Chapter Text
A/N: So, about the chapter, it turned out I might have greatly underestimated the size of its length. As such, I decided to split it again. Expect a chapter 19C after this
I clicked my tongue in irritation, a bitter taste rising in my mouth as I stared at the very inaccurate features of the statue that's eerily similar to my face.
"Tch, stupid historians and revisionists." I muttered under my breath, my tone laced with a venomous disdain that I didn't even bother to conceal. "It pisses me off how this persistent mix-up keeps getting perpetuated for no damn reason."
My hands clenched slightly into fists at my sides towards the sheer ignorance that had led to my friend's true likeness being completely erased from historical records over time.
"It's not right. She did most of the work carrying her country through its darkest hour before I even entered the picture. I just simply picked up from where she left off after her death. Her face should be on this statue, not mine."
Gilles said nothing as he continued to silently gaze at the sculpture that's sharing my features.
It's unfortunate to say I knew exactly how this frustrating confusion started in the first place.
I exhaled a quiet breath as I slowly closed my eyes and tried to reimagine the chain of events that gave birth to this huge misunderstanding.
Centuries ago, back when I was still laying the foundation of my plans and exploring the boundaries of my alchemy, I had been traveling extensively across Europe. My mission at the time was to track down interesting rumors that could potentially lead me to a Relic that I could add to what was then a modest but steadily growing collection of magical artifacts under my care.
During one such journey through northern France, I came across an unusual rumor about a holy maiden who was said to be able to summon divine wrath upon her enemies. The tales described how she wielded both faith and an unnatural level of charisma that could inspire armies yet also strike fear into the hearts of those who opposed her.
At first glance, most people would have mistook it as exaggerated superstition crafted by uneducated peasants or perhaps military propaganda designed to raise morale. However, I possess the benefit of my past life's memories to help me recognize a potential lead. So naturally, my curiosity piqued.
What I encountered was... definitely wasn't what I had expected. And by that, I meant a version of Jeanne d'Arc who wielded a terrifying weapon of mass destruction in her hands.
As it turned out, the sword Jeanne had unearthed beneath the altar of Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois wasn't just any sacred blade, it was Durandal.
Yes, you read that right. Durandal. Like literally the sword used by Hibiki to destroy Finé's Red Dragon of Revelations near the end of Symphogear Season 1. And to make matters even more absurd, Jeanne displayed a surprisingly strong level of compatibility with Durandal and she discovered she could generate her own Phonic Gain by singing religious hymns on the field.
The result? The Maid of France basically became an apocalyptic one woman siege engine. With Durandal's power in her hands, the English didn't stand a chance. With just a single swing of her sword, Jeanne could delete their fortifications from existence by pulling off a massive sword beam that would make Artoria Pendragon proud. Though, pulling off said attack multiple times in succession would often leave her feeling incredibly exhausted after she performed them.
Nevertheless, the damage she caused with her sword was so severe that even up to the present, the scars from her battles are still visible. In the city of Orléans alone, there's a large crater where the English forts of St. Augustine and the Les Tourelles once stood which the locals have now converted into a major tourist attraction for pilgrims and historians who became deeply fascinated with Jeanne's fantastic history.
Naturally, this was something I couldn't afford to ignore. Durandal simply wasn't a powerful weapon I wish to covet, it's an item that would play a critically important role in the future. I knew without a doubt that I needed to secure it immediately.
If Finé ever got word of its existence? She'd stop at nothing to seize control over the sword to help accelerate her plan to destroy the moon. Thus, I had no choice but to act fast and find a way to acquire Durandal before the news spreads too far.
I remember the day I decided to test Jeanne d'Arc's strength firsthand. Back then, my alchemy wasn't fully refined yet and I didn't have the proper knowledge of how to perform Adam Weishaupt's signature nuclear transmutation technique. My power was still potent enough to level entire towns on my own but it is essentially not on par with what I could do now in the present.
Nonetheless, my own curiosity drove me forward.
The moment I approached Jeanne with the intent to claim Durandal, she immediately understood my true purpose. She simply turned towards me, her eyes blazing with unshakable resolve while she flashed me a battle-hungry grin that honestly looked jarring on the face of a person who I knew would develop into a well-known saint.
I can still recall the arrogant reply she gave me with perfectly clarity when I tried to demand her to hand over her sword.
'Non. If you wish to claim this sword... then you would need to take it from me first!'
And just like that, Jeanne swung Durandal in my direction and unleashed a golden energy beam straight at me. The attack was so powerful it caused a massive explosion that sent me flying and crashing through a nearby forest where I tore through multiple trees like they were made out of wet tissue paper. I was lucky that I had reacted fast enough to throw out a Hermes Trismegistus barrier in time or else I would have been forced to resurrect myself into a new body in that exact moment.
