The main battlefield in New York had turned into a grinding stalemate.
Using the cover of skyscrapers, police officers, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and the still-standing Avengers fought a desperate delaying action against the overwhelming tide of Deep Sea monsters.
They fought while retreating. Casualties were miraculously low on their side.
On the monsters' side… barely a fraction had fallen.
"Where is the Hero League's support? Why aren't they here yet?!"
"If we fall back any further, there's nowhere left to retreat!"
"Damn it! I'm almost out of bullets!"
Everyone was on edge. Swearing. Frustrated.
Civilians could run.
They couldn't.
Under normal circumstances, a disaster like this would have been solved instantly by Tornado of Terror alone.
But the politicians had insisted on smearing the Hero League and forcing them out of New York.
And now… ordinary police were paying the price.
"Wait! What is that?!"
A sharp-eyed S.H.I.E.L.D. agent shouted.
In the distance, a massive group of civilians—thousands of them—were advancing toward the battlefield, not away from it.
They carried rifles, pistols, shotguns—whatever they could find.
At their head marched a blonde girl in silver armor, holding a war banner high.
Golden light wrapped around the crowd.
She looked like a saint from legend.
Despite being a hastily assembled militia, they advanced with the discipline of an army.
This was the innate skill of Jeanne d'Arc:
Leader's Aura.
Courage was contagious.
And against invaders who had destroyed their homes, these civilians had chosen to stand and fight.
Jeanne began issuing orders with calm, flawless authority.
"Squad One! Fifteen hundred people—hold the southeast block! Fall back to the second line if you cannot hold!"
"Squad Two! Two thousand—secure the southwest! Do not overextend!"
"Squad Three! Gather ammunition from nearby buildings—maintain logistics!"
"Squad Four! Evacuate all non-combatants!"
"Squad Five! With me! We reinforce the government line in the south!"
Order emerged from chaos.
Defense lines formed between buildings. Crossfire zones were established.
The Deep Sea advance finally slowed.
More and more civilians joined them.
Some out of courage.
Many out of rage—because their families had already died on the coast.
On the battlefield, Jeanne shone like a radiant commander.
"Dear God… she looks like the reincarnation of Saint Joan."
"I think I just fell in love."
"From today on, she's my goddess."
Even in war, her presence captivated people.
Nearby, Captain America stared in disbelief.
Beside him, Falcon whispered,
"Cap… you believe this? If she became my girlfriend—"
"Wake up," Captain America said dryly. "It's still daytime."
"…can't a man dream?"
"But I've never seen her before. She's not in any Hero League file I've read…"
Before he could finish, Jeanne leapt dozens of meters into the air and landed beside them, planting her banner into the concrete.
"You are Captain America, correct?"
"Yes. And you are—?"
"Hero League. B-Class Hero. Jeanne."
"…Jeanne? As in the one executed centuries ago?"
"Quiet," Falcon muttered. "Could be the same name."
Jeanne smiled gently and shook her head.
"No. I am that Jeanne. Executed as a heretic. Summoned once more by my Master into this world as a Heroic Spirit."
Captain America just sighed.
At this point—secret leagues, sea monsters, gods, and now heroic spirits—nothing surprised him anymore.
Falcon immediately straightened up.
"Oh great Saint Jeanne, I am your most loyal follower—Sam Wilson! I have admired you for a long time!"
Captain America gave him a long, judgmental look.
Ten minutes ago, this man had no faith whatsoever.
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