There were many unclear aspects about Joan of Arc.
Why did the French leadership entrust a young girl with military command just because she claimed to hear the voice of God?
Why couldn’t Joan of Arc, God’s warrior, overcome death through a miracle?
Why was Joan of Arc always in unknown danger?
Why was Joan of Arc’s banner, known as the “Saint’s Banner,” displayed in the status window as [Saints’ Banner]?
All these countless questions could be explained with a single hypothesis.
That is, there was not just one saint.
Joan of Arc did not overcome death—she was replaced every time she died, and people called it a “miracle.”
The “Saints’ Banner” referred to the girls who had died before.
Joan of Arc was an artificially created saint, designed to lead France to victory in war.
That was why, after the capture of Paris, France sought to “dispose” of Joan of Arc.
To completely erase the truth of the Saint Project from history.
Because the saint was not meant to be manufactured but to remain a noble sacrifice, illuminating France forever.
That was the conclusion I reached, the true nature of the enigmatic girl, Joan of Arc, the saint of the Hundred Years’ War.
Judging by the hardened expression of Bishop Cambrai, my conclusion was likely the truth.
“How did you come to such a thought?”
“Just by watching what you do.”
“It was obvious that you kept pushing Jeanne into danger, trying to get her killed.”
Countless saints had died in the name of “miracles.”
If left alone, Joan of Arc would have been just another sacrifice for the realization of a miracle.
Bishop Cambrai did not attempt to hide it.
“Impressive. You are correct, Brother. The saint was created by France. To be precise, I created her.”
“You gathered innocent girls and killed them—does the God you believe in rejoice at that?”
“Because France needs a saint.”
He made excuses.
“In order to save many lives, it was something that had to be done.”
He sought to justify his sins.
“Jeanne’s death is also necessary for France.”
And he turned it into his belief.
“I will bear all the sins.”
Looking at Bishop Cambrai’s face, full of righteousness, I suddenly realized something.
“Now I understand.”
“You understand me?”
“No, I understand why the status window told me to protect Jeanne.”
“……?”
“It was because of you.”
The status window had given me the quest to protect Joan of Arc.
It was likely because the previous saint had died earlier than expected, bringing Joan’s turn sooner than planned.
The girl had to die at the stake.
And the reason the previous saint had died early was probably this Bishop Cambrai.
Looking at his revolting face, filled with his twisted faith, it was clear he would have had no issue killing countless saints.
Of course, I had no reason to interfere.
Whether he was truly a righteous man who sought to help people, or a devil who ruthlessly slaughtered innocent girls, it was all just “history.”
Joan of Arc’s fate was to be burned at the stake.
Just as Napoleon’s Siege of Toulon was successful, just as Admiral Yi Sun-sin’s Battle of Myeongnyang ended in victory.
The girl’s execution would also proceed the same way.
“……”
Was I really just supposed to watch?
The image of Jeanne’s disappointed face as she left the shop lingered in my mind.
Beyond that, the words of the status window shone through.
[Protect the girl who has become the sacrifice of the Hundred Years’ War.]
That phrase likely meant to protect her until the execution took place.
Once the execution was over, I would receive my reward and wake up at the shop, just like before.
Suddenly, a thought came to me.
‘Do I really need to protect her?’
The quest only said, “Protect the girl.”
It did not specify until when she should be protected.
It was easy to assume it meant until the execution, but there was no rule saying I couldn’t interpret it differently.
The wording was up to interpretation.
‘Well, then, I’ll just interpret it differently.’
I’m only protecting her because I was told to.
Bang!
“Brother, what are you doing…?!?”
Bishop Cambrai’s eyes widened as he saw what I had done.
On the wall of the chapel, a giant crucifix hung.
Napoleon’s rifle was aimed at that very cross.
Specifically, at the “Replica Stigmata Branding Iron” and the “Saints’ Banner” hanging from Christ’s nailed hands.
Boom!
The branding iron in Christ’s left hand, used to mark stigmata, was struck by a bullet and fell.
Bang!
Next, the Saints’ Banner in the right hand fell.
“Stop him!”
As I walked toward the fallen relics, Bishop Cambrai shouted furiously.
The courtroom of the Inquisition.
Seventy inquisitors in white robes filled the room, seated in a circle.
They were all inquisitors of the Church of England.
At the center of the courtroom sat Joan of Arc.
The girl had been imprisoned for over a week, and her complexion was deathly pale.
There was no one beside her.
In the Inquisition, it was customary for the accused to have a defense attorney present.
However, Joan of Arc had not been assigned a single defender.
On the other hand, the seventy inquisitors questioning her were all professional theologians.
A team of seventy elite theologians had been assembled solely to condemn an illiterate peasant girl as a heretic.
“I will now question the accused, Joan of Arc.”
Bishop Cauchon, both judge and theologian, spoke.
“If you are not a heretic, recite the Lord’s Prayer here and prove that you are a believer.”
Joan lifted her bowed head.
Her complexion was pale, but her eyes were sharper than ever.
“Bishop, are you a devout believer?”
“Yes, I am a devoted servant of the Lord.”
“Then please prove your devotion first by confessing your faith and reciting the prayer before you ask me to do so.”
She was essentially saying, If you are truly devout, then recite it first.
However, the Lord’s Prayer was in Latin, and even among theologians, few had memorized it.
Naturally, Bishop Cauchon could not recite it either.
He had only asked the question assuming, I can’t do it, so how could you?
“I will call upon other clergy members to recite it instead.”
“The one who asked me must be the one to do it.”
“……I will move on.”