What followed was nothing short of catastrophic on a scale most people wouldn't believe unless they saw it themselves. Our battle basically tore the French countryside apart as explosions from our clashing attacks sent shockwaves rippling outward across the landscape. Trees were uprooted, deep trenches were carved into the soil and entire sections of farmland were turned into smoldering craters overnight as we chaotically threw our attacks at each other.
Nevertheless, despite the sheer destruction caused by our confrontation, something unexpected gradually began to develop between us. A sense of mutual respect.
At first glance, I thought she was just some regular battle-hungry maniac who likes to recklessly charge in battle. However, as our battle raged on, I discovered she wasn't just fighting with raw power or blind faith. The girl had an incredibly sharp mind and observational skills that matched even my own tactical prowess at times.
She quickly picked up on subtle cues from my attacks and realized that despite my overwhelming power and experience, I wasn't really fighting her at full strength. My actions had clear restraint in them, each strike I threw at her was dialed down in lethality to only graze or knock her back. My reasons for holding back were basically down to personal reasons. Despite the body I'm inhabiting and my own willingness to use violence, my stupid conscience couldn't really find itself mustering the will to kill or maim what amounts to a teenager who had never really done anything exceptional to personally warrant my ire.
Unfortunately for me, Jeanne didn't share my compulsion to hold back. She mercilessly exploited my hesitance with every chance she got just to land a single hit on me. However, what impressed me the most was that she didn't gloat about it. There was no smugness when she noticed how carefully measured each of my movements were, only an eager focus to match wits against an opponent who was holding back yet still clearly forcing her to push harder than she ever did before.
Eventually, by the time a whole hour had passed, both of us were left completely exhausted. The peaceful countryside we've held our battle in looked like it had gone through both World War One and Two several centuries earlier. Entire forests had been burnt, fields were cracked upon like eggs and dozens of craters dotted across the landscape where Durandal's beams or my elemental explosions had struck.
Neither of us spoke to each other for several long minutes as we caught our breath and took in the sheer devastation we've caused together. It was at that point that the two of us both realized how utterly pointless our entire fight had actually been.
Jeanne was the first one who broke the silence between us. She didn't say anything angry or mocking as she straightened herself up despite the aching in her body before she looked directly into my eyes.
Instead of making a demand for my surrender or initiating further hostilities, she surprised me by doing something unexpected. She calmly approached me without fear before she extended her hand out and flashed me a confident, cheeky grin.
'I won't lie… You're strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever fought against. Please, lend me your strength to help me liberate my country!'
Those were the exact words she said to me. There was no boastfulness or arrogance, just pure, blunt honesty. She genuinely wanted to recruit someone who recently tried to kill her just because she saw how powerful they were.
Naturally, I was completely baffled by her sheer audacity. However, Jeanne quickly came up with a proposition. She told me that if I agreed to pledge my power to support France's cause until victory over England is secured then Jeanne would willingly hand over her own sword as compensation for my service.
For most people, it sounded like complete madness to pledge away the very weapon that gives you your power. However, when I had looked into Jeanne's eyes which showed no trace of dishonesty, I immediately understood why she was willing to sacrifice her own sword.
Jeanne didn't actually care about the power of Durandal at all, at least not truly anyway. To her, it was never more than a tool. A means to an end. The sword wasn't something she cherished or obsessed over like others might have done with a weapon of such immense capability. No, her singular goal had always been focused on accomplishing what actually mattered to her the most; liberating France from English rule.
As far as she was concerned, if handing Durandal over to someone like me could help achieve that goal faster… then it wasn't even a difficult decision for her to make in the first place.
After a brief moment of internal deliberation, I quickly assessed the practical advantages of accepting Jeanne's offer.
First off, it meant I would have no need to fight her anymore, especially since we were both exhausted and neither of us wanted to cause any further collateral damage.
Secondly, Jeanne didn't gave me any reason not to trust her word. Her blunt honesty and lack of filter gave me the impression of someone who honored agreements without deception or betrayal.
And lastly, it also meant I could use Jeanne to establish more connections that could help me pave the foundation for my future plans in Europe.
Thus, it wasn't much of a surprise when I finally made my decision.
After considering the pragmatic benefits and weighing how both time-consuming and unnecessary it would be to continue hostilities, I extended my hand back toward hers without hesitation to seal our agreement with a firm shake.
No grand speeches were exchanged beyond what she had already said. No additional conditions were bargained for. Just a simple pact where she promised to surrender Durandal to me after I helped her drive the English back to their island.
