BOOM!
A spear shot forward, piercing straight through Laurent's head and dropping him instantly. Jeanne Alter looked down in satisfaction at the motionless body beneath her.
"Even if he didn't get the chance to beg for mercy—which irritates me—it's still most satisfying to kill them with my own hands."
Still wearing that cruel smile, Jeanne Alter leapt from the dragon's back and approached. She pressed her boot against Laurent's chest and yanked the spear out in one smooth motion.
A wet tearing sound echoed. She frowned slightly.
No blood?
Her eyes narrowed. The wound on Laurent's head was already gone.
"Hm?"
The next moment, Laurent's eyes snapped open. He frowned, met Jeanne Alter's gaze—and then, without thinking, glanced upward beneath her skirt—
BANG!
Jeanne's boot slammed down on his head.
"Worm. Where exactly do you think you're looking?"
"Ow ow ow ow! My head's gonna pop! It was reflex—I couldn't help it!"
Laurent howled under her heel.
And it wasn't like he'd seen anything anyway! He'd designed that armor himself—there shouldn't even be anything to see under it!
Jeanne Alter finally realized something was wrong.
"Why aren't you dead?" she muttered, her tone almost amused. "Ah, whatever. If your body heals that fast, then you'll make the perfect punching bag."
Her grin grew sharper by the second. Laurent's panic rose just as fast.
"Holy Maiden—hohoho! What divine mercy! To let us torment him forever! Look at that regeneration—such a wonderful gift!"
Gilles de Rais beamed beside her.
"Hey hey hey! Jeanne! I'm warning you, joke or not, you're way over the line! That really hurts!"
"Jeanne?"
Jeanne Alter tilted her head, then twisted her boot harder against his face.
"My name is Jeanne d'Arc—and you will suffer now."
Raising her spear again, she aimed right between his eyes, delight gleaming in her gaze.
But there was no way Laurent was letting her hit him a second time.
He grabbed her ankle, pulled hard, and rolled free. Facing her—and the group of Servants at her back—Laurent straightened.
"I don't know if this whole war's awakened some weird kink in you, but whatever games you want to play, we can deal with them later. Right now, Jeanne, I'm very pissed off."
"Oh?"
Her eyebrow arched, and she gave a laugh both curious and mocking.
"You're angry? Hahahaha! Gilles, did you hear that? He said he's angry! Hahaha! You were right, Gilles—he really came here just to be tortured."
Her laughter turned razor-sharp.
"Pierce him through! I'll let him taste every bit of the pain I suffered!"
"The pain you suffered?"
Laurent's expression darkened.
"Your pain?"
Since the moment they'd met, she hadn't called him by name even once—only struck him down coldly, without hesitation.
Whatever the situation was, Laurent had reached his limit.
"In that case," he said quietly, "let me show you mine."
A Berserker-class Lancer stepped forward from Jeanne Alter's side.
"Allow me to deliver judgment upon you."
He didn't even finish the sentence before Laurent appeared in front of him, grinning viciously.
"You? Judge me? You're not worthy."
His fist shot out—and the next instant, the Lancer was sent flying hundreds of meters, crashing into the distance.
The other Servants froze, staring at Laurent now standing beside Jeanne Alter.
He radiated pure, suffocating malice—yet behind his eyes, unlike the usual Berserker madness, there was cold, terrifying clarity.
"That speed…"
Several Servants immediately readied themselves.
Laurent's grin twisted further.
"My bad—but that aura of evil around you was too thick to ignore."
He turned toward Jeanne Alter, eyes glinting.
"I might've gotten a little carried away."
He raised his hand like a blade, swinging it toward her. Jeanne Alter reacted instantly, banner raised in defense—but she was still a heartbeat too slow.
No one tainted by evil could stand against Laurent. To him, they were prey.
She had no time to block. The strike would have slammed her hundreds of meters away, just like the Berserker Lancer.
But—right before his hand met her side—Laurent stopped.
Dammit. No matter how many times I try, I still can't hit her. And this silly girl clearly isn't herself right now. What the hell happened to her? And why the black armor?
Jeanne Alter's brows drew tighter.
BOOM!
Her spear crashed into him with full force, sending Laurent flying instead.
As the dust settled, she stood frozen, staring toward where he'd vanished, her irritation shifting into unease.
"Gilles," she said at last, her voice taut, "do you have any records on Évigi's past?"
"My Holy Maiden?" Gilles blinked.
From the moment she'd seen that man, something inside her had twisted. Even when she'd struck him, there had been a single, inexplicable instant of hesitation.
Why? Who was he? And why had his gaze—possessive, almost gentle—filled her with such infuriating discomfort?
"My Holy Maiden, he's nothing but a tyrant king," Gilles said. "You alone are the pure, holy one. Defeating him is inevitable."
"Then who is Laurent? Who exactly is he?"
"As I've said, merely a man who once walked beside you."
She was silent for a long moment, then clicked her tongue.
"We're leaving."
"My Holy Maiden," Gilles pleaded, "shouldn't we capture that king and use him as a delightful toy?"
She leapt back onto the wyvern, eyes still fixed on the distant horizon.
"No need. In the end, they'll all die anyway."
Gilles de Rais gazed up at her in rapture.
"As expected of my Holy Maiden. Every word you speak is divine."
---
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