Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

Samael rested his chin on his hand, admiring the defeat cutscene before him, while fiddling with the spoils of war with one fingertip, offering a sly reminder, clearly intending to continue to demoralize the opposing team.

However, facing a high-pressure environment of internal and external troubles, Joan of Arc took a deep breath, swept away the embarrassment and shame on her face, carefully arranged the chess pieces, and her gaze became firm again.

"Let's start the second round!"

It must be said that heroes who leave their mark on history often possess extraordinary qualities.

The more desperate the situation, the more their potential is brought out.

Joan of Arc was the same.

As expected, the Saintess, starting afresh, put aside all unnecessary distracting emotions and faced the formidable enemy with full readiness.

Unlike her previous chaotic approach, Joan of Arc learned from her failure and began to emulate Samael's style, launching fierce attacks. She gradually mastered tactics and techniques such as chariot and horse coordination, castling, and soldier promotion.

But as the saying goes, those who learn from me will live, while those who imitate me will die.

Using the same tactics and strategies from the previous game against Samael himself would be like showing off one's limited skills before an expert—it would be futile.

Therefore, they lost the second game without any surprise.

Moreover, this time it was even shorter, only seven minutes.

After winning the game, the usual defeat cutscene follows.

However, unlike last time, the saintess, having overcome her shame and embarrassment, quickly chose what she needed to keep.

A black tie.

"Come again!"

After paying a simple price, Joan of Arc decisively and quickly returned to her seat, ready to start the next round with high spirits.

This time, having learned from the experience of the previous game, the Saintess chose a safe approach, combining Samael's meticulous planning with her own wildly imaginative intuition.

It must be said that Joan of Arc made rapid progress and gradually reached the level of a beginner.

Although she held out for a full thirty minutes, and even managed to take down one of Samael's chariots, a knight, and three soldiers, the Saintess unsurprisingly lost the third round.

The price to pay was a pair of shoes on my feet.

Indeed, Joan of Arc has made progress, but compared to a seasoned player who has been immersed in this game for thousands of years, her skill is still far inferior. Her slight improvement is simply not enough to bridge the chasm-like gap.

The subsequent battles, without exception, confirmed this undeniable fact.

Fourth game, lost.

The price: a black bow.

Fifth game, lost.

The price was a black school uniform on her upper body.

The sixth game ended in defeat.

The price was a pair of black stockings.

Soon, Joan of Arc, having lost six games in a row, had lost all her external accessories and unimportant clothing, leaving her with only a shirt, a pair of hot pants, and two pieces of underwear.

As a cool breeze blew by, the saintess, who had been holding her arms to her chest, couldn't help but feel nervous again, her cherry lips pressed tightly together, despite having finally managed to calm herself down.

If I keep losing, I'll be naked in less than ten games.

Wait, exactly ten items, exactly ten rounds?

Joan of Arc seemed to realize something, and suddenly looked up at the demon opposite her with a hostile expression, her clenched teeth grinding together.

mean!

"Why are you looking at me? You were the one who wanted to gamble."

Facing the Holy Maiden's angry glare, Sa

Meyer spread his hands, feigning innocence and protesting his innocence, then changed the subject with a smile.

"Of course, you can also quit and go back alone. After all, I'm not an unreasonable person, right?"

I believe you!

Joan of Arc frowned, gritted her teeth, and snorted coldly, saying nothing more.

Things had come to this point, and there was no turning back. Whether for the sake of the people of the Thousand World Tree outside or for her own sake, she absolutely could not give up this only hope.

Since that's the case, there's no point in overthinking it.

At worst, we can just beat him beforehand!

Realizing she had fallen into a trap, the saintess gritted her teeth, mustered all her strength, and prepared for the next round, determined to fight to the death.

However, three hours later.

"Checkmate!"

In a devilish whisper, a pale hand swept across the chessboard, grasping the isolated white king in its grasp, and playfully dangling it back and forth in front of Joan of Arc's lifeless eyes.

In the seventh game, they suffered a crushing defeat.

Immediately, Samael smiled broadly, his snake-like eyes blinking, and with his free left hand, he made a "please" gesture.

"It's your turn, Miss Saintess."

The saintess suppressed her trembling body, raised her hands, and placed them on the collar of her white shirt. After a moment of difficult fumbling, under the demon's expectant and pleased gaze, she handed over the price she had paid:

A button...

Instantly, the ancient snake's playful expression froze, replaced by astonishment.

"What does it mean?"

Joan of Arc covered her half-open collar with one hand, her eyes sparkling, and explained her reasons in a serious manner.

"You only said that if you lose a game, you have to leave behind one item, but you didn't specify what it is."

Samael was furious upon hearing this and angrily filed a protest.

"You're cheating!"

"I prefer to call it divine wisdom."

Faced with the demon's accusations, the saint remained unperturbed, calmly meeting his gaze and silently pondering.

"It's not fair to play against you. As human beings, we should not only use all our courage and wisdom, but also allow for some tricks within the rules."

