A blonde girl with purple eyes asked me.
“Did you call me?”
“I didn’t call you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It would be better to say I was drawn here. Everyone who comes here comes like that.”
So did Napoleon.
So did Yi Sun-sin.
They were all drawn here, to this place, the all-things statue, by my awakening power.
And the girl was the same.
The girl, who had been silently watching me, spoke up.
“Joan of Arc.”
“Please call me Jeanne.”
The Maid of Orléans, Jeanne d’Arc.
[Protect the girl who became a sacrifice in the Hundred Years’ War.]
[Reward: Banner of the Saints]
The girl was the miraculous saint who ended the Hundred Years’ War.
She was Jeanne d’Arc.
If you were to pick the most mysterious figure in human history, it would undoubtedly be Jeanne d’Arc.
The Maid of Orléans, the Saint of Arc, the miraculous girl…
She had many aliases, and as such, she was a figure surrounded by many mysteries.
A simple country girl who couldn’t even read suddenly received a divine revelation and saved her country from a crisis.
This miraculous story, which seems like it could be made into a novel, is considered “official history” by both England and France, and it remains a mystery that many historians still question today.
Figures like Yi Sun-sin and Napoleon are verified heroes who started as low-ranking officers and gradually built up their skills, making their way to prominence.
But Jeanne d’Arc was just an ordinary country girl who couldn’t even read.
Then, suddenly, she claimed to have received divine revelations, and the French leadership entrusted her with command of the army, leading them to defeat England.
And she did this in just over a month.
A 16-year-old girl from the small village of Domrémy achieved what countless veteran commanders of France could not.
It was a feat that could only be described as miraculous, and so Jeanne d’Arc was always surrounded by various theories.
There were theories that she was a hero created artificially by the French leadership.
There were even rumors that Jeanne d’Arc wasn’t one person, but several people.
Some claimed she was the French king’s daughter, others said she was a hired mercenary.
Other theories included alien contact, witchcraft, intersex claims, and even homunculus theories.
There were so many suspicions surrounding this mysterious girl that listing them all would be exhausting.
But the Jeanne d’Arc I saw was far from a mystery; she was just an ordinary girl.
She swept the monastery courtyard, handed out bread to children, helped with village tasks, and when it was time for Mass, she prayed.
These were patterns you would find among devout Catholics.
Aside from her doll-like appearance that elicited admiration and her maturity beyond her years, Jeanne d’Arc was just a devout girl, like many others you’d find.
One might wonder how such a girl could have become the saint who saved France.
“Bishop Cambrai, at your service.”
A kind-looking bishop extended his hand for a handshake.
“I am Jeosun Choi.”
“Jeanne called you a saint.”
“It’s a misunderstanding. I’m just a devout believer, not a saint.”
For the record, I was an atheist who believed in 21st-century scientific civilization. The only time I had ever been to a church was when I went with a friend as a child.
But if you claimed to be non-religious in medieval Europe, which was dominated by Catholicism, you could be labeled a heretic.
This was a time when the existence of God was unquestioned.
A young girl claiming to hear God’s voice was enough for the royal family to send out their army.
“To be a devout believer, that’s wonderful. God will bless you.”
Bishop Cambrai was consistently kind to me.
And it wasn’t just him.
Because I was a guest of Jeanne d’Arc, the people of Orléans treated me with the utmost respect.
I understood why when I saw Jeanne d’Arc’s usual behavior.
“Please bear with me a little longer.”
“Ugh!”
The girl tended to the wounded with holy water provided by the monastery.
To modern eyes, it looked like a simple low-grade healing potion, but to people of that time, it was a miraculous substance that could be called holy water.
“Thank you, Saint Jeanne.”
The small girl personally carried a cart of holy water and went around tending to the sick.
“How long will you keep doing this?”
“Until the bell tolls for Mass.”
“When will that be?”
“When the sun sets over the Loire River, the bell will toll.”
“…….”
In other words, she meant she would be at it until evening.
And there was at least five more hours until then.
During that time, Jeanne d’Arc went around the alleys, treating everyone, whether they were beggars or elderly.
