"Jeanne!!!"
The citizens cheered.
Fear abandoned, they rushed to the city walls, standing behind Jeanne, beneath the fleur-de-lis banner.
When that petite yet resolute figure appeared atop the walls, the timid farmers, carpenters, and townsfolk... once paralyzed by wyverns, zombies, and undead... erupted with a courage and strength that stunned even Artoria.
If you hadn't seen it with your own eyes, you'd hardly believe someone could inspire an entire nation, an entire people, with just their presence.
Perhaps this was the romance unique to "France."
These timid peasants, craftsmen, and citizens only unleashed their true potential under the leadership of a woman or a dwarf.
"Jeanne!!!"
Jeanne Alter roared.
Seeing that golden figure on the walls, her soul blazed with furious flames.
Betrayal, yet another betrayal!
This time... even she had betrayed herself!
"I'll make you pay with your life!!!!"
Her black flames surged to their peak, forming a massive shadowy dragon in the sky, lunging toward the walls as if to erase everything there.
But Jeanne stood fearless.
"This banner is proof of my Lord's presence!"
With the banner as its apex, white holy light enveloped the entire city. An invincible blessing, a miracle granted to this girl by the heavens.
"Everyone, focus fire... take down that dragon first!"
Jeanne's aid was perfectly timed, and Artoria, as commander, instantly grasped the priority.
"This sword is the manifestation of the sun's power... "
"The evil dragon shall fall, for the world has reached its twilight... "
"My blade accuses you, dragon... "
"You loveless, sorrowful dragon, now... like a meteor... "
Four Servants tied to dragons unleashed their Noble Phantasms simultaneously.
Sensing the swelling magical energy, Alaric faintly realized their true aim wasn't just to slay the dragon.
It was to purge this world entirely!
"That idiot woman, what's she standing there for?"
"Run already!"
Boom...
A deafening explosion shook the skies above Lyon.
The dazzling light lasted a full minute, and the dust from the blast took ten minutes to settle.
"Did we... did we win?"
Gazing at the battlefield, smelling the scorched earth, Martha... her stamina and mana depleted... collapsed unceremoniously, panting heavily.
"The dragon's presence is gone. I can no longer sense it."
Siegfried's voice answered.
As the dragon-slaying hero of the Nibelungenlied, his unique bond with Fafnir allowed him to sense the dragon's existence effortlessly.
If he said the dragon was gone, it was gone.
But the witch who summoned and commanded that dragon...
"She's not dead."
Artoria stated with certainty.
She could tell, even with her ahoge, that at the last moment, the white dragon had saved Jeanne Alter.
This was the "tacit understanding" between her and Alaric.
No words were needed. When Alaric said, [I've defected, don't contact me], she knew he had discovered something and had his own plan.
In such a situation, her best move was to do nothing and proceed with the original plan.
... She entrusted the mission's lead to Alaric.
... She genuinely believed that clever white dragon could outperform her.
"That girl is in your hands now."
...
Alaric carried Jeanne Alter, flying toward Orleans.
Jeanne Alter was in terrible shape.
She was gravely injured... Martha's punches had been merciless, each one strong enough to break ribs.
But the real reason for her wretched state was the unrestrained burning of her wrathful flames.
... She had overtaxed her power.
Or perhaps it wasn't overtaxing... After all, she always knew that she, born from anger, would ultimately be consumed by it.
But this "destruction" was not part of her plan.
Relentless betrayals had driven her to madness, acting purely on instinct. When Jeanne appeared, she abandoned even her instinct to survive... her mind consumed with the desire to take Jeanne down with her.
Thankfully, Jeanne's Noble Phantasm was a pure defense type, with no offensive power, or Jeanne Alter's survival would've been questionable.
"I remember that big-eyed creep hid the Grail here, right?"
"Let me see... Got it!"
Alaric carried Jeanne Alter back to the now-deserted Orleans.
He placed the unconscious witch on a bed and retrieved the mage's Holy Grail from the basement's magical workshop.
This wasn't a true Holy Grail but a counterfeit created by the Demon God Goetia to distort human history... Though it lacked the "true Grail's" wish-granting power, its near-infinite magical energy was the perfect remedy for Jeanne Alter's wounds.
"Now... it's just a matter of waiting, I suppose?"
Alaric infused the counterfeit Grail into Jeanne Alter's body.
Nourished by its magic, her injuries healed rapidly, and on the surface, she seemed fine.
But due to overexpending her core strength, she'd likely sleep for two or three days... Who knew what would happen when she awoke?
Sigh.
Alaric let out a breath.
He had to admit, everything so far had been within his "plan."
But he also had to say... that airheaded king was ruthless.
Whether intentional or coincidental, the final appearance of Jeanne was a masterstroke of psychological warfare, making even Alaric, a bystander, feel a chill down his spine.
"If I put myself in her shoes, I'd want to take her down too, wouldn't I?"
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