Chiyo's deep eyes reflected Kanjuro's figure. A wickedly beautiful curve formed at the corners of her mouth. She didn't directly answer Kanjuro's question about the "gift" but instead slowly leaned in. Her cold yet soft lips, carrying a magic that seemed capable of eroding the soul, pressed deeply onto Kanjuro's lips.
This kiss was not one of lust, but rather more like an ancient ritual, a granting of authority.
In an instant, a massive and eerie torrent of knowledge and power, like the waters of the Styx breaking a dam, surged into the depths of Kanjuro's consciousness! He clearly perceived that his control over dark magic had entered a whole new realm—when he gathered the concentrated power of special Black Magic at his fingertips and touched another's brain (or a focal point of intense emotion and memory), he could not only browse their past like reading a book but also... travel into it!
It wasn't time travel in the physical sense, but rather a dive of consciousness into the "world" formed by the other person's memories. He could exist in that "record" of the past as an observer, or even... an intervener, directly twisting and tampering with the target's perception of that experience!
This wasn't truly changing history, but fundamentally overwriting a person's past! It was a terrifying application of the legendary "space-time authority" on the level of consciousness, surpassing ordinary illusions and hypnosis!
The kiss ended, and Chiyo's figure slowly dissipated like mist, leaving behind only a meaningful look and a whisper echoing in Kanjuro's mind: "Use this 'gift' well, my cute little brother... Let me see to what extent you can play with 'reality' using it..."
Time resumed its flow.
Jeanne d'Arc frowned slightly, a tiny flicker of confusion passing through her ice-blue eyes. She instinctively raised her hand to press her temple and whispered, "Strange... every time, it feels like... there's a pause? Even if it's just a momentary stagnation. Kanjuro, I don't know what... happened to you?" Her perception of space-time fluctuations seemed much more acute than that of an ordinary person.
The cynical smile on Kanjuro's face faded slightly, transforming into a deep "tenderness" filled with a desire for exploration. He didn't answer her question but instead slowly raised his hand—the hand that had once been stained with countless blood and sins, now carrying a nearly sacred focus, lightly covering Jeanne d'Arc's smooth forehead.
"Jeanne d'Arc," his voice was low and seductive, "let me see... the most authentic scenery in the depths of your heart."
Jeanne d'Arc instinctively wanted to resist, but the moment her eyes met Kanjuro's, she seemed to be seized by an invisible force! Within her ice-blue pupils, Kanjuro's dark eyes, which seemed capable of swallowing all light, were reflected.
The next moment, the world spun!
Kanjuro's consciousness, like a pebble thrown into a torrent, instantly sank into the abyss of Jeanne d'Arc's memories!
Surrounding him were scorching waves of heat, choking thick smoke, and... deafening shouts filled with fanaticism and malice!
He "stood" in a chaotic medieval square. Before him was a high-piled stake of firewood, and in the center of the pyre, tied to a wooden pillar, was a young girl dressed in coarse linen—that was Jeanne d'Arc!
The flames were greedily licking at her hem, burning her skin. Her silver-white hair fluttered in the heat, covered in ash. However, what stung Kanjuro's gaze the most was not the fire, but her eyes!
Those ice-blue eyes, exactly the same as they were now, held no tears or pleas, only a deep hatred—a mixture of immense pain, the despair of betrayal, and a profound resentment toward all the injustice around her—burning to the extreme! She stared intently at the commoners below, those she had once protected but who were now frantically screaming for her death; that look seemed to freeze and tear apart everyone's souls!
"Burn her! Burn this witch!"
"Evil woman who desecrates God!"
"She deceived us! She is the devil's messenger!"
The ignorant and fanatical waves of sound pricked at the girl on the stake like poisonous needles.
In the form of consciousness, Kanjuro "stood" quietly in the crowd, coldly observing this human tragedy from centuries ago. This was the authority over space-time—not only could he see it, but he could also truly "place himself" within this core memory fragment that had shaped the fallen saintess before him.
Change it? A thought slithered into Kanjuro's mind like a venomous snake. If he created a "miracle" here, in Jeanne d'Arc's memory, or changed the people's cries, what would she become? Would a Jeanne d'Arc who had never experienced the ultimate betrayal still be the same Jeanne d'Arc who walked in the darkness with him now?