To the hungry, she gave out bread from the cart, and to the sick, she blessed them with holy water.
She didn’t show any signs of fatigue, like someone whose dedication had become second nature.
I followed Jeanne d’Arc throughout her day, observing her daily routine.
Ding—! Ding!
“It’s time for the service.”
When the bell rang, Jeanne d’Arc stopped what she was doing, arranged the cart, and returned to the monastery.
“Thank you, Saint Jeanne.”
As she passed through the streets with her cart, everyone who saw her called her a ‘saint’.
‘Why is she a saint?’
I felt a sense of doubt.
Jeanne d’Arc’s sincerity was something you wouldn’t see in girls of her age, but she wasn’t the only one offering devotion.
Nuns and priests who performed healings with holy water could occasionally be seen.
However, people didn’t refer to them as saints or holy figures.
“Haha, Saint Jeanne, I see you’re on your way to Mass.”
“Saint Jeanne, there’s some bread left. Would you like some?”
“Saint Jeanne… could I get a little of the holy water?”
“Saint Jeanne…”
Only this young girl was called a saint.
Even the elderly man who swore at her, and the children who played pranks—everyone treated her kindly.
It was a warm scene, but for some reason, I felt an inexplicable sense of alienation.
It was as if the kindness formed a ‘wall’ between Jeanne d’Arc and the people.
And soon, I realized the true nature of that ‘wall’.
The reason Jeanne d’Arc was called a ‘saint’.
Ding-ding-ding-ding!
“England’s here!”
“The English are attacking!”
The next evening.
A large English army led by Henry VI had surrounded Orléans.
Ding-ding-ding-ding─!
The bells that signaled the battle rang loudly, and the peaceful village was filled with tension.
People hid in their homes, and only knights on horseback roamed the streets.
Archers took positions on the battlements.
The English army, visible beyond the walls, outnumbered the French forces by five to one.
The soldiers’ faces were painted with tension.
It was around this time that Jeanne d’Arc ascended the walls.
The girl was holding a massive flag.
It was a pure white flag with an image of angels playing in a field of lilies.
It was just a flag.
But then…
“We have a saint!”
“Waahhhh!”
The air in Orléans, which had been soaked in tension, suddenly shifted.
It was an intense, almost inexplicable fervor that went beyond mere faith.
It was as if the flag itself would bring victory, and everyone became so enthusiastic.
They looked like fanatical zealots, drunk on a cult-like faith.
Creeeak!
At that moment, the gates of Orléans rose, and knights on horseback charged towards the English camp.
“Charge! Charge!”
“Waaaahhh!”
It was a reckless charge, far from any defensive strategy.
Clang! Clang!
The two knights’ forces collided, and a bloody battle ensued.
The sound of swords crossing echoed with screams.
As the sun set, the plain was stained with blood and the sound of metal.
And then.
Flutter, flutter.
Jeanne d’Arc began waving the flag.
Then something incredible happened.
The fallen soldiers rose, and fresh skin grew over the wounds.
Heeheehee!
The horse reared, and the knight who had been exhausted raised his sword again.
“As long as the saint wields the flag, we will never lose!”
“Waahhh!”
“Charge! Charge!”
It was a ‘miracle’.
And at the same time, a noble ‘sacrifice’.
Flutter, flutter.
As the girl waved the pure white flag, blood, like that of the angels drawn on it, poured from her back.
It was the ‘red wings of the angel’.
“Well done, Jeanne.”
Bishop Cambrai, with a kind expression, smiled warmly at Jeanne d’Arc.
Ssssh!
The holy water in the bishop’s hand flowed down the girl’s bloodstained back.
“Ugh.”
Jeanne d’Arc bit her lip and endured the pain, while Bishop Cambrai smiled kindly, offering her comfort.
“Thanks to your sacrifice, France is safer now.”
I found that smile to be unbearably cruel.
Ding-ding-ding!
“It’s the English! It’s England!”
Flutter, flutter.
The girl waved the flag.
And the holy angel’s blood flowed from her.