Following our formal agreement, the Hundred Years War was effectively shortened thanks to my direct involvement. Battles that would have taken years to resolve were suddenly won in mere days or even hours.
The English fortifications, once thought impenetrable by conventional siege tactics, fell apart like flimsy sandcastles as their walls were easily vaporized by Jeanne's Durandal or my destructive alchemy. The French army barely had to lift a finger during the entire conflict. They just stood by in the background and watched in awe as their enemies' defenses turned into dust before they even charged into battle properly.
Of course, not all of my time in the war was dedicated to crushing whiny Englishmen like annoying gnats. During the months I spent embedded in the French army, I found myself gradually growing oddly fond of Jeanne, something which I hadn't expected to happen at all.
At first, I just saw her as a temporary ally, the girl who will hand me Durandal once I finished helping her win her battles. Nothing more, nothing less. But gradually, through shared meals under campfires and late-night conversations about strategy, I began seeing past her public persona. Beneath the legend of France's ultimate savior lay an ordinary girl with quiet dreams and wishes of her own.
She was loud, chaotic and approached everything she did with an almost childlike enthusiasm, whether it was training the soldiers under her command or arguing extensively with her allies about the correct strategy to use for an impending skirmish. Jeanne basically radiated a boundless passion that made even mundane moments feel unusually lively.
Yet beneath all that energy lay a deeply caring side to her personality. She frequently checked on wounded soldiers in the field hospital tents, sitting silently by their side just to offer moral support during their time of suffering. If their condition was diagnosed to be terminal, she wouldn't leave their cot and would keep holding their hand until their last breath finally took them.
And when it came to France's freedom, her passion burned brighter than any fire I've ever seen before. To her, nothing mattered more than liberating her homeland from English control, not even her personal comfort or safety.
Of course, despite her exceptional talents in leading armies and fighting battles, Jeanne had a few embarrassingly ordinary limitations that she rarely admitted to anyone. For instance, during a day when I was helping her organize supplies inside her tent, I unintentionally stumbled upon something incredibly depressing.
Namely, the Maid of France couldn't read. Like, at all. Not even simple sentences or basic instructions. By all means, she was functionally illiterate despite having recently celebrated her 18th birthday.
As it turned out, she never actually received a proper education growing up due to living in poverty and being raised by peasants, so literacy simply wasn't something taught to her during her childhood.
The thought of Jeanne, someone who could singlehandedly turn the tide of battle with a simple swing of her sword, being unable to read a simple signpost was frankly appalling. It bothered me more than I expected, so without asking for permission first, I made it my personal mission to teach France's saviour how to actually read properly.
Jeanne wasn't exactly thrilled about this idea at all. She initially protested with excuses like being too busy leading an army or how reading was too boring for her anyway. Sadly for her, her complaints fell on nothing but deaf ears. Because frankly? No one should be leading nations if they can't even decipher a single squiggle written on a sheet of paper.
Compared to my German or English which just came naturally to me, my French wasn't perfect by any means. Yet, it was still infinitely far better than having nothing at all. So despite our limited language compatibility, we began lessons anyway whenever we had the free time to do so.
As I had expected, teaching Jeanne required me to invest a lot of patience for any effort. Each time I pulled out a book or parchment to begin her reading lessons, Jeanne would dramatically protest like a petulant child being forced into doing their chores. However, I would often silence her complaints with an unamused stare before I'd shove the lesson materials right in front of her face.
Thankfully, despite her theatrical resistence and her heavy complaints, Jeanne never actually outright refused my lessons. Every single time I sat down with a book in hand, Jeanne would whine for a whole minute before she eventually gave in and joined without further argument. As the weeks pass by, she started complaining less and less about our reading sessions each time I announced them. Eventually, she no longer needed me to drag her into lessons by force as she gradually started showing up voluntarily whenever we had free moments between campaigns.
However, just as Jeanne was beginning to show genuine interest in learning, her progress was suddenly forcibly cut short by tragedy.
As Jeanne and I continued our relentless campaign, driving the English forces closer and closer to the coast, the latter's desperation grew with each humiliating defeat they suffered. Morale among their ranks had plummeted to a dangerous historical low while mutinies regularly broke out across various regiments as soldiers lost faith in a useless leadership that kept failing to stop our advance.
It was during this critical moment of weakening resolve that a literal devil made its move to approach their commanders.
Unbeknownst to my awareness, the Bavarian Illuminati had been quietly observing the entire conflict from the shadows. Sensing the mounting desperation of one faction, the organization secretly sent their agents to approach the English commanders in private to offer them a Faustian bargain.
