Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

Chapter Sixteen: The world has lost its conscience; I will live and die with the Marshal! (4k)

When old friends reunite, a long chat is inevitable. During their conversation, the two leaders mentioned France, expressing both satisfaction and a subtle, unspoken sigh about the current situation.

Once a powerful nation, England is now in chaos, with its army suffering defeat after defeat...

The Burgundians, who once had a deep rift with France, now stand together with their old adversaries...

The former unit is now scattered, and former comrades-in-arms are dispersed to various battlefields...

Unbeknownst to them, His Majesty of Lance was gradually becoming a qualified king, no longer the "cowardly Charles" who needed to hide behind them.

Everything is quietly changing.

Their era is inevitably coming to an end.

As for what happens after the curtain falls, the "dead" Saint of Orléans and the retired former French marshal exchange a glance, tacitly change the subject, and say nothing more.

It is a rare stroke of luck for former comrades-in-arms to reunite in the midst of chaos, and the subsequent conversations about trivial matters became much more relaxed.

"By the way, Jill, I heard you got married?"

After a few casual words, Joan of Arc's gaze fell on the back of her old comrade's left hand.

Marshal Gilles paused upon hearing this, remained silent for a moment, nodded slightly, and lowered his hands from the desk, his raised right palm covering the wedding ring engraved with his family crest on his ring finger.

"I'm so glad you've been able to settle down."

Joan of Arc smiled brightly as she offered her sincere blessings to her friend, her cheeks flushing slightly as she became somewhat embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I'm in a hurry to get on my way, and it's not convenient for me to show my face along the way, so I didn't prepare any decent gifts."

"It's alright, Katarina doesn't care about these things..."

Marshal Gilles paused slightly, answered casually, and looking at the pure smile before him, a bitter feeling welled up in his heart, and he fell silent again.

In fact, what Joan of Arc didn't know was that this marshal had always been very secretive about his family affairs.

Gilles de Rais himself was born in the Château de Chandose and was a true blue-blooded nobleman, but his noble birth did not bring him the so-called happiness.

When he was 11 years old, his father passed away, and his guardianship was transferred to his cousin, Thurnami.

But it was his rigid and authoritarian maternal grandfather who truly raised and educated him.

Moreover, the grandfather, being a political figure, raised his grandson not out of any so-called goodwill or love, but for ulterior motives.

He had always hoped that Gilles de Rais would become a rare and valuable investment.

During Gilles' childhood, his maternal grandfather repeatedly tried to arrange his engagement to wealthy noblewomen in order to control their assets, including the niece of the Duke of Brittany.

(Incidentally, the Duke of Brittany is Gilles de Rais's current political enemy and Joan of Arc's, and is also the mastermind behind the future purge of Gilles and others.)

From childhood to adolescence, Jill was almost powerless to resist the controlling, ruthless tyrant, and thus had many unbearable memories.

One of the most absurd things was that when Gil was 16, at the instigation and encouragement of his grandfather, he kidnapped and imprisoned his cousin, Catherine de Touard, for six months, forcing her to marry him.

Later, after Gilles' maternal grandmother died suddenly, her maternal grandfather took the opportunity to demand that Katerina's grandmother, Anna de Ciré, marry him and seize the assets of this relative. Only after achieving his goal was the poor girl finally released.

As Jill grew older, the conflict between her and her grandfather intensified, and she gradually broke free from his control after gaining the strength to resist.

However, during this period, he had already experienced quite a few failed marriages.

In his two previous marriages, both of his fiancées died prematurely, whether fortunately or unfortunately, as we do not know.

And now, Gilles de Rais has been married for the third time.

By the way, his current wife, named Catherine de Touard, is his cousin.

In the end, this poor girl could not escape her fate.

Given this situation and environment, Gilles de Rais's attitude towards his current marriage is quite predictable.

As night deepened, the light in the study still danced cheerfully, illuminating the figures of the two old friends reunited.

Dangdangdang!

A mournful chime echoed dully in the room. Gilles de Rais, who was chatting with Joan of Arc, suddenly dropped his delicate porcelain teacup, which shattered on the floor.

Marshal Gilles' expression changed slightly. He raised his hand to his forehead, and the veins under his skin bulged out. His brows furrowed, and his already pale face seemed to lose even more color.

"Jill, what's wrong?"

Upon seeing this, Joan of Arc's eyes showed worry, and she subconsciously inquired with concern.

"I'm just feeling a little unwell, some medicine will do the trick."

Marshal Gilles immediately raised his arm to stop his old friend from helping him up, then put on a somewhat forced smile and offered words of comfort.

"Alright, after you take your medicine, get some rest. I won't bother you anymore."

Joan of Arc nodded, decisively took her leave, and postponed the plan to retrieve the flag.

Upon hearing this, Gilles breathed a sigh of relief, then rang a bell to summon the butler and ordered him to lead his guests to rest.

As he watched that radiant figure gradually disappear into the dim corridor and vanish from sight, Gilles de Rais relaxed his fingers from the table, then clenched them tightly.

boom!

The next moment, the fist that had been thrown out slammed into his temple with a dull thud, bringing intense pain.

My saint has returned, my long-cherished wish has been fulfilled, there is no need for further blasphemous acts...

Gilles de Rais ran his hands through his long hair, his steel teeth cutting bloody gashes into his lips, and muttered warnings to himself as he buried his head in his hands.

However, the slippery murmurs continued to seep into his mind, as if countless tentacles were wriggling and turning within his skull, constantly tearing and piecing together his consciousness.

No! That's not the case!

My saint has returned, which proves I was right!

