Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

Your reliance, your faith, have collapsed.

This world is so unfair to you.

The thought of you being tormented by the bitter hell right now is making my fragile rationality crumble!

Your pain is my pain.

Your happiness is my happiness.

The crimes you committed are the crimes I committed!

To love people, yet hate them. To hate people, yet want to test them. I deeply value this contradiction, this lamentation of the soul, and want to save them.

At the same time, it is very regrettable that there is no way to escape this immorality. Because it needs to be overcome, not cured.

If you have this will, please visit my workshop. Further study and exploration will surely be of help to you.

Did you ask me this before?

Ask me why I saved you. I will offer you the answer here, my dear.

Although we share a common past, you and I are not the same kind. Even if you are treated cruelly by the gods, even if you blaspheme against them, you will not deny them.

Whether it's blasphemy or praise, it makes no difference to the gods.

Since your pleas cannot win God's mercy and listening, then let darkness taint the light, and crush all the beauty of this world for the gods to see.

I believe this is true faith.

Accept this as my gift, the beginning of blasphemy.

Perhaps the answer you're looking for lies within it.

I offer my respects to you, who, though sinking into the sea of ​​evil, will not succumb to it. I stand by you until your last breath.

Welcome to the cafeteria of nightmares and horrors.

Chapter Seventeen: The Indescribable

Tifu Day, the basement of the old house.

Joan of Arc pressed herself against the wall, crouching low in the passageway leading to the unknown area, and cautiously made her way forward.

It was pitch black all around, but the place seemed unusually large. Joan of Arc walked about a hundred steps, but it felt like she was still going around in circles.

Moreover, the cracks between the stone bricks were covered with slippery moss, and the air was filled with a slightly fishy and salty smell.

It smells like the sea...

Strange, why is there a sea breeze around here?

The Saint of Orleans frowned, utterly perplexed.

Even more strangely, the faint sound of the tide was coming from beneath my feet and into the distance.

The booming sound, like something colliding and striking a reef, rising and falling, sometimes high, sometimes low, sometimes rising and sometimes falling, formed a murmuring sound wave that washed over the mind one after another, making one feel restless and agitated. One wanted nothing more than to cover one's ears and turn and run away.

what is the problem?

The series of strange events made Joan of Arc's expression solemn and she was secretly alarmed. She quickened her pace and followed the faint light at the cave entrance in the darkness, walking out of the long and winding tunnel.

However, as the view suddenly opened up before her, the surrounding scenery caused the Saint of Orleans to freeze in shock and her body to sway.

Joan of Arc quickly composed herself and regained her footing.

Because what Joan of Arc saw was the cave ceiling filled with stalactites.

Beside her, on one side was an uneven stone wall, carved with various distorted images; on the other side was a misty abyss, and beneath the pervasive water vapor, the faint sound of waves rising and falling could be heard.

Beneath her feet lay a bumpy and narrow road, barely wide enough for two or three people to pass through.

How could this be the place beneath Jill's old house?

Unbelievable! Incomprehensible!

Joan of Arc was bewildered, her face filled with unbearable shock. In this area, the perception of time and space was completely disordered.

The logic and experience that humanity has built up over thousands of years seem to have been shattered in an instant, becoming absurd and fragmented.

dong dong dong dong!

Just as the Saint of Orleans was filled with doubt and surprise, hurried footsteps came from ahead.

As the fog rolled in, a small, stumbling figure ran forward in terror, as if being chased by something horrible.

When his eyes reflected Joan of Arc's image, his childish, sorrowful cries, tinged with sobs, were completely released from their repression.

"Help! Help!"

Upon seeing this, Joan of Arc instinctively opened her arms.

A human! A real human!

We're saved! We're finally saved!

"Help me! There's..."

The pale-faced child opposite him, as if seeing a ray of hope in the darkness, was overjoyed and immediately abandoned all hesitation, running forward with all his might.

Whoosh!

However, just as the boy was about to step into the light, he suddenly froze in place, and his innocent cries for help came to an abrupt end.

The child stiffly lowered his head, and what he saw was a purplish-red tendril covered with hideous barbs that flew out from somewhere and pierced straight through his chest.

"save……"

The boy opened his mouth, his eyes filled with terror and pleading.

Puff puff puff!

But the moment the boy opened his mouth, his small body was torn apart by hundreds of purplish-red whiskers that swarmed over, leaving only a mottled and hideous bloody mess.

Joan of Arc instinctively raised her hand to touch the warmth that had splashed onto her cheek, and all she could see was a blinding crimson.

"Demon! Unforgivable!"

Seeing innocent lives and pure children being so desecrated and murdered without warning, the saint of Orleans' eyes reddened and her voice was cold and sharp.

boom!

At the same time, Joan of Arc's magic surged wildly, and the silver-white cross sword at her waist rang out of its sheath, forming a brilliance like a shooting star. It brutally plowed through the surrounding water vapor, instantly tearing apart the hundreds of fleshy tendrils that were wrapped around her.

However, the scattered purplish-red fleshy tendrils wriggled around like caterpillars covering the ground.

In the blink of an eye, the writhing chunks of flesh clung together to form anthurium-like monsters, emitting a constant "hoarse" hiss. They leaped from the ground, opened their mouths full of sharp teeth, and pounced on the girl who had entered the hunting ground.

Its source is light, its power is fire, Lord, grant me strength!

Sainte Catherine of Alexandria!

At this moment, Joan of Arc remained unmoved in the face of the densely packed, anemone-shaped monsters swooping towards her. She gripped the hilt of her sword with both hands, the blade held upright, her beautiful face filled with a chilling aura. She moved her lips and teeth, and suddenly swung her arm forward to slash.