In exchange for providing a means to finally halt France's unstoppable advance, the Illuminati demanded full custody over Durandal itself should they or England manage to capture or kill Jeanne and seize her sword in battle. Unsurprsingly, the desperate English leaders didn't hesitate. They immediately accepted the offer without questioning any potential consequences down the line.
With the full backing of the English crown now fueling their operations, the Illuminati swiftly formulated a sinister plan aimed at eliminating Jeanne d'Arc that seeks to utilize the latter's own compassion and empathetic nature against herself.
Recognizing that directly confronting both her and me at full strength would be an incredibly risky endeavor with high chances of failure, they instead opted for a classic divide-and-conquer strategy. Their goal? To isolate and eliminate Jeanne first while keeping me occupied elsewhere.
Their strategy was heinously devious. To execute it perfectly, the Illuminati deliberately timed their plot to coincide with the French army's planned offensive on Compiègne. As Jeanne's forces prepared to march outwards, Illuminati agents covertly deployed hundreds of mass-produced Autoscorers into recently liberated towns under French control.
Unlike the ones I had developed, these Illuminati-affiliated Autoscorers blended seamlessly into civilian populations until they were activated remotely by their handlers. Once triggered, these dolls would suddenly turn violent and begin attacking everyone indiscriminately without distinction between soldiers or civilians.
Unsurprisingly, the chaos instantly fractured the French forces into scattered groups. Some units tried to assist panicked survivors with fleeing while other attempted to fight back against the mechanical attackers, only to quickly discover how completely outmatched they are as each Autoscorer unveiled enough strength to overpower an entire division of elite armored knights.
It didn't took too long for the news to reach Jeanne's ears. The moment she received the reports of innocent civilians being haplessly slaughtered and how the responding knights are rapidly being overwhelmed despite their armor and training, the color immediately drained from her face.
Her heart shattered into a million pieces as she tried to process the sheer scale of the horror. Tens of thousands of people that she had sworn to protect, all that fervently looked up to her, trusted her and cheered for her when she liberated their homes. And now? Someone is currently butchering them because she wasn't there to stop it.
I tried my best to reason with her, to calm down the storming rage burning deep inside her. However, despite my frantic efforts, I couldn't fully stop the tide of grieving emotions from overwhelming every rational thought in her head. The logical part of Jeanne's mind, the strategic leader who planned battles weeks ahead, was basically gone and forced into the backseat.
Just as the Illuminati had predicted.
Without even consulting me or her generals first, Jeanne made an impulsive decision as she canceled the entire offensive operation against Compiègne without hesitation. All plans for the siege were instantly abandoned as she ordered every available soldier under French command to turn around and march back toward the towns where civilians were being slaughtered.
Ironically, Jeanne's spontaneous order only caused further delays by inducing chaos into the French ranks. The abrupt cancellation of a major siege operation mid-preparation created mass confusion. Commanders were left scrambling to redirect troops, supply lines were disrupted and entire battalions had to hastily turn their columns around.
After I realized that Jeanne was acting on raw emotion rather than strategic logic, I quickly abandoned my own tasks and rushed after her without hesitation as my priority transformed into preventing her from doing something stupid that would get her killed or captured by the enemy.
At first, I attempted to use one of my teleportation vials that I specifically reserved for such emergency situations to immediately intercept Jeanne before she reached the troubled towns.
However, as soon as I crushed the vial in my hand and expected the magical energy to activate… nothing happened. There was no swirling spatial distortion and no sudden shift in my surroundings. Instead, the vial simply fizzled out as if its magical energy had been completely nullified before it could even take effect.
It only took a second for me to realize that someone was actively jamming my teleportation signal to specifically prevent me from intervening.
Frustrated by how my fastest option had been easily disabled, I abandoned all hope of using my teleportation and instead decided to rely on my natural speed alone. I figured that even if Jeanne was riding a fast horse, I could still easily outpace her if I flew at top speed using my alchemical flight abilities.
Unfortunately, much to my chagrin, I quickly discovered that the Illuminati had also anticipated this action.
Before I could catch up with Jeanne's forces, a large detachment of Illuminati agents and their mechanical Autoscorers suddenly intercepted my path and used some kind of spatial barrier technique to delay me from advancing. Normally, such mindless dolls and disposable footsoldiers would have amounted to nothing more than a speedbump, a fairly insignificant threat that could easily be brushed aside by my power alone.
However, they had clearly prepared a contingency for this exact scenario. Instead of just sending weak grunts to delay me, their ranks also included someone far more dangerous than what I had anticipated.
Namely, they brought along the actual founder of the Illuminati himself.
Adam Weishaupt.
