The ecstatic crowd cheered, but Jeanne didn't hear them.
She saw only Isis.
From the moment the referee gave the signal, Jeanne advanced without hesitation, her spear slicing through the air in precise, brutal arcs. There was no unnecessary elegance in her movements, only effectiveness. Every attack was aimed directly at the body; every step closed the distance Isis was trying to maintain.
Isis retreated and kept retreating.
A defensive spell here, a shield of light there. The goddess blocked every spear attack with a calmness as if she were meditating, her eyes fixed intently on each of Jeanne's strikes. She wasn't enjoying the fight; she was surviving.
Jeanne didn't even joke around.
Not a word, not a battle cry, not a taunt. Just the sound of her spear tearing through the air and her boots striking the ground. That alone was intimidating, because without words it was impossible to read her, impossible to anticipate what she was thinking or how much she had left.
From the stands, Horus clenched his fists on his knees without taking his eyes off his mother.
Vral watched with her arms crossed, serious.
Zeus drank from a new glass without looking directly at the fight, as if feigning indifference were enough to hide the tension in his jaw.
Jeanne spun on her heel and launched a diagonal thrust that Isis blocked with a shield, but the force of the impact cracked it, and the tip of the spear grazed her left forearm.
A clean cut. Blood.
Isis leaped several meters away, landing softly. She looked at her arm for a moment, then began to murmur a spell under her breath. The wound slowly closed, thread by thread, as if someone were sewing it shut with light.
The silence between them lasted several seconds.
It was Isis who broke it.
—"Why do you fight for humanity?" —she asked with genuine curiosity, without hostility—. "I'm not asking to distract you. I'm asking because I want to understand you."
Jeanne slightly lowered her spear.
She looked into Isis's eyes for the first time since the battle began.
—"Because someone has to do it," —she replied in a calm and steady voice—. "Because if I don't, who will? Humanity is not perfect. It makes mistakes, it destroys itself, it hesitates. But it also loves, it also fights, it also rises again. That is worth defending."Isis finished closing the wound. She looked at her in silence.
—"I understand…" —she said.
And in those two words, there was something that was neither condescension nor pity. It was genuine respect.
Jeanne attacked again.
Without warning, without transition. The spear cut through the air three times in rapid succession, each strike at a different angle that forced Isis to move instead of simply blocking. The fourth strike was a feint that Isis read too late, and the tip of the spear tore a cut across her right side.
More blood.
Isis exhaled sharply and extended both hands toward Jeanne.
A dark violet spell shot forward and wrapped around Jeanne before she could evade. Her legs stopped responding. Her arms tensed against her will. The paralysis spread from head to toe in less than a second, and Jeanne was left frozen in the center of the field, her spear only half held.
The crowd held its breath.
Horus stood up.
Isis slowly healed her side, watching Jeanne with an expression that wasn't triumph. It was something closer to fleeting relief and sorrow at the same time.
Then something changed in Jeanne.
It wasn't gradual. It was like lighting a flame in the dark.
From within her, something surged forth—something without a simple name, a conviction so absolute and deeply rooted that it became physical. A white and golden aura burst outward from her body, shattering the paralysis spell into fragments of violet light that dissolved into the air.
The burst of energy kicked up dust and dirt around her, cracked the ground beneath her feet, and pushed the air in every direction like a shockwave.
When the dust settled, Jeanne was still standing.
She had burns on her arms from the explosion of her own power. A thin line of blood ran down her forehead. Her armor bore fresh cracks. But her eyes burned with a clarity that hadn't been there before—or perhaps had always been there, and now was impossible to ignore.
She took a deep breath.
She looked at Isis.
And for the first time in the entire fight, she spoke before attacking.
—"Forgive me, Goddess Isis," —she said in a serene voice, without anger, without hatred—. "I truly don't want to do this. But I must."
Isis looked at her in silence.
And somewhere in her chest, something understood exactly what Jeanne meant.
Jeanne, with a golden aura and her eyes turning yellow, slowly raised her spear and pointed it at Isis. Her stance was calm.
—"Freedom and Justice," —she said in a low, steady voice.
—"Eh…" —Isis whispered.
In a fraction of a second, Jeanne appeared behind her and struck cleanly across her back, dropping her to the ground. Then she looked toward the stands of humanity with a quiet smile.
