[The power of miracles is ambiguous, but its essence differs from that of magecraft.]
[This is one of your achievements over the years—not a breakthrough, but a derivative application of your original ability.]
[Until now, the magecraft you used was based on invoking your own thoughts to communicate with the soul-turned-foundation of a "demon god," thereby channeling the mysteries of the past. Its activation resembled the Church's miracles, but its nature remained magecraft—a use of stored mysteries of the past.]
[Though blended with miracles, it was still magecraft derived from the soul.]
[But now, what you've used is a pure miracle.]
[No past—only the present. The power of "faith."]
[You believe in yourself. So the soul-born foundation returned to its divine state, responded to your faith, and transformed it into power—granting you a true miracle.]
[This is a miracle of the soul, a mystery of the present.]
[It is a miracle interwoven with magecraft—yet now the order is reversed, and the essence is no longer the same.]
[And under this repelling force to magecraft, the ordinary mysteries of the past can no longer threaten you.]
...
Moments later—
The courtyard was strewn with fallen leaves of late autumn. Just outside the open doorway, the knight Gilles de Rais stood solemn in his silver armor. His gaze flicked subtly toward the pair seated within the courtyard. Despite his lingering curiosity, he recalled the assassination attempt on Jeanne and quickly turned his eyes away, resuming his knightly vigilance.
To Gilles, that attack had been truly perilous. Jeanne had not yet set foot fully on the battlefield—had yet to display the miraculous might with which she would later gallop unchallenged across the warfront. By all appearances, she was still an ordinary girl without magical training—unable to withstand a professional assassin.
Thankfully, Victoire's intervention had saved her.
...
Meanwhile, Lucan sat within the courtyard, studying the visiting girl with unhurried ease and silent amazement.
The young French saint had brilliant blonde hair and eyes like blooming irises. The braid swaying behind her gave her that simple, rustic charm, complementing her energetic aura. Though petite, her upright posture exuded strength. Her long, deep purple uniform dress hugged her figure boldly, the fabric brushing beneath her hips with each movement. The side slits revealed well-toned legs, and her tight-fitted shorts outlined soft curves beneath the skirt's shadow.
She radiated both softness and vigor.
Lucan could see why—
"No wonder the English sent an assassin after you," he said flatly, withdrawing his gaze.
"Huh...? Ah—"
Jeanne seemed to snap out of a daze, instinctively looking up.
She met the eyes of the young man before her.
His handsome features now held a questioning look.
Realizing her discourtesy, Jeanne quickly bowed. "...I'm terribly sorry. That was rude of me!"
Was she... spacing out?
Lucan's eye twitched subtly. The elegant act he'd planned—his usual routine of appearing as a mysterious sage before historical figures—immediately flew out the window.
Projecting one's soul, simulating history, weaving reality—the joy of these simulations lay in playing god before epic heroes.
Just like last time, before Nicholas II.
Back then, it had been for resources—after all, heroes were a form of "resource" in this world.
He had planned to repeat the act.
But compared to Nicholas II, this young and inexperienced Jeanne d'Arc, who had yet to become a saint, reminded him far more of his daughter Anastasia.
Lucan adjusted his strategy silently.
Just as he was about to speak again—
Jeanne suddenly asked, "Um... Victoire, are you perhaps a god or an angel?"
Lucan: "?"
Seeing his silent, puzzled expression, she quickly clarified: "Or... have you seen one of the Archangels under the Lord?"
"Do I look like one of those thousand-eyed, tentacled Cthulhu creatures?"
It was probably unwise to mock things like that in front of a devout believer—but Lucan said it anyway.
Seriousness for the serious. But for the pure and innocent—one must be casual and true.
And Jeanne was undoubtedly the latter.
She wasn't offended. On the contrary, she earnestly corrected him: "Angels aren't like Cthulhu. They don't look like that. They're just... more beautiful and more holy than humans."
"Like you and me?" Lucan raised an eyebrow.
"..."
Jeanne wasn't sure whether he was praising angels, or her, or maybe even teasing her.
The golden-haired girl froze.
Unable to respond.
Still, despite her inexperience, she remained devout and sincere.
Eventually, she nodded.
"Like you and me."
Feigning seriousness, a faint blush colored her cheeks.
Lucan chuckled. His mood brightened even further.
Until now, the only "girls" he'd encountered were like Françoise Prélati—mysterious women with shady pasts and problematic personalities—or simply enemies.
A truly charming girl like this? A rare delight.
Any longer without one, and he feared even pigs would begin to look like Diaochan!
Even a firm soul needs joy to call life truly lived.
Jeanne suddenly leaned forward, her tone brightening:
"Victoire—you already knew who we are, didn't you?"
She no longer cared if he was man or god.
The Lord's revelation had guided her here.
Whether he was human or divine, she would come all the same.
"Of course I knew," Lucan replied, his smile fading as the conversation shifted.
"I am the Chancellor in the Mountains—omniscient, you see. The miracle maiden who foretold England's defeat—Jeanne d'Arc—and the man by the gate, Gilles de Rais. If you have a chance, do greet Lady Isabelle on my behalf."
At the doorway, Gilles glanced back in surprise.
This hermit really did know Isabelle.
Considering the miracle he'd just witnessed...
It no longer seemed strange.
Fellow travelers on the path of the occult—naturally, they would know one another. Still...
Who exactly was this Victoire?
Wielding miracles... could he be an agent of the Holy Church?
Was the Church about to involve itself in the Anglo-French conflict?
And how would they see Jeanne, the one who "listens" to the Lord's revelations?
Though not an occultist himself, Gilles—heir to a noble line—was not ignorant of such matters.
This thought weighed on him. His gaze toward Lucan sharpened with new caution.
But Jeanne remained completely unguarded.
She simply said:
"You can see what happens in the whole world just by sitting here in this village..."
"You truly are incredible, Victoire."
"I believe even more firmly now that coming here was the right decision. I, Jeanne d'Arc, humbly request you to listen with me to the revelations of the Lord—"
"—and aid me in saving France and its suffering people!"
No hesitation. No manipulation.
Just open sincerity.
She laid down her request.
Laid all her cards on the table.
Jeanne's behavior was far from that of a seasoned politician or general.
But she was neither of those things.
She was simply a passionate girl who wished to save her homeland.
[From ancient times, sincerity wins hearts. Only schemers hold secrets.]
[Watching this earnest girl, you recall an old proverb.]
[You think to yourself: no wonder Jeanne was betrayed in the end.]
[Such pure idealism always attracts suffering.]
[Faced with her request, you don't hesitate. In truth, many nobles have come seeking you since your return—but all have been gently refused.]
[You weren't just "holding out for the best offer." Truthfully, you were waiting—for her.]
[Jeanne d'Arc—who would one day be canonized by the Church.]
[If you're to extend your influence into the Church, she's the perfect opportunity.]
[Yes—you've never forgotten.]
[Never forgotten the entangled struggles that await you in the real world.]
[Though you don't wish to join the Church outright...]
[There are many ways to influence it indirectly.]
[And of course, you haven't forgotten your true nature as a magus—self-interest first.]
[So—]
"Since you've come this far,"
"Let me hear this so-called revelation from your 'Lord.'"
[That, too, is your due reward.]
[Or so you believe.]