Having received the massive mana, mixed with the sinister energy of the Crest Worms, from Kariya Matou's near-sacrificial infusion, Lancelot had completely transformed into an avatar of destruction.
His attacks no longer followed any pattern, leaving only the most primitive and violent outpouring of power.
His pitch-black giant arms swung the twisted weapon, every slash carrying a scream that tore through space. The dark red torrent of mana surged like lava, destroying the solid walls and floor of the Worm Den like dry weeds. The attacks were like mercury spilling on the ground, penetrating everywhere, without the slightest mercy, only to completely crush the enemy before him!
Faced with this storm-like offensive, Kanjuro remained composed. He didn't even engage in battle himself, but merely tilted his head slightly and gave a brief command to Jeanne on the high ground:
"Jeanne, finish him."
The silver-armored Saint jumped down silently from the shadows, like a falling star plunging into the battlefield.
The holy sword in her hand was entwined with the dark red flames of vengeance, precisely meeting Lancelot's frantic attacks.
"Clang! Clang! Boom—!"
The holy sword and the berserk armor clashed violently, sparks and fragments of mana flying everywhere.
Jeanne's swordsmanship was still exquisite, her steps still steady. Every block and counterattack was perfectly timed, neutralizing, guiding, and deflecting Lancelot's destructive power one by one. Her fighting stance seemed no different from when she fought Diarmuid before—efficient and deadly.
Kanjuro stood outside the battle circle, watching with great interest.
His gaze did not only linger on Jeanne's elegant and powerful sword dance but also seemed to penetrate the silver armor, peering into the ripples of her heart.
The battle quickly reached a fever pitch. Jeanne caught a tiny opening in Lancelot's defense caused by his madness. The flames on her holy sword suddenly soared, turning into a crimson thunderbolt that tore through the darkness, thrusting with unstoppable force toward the core of Lancelot's armor—where the Spiritual Core was located! This strike was fast, accurate, and ruthless, enough to end the suffering of this maddened knight.
However, at the very moment the tip of the sword was about to touch the target—
Jeanne's arm, almost imperceptibly, paused for a moment.
That pause was so brief it almost didn't exist, perhaps not even a tenth of a second, but in the eyes of an existence like Kanjuro, it was as clear as a lighthouse in the dark night.
It was this infinitesimal hesitation that gave Lancelot a sliver of a chance to react. He let out a roar and barely managed to turn his body, causing the originally fatal thrust to veer off by an inch, leaving only a deep, smoldering wound on his shoulder armor.
Kanjuro's sigh rang out at the right time, carrying a hint of knowing disappointment, clearly reaching Jeanne's ears:
"You hesitated?"
This flat question was more piercing than any reprimand.
Jeanne's hand holding the sword tightened slightly. She didn't answer, nor could she. Could she say that, at the moment she was about to destroy this knight who was also toyed with by fate and driven by his master's pain, she saw in that frantic crimson a shadow similar to herself—someone used and twisted?
And at that moment, seeing Lancelot wounded, Kariya Matou's last shred of reason was completely swallowed by madness!
"Kanjuro—!!!!"
He let out a roar that didn't sound human. His body, covered in Crest Worms, exploded with final strength. No longer caring for himself, like a moth to a flame, he lunged toward Kanjuro, who had been "watching" from the rear, with the swarming insects around him! He wanted to tear this demon apart with his own hands! Even if they died together!
Seeing the insect-man rushing at him like a madman, Kanjuro didn't panic. Instead, a subtle expression of a successful scheme appeared on his face. He didn't take any defensive or evasive stance, but instead, in a perfectly timed tone of "panic" and "worry," shouted to Sakura, who was protected in the corner by Matou Zouken:
"Sakura!! Watch out!"
This shout was like a magic spell.
Sakura, who had been tensely watching "Uncle Kanjuro's" safety, saw the terrifying "monster" rushing toward her only reliance. With almost no time to think, her young body was driven by a surge of courage (or rather, a carefully guided sense of dependency and protectiveness)!
She broke free from Matou Zouken's hand, and like a brave yet incredibly fragile little bird, she lunged in front of Kanjuro, spreading her arms and using her tiny body to block the path between Kanjuro and that terrifying insect-man!
She tilted her pale but determined little face toward the rushing Kariya Matou and shouted with all her might, crying:
"Don't you dare hurt Uncle Kanjuro!!"
Time seemed to freeze at this moment.