In an instant, the ether in the air frantically gathered on it, and the five holy crosses on the sword ignited with raging flames.

Puff puff puff!

Under the light, hundreds of anemone-shaped fleshy monsters of all sizes instantly turned to ashes amidst the screams of rats.

The Sword of Saint Catherine is the true name of the holy sword that was just called out.

In fact, Joan of Arc had connections with many saints in some mysterious way, including the well-known ones such as Saint Michael, Saint Magdalene, and Saint Catherine.

Saint Catherine was a saint from the third century AD. Legend has it that she was one of the earliest scholars and died protecting Christians from the tyranny of the Roman emperor. She is also known as Saint Catherine of Alexandria, Saint Catherine of the Wheel, and Saint Catherine the Great Martyr. She is one of the most famous martyr saints in Christianity.

This holy sword was obtained by Joan of Arc from the Church of St. Catherine after receiving a revelation.

Her principle was Saint Catherine's will to protect the holy path, even at the cost of her own life, to drive evil out of the world.

Therefore, Joan of Arc was accustomed to using her other weapon, the Holy Banner, in battle, and rarely used the power of Saint Catherine's Sword to slaughter ordinary soldiers on the battlefield.

Therefore, this sword is not famous or renowned, but it has a remarkable effect in purifying evil.

boom!

At this moment, the shimmering cross-shaped light illuminated the entire cave, and the lava-like radiance caused the surrounding mist to twist and dissipate until it blasted through the stone wall in front of it.

Amidst the violent roar and shaking, a high-pitched exclamation, tinged with surprise, came from behind the stone wall.

"Joan of Arc, oh oh oh oh, Joan of Arc, my saint, even you have heard this ancient whisper? Welcome to my blasphemous feast!"

A slightly bowed figure emerged humbly from the collapsed opening, gazing with fervent adoration at the sacred soul before him.

Before me stood a figure dressed in a bizarre red and black magician's robe, holding a yellowed ancient book. His facial muscles twitched and twisted, forming a strange and exaggerated expression, with bulging eyes that exuded horror.

Behind him, collapsing rocks crushed the pale, delicate bones of the skeletons, the ground was covered with black marks, and the mottled walls were adorned with terrifying instruments of torture.

Everything was so familiar, yet everything was so strange.

Joan of Arc stared at the extremely frenzied figure, utterly incredulous.

"Jill, why?"

Chapter 18 Mentally Ill Patients

yeah why?

Joan of Arc could not understand, nor could she comprehend.

Once, in her spare time, she asked this friend why she gave up her comfortable life and took up a sword to go to the battlefield.

"Of course it's because of the children. These are the uncorrupted souls of this world. They deserve to be treated with kindness, unlike us, who see only war, distortion, misery, and death. Their smiles are our pillar."

At that moment, the man answered in this way, and a rare smile appeared on his usually gloomy face.

“I didn’t have these things in my childhood, so I hope they can have them to make up for what I lacked.”

Even with the bloody reality before her eyes, Joan of Arc still couldn't believe that a soul that loved children and harbored beautiful dreams could be twisted into a beast that harmed young children.

"Jill, what's wrong with you?"

Joan of Arc bit her cherry lips tightly and questioned him angrily.

"Me? I'm fine! Better than ever before!"

Gilles de Rais seemed oblivious to his friend's anger, raising his arms and laughing gleefully, his murmured words, tinged with a strange tremor, filled with ecstasy and bliss.

“Listen, the Lord is whispering in my ear. I’ve never felt so close to Him. He is responding to me…”

"You have fallen into evil ways, you have abused life and harmed the innocent. Wake up, Jill!"

The saintess of Orleans gazed at the remaining carnage and darkness before her, then turned her gaze to her friend's crazed and twisted face. The glimmer of hope in her eyes gradually faded, replaced by a dim sorrow and a fiery rage.

"No, no, no, Joan of Arc, my saint, whether it is blasphemy or praise, to God it is all faith, all for the sake of pleasing Him!"

Gilles de Rais shook his head, excitedly announcing his discovery.

“Look, my prayers day and night went unanswered, but when I offered Him the purest soul in the world, He sent you back. Doesn’t that prove that my choice was right?”

The man grew more and more excited as he spoke, his gaze fixed intently on the saintess before him, and he extended his arms in invitation.

"Come, Joan of Arc, let us blaspheme and mock together! God awaits our performance!"

He's gone mad, he's gone mad...

He regarded her as a saint of faith, but she was falsely accused of being a witch and burned at the stake. The monarch he served was ambiguous in his attitude and wary of him.

A tragic childhood, his grandfather's control, the hardships of life, an unhappy marriage, betrayal by the country... fate has never stopped carving and crushing this man.

Perhaps Jill went mad the moment she was sent to the stake.

Realizing the root of the problem, Joan of Arc felt a pang of pain in her heart, her eyes filled with sorrow. She slowly raised the Sword of Saint Catherine with both hands, its blade pointing directly at her old friend.

“Gil de Rais, my friend, if I am the cause of all this, then I will fight with all my might to stop your madness! In the name of the Lord!”

"Oh, oh, oh! What a divine beauty this is!"

Faced with the light that almost burned him, Gilles de Rais became even more excited and frenzied, as if he were on drugs. His eyes bulged from side to side, unfocused, and even had a strange feeling that they might fall out of their sockets at any moment.

"Blasphemy is faith!"

"To defile is to praise!"

"Oh, oh, oh! I get it!"