That night, everyone went to bed with a heavy heart. They knew Jeanne's abilities; every time she sensed the arrival of those "black bugs," it became a reality.
Inside the house, Talulah and Jeanne slept in a set of bunk beds, roughly fashioned from a single bed frame. Talulah tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She thought she heard a sound again—a high-pitched screeching, like a distressed marmot. She let out a soft sigh. That sound vaguely reminded her of Kashchey. Though she didn't know exactly what it was, she knew it wasn't anything good.
Above her, Jeanne was whispering prayers to a wooden cross—a daily ritual she performed every morning and night. Talulah had once curiously asked the name of the god she worshipped, but Jeanne simply replied that one must not take the name of the Lord in vain.
Talulah felt a bit helpless. In the legends of Ursus, countless malevolent deities slumbered beneath the snowfields. She worried that Jeanne might be praying to the wrong god and invite misfortune. But since Jeanne had been faithful for so long without any issues, Talulah figured it probably wasn't some cruel, evil deity.
Amidst the soft murmurs of prayer, Talulah finally drifted into a deep sleep, the harsh screeches outside fading into the background.
A moment later, Jeanne finished her prayers. Since arriving in this world, praying had become an unconscious habit. During prayer, she could truly feel a warm glow—the gaze of the One True God upon her, offering help when necessary.
For instance, because she didn't know the languages of this world, God had granted her the ability to understand and speak all tongues during her very first prayer on Terra.
Though she had been an atheist in her past life, now that a deity had manifested before her, she wasn't stubborn enough to deny reality. What she found strange, however, was that if God watched over her this closely—even in her identity as a "Witch"—why was the original Jeanne d'Arc allowed to be burned at the stake? With such divine favoritism, shouldn't punishment have rained down upon those men?
But that was in the past. One day, she would have her answers. For now, it was time to sleep.
As Jeanne entered her dreams, she found herself in a strange, familiar space. This was a world constructed from Jeanne d'Arc's memories. Every so often, she would enter this realm to face a segment of the Saint's life. Over the past two years, she had witnessed the Saint's trials through her own eyes.
Today, the girl's martial career was coming to an end.
She saw the messenger of God telling her that if she continued to lead her troops forward, she would be captured in this battle. Jeanne's only wish then was to die quickly after being caught to avoid torture.
She saw the betrayal of the nobles—supplies and gold withheld or simply "vanishing." The weapons donated by the common folk were seized by other armies, only to be discarded carelessly in retreat. It was farcical.
She witnessed the Black Death sweeping across the continent, claiming lives while the war-hungry nobles turned a blind eye. Jeanne bore all of this in silence, continuing to lead her army to victory.
What she didn't know was that the people who truly wanted her dead were the very Emperor and nobles she fought for. In their eyes, this high-profile "Village Girl" was more dangerous than the English army. Finally, as she attempted to retreat into the city, the gates were slammed shut in her face.
The girl, who had known all along she would be taken, was captured. In a cruel twist of irony, she was sold to the English. The French royalty and nobility refused to pay her ransom and blocked others from doing so, simply waiting for news of her death.
In the end, an angel descended into her prison cell to rescue her, but she stopped it. The angel warned her that if she stayed, she would be burned. But she accepted her fate. She intended to use her death to awaken the people of France, hoping to end a war that had raged for nearly a hundred years.
The angel finally departed, leaving only a blessing that Jeanne would not feel the pain of the execution and that the malice of her captors would eventually return to haunt them.
Finally, within Jeanne's body, she felt herself being tied to the stake. Amidst the roaring flames, she left that world. At that moment, she was still just a girl under the age of twenty.
This experience allowed her to finally understand the rage of Jeanne Alter. Even if that "Alter" was a mere fabrication of magic, her anger was justified. Jeanne felt that same fire within her now—fury at the greedy nobles, at those who slandered her, at those who called her a witch... a rage that could set the world ablaze. Yet, her "other self" had forgiven everyone and died with grace.
When she opened her eyes, the sky outside was beginning to brighten. She rose and prayed, pouring out her troubles for about fifteen minutes.
On the other side of the room, Talulah woke up. The strange screeching sound from the night before seemed weak and listless today, as if it had exhausted itself screaming in the dark.
As the two began their daily chores, the "black bugs" of the Infected Patrol were also on the move. They headed toward the village on their map to complete their quota; otherwise, their own fate might be worse than the Infected they hunted.
Halfway there, however, they encountered several figures dressed in black, standing in the middle of the road as if waiting for them.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" the Searcher Captain asked, unsettled by the overwhelming aura radiating from the group. One look at their high-end equipment told him these weren't commoners; they were likely private soldiers of some noble. It was best to be cautious.
"Take us to the village of Kobevich. And give us several sets of your uniforms," the leader said coldly. The murderous intent leaking from him suggested that if they refused, he would kill them and find the way himself.
"This... this is against regulations! If the authorities find out, we'll be in trouble!" the Captain stammered, wanting no part of this. Under-the-table dealings between nobles were death traps for small fry like him.
"You have no right to refuse. Lead the way, or die here. Choose." The leader's voice grew colder, his killing intent slithering around them like a serpent, making their hair stand on end.
"F-Fine... I'll lead the way. But it's a very remote village. It'll take at least half a day to get there!"
And so, the Captain and his team led the mysterious group toward the secluded settlement. He wondered which poor soul had managed to offend a noble this time.