When Jeanne was a child, the Burgundians nearby often came to harass the village under one pretext or another.
At the time, the French royal court was in complete chaos. King Charles VI suffered from severe mental illness, and his two relatives, the Duke of Burgundy and the Duke of Orléans, were locked in open and covert struggles for power.
England seized that moment of disorder to invade France and occupy the towns in the north.
The Duke of Burgundy allied with England and openly opposed the royal court. Before long, nearly all of northern France, along with the southwestern regions, had fallen into their hands.
Jeanne lived in northeastern France, in a region that still remained loyal to the royal court, surrounded on all sides by Burgundian territory.
Although her father was a farmer by birth, he was skilled with numbers and was therefore chosen for a position similar to village headman.
In medieval Europe, being village headman was not a privileged post. On the contrary, it was a thankless burden that every villager avoided.
Jeanne's father had to farm his fields while also taking on the village's administrative work.
Whenever the Burgundians came to attack the village, her father had to go out with the militia, while Jeanne hid with her mother and the other children.
"Girls can't join the army, you know."
Those words made Jeanne hold her breath.
It happened one day while they were playing in the village. Jeanne told the other children her age that she wanted to go into battle with her father, only to be laughed at by her companions.
The boys burst into loud laughter, while the girls covered their mouths and giggled.
"Jeanne, you should give up on that idea... War is too dangerous, and it doesn't mean anything anyway."
The girl Jeanne regarded as a friend tried to persuade her, and those earnest words left Jeanne deeply confused.
Jeanne had never understood why being a woman meant she could not join the army or fight.
When the friend before her was bullied by the village boys, Jeanne was the one who stepped forward and drove them off.
Even boys several years older than her were no match for Jeanne. Her strength was not even inferior to an adult's.
"Why do you think that? How could it be meaningless?"
Faced with Jeanne's question, the girl's expression turned complicated.
"Because... even if His Majesty the King loses, won't we just have a different lord?
Our lives won't change. Your father will still be the village headman, and you and I will still have to farm."
"..."
Her friend's words struck young Jeanne harder than anything she had ever heard before.
That was true...
Jeanne had been born the daughter of farmers. No matter who ruled the land, her life would not change.
Her father would be the same, of course. He would still farm his family's fields, still collect taxes from the village, and still have to flatter and bow to the noble lords.
If that was the case, then what were the adults fighting for?
A stifling sense of frustration and disgust filled the girl's chest.
Jeanne could no longer clearly remember how she made it home.
By the time she came back to herself, she was already standing at the door, and her mother was coming out to greet her with a smile.
"Did something happen, Jeanne? Why do you look so upset?"
Her mother keenly noticed that something was wrong with her daughter.
After hesitating for a while, Jeanne told her mother what had happened that day.
"I see."
After listening to her daughter's account, her mother nodded.
She did not say much. Instead, she turned, walked to the cabinet in the corner of the room, took out a book, and handed it to her daughter.
Jeanne assumed it was another Catholic scripture. Her mother was a devout Christian, and Jeanne had been immersed in that faith since childhood.
But this time, Jeanne was wrong.
The book her mother placed in her hands bore the title The Legend of King Arthur: The Shining Path on its cover.
This was Jeanne's first encounter with the Savior.
King Arthur. Until then, the girl had only heard the name.
Although he was a saint recognized by the Church, was he not the King of England?
Why would Mother show me a biography of the enemy's ancestor?
Filled with confusion, little Jeanne turned to the first page.
After only a few minutes of reading, Jeanne was completely captivated by the words within.
Through that florid book, the young girl learned of the legends that had once unfolded across the sea, on the very island she hated.
King Arthur was a great knight from a thousand years ago, the ever-victorious king.
Although he was the King of Britannia and was revered by the royal family of England even now, he was not English.
On the contrary, he was England's enemy, a Savior who had stepped forward time and again to protect the island from foreign invaders.
He loved goodness and compassion, and held firmly to justice.
Honest, brave, noble, gentle. Every beautiful word and virtue seemed to take form in him.
He was the first Knight of the Round Table, and also the strongest Nameless King.
Whether it was the Angles who crossed the sea to seize the land, or Vortigern, who represented the will of nature and the tide of the age, he thwarted all their ambitions.
Even the mighty Roman Empire, arrogant in its strength, was brought down.
To save Britannia, he bravely led the Knights of the Round Table in challenging the strongest Dragon.
After enduring the deaths of his close comrades-in-arms, King Arthur defeated Albion and swallowed its beating heart.
It was said that the King also found the whereabouts of the Holy Grail.
In the King's later years, his final enemy came from the heavens above.
A calamity descended from the moon. The Crimson King, who sought to bring destruction upon all humanity.
The Savior wielding the Holy Sword split the moon falling toward the earth in two, shooting down and sealing the world-ending enemy from beyond the stars.
At this point, the Savior's deeds were so great that any words used to describe them seemed pale and powerless.