Lord, did you hear my call?

Something that shines...something sacred...

Dark things... filthy things...

lol...

I see! I see!

Inside the room, the candlelight flickered violently, and shadows from all directions were constantly being pulled and twisted, forming thick, indistinct blobs of ink on the floor, ceiling, window frames, and walls.

The man sitting behind the desk, as if suddenly enlightened, covered his face with his hands in excitement, tears streaming down his face.

O Creator, we were all wrong. I have never been so close to your presence, nor have I heard your teachings so clearly!

Amidst murmurs that sounded like both crying and laughing, the inky shadows surrounding the man, like fleshy tendrils emerging from the darkness, wriggled and spread, eventually covering the entire house.

Boom...

Dark clouds loomed outside the window, and the streaking lightning brought a moment of light to the towering fortress.

The man in the study seemed to hear some kind of response; he immediately stood up, stretched out his arms to embrace the sky, and cheered excitedly.

Whether it's blasphemy or praise, in your eyes it's all the same kind of worship!

His eyes, bulging with madness, pupils unfocused and darting about; his once handsome face now showed irregular twitching and spasms of muscles, and his upturned lips stretched into an exaggerated arc.

Hehehe, my blasphemy has finally touched the realm of God!

I understand now, I will surely follow Your... revelation!

Boom!

Deep, rumbling thunderclaps pounded across the night sky, where dark clouds were gathering. Outside, the rain was torrential and the wind howled, with large raindrops pounding against the windows and walls, making it difficult for Joan of Arc to fall asleep, tossing and turning in bed.

Moreover, for some reason, despite the room being quite comfortable and luxurious, there seemed to be a faint musty smell in the bedding and walls, making it impossible to settle down.

Finally, feeling inexplicably agitated and unable to sleep, Joan of Arc got up, put on her clothes, pushed open the door, and stepped into the corridor.

The house was dark; for some reason, all the lights were off. The entire house was completely out of place with the noise and wind outside the window, exuding an extreme tranquility.

It was so quiet that you could hear your heartbeat and breathing clearly.

Even more strangely, Joan of Arc did not see any of the servants who were supposed to be on duty along the way.

The dark corridor seemed rather long, and as one went deeper, the walls on both sides seemed to be constantly squeezing inward, like the esophagus of a monster being swallowed.

Snapped……

Joan of Arc raised her hand and tapped her head, shaking her head slightly.

Strange, how could such an absurd idea come to mind?

Is it because you spend too much time with that person that you become suspicious?

The saintess of Orleans snapped out of her daze, threw a scapegoat at him from afar, and then suppressed her distracting thoughts, but the inexplicable palpitation only grew stronger.

Just as Joan of Arc's muscles tensed instinctively and her brow furrowed, a faint light appeared ahead in the corridor.

Surprisingly, we ended up in Jill's study...

Never mind, I can't sleep anyway, might as well go check on him.

Joan of Arc paused for a moment, then changed her mind and walked forward with the light.

As Joan of Arc stepped over the threshold, her body bathed in the soft candlelight of the room, her previously agitated heart miraculously calmed down.

However, once Joan of Arc had adjusted to the changes in light and darkness in the room and looked around, she found that the study was also empty.

Where did Jill go?

They didn't even remember to blow out the candles before leaving. What if a fire breaks out?

Joan of Arc shook her head helplessly, stepped forward, and prepared to eliminate the safety hazard.

However, as soon as she approached the desk, she noticed a letter lying on it, and the wax seal on the envelope made Joan of Arc frown.

She happened to recognize that logo.

François Plelatti is a quirky magician and a friend of Gilles.

By chance, Joan of Arc met that person a few times, but her impression of him was not good, because the guy had a rather wicked personality and took pleasure in watching scenes of human despair and moral decay.

Previously, due to the urgency of the war and her own persuasion, Jill and this person had rarely been in contact.

Unexpectedly, after Jill retired, they got entangled again.

Besides a letter, there was a wooden square box in a half-open drawer on the table. The outside of the box had strange reliefs that she couldn't quite understand, and the inside was about the size of a book.

Forget it, I'll remind Jill again tomorrow to try to avoid associating with people like that.

Joan of Arc shook her head helplessly, glanced at the frantic handwriting on the letter, and then looked away.

Peeping into private correspondence is contrary to the Lord's teachings.

More importantly, she is illiterate...

Just as the Saint of Orleans put aside her curiosity and raised her hand to blow out the candlestick, the thing remained motionless.

Fixed?

Joan of Arc was slightly taken aback, and her wrist turned unconsciously.

Click...

Just then, the candlestick suddenly moved, and the bookcase against the wall creaked and flipped over, revealing a dark and narrow passageway.

Joan of Arc's gaze sharpened, and a sense of vigilance immediately arose in her heart.

Although the joy of reuniting with her old friend made her lower her guard, the series of unexpected events still made her realize that something was amiss.

From the moment we entered this house, something seemed off.

What happened to Jill?

Just as a deep sorrow appeared in the eyes of the Saint of Orleans, a gentle breeze stirred, and a surge of air rose from the passage.

Joan of Arc's nostrils twitched involuntarily, and her expression changed drastically in an instant.

The smell of blood! And... the stench of decay!

Without hesitation, Joan of Arc leaped into the dark passage to investigate.

In the study, the night breeze seeped into the room through the cracks in the windowpanes, causing an envelope to fall to the floor. The flickering candlelight cast long, short shadows on the paper, revealing lines of scribbles tinged with excitement and madness.

Ah, Gil, Gil! My dear friend!

I have heard about what happened in Rouen. My condolences are for our friend.