, who was stationed in the Vaucouleur region, frequently engaged in passionate physical exchanges with the Burgundians.

Previously, Joan of Arc's capture in Compiègne was also due to the Burgundians stabbing her in the back.

She was then sold to the British by the Burgundians, subjected to religious trials, and nearly became charred remains on a barbecue grill.

It is no exaggeration to say that the Burgundians were one of the main culprits in the death of this Saint of Orléans.

In a sense, Joan of Arc and the army she led had a great deal of enmity with the Burgundians.

Unexpectedly, King Charles VII of France in Reims somehow managed to secretly reach a reconciliation with the Duke of Burgundy, and they began to join forces to fight against the English invasion.

With the Burgundians no longer a hindrance, and with many old French nobles losing their lives on the battlefield in several campaigns, leaving no heirs or successors, their local power was eroded in droves. This allowed Charles VII to focus all his efforts on dealing with the English, and at a visible pace, he continued to expand his victories.

For the nation, such a peace treaty might be a consideration of the bigger picture, but for Joan of Arc's army, it was nothing short of betrayal.

It was probably for this reason that her old comrade-in-arms Gilles de Rais chose to take her flag and retire from the military.

"That bastard Charlie! We put him on the throne, and he's so ungrateful! Bah! Son of a bitch!"

Bochum, his face dark with anger, spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground, his expression one of contempt and fury.

Through word of mouth, Bochum had some understanding of the details of the Rouen trial.

He didn't know what the Saint of Orléans, who had put the French king on the throne, felt when she, a French hero, was captured by the Burgundians and sold to a French bishop, while that boy Charles did nothing substantial.

Even so, Joan of Arc was still able to say when the priest made sarcastic remarks about Charles VII: "Don't talk about the king, he is a devout Christian, talk about me."

As the garrison commander of the Vaucouleur region, he and the Burgundians were old enemies. He already harbored resentment towards this so-called peace, and now he was even more indignant on behalf of his comrade-in-arms.

"Bochet..."

Joan of Arc raised her voice slightly, interrupting her old friend's complaint, and pondered seriously.

"Charlie is right, this is the fastest way to resolve the war."

"But what about you?! Not only did he not avenge you, but he also got involved with the Burgundians!"

The hot-tempered Bosh Kurt was still furious.

"As long as the French people can extricate themselves from the quagmire of war as soon as possible, everything I have done will have been worthwhile!"

However, Joan of Arc paid no heed to this, raising her hand to press on her old friend's shoulder, her gaze calm and gentle.

"If the Burgundians have reached a reconciliation with us because of me, I will be honored. For the sake of France, please consider me dead, and what I saw tonight was nothing more than a ghost..."

In the flickering candlelight, that candid and straightforward figure resembled a statue of the Virgin Mary in a church, showing mercy to the world, instantly calming the resentful and angry Bochumcote.

A cold wind swept through the tent. The burly man stepped forward and lifted a small gap in the curtain. Gazing at the desolate night outside the tent, he sighed deeply, his gaze complex.

"Perhaps, our war is over..."

Upon hearing this, Joan of Arc moved her lips slightly, but ultimately fell silent.

After a brief pause, the Saint of Orleans tactfully avoided the awkward topic and instead inquired about the whereabouts of another old friend.

"By the way, where does Jill live in seclusion?"

"It seems they went to the territories of Mashkull and Tiforj, but nobody knows exactly where."

Bochum Kurt thought for a moment, answered casually, and then laughed and cursed with emotion.

"However, I heard that this guy took a lot of captured artworks with him before he left as a collection. It took several large horse-drawn carriages to barely haul them all away. It seems he must have made a fortune."

Artistic appreciation? That's something Jill enjoys.

Joan of Arc nodded, gazing thoughtfully into the distance beneath the deep night sky.

Several days later, in an old house in Tiforia.

"Joan of Arc! Joan of Arc!! Joan of Arc!!! Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh! God, the Most High Lord, He actually...he really heard my prayers and cries day and night...He actually brought you before me!"

Accompanied by a series of incoherent, excited utterances, the handsome young man with long, black, flowing hair and a gloomy demeanor knelt before the visiting figure in the courtyard, trembling with excitement, and wept hysterically.

"It's alright, Jill..."

Once her old friend had released the pent-up frustration and turmoil he had been holding in his heart, Joan of Arc chuckled in comfort and extended her hand toward the retired Marshal Gilles.

"Ahem, sir, it seems this young lady has traveled a long way. Why don't you invite her inside to rest? You can talk things over at your leisure."

Accompanied by a dry cough, the butler Anglie, who was in charge of greeting the guests, lit a lantern, which illuminated his old face, which looked like withered tree bark. He stepped forward, bowed, and offered a suggestion, trying to salvage the face of his master who had lost his composure.

"Yes, yes, let's go inside first. Anglie, and while you're at it, go and urge the kitchen to prepare some meals and snacks!"

"The kitchen, yes, I need to go check out the kitchen!"

As if waking from a dream, Gilles de Rais came to his senses and nodded repeatedly in giving orders. However, the man, who was a little too excited, became somewhat confused in his actions and words. Without saying a word, he took on the chores that were not in line with his status and ran to the back, leaving Joan of Arc standing there.

The task of receiving guests naturally fell to the old butler, Anglie.

As a familiar comrade-in-arms, Joan of Arc didn't pay much attention to Gilles's loss of composure; instead, she felt a sense of warmth at the reunion with her old friend.

Then, led by the old butler, the visiting saintess stepped over the mottled moss that spread from the cracks in the bricks and the stone walls, and followed the somewhat loose wooden stairs to the second-floor reception room.

On the way, by the light of her lantern, Joan of Arc was able to calm herself down and observe the condition of the old house.

Although the house was relatively tidy, the furnishings were quite old. The lawn in the yard had not been mowed for a long time, and its vibrant greenness resembled a menacing monster twisted into various shapes.

As they ventured deeper, the light grew dimmer, and the long, dark corridor creaked underfoot, like a cacophony of whispers.

For some reason, Joan of Arc felt as if something was watching her from the darkness around her, and she felt inexplicably disturbed, even having the urge to turn around and flee this gloomy mansion.

Fortunately, the dark corridor was not long, only a dozen steps, before the brightly lit study opened up to her.