But then she felt her legs give out.
She fell to the ground as well, with an identical cut across her own back.
Isis had used her simulation magic—a spell that replicates with the same force and in the exact same position any attack it receives, returning it to the opponent. For the first time in the entire fight, she had truly attacked.
Isis slowly pushed herself up, looking down at Jeanne on the ground with sadness.
—"Forgive me, Jeanne. I have to do this, not just for myself. I understand your reasons—I would also prefer for humanity to live. But I was forced to be here. I hope you understand what I'm trying to tell you," —she turned around and began to walk away slowly.
The fight hadn't ended. No one had said anything.
Then she heard a sound behind her.
It was Jeanne, getting back up.
With the cut on her back still open, with her golden aura faint but not gone, Jeanne rose to her feet. Her knees trembled, but her posture did not give in. She picked up her spear from the ground and held it with both hands.
—"I'm not finished," —she said, her voice hoarse but firm—. "As long as I can stand, I'm not finished. Humanity deserves its freedom, and I will not fall until I secure it."
Isis stopped and looked back, a hint of fear crossing her expression.
She closed her eyes for a moment.And raised her hand upward.
—"So be it, then. Let us fight for our convictions," —with those words, she began to unleash multiple beams of golden light that the wounded Jeanne started to evade.
The golden beams of light cut across the arena in every direction, each one with magnificent precision that only a goddess of her level could achieve. These weren't simple attacks—they were exact, calculated, aimed precisely at Jeanne's most severe wounds.
Isis knew the human body better than anyone.And that made her more dangerous than any god of combat.
Jeanne dodged with what little she had left, moving in a zigzag, using her spear to deflect the beams she couldn't avoid. Each deflection cost her energy. Each step reminded her of the cut on her back. But her golden aura remained—faint, yet alive, like a flame that refuses to go out in the rain.
One beam grazed her left shoulder.Another struck her knee, and she briefly fell onto one hand.
She stood back up.
Isis didn't stop attacking, but something in her expression had changed. It was no longer the sadness from before. It was something closer to the determination of someone doing something difficult precisely because they know it's necessary.
—"You are extraordinary, Jeanne," —Isis said without ceasing her attacks—. "No one could evade my spells for this long."
Jeanne didn't respond. She kept moving.
—"Don't you get tired?" —Isis asked, and it wasn't mockery. It was genuine curiosity mixed with something that felt very much like concern.
Jeanne deflected another beam with the shaft of her spear and took a step toward Isis.Then another.
Isis intensified her attacks. The beams multiplied, striking from different angles like a controlled storm. The ground around Jeanne filled with small craters, the air smelled of burned energy, and the crowd had stopped shouting, simply watching with held breath.
Jeanne took three hits in a row.
One to the side. One to her right arm. One directly to the chest that sent her flying back several meters and left her on her knees on the ground, her spear planted in front of her as her only support.
The silence was absolute.
Horus gripped the edge of his seat.Vral closed his eyes for a second.
Isis slowly lowered her hand. She looked at Jeanne on the ground—her hair fallen over her face, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, her armor broken in three different places.
—"That's enough," —Isis said softly—. "You've fought with everything you have. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
Jeanne didn't respond immediately.
The silence stretched.
Then her fingers tightened around the spear.And she pushed.
She stood up for the third time.
But this time… it was different.
The golden aura that had remained faint since the wound on her back did not stay the same. It grew. Slowly at first, and then like a tide, faster—expanding from her core outward until it enveloped her entire body in a light that did not flicker.
Her yellow eyes shone with clarity.
The wind in the arena shifted direction.
Isis took a step back without realizing it.
Jeanne raised her spear, held it with both hands in front of her, and looked at Isis with an expression that was not what anyone would expect. It was something far simpler—but far more terrifying than anything else.
It was the look of certainty. She knew something.
The light around her kept growing—brighter, more intense—until several spectators in the stands had to shield their eyes. The gods who had once mocked fell silent. Even Zeus set his cup down on the arm of his seat without finishing his sip.
And Jeanne, standing at the center of that light—wounded and unyielding—was the most human, and at the same time the most imposing figure anyone in those stands had ever seen.
To be continued…