The temptation was immense, but Kanjuro held back for the moment. He was merely an observer, a... collector. He wanted to understand the forging process of this "collectible" more completely.
Just then, the hate-filled gaze of Jeanne d'Arc on the stake seemed to inadvertently sweep across where Kanjuro was! Although Kanjuro was only a conscious entity, in the memory world belonging to Jeanne d'Arc, his unique presence seemed to leave a faint shadow that did not belong to that era.
In an instant, the scene before him shattered piece by piece like a broken mirror!
Kanjuro's consciousness was violently snapped back to reality.
He was still standing on the streets of Fuyuki City, his hand still resting on Jeanne d'Arc's forehead. Jeanne d'Arc, however, seemed to have suffered a massive shock, stumbling back a step and clutching her head, letting out a low groan of pain.
"Ugh..."
She panted heavily, her face pale as paper, fine beads of cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. After several seconds, she slowly raised her head and opened her eyes.
And this time, in her ice-blue eyes, there was no longer the usual dead silence and coldness, but instead, they were filled with unprecedented confusion, shock, and... a trace of fear that she herself couldn't understand. Two lines of clear tears actually slid uncontrollably from the corners of her eyes.
"Why... why..." Her voice trembled with unbelievable fragility. "Why in my memory... in that sea of fire... did I... see you?! Kanjuro, what... what did you just do to me?!"
She stared intently at Kanjuro, as if trying to find the answer on his face. That painful memory, buried deep and regarded by her as the root of her own fall, had actually developed an "alien object" that shouldn't exist! This made her soul tremble more than any physical injury.
Looking at Jeanne d'Arc, who was showing such intense emotional fluctuations and even crying for the first time before him, Kanjuro slowly withdrew his hand. A complex expression appeared on his face—one that actually seemed to be mixed with a trace of... pity?
"Although I had long deduced the root of your fall from historical records and your words and actions," Kanjuro's voice carried a strange calmness, "witnessing it with my own eyes, personally being beneath those flames... only then did I truly experience how... unforgettable the pain of being betrayed by loved ones, abandoned by faith, and burned by fire truly is."
Jeanne d'Arc gritted her teeth, forcing down the churning confusion and stinging pain in her mind, and questioned sharply: "So? You just... entered the depths of my memory?! Spied on my past?!"
"Yes!" Kanjuro admitted frankly, nodding. Within those deep eyes, a new and more dangerous light began to flicker. "I didn't just spy... Jeanne d'Arc, I saw the hate in your eyes and heard the roar in your heart. That pain is real. And now... I seem to have the ability to touch it."
His words were like a giant boulder thrown into a calm lake.
Jeanne d'Arc froze in place. In her tear-blurred vision, Kanjuro's figure seemed to slowly overlap with the blurry shadow beneath the execution pyre in her memory. An unprecedented fear, like cold vines, quietly wrapped around her heart. Not only could he spy on her past, could he... also change it?
Kanjuro's words, filled with demonic charm, echoed in Jeanne d'Arc's ears—"Yes, I can change your memory." The corners of his mouth curled slightly, a smile that seemed capable of bewitching people's hearts. "I can turn those scorching flames into a spring breeze, make those ignorant shouts into hymns, and make the ending in your memory no longer ashes burnt to nothing, but some kind of... tragic relief or victory. If you wish, I am willing to weave a better 'past' for you."
This temptation was so immense that it could shake anyone tormented by painful memories. A corrected childhood and end, no longer filled with betrayal and burning pain.
However, Jeanne d'Arc only panted heavily a few times before suddenly shaking her head. Though tears still remained in her ice-blue eyes, a steel-like will reconsolidated within them.
"No!" her voice was resolute. "A false memory, no matter how beautifully it's tampered with, how real it is, or how intoxicating it becomes, is ultimately false! That would be a desecration of my own experiences and a denial of the pain I've endured! I am absolutely unwilling to live in a meticulously decorated lie! Even if that lie... comes from you, Kanjuro."
Hearing this, Kanjuro was not displeased. Instead, he looked as if he had heard the answer he expected. The smile on his face grew deeper, even carrying a trace of strange... admiration?
"Indeed..." He sighed softly, as if lamenting some universal truth. "Memories can be overwritten, and perception can be distorted, but how can the heavy flow of the river of history that has already occurred be easily reversed? Those flames did indeed burn, and those betrayals did indeed exist. What changes is only your personal 'world,' not... the 'world' itself."