From that day on, young Jeanne became utterly absorbed in the legend of the Nameless King.
She read the book her mother had given her again and again until it completely fell apart, and little Jeanne had no choice but to copy it out several more times herself.
She immersed herself in the story of the Savior.
That alone was enough to lift Jeanne's spirits, and the unpleasant things that happened in daily life were forgotten completely.
Jeanne understood the motives of Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.
Why resist invaders?
That question did not need an answer.
Even the dullest fool would understand after reading Jeanne's favorite book once.
The dream that had once been laughed at also became part of a past the girl had already left behind.
After growing a little older, Jeanne gradually came to understand that most of the story she treasured was probably fabricated or exaggerated.
King Arthur was certainly the greatest hero, the legendary ever-victorious king, but...
Sealing the King of the Moon was a little too much, wasn't it?
Jeanne believed that what she had read as a child must have been a fantasy novel written by some fanatical admirer of King Arthur.
But even so, the emotion and encouragement those shining stories had given the girl were real. They were beautiful memories that could never be erased.
Several years passed like that, and Jeanne joined the French army as she had wished.
Under her leadership, the French army achieved one miraculous victory after another.
Like King Arthur in the book, Jeanne was gradually revered by the people of her homeland as a Savior.
But she herself never thought of it that way.
The girl was merely following the dazzling phantom she had dreamed of in childhood.
...
"..."
Jeanne covered her mouth, her beautiful eyes wide and trembling.
How could something like this be happening...
When she saw Shirou draw the scabbard of the Holy Sword from his chest and place it inside the dying Homunculus without hesitation, the scene before her eyes overlapped with the fantasies of her childhood.
Could Artorius be the King she had admired, that Savior...?
Ever since information about the Fuyuki Holy Grail War had leaked, hundreds of Magecraft rituals of various scales, the Subcategory Holy Grail Wars, had broken out across the world.
And among the rules and principles derived from those countless Holy Grail Wars, there was one in particular.
"King Arthur cannot be summoned."
That was only natural.
After all, at the end of the legend, Arthur became the Eternal King who transcended humanity, and departed for Avalon with Morgan le Fay, the Lady of the Lake.
Whether it was the theory that Arthur had become a god, or the theory that Arthur and Morgan lived in the Fairy Realm.
The strongest king could not be summoned.
The history of the Subcategory Holy Grail Wars supported that conclusion as well.
So when Shirou told Jeanne that he was King Arthur's substitute, the knight Artorius, who had left no name in history, Jeanne had not doubted him in the slightest.
Because he was the King of Knights' closest companion, he had been granted the surname Pendragon.
Because he was the King of Knights' substitute and shadow warrior, he had manifested while wielding the Holy Sword of the Planet.
Even his Class, Keeper, could be explained as "one who manages the king's treasury in his place," which was why he could freely throw hundreds of Noble Phantasms.
Shirou's lie fit together perfectly, and Jeanne had not suspected a thing.
After all, that Savior had never once appeared in a Holy Grail War.
But when she saw the sight before her, doubt rose unbidden in Jeanne's heart.
That figure was too sacred, too noble, and the Holy Maiden's heart trembled with exultation.
Artorius... could he truly be my Savior, Arthur?
Jeanne bit her lip, placed a hand over her heaving chest, and silently gazed at the red-haired youth.
Meanwhile, under Avalon's healing, the Homunculus escaped death and fell into a peaceful sleep.
In only a few seconds, the wounds covering his entire body had completely healed, and Astolfo gasped beside him.
"Y-you... Could that be your Noble Phantasm?
Does that mean... you saved this child...? This child can live...?"
Shirou gave a slight nod, and Rider froze in place with an expression of disbelief.
His body suddenly began trembling violently, and then he burst into tears.
"Thank goodness, thank goodness, thank goodness...!! Thank you... thank you, uwaaaaaahhh...!!"
Astolfo hugged the Homunculus tightly and sobbed as if a dam had broken.
His crying no longer carried the grief from before. It was filled instead with joy, bursting forth because an innocent life had been saved.
Shirou only found him noisy. He frowned and stood up.
"Why?"
"Huh?"
When Shirou turned around, the "Black" Saber, who had appeared beside him at some point, suddenly spoke.
"Why... did you save him?
There was no reward, no obligation to help him, and he is an artificial lifeform created by the Masters of the 'Black' faction.
So why would you, a member of the 'Red' faction, save him? Even at the cost of losing your own Noble Phantasm... Answer me."
Siegfried's voice shook violently, and his expression was so pained that it seemed he might die at any moment.
Hearing his question, Jeanne, hidden in the shadows, also tensed and listened closely.
Shirou scratched the back of his head and answered with a troublesome look.
"There wasn't any special reason."
"?"
Siegfried stared blankly, unable to understand, while Shirou continued speaking as he pleased.
"I did it because it was something I could help with. That's all.