That was actually the very first time I had ever laid eyes on the man in person. Dressed impeccably in a stark white suit that anachronistically stands out among his forces, Weishaupt radiated an unsettling aura of superiority that can be felt even from a distance. A lazy, smug smirk is plastered on his expression as his piercing gaze locked onto me like an apex predator sizing up its prey.
During that very moment, I can already tell he's a powerful threat who's infinitely far more dangerous than most of the foes I had already faced up to that point.
Unfortunately, while I was being deliberately stalled by Weishaupt's intimidating presence, the Illuminati were using this precious time to corner Jeanne.
As soon as her forces arrived at the scene of the massacre, Jeanne wasted no time. With Durandal glowing brightly in her hands, she charged straight into hordes upon hordes of Autoscorers that were indiscriminately slaughtering civilians.
She cut through them effortlessly, each swing sending multiple dolls flying as their frames were violently torn apart by the sheer force she released.
However, what Jeanne didn't realize was that this was exactly what the Illuminati had wanted all along. By letting her focus solely on mowing down endless waves of expendable assets, they were forcing her to expend all her strength until she exhausted herself from using Durandal's attacks in succession.
When the Maid of France finally looked like she was on the brink of collapse, the Illuminati executed their checkmate by sending St. Germain, Cagliostro and Prelati to physically subdue her.
Suffice to say, Jeanne didn't last too long against them in her fatigued state.
I received the news of Jeanne's defeat only minutes into my fight with Adam Weishaupt who had deliberately been wasting my time by toying with me instead of going all out despite how easily I massacred every single one of his disposable agents.
The moment he received a telepathic message from his subordinates confirming her capture, Weishaupt's smirk twisted into something far more sinister. Without hesitation, he gleefully announced the news of Jeanne's capture to me just to see how I would react.
'Oh? Didn't you know? Your precious little Maid has already been subdued.'
And just like that, the second those words left his vile mouth, a wave of pure, uncontainable fury unlike anything I had ever experienced before completely consumed every fiber of my being.
With a deafening scream of rage and anguish tearing itself from my throat, I unleashed a colossal beam charged with the raw power of the four elemental forces of fire, water, earth and wind. The attack was so intense that it instantly vaporized everything within its path, melting the ground into molten glass while trees violently ruptured into splinters.
However, Weishaupt didn't even flinch. With an infuriatingly casual motion, the Illuminati founder merely tipped his hat before teleporting out of existence just mere milliseconds before my devastating blast struck the empty space where he once stood. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared floating effortlessly in midair dozens of meters above me like some kind of mocking deity looking down upon me for my failure.
Weishaupt's smirk widened into something truly malicious as he locked eyes with me, his expression dripping with condescension. Without a single word of warning, he slowly raised one hand upward as if he was reaching for the sky
'Pathetic. You think you've mastered the pinnacle of alchemy just because you could crush the insects beneath your feet? Let me show you what true mastery looks like.'
What happened next was my first introduction to one of alchemy's most advanced techniques. The moment Weishaupt finished his taunt, his palm suddenly erupted into a miniature sun that rapidly expanded outwards like a brilliant supernova. The tiny sphere of white hot flames grew exponentially in size until it became a colossal fireball the size of several buildings combined.
Within seconds, the sheer heat radiating from this artificial sun was so intense that even Weishaupt's immaculate white suit immediately disintegrated into ash and cinders, leaving him stark naked in the air, an image which definitely caused me more mental damage than all the collective trauma I've amassed up to that point.
Yet, Weishaupt didn't seem to mind his own indecency at all despite being stripped bare to the elements by his own attack. A maniacal grin stretched across his features as if he seemed excited by the thought of unleashing such destructive power upon me.
However, rather than hurling the monstrous fireball directly at me like I had initially expected, Weishaupt suddenly turned his head, his deranged grin never fading, and casually redirected his gaze towards a different direction. My eyes instinctively followed his line of sight and what I saw immediately made my blood ran cold when I realized what lay in that direction.
A small countryside village nestled peacefully in the distance.
The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. He wasn't planning to attack me with that apocalyptic fireball. No, he's going to use it to vaporize an entire innocent village just for the funsies.
With sadistic delight gleaming in his eyes, Weishaupt casually flung his nuclear fireball straight towards the unsuspecting village without hesitation. An angry curse tore itself out from my throat as my body reacted instantly to his action. Before my mind could even fully process what was happening, I was already flying at full speed to intercept it.
What followed after was a complete blur for my memories. All I could vaguely remember was me deploying my Hermes Trismegistus technique in a desperate effort to block that highly destructive blast. There was a deafening roar of impact, a white light consuming everything and then...
Nothing.