"That's enough, Shakespeare," Jeanne said, her voice as cold as steel, as firm as a sentence.
The silence that followed was almost tangible.
Before that impassive expression and cutting gaze, Shakespeare could not stop the cold sweat running down his temple. The man of words — who once commanded hearts and minds as if they were stage pieces — suddenly realized that no script could shatter the conviction of the woman standing before him.
The Sainte d'Orléans, the Iron Maiden, stood there.
Not as a pious martyr or a servant of God, but as a warrior whose resolve had been forged through pain and experience.
And nothing — not even the power of a Noble Phantasm capable of exposing the deepest wounds of the soul — seemed able to shake her.
Shakespeare swallowed hard. He knew there were no more magic words, no tricks of rhetoric that could save his skin.
In the original story, Jeanne's defeat at the hands of Shakespeare's Noble Phantasm had a clear reason: Sieg.
That young homunculus, artificially born and thrown into a world at war, was the single crack in Jeanne d'Arc's perfect shield.
From the moment they met, something within her — perhaps a maternal instinct, perhaps an echo of the human love she so often denied possessing — whispered that tragedy was inevitable. Jeanne had sensed that, sooner or later, Sieg would march toward his destiny… and that destiny would destroy him.
She tried to stop him. Ordered him to leave, to live, to flee the battlefield.
But the boy returned — not for glory, not for pride, but to save his own kind.
When Jeanne discovered Shirou Amakusa's true plan, she had no choice but to accept Sieg's help.
Sieg, an innocent, sinless being, used by her in that war — and killed because of it.
That was the guilt Shakespeare exploited.
That was the weakness through which his Noble Phantasm had triumphed once before.
But now, everything was different.
Sieg was not there.
He hadn't even had time to approach Jeanne in this line of fate.
Her bond now was with Arthur.
Even if Arthur were to fall, Jeanne would grieve, yes… but she would not be destroyed.
She had learned that death was the natural fate of a Servant.
And her faith, once fragile and confused, was now stronger than ever.
The maiden's heart was serene.
Neither Shakespeare, nor his tricks, nor the memories he conjured could disturb her soul.
Before the poisoned provocations of her former ally, her will stood firm — like sacred steel.
Even so, Shakespeare didn't drop the act.
Despite the cold sweat running down his face, he forced a nervous smile.
The play was about to reach its climax.
He could feel, behind him, the presence of his master — Shirou Amakusa Tokisada — emerging from within the Greater Holy Grail.
A surge of magical energy shook the air, making the particles of light dance in frenzy.
From inside the Greater Grail, two arms extended outward.
In that instant, Shakespeare knew: the Holy Grail War had ended, and the victor was decided.
The Greater Grail — an artifact that had condensed sixty years of accumulated magical energy — now belonged to Shirou Amakusa Tokisada.
A relieved smile curved Shakespeare's lips.
He lowered his quill, ending his play.
The theater of Shakespeare had finally reached its end.
With a gesture, the brilliance of his Noble Phantasm dissolved, like a curtain closing after the final act.
Jeanne reappeared amid the dispersing light, her white mantle fluttering under the mystical wind.
"And now, the moment we've all been waiting for!" Shakespeare announced, his voice grandiose, like a narrator in his final act. "Shirou Amakusa Tokisada takes the stage! Let the spectacle of humanity's salvation begin!"
He turned toward the Grail — and what followed left him speechless.
A blinding flash.
A powerful presence.
Jeanne, lifting her eyes, saw him emerge from within the Holy Grail — Shirou Amakusa, clad in a red haori, its collar embroidered with threads of gold.
It was the same attire he had worn in life.
"I've waited so long for this moment..." he said, raising his hand to the heavens. "My wish has finally been fulfilled. Today marks humanity's victory!"
The Grail's glow reflected in his eyes — and for an instant, he seemed truly enlightened, almost saintly.
But Jeanne felt the chill of heresy within that light.
Then Semiramis appeared, materializing by his side.
The Queen of the Hanging Gardens gazed at him in silence, eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief.
It was indeed her Master — and yet, something far beyond human.
"Is it over, my Master?" she asked softly, almost reverently.
"Yes," Shirou replied calmly. "The Third Magic has been activated."
Jeanne stepped forward, stunned.
"The Third Magic...? The materialization of souls!?"
It was impossible — the miracle the Einzberns had pursued for centuries.
The boundary between the living and the dead had been torn apart.
"From now on," said Shirou, his eyes glowing with almost messianic light, "the Hanging Gardens will travel across the world, absorbing magical energy from the ley lines. And then, humanity will be freed from their physical bodies."
Jeanne's eyes widened, her heart racing.
"Freed from their bodies...? You mean...!"
"Yes," he interrupted. "Instincts of survival will vanish. So will selfishness, fear, and despair. People will ascend as thinking spiritual beings — immortal, yet still capable of love. Tell me, Jeanne... if this isn't salvation, then what is?"
His words hung in the air — poison and honey entwined.
He believed every syllable.
The twisted faith of a saint betrayed by his own humanity.
"There will come a time when mankind must reach that stage," Shirou continued, stepping closer. "I am merely accelerating the process."
"But... this is—" Jeanne began, her voice faltering, but Shirou's tone silenced her like a sermon.
"Open your eyes, Jeanne," said Gilles de Rais, appearing before her.
Summoned by Shakespeare through a fragment of memory, the maiden's former companion emerged in an ethereal form — powerless, merely an echo of his tormented soul.
"You know it as well as I do," he continued, "the world is cruel. I lost my mind after your death, Jeanne. I committed unspeakable atrocities — all of them involving young boys. But this miracle... this world that Shirou will create... it is our redemption."
"Our... redemption?" Jeanne whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
Gilles shouted,
"Yes! Their deaths were my fault — but yours too! If you hadn't died, Jeanne, I wouldn't have fallen into madness! I wouldn't have committed those monstrous crimes!"
His voice thundered in Jeanne's ears.
And Jeanne — even strong as she was — wavered.
Her death had indeed been the spark that ignited Gilles's descent into hell.
A bitter memory that could never be erased.
Then Shirou stepped closer, his eyes fixed upon the maiden.
"Jeanne d'Arc... I do not wish to fight you. Now that the Grail is mine and the Third Magic fulfilled, I no longer see you as an enemy."
He extended his hand.
"Come. Join me. At my side, you will no longer witness tragedy. This will be the world we've always dreamed of — no pain, no war, no death. Paradise will no longer be just a dream."
Jeanne stood motionless.
A world without suffering... without death... without tears?
The price sounded too sweet to be real.
"A paradise... where pain and death do not exist...?" she murmured, unable to deny it at once.
"Exactly," said Shirou, his tone unwavering. "That is true salvation."
But before she could answer, a voice echoed behind her — calm, serene, and filled with authority.
"No, Shirou Amakusa.
This is not humanity's salvation.
It's only yours."
A hand rested gently upon Jeanne's head.
She would recognize that touch anywhere.
Arthur.
Beside him, Atalanta, Frankenstein, and Mordred appeared — silent, ready for battle.
(End of chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."