He stopped dwelling on the topic and naturally reached out, taking Jeanne d'Arc's somewhat cold hand. This time, his movement was less forced and teasing than before, replaced by an indescribable peace.
"Let's go," he said. "It's time for the next stop."
Led by him, Jeanne d'Arc followed silently behind.
Moonlight stretched their shadows, intertwining them on the broken streets. She watched Kanjuro's back, her heart filled with unprecedented confusion and vigilance. The emotions he had just shown—bordering on "understanding" and "pity"—and this abnormal gentleness now, were more unsettling to her than his tyranny and madness.
"Why?" she finally couldn't help but ask, her voice carrying a trace of imperceptible dryness. "Why have you suddenly... become so gentle?" She didn't believe Kanjuro would suddenly change his nature; there had to be a deeper purpose behind this.
Kanjuro didn't look back, his gaze still fixed on the distant horizon shrouded in night. His voice was flat but carried a rare, almost introspective quality:
"Gentle? Perhaps. It's just... occasionally, after witnessing extreme sorrow, there's a moment when I can understand the weight of the suffering others endure." He turned his head slightly, his peripheral vision sweeping over Jeanne d'Arc. "Moreover, I just witnessed and felt your sorrow firsthand. That despair was so pure, it's enough to leave a brand on anyone's heart."
He paused, his tone becoming somewhat subtle:
"And sometimes, having someone like you by my side—someone who knows the darkness yet clings to some twisted reality—actually... doesn't feel bad."
Jeanne d'Arc listened in silence, her vigilance not decreasing in the slightest. She knew Kanjuro too well; he was an incarnation of fickle chaos. This "understanding" and "gentleness" might just be the prelude to a new game, or a disguise for some deeper calculation. She could only be more careful.
"Where is the next stop?" she asked, changing the subject.
"London," Kanjuro replied succinctly.
As soon as he spoke, he actually pulled a retro-styled mobile phone from his pocket, dialed a number, and gave a few instructions in an unquestionable tone.
Moments later, the roar of helicopter rotors echoed from the distant night sky!
Simultaneously, the heavy sound of tracks grinding against the pavement came from the ground!
An armed helicopter with a low-key but clearly heavily modified paint job broke through the night, hovering in the sky not far away and dropping a rope ladder. Even more staggering was a main battle tank, also modified and radiating a cold metallic luster, which crashed through the ruins at the corner like a steel beast, roaring as it drove up and stopped in front of Kanjuro.
The helicopter door opened, and a figure slid down the rope ladder agilely.
It was a tall, striking woman in sleek combat gear. She had fiery blonde hair, a heart like burning flames, and a beautiful face that carried a soldier's resolve and absolute respect for Kanjuro.
She was Morimoto Leona, the most capable assistant and... one of the female slaves under Kanjuro's command.
"master Kanjuro," Reona knelt on one knee, her voice crisp and full of loyalty, "everything is ready. I will take you to London immediately!"
Kanjuro nodded, seemingly accustomed to this exaggerated welcoming display.
He reached out and naturally pulled Reona into his arms, his fingers gently brushing through her golden hair as if stroking a precious possession.
Reona snuggled into his arms obediently, showing no discomfort, only the satisfaction and honor of being recognized by her master.
"Well done, Reona," Kanjuro praised lightly.
Only then did Reona's gaze turn toward Jeanne d'Arc. A complex emotion flashed in her sharp eyes—scrutiny, evaluation, and a trace of... jealousy that couldn't be entirely hidden.
But she quickly suppressed it. She knew Jeanne d'Arc was a special existence by master Kanjuro's side. Although she didn't understand why the master valued this former Saint so much, she would never, nor did she dare to, question any of the master's decisions.
She simply nodded slightly to Jeanne d'Arc as a greeting.
Kanjuro released Reona and walked toward the helicopter first.
"Let's go. I'm sure the stage in London is already impatient."
Looking at the helicopter, the tank, and the red-haired woman who was absolutely obedient to Kanjuro, Jeanne d'Arc felt even more fathomless about the power he possessed and his next goal.
London, that ancient capital of magic—what kind of bloodbath would be stirred up by his arrival? She followed silently behind Kanjuro and boarded the helicopter, which looked like a black monstrous bird.
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