If it were something I couldn't do anything about, I wouldn't go looking for trouble."
"Even so!"
"Besides... well, I guess I have some connection to Homunculi.
If I didn't do something, I feel like someone would curse me to death in my sleep."
The image of Irisviel and her daughter, waiting for him at home in Fuyuki, surfaced in Shirou's mind.
The Homunculi of the Yggdmillennia clan were products created by stealing Einzbern technology, which was why they had that signature silver hair and red eyes.
After learning that from Manaka, Shirou had gone easy on the Homunculi during his battles with the Yggdmillennia clan.
"I see. You truly are remarkable."
After hearing the boy's answer, the "Black" Saber lowered his head once more with a solemn expression.
"...I envy you."
In life, Siegfried had been the greatest hero of his age.
People admired this powerful warrior, and the hero answered their expectations.
Siegfried had only the briefest moments of rest. He did nothing but seek battle.
Not because he desired battle himself, but because battle would not leave his overwhelming strength alone.
With an invincible sword and body, he rushed from battlefield to battlefield.
The great hero's life had no blemishes, only dazzling achievements.
But he was too much like a hero. He was "too heroic."
Whenever someone needed him, he would answer. Whenever someone knelt and begged, he would always take their hand.
If they wanted him to slay a dragon, he slew a dragon.
If they wanted help pursuing a beautiful woman, he racked his brains over how to make it happen.
He was practically a living wish-granting machine, and the man believed that was fine.
He could not possibly hold everything in the world in his own two hands, so he decided that whenever someone needed him, he would answer.
"Please defeat that monster." "Please save our village." "Please defeat our enemies." "I want that mountain." "I want that beautiful woman." "I want that country."
As many people as there were, there were just as many wishes.
As many expectations as there were, he fulfilled them all the same.
The man had long since become a "Holy Grail (system)" called a hero, but he thought nothing of it, because being thanked did not feel bad.
If someone desperately begged him with a look that said there was no other way, of course his heart would be moved.
So the hero simply kept doing it, until in the end, he even succeeded in slaying a dragon.
But there was a hollow space inside the man. At its bottom was nothing, only an empty black void spreading endlessly.
He had no idea what he wanted. He had no hopes, no dreams, and no vision for the future.
Some people saw heroes as ideals, yet the hero himself had lost his own ideal.
Even though he loved humanity.
Even though he loved the world.
That emptiness alone could never be filled.
That was why.
When Siegfried saw a hero like Shirou Amamiya, living freely and doing as he pleased, he inevitably felt jealousy and envy.
But there was also relief.
"Hey... Saber, you..."
Shirou looked surprised when he saw Siegfried's feet beginning to turn into golden particles.
This was not spiritualization. He was being erased from this world.
"From now on, you may use the name 'Saber.'"
Siegfried said it calmly.
In truth, during their earlier Noble Phantasm clash, he had already taken damage far beyond what he could endure.
The beam of the Star that Shirou had unleashed was so intense that even "Armor of Fafnir" could not withstand it.
The reason Siegfried had held on until now was the Command Spell his Master had issued before the demonic sword was released.
"I command you with a Command Spell! Use your Noble Phantasm and defeat the fake!"
For any other Servant, those words could have been interpreted as a curse to "strengthen the power of the Noble Phantasm."
But for Siegfried.
For the hero who had once turned his entire life into a "wish-granting machine," they had an effect beyond that.
To answer his Master's expectations and wishes, Siegfried would rise up and surpass his own limits.
He "would not die until he had completely defeated Shirou."
"If that's the case, then why..."
The "Black" Saber smiled as if all had become clear.
Because he now understood that he could never defeat the boy before him.
It was not a matter of sword skill, nor of Noble Phantasm power, but something more fundamental, something at the very root of being.
What people called the "rank of a Heroic Spirit."
As a defective being, he could not possibly stand against someone who had "already reached that realm."
Once he understood that, the "spell" attached to Siegfried vanished, and he began to face his delayed second death.
Like a soul that had been delivered at last, Siegfried spoke with a smile that accepted reality peacefully.
"Thank you. I almost lost sight of what I truly wanted to pursue."
Shirou said, "As long as you're satisfied."
Siegfried nodded. "Yes, I am very satisfied. This manifestation has taught me a great deal.
If I have any regrets, it is that I feel somewhat sorry toward the Master who placed such great hopes in me...
After making such a bold claim, I was so easily defeated and eliminated in my very first battle."
Shirou said with a serious expression, "Don't worry. That guy will definitely be proud of you. I promise."
Just as the boy said, amid the sensation of gradually fading away, Siegfried heard his Master's roar.
"Saber...! No! Don't go, Saber! You can't disappear!"
Although Siegfried thought Gordes was a good Master, he was indeed asking for something a little unreasonable.
Faced with his Master's excessive and demanding request, the great hero could only answer:
"...I am truly sorry."