Bishop Cauchon continued.
“I ask the accused.”
“Please, go ahead.”
“Do you believe you have received God’s grace?”
Bishop Cauchon had framed his question in a way that would condemn Joan regardless of her answer.
If she said “yes,” she would be accused of arrogantly assuming God’s will.
If she said “no,” she would be accused of admitting she lacked divine favor.
And then—
“If I have not received His grace, may He grant it to me.
If I have received it, may He continue to bestow it upon me.”
Joan answered in a way that was neither affirmation nor denial, leaving Bishop Cauchon momentarily speechless.
“……I will move on.”
Their exchange continued in the same manner.
Bishop Cauchon laid clever traps, and Joan skillfully evaded them.
Unable to find a concrete charge against her, Bishop Cauchon resorted to his final weapon.
“It has been reported that the accused wore men’s clothing while imprisoned.”
Joan had dressed as a man in prison to protect her chastity.
However, for a woman to wear men’s clothing was considered a religious crime, a violation of scripture.
Of course, dressing as a man for self-protection was not a sin.
But this was a trial designed solely to condemn Joan as a heretic.
Moreover, Bishop Cauchon had already suffered the humiliation of losing a verbal battle in front of the other theologians.
“I sentence this sinner, who has violated scripture, to be burned at the stake.”
Using her attire as an excuse, Bishop Cauchon pronounced the death sentence.
Joan objected, but her appeal was dismissed.
In the end, she was dragged by knights to the grand plaza of the archdiocese.
Before the gathered crowd, Joan was bound to the stake.
Joan’s expression was one of resignation.
A massive crowd had gathered, yet not a single person spoke up or attempted to help her.
A religious trial was sacred, and the punishments it decreed were seen as the will of the Lord.
The executioner, holding a torch, approached Joan.
His face was filled with guilt and fear at the thought of killing a saint.
“Do not resent me.”
“I do not resent you.”
Whoosh!
The fire was lit beneath the stake.
With her eyes closed, Joan clasped her hands as if in prayer.
And at that moment, a commotion erupted from one side of the plaza.
“Stop him!!!”
Bishop Cambrai’s urgent voice echoed across the plaza.
“Stop him from interfering with the execution!”
Bang! Clang!
Familiar gunshots and the clashing of metal rang out in quick succession.
And then—
“Joan of Arc!!!!!!!!!”
At the sound of her name being called, Joan opened her eyes.
She turned her head to see who it was, and her eyes widened.
“…Jeosun?”
There, holding the saint’s banner, stood Choi Jeosun.
Crunch!
Right before Joan’s eyes, he snapped the sacred banner in half.
[‘Saints’ Banner’ has been destroyed.]
[Reward relic has been lost.]
I had just shattered my own quest reward, but I didn’t care.
“I wouldn’t take it even if you gave it to me.”
I tossed the broken banner aside.
A banner drenched in the blood of sacrifices was worthless to me.
To Joan, it was nothing more than a shackle that forced her into sacrifice.
“Noooooooo!!!”
A furious voice roared across the plaza.
“How dare you defile a sacred relic?!”
Bishop Cambrai, his face contorted with rage, charged toward me.
But before he could reach me, I leaped onto the execution platform.
Thud!
I slammed the rifle’s stock into the executioner blocking my way, then swung my Twin Dragon Sword at the flames consuming the pyre.
Whooosh!
In an instant, the fire was extinguished.
“This… This can’t be! The sacred fire?!”
Ignoring Bishop Cambrai’s shock, I cut the ropes binding Joan.
As soon as she was freed, she staggered and collapsed weakly into my arms.
“Jeosun…?”
“Just wait a little longer.”
The moment I set Joan down to the side, Bishop Cambrai lunged at me.
“How dare you interfere with this sacred trial?!”
His fist came hurtling toward me.
Whoosh!
Decades of training in the church had infused Cambrai’s punch with divine power.
It radiated with a brilliance far greater than that of the knights he had ordered to their deaths.
Despite possessing such power, he had never lifted a finger in battle.
He had only demanded sacrifices.
“You son of a bitch.”
I raised my Twin Dragon Sword.
And then—
[Twin Dragon Sword’s unique ability has been unlocked.]
A message appeared in my status window.
At the same time, a familiar voice echoed in my ears.
“With a three-foot blade, I swear to the heavens, the mountains and rivers shall tremble.”
The Twin Dragon Sword gleamed with a brilliant white light.
Just like when Admiral Yi Sun-sin beheaded Bae Sol.
I swung my sword down at the charging Bishop Cambrai.
BOOOOM!!!
A deafening explosion shook the plaza as Cambrai was sent flying backward.
“Cough!”
He crashed into the plaza’s stone wall, coughing up blood.
When I turned around, I saw Joan staring up at me, stunned.
“…”
“You don’t have to sacrifice yourself anymore.”
Her violet eyes trembled.
Then, tears welled up and trickled down her cheeks.
Tears of joy.
Tears that had never appeared in recorded history—tears of a saint who had defied death.
“Thank you… truly…”
Her smile, freed from the chains of sacrifice, shone more brilliantly than anything else.
[Warning]
[A distortion point has emerged in the flow of history.]
An unfamiliar warning flashed in my status window.
Because Joan of Arc had survived beyond the moment of her destined execution, the world now considered her an impurity.
[‘The Distorted One’ is being expelled from the world.]
The world darkened.
When I opened my eyes, I was back at the Universal Shop.
And…
“Jeosun, where is this…?”
Beside me stood a girl with golden hair and violet eyes.