"Hurry! Go ransom the Holy Maiden!"
Three days had passed since Jeanne's capture. Gilles de Rais still had no idea where she'd been taken—but one thing was certain: the Burgundians hadn't killed her.
When the news spread, the city's mood turned grim. Gilles rushed back, pleading with King Charles VII to ransom Jeanne immediately.
This time, however, the king said nothing.
"What's going on? Why aren't you ransoming the Holy Maiden?"
A cold sense of dread crept into Gilles's chest. Something was terribly wrong.
"The English say… if we hand Jeanne over completely—if we don't ransom her—they'll end the war. They'll pin all the blame on her: the witch, the cause of the fighting, everything. And then there'll be peace…"
"Wh—What!?"
Gilles's eyes went wide with disbelief.
"Are you insane?! She's the Holy Maiden! Sent by God Himself to save France! And you—you're just going to abandon her like this? You filthy—"
"Duke Gilles! Watch your tongue!"
His fury only provoked the nobles further.
"Trading a single woman, even one called the Holy Maiden, for peace is a bargain worth taking!"
Gilles stared at them, his heart sinking into despair.
Those faces—ugly, complacent, preaching how "worth it" this sacrifice was—had they forgotten who had saved them all?
They were already rotten beyond redemption.
...
BOOM!
Another explosion ripped through the air. Laurent gasped, his breaths ragged.
There was no sense of time here—he'd long since lost track of how long he'd been fighting or how much strength he had left.
He knew only one thing for certain: he had already slaughtered nearly a quarter of the hundreds of angels surrounding him.
"Your fear really makes for delicious food."
His body was soaked in blood, torn apart and rebuilt over and over before it could fully heal.
"You've lasted quite a while…"
Laurent didn't answer. He pressed one trembling hand against the ground.
"It's about time… to end this."
The remaining angels sensed something was off. A chill of dread swept through them.
The next instant, the earth split apart, the entire space around them stained red.
Laurent rose slowly, exhaling as though relieved.
"Do you know what Absolute Evil is? Evil that devours all things—even concepts. I'll admit, you righteous feathered bastards don't have much in the way of sin… but your fear—your fear is exquisite. And that includes this very boundary!"
He raised his arm high.
"Come forth! Face the judgment of ultimate evil!"
"[I am the collection of all evils in this world]!"
"[Manifest—absolute, unavoidable trial of Hell! Consume everything without exception]!"
BOOM!
Blood erupted like molten magma, flooding outward and corroding the boundary itself. Dark red veins of energy crawled across Laurent's body.
Such power carried a price. The pain was agonizing, and the blood he released burned itself as fuel—his regeneration would weaken drastically.
"Not good! The boundary's collapsing!"
Laurent's smile turned sharp, almost cruel.
"Go to hell, you wretched things."
CRASH!
The world compressed in on itself, blood wrapping around every angel and crushing inward without mercy.
With a final thunderous boom, the entire realm vanished. Laurent began to fall from high in the sky.
He still had a bit of strength left—enough to adjust himself for a stable landing.
BOOM!
A crater spread beneath him. Laurent looked around—it was the same place where he had first arrived.
But his remaining energy wasn't even enough to properly regenerate.
Dozens of angels had escaped, but none of that mattered now.
He wiped the blood from his face and staggered away.
How long…?
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the place seemed more prosperous than before.
Had they really developed according to his plans?
Clang!
A sword hit the ground with a heavy thud. John Fastolf stood frozen, staring at him in disbelief.
"D-Duke Évigi… Y-you're alive?"
"Hmm? What's going on?"
Seeing Laurent's confusion, John quickly pulled him aside, shielding him from sight.
"Where the hell have you been this past month?!"
"Just tell me—something serious happened, didn't it?"
And… damn it. Had he really been fighting those angels nonstop for an entire month? That boundary must've distorted time badly. Had those bastards done it on purpose—
Laurent's pupils narrowed. They had stalled him so he couldn't save Jeanne.
"What happened?"
John struggled for words, then blurted out quickly:
"The Church branded you a demon. Everyone knows you're to be eliminated. And that's not all—I heard the French witch was captured. Now—"
"Where is she!?"
Laurent grabbed John by the shoulders, barely holding back his panic.
So it was true. They'd delayed him just to stop him from rescuing Jeanne.
He could still hear those angels sneering—that Jeanne's fate was sealed, that she'd sacrifice herself for peace between the nations.
But Laurent didn't give a damn about their so-called peace.
"The higher-ups already decided—the witch caused the war, and killing her will bring peace. Her execution's set for a week from now, in Rouen. Wait, what's with all that blood on your face?"
Laurent ignored the question.
One week.
France was half a country away…
There was no time to lose. Not a single second.
No matter what happens—no matter what—
He couldn't let her die.
Without another word to John, Laurent braced himself and took off at full speed. The ground cracked apart beneath his feet.
John stood there, speechless, watching Laurent rocket away like a cannonball.
For the first time, he wondered—maybe Laurent really was a demon.
...
A horse or carriage couldn't possibly keep up now. Running on his own was faster. He had to reach Jeanne within a week, whatever it took. He could feed on trees or anything he found along the way to restore his strength.
The angels weren't all dead yet. Given his rampage, they'd regroup soon and come after him again. Laurent wasn't even sure if that damned "Lord" would descend personally this time.
But he had to move—before they attacked again, he needed to clear the way for Jeanne. He didn't fear the angels, but after that last ultimate strike… he knew he couldn't use something like it again anytime soon.