Then, Joan of Arc paused, her gaze, which seemed to ripple with reminiscence, regained its composure and looked earnestly at the serpent demon before her, her cherry lips parting slightly.

"Anything not prohibited by law is permissible. You said it yourself, so I'm not in breach of contract."

Hearing that familiar argument coming from his own mouth, Samael, who had been outmaneuvered, laughed instead of getting angry, and looked the seemingly honest "Zhen Gongping" up and down, marveling at him.

"Joan of Arc, you've gone astray."

"It's because you taught me so well."

Joan of Arc remained calm and composed, showing no trace of shame.

The former French saint was never a conventional person, both in her style of doing things and in her tactical planning.

A truly upright and honest soul would not, as a woman, join a man's battlefield to lead an army; much less would she, in a religious trial, render a group of theological experts speechless.

Good things should be thanks to the Lord's teachings; but bad things are all my doing, right?

The ancient serpent, having been rebuffed, stared at Joan of Arc, who had spoken so earnestly, and felt its heart pounding with anger, its teeth itching.

"Come again!"

A new round of fighting has begun, but this time it was Samael who initiated the conflict.

The ending was, as expected, as always.

The French saint calmly ripped the second button off her shirt and tossed it onto the table.

In the ninth game, they lost.

Joan of Arc gave up the third button from her shirt.

The tenth game ended in defeat.

Her Highness's fourth button also failed to be saved.

The game ended, but Joan of Arc, the loser, did not get up. Instead, she looked at her opponent, who was full of resentment, and spoke calmly.

"Do you want to continue?"

"Ten more rounds! Let's see how much stuff you can carry!"

Samael, his eyes red with anger, nodded through gritted teeth.

Eleventh game, lost.

Samael successfully removed the last button from Joan of Arc's shirt, and even with his left hand holding her back, the loose collar still couldn't hide the alluring glimpse of her fair skin.

With excitement, Samael won the twelfth game with some difficulty, his vertical pupils opening and closing with ill intent as he looked at the French saint above who was on the verge of losing the game.

However, under the vengeful and expectant gaze of the ancient serpent, Joan of Arc raised her right hand, placed it on her collar, and applied slight pressure.

Then, a golden strand of hair was presented to Samael.

"Something I have on me, does that count?"

Samael's lips twitched as he looked at Joan of Arc, who could give such a reason so seriously and so confidently.

You've gone too far, Zhenping!

Now he understands that he was the one who fell into the trap.

You think you can teach your apprentice and then starve yourself? You're trying to defy the grain, aren't you? I should have never taught you back then!

Filled with grief and indignation, Samael gritted his teeth and regretted his actions. He then vented all his resentment on the chessboard, winning seven games in a row.

However, with each successive victory, the ancient serpent's brow furrowed, and his expression grew increasingly solemn.

Because victory was becoming increasingly difficult, and he had almost exhausted all his strength to win the nineteenth game.

20th inning.

After a bloody battle, Joan of Arc, relying on her war instincts, moved her soldiers, broke through the enemy's defenses, and took the final step.

General

! ”

With pursuers in front and ambushed from behind, Samael, now at his wit's end, looked dejected and had no choice but to abandon his piece and admit defeat.

Unfortunately, he ran into the intuitive type of player he hated the most.

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Teacher, Love Me Again (4.3k views)

Meanwhile, in a side hall somewhere in the courtyard.

The members of the Thousand World Tree slumped against the corners of the walls and pillars, panting heavily, their faces filled with relief at surviving the ordeal and a hint of uncertainty about the future.

Under the overwhelming force of the Dragon Tooth Soldiers and their overwhelming combat advantage, escaping the Sky Garden and retreating back to the Thousand World Tree Castle was no longer an option; they could only turn back.

But soon, the group from the Thousand World Trees encountered the Fiona Knights, who were also fighting and retreating.

Now, even the faint hope of cheating has completely vanished.

After a chaotic battle in which the two groups were attacked from both sides, they were forced to retreat into the relatively stable buildings around them and rebuild their defensive formations to hold out for the time being.

Although I knew it was a dead end, at least my life was saved for now.

Waves of Dragon Tooth Soldiers surged toward the door, forcing everyone to brace themselves and erect a magical barrier to fend off the onslaught of skeletons.

Avisbro, Sereneka, Gold, and the other magicians, because of this relentless battle of attrition, had been constantly reinforcing the seals around them since they entered, trying to increase their sense of security by even the slightest bit, until they were completely drained of their magic power.

After some time, the blond heartthrob, who was frowning and biting his thumb in the corner, heard the noise outside the door gradually subside and turned to ask.

"How's it going outside?"

"Strange, it seems to have stopped."

Koles, who was standing next to him, subconsciously got up and stepped forward, peering through the crack in the door, and muttered in slight surprise.

"They're neither killing nor fighting? What's going on?"

Seleneka, her face pale from the attrition warfare, gritted her teeth and angrily rebuked, her anger and irritability clearly on the verge of exploding.

"Could it be that the Clock Tower is going to capture him alive?"