Kariya Matou's lunge, carrying endless resentment and despair, froze mid-air. He looked at Sakura blocking Kanjuro in disbelief, seeing the pure fear and rejection of him in her eyes, and the unquestionable resolve in her protection of Kanjuro... The Crest Worms around him seemed to sense their master's instantly collapsing soul, letting out a mournful rustling sound.
All his strength, all his anger, all his pain, vanished into nothingness in Sakura's cry.
And Kanjuro, behind Sakura's back where she couldn't see, slowly and silently revealed a cold and satisfied smile.
He reached out and gently pressed his hand on Sakura's trembling shoulder, as if comforting her, but in reality, he was declaring his ownership and his victory.
Jeanne took all this in. She looked at the insect-man standing frozen in place as if he had lost his soul, and at the girl who was completely blinded and willing to sacrifice herself for a demon. Her hand gripping the holy sword saw its knuckles turn completely pale from excessive force.
Kanjuro's "feast" had already reached its most "delicious" climax.
Inside the worm pit, the air was so thick it felt as if it had solidified. Jeanne d'Arc lowered her head, her silver helmet concealing all her expressions; only her hand, gripping the Holy Sword with whitening knuckles, betrayed that her heart was anything but calm.
In the center, Kariya Matou's arm, covered in Crest Worms, froze in mid-air, caught in a dilemma. He looked at Sakura's determined yet fearful eyes and heard her tearful plea: "Uncle Kariya, please leave!" Endless pain nearly tore his soul apart. "Sakura... I am the one... who is best to you..." The voice he produced was raspy and distorted, like the buzzing of insects.
Sakura only shook her head vigorously, pressing closer into Kanjuro's embrace behind her, her actions making her stance clear.
Kanjuro gently encircled Sakura's petite frame from behind, his chin resting lightly on the crown of her head in a protective posture. He spoke softly to her, "Sakura, thank you. However, this is a matter between adults; just leave it to Uncle Kanjuro." However, the moment he raised his eyes and his gaze met Kariya Matou's—
The Thousand Faces Garment authority activated silently!
Kariya Matou felt a bone-chilling will, like invisible venom, instantly injected into his already collapsing consciousness. His own thoughts were forcibly suppressed and twisted; like a marionette, he was completely taken over by another existence filled with malice.
The pain and struggle on his face vanished instantly, replaced by an extreme, inhuman grimace twisted with wild laughter, his eyes becoming hollow and evil.
"Oh my, Sakura—" "Kariya Matou" spoke, but his voice carried a hair-raising playfulness and sense of strangeness. "Don't blame Uncle Kariya for being cruel; blame yourself... for being too much in the way! Hahahaha!"
He laughed maniacally, and that arm covered in wriggling Crest Worms suddenly rose. Dark magical energy, mixed with the sinister power of the swarm, condensed in his palm and transformed into a filthy ray, shooting straight toward Sakura!
"Sakura, run!" Matou Zouken shouted in "panic" at the right moment.
Sakura was scared out of her wits; she let out a scream and turned to run, driven by survival instinct. Her small figure stumbled through the dim and filthy worm pit like a young deer being chased by a leopard.
Meanwhile, the "Kariya Matou" possessed by Kanjuro followed unhurriedly. He continuously fired strange magical beams composed of Crest Worms or manipulated scattered swarms toward Sakura. They were in no rush to devour her immediately; instead, they landed precisely at her feet or brushed past her clothes, emitting scalp-numbing hisses as if enjoying a cruel game of cat and mouse, relishing the sight of the prey running in despair.
Jeanne d'Arc gazed quietly at this scene. Watching the controlled shell chase the innocent girl, seeing the pure terror on the girl's face, and witnessing the silent, wild laughter of the mastermind behind the scenes.
The sight she detested most—misunderstanding and betrayal—was playing out in the most extreme way. That man named Kariya Matou had not only been robbed of the person he wanted to protect, but even his own will and reputation were stripped away, forced to play the role of the perpetrator, pushing his only precious person into a deeper abyss.
A cold emotion, bordering on pity, rippled across the silent lake of her heart.
Right then, Kanjuro's whisper, filled with seduction and malice like a tiny venomous snake, bored directly into her mind via telepathy:
"Jeanne, look at how pitiful he is... misunderstood, betrayed, hated by the person he wants to protect most, and now even his own body is deepening that hatred. The misunderstanding... is growing deeper and becoming irreversible. Don't you want to do something? Don't you want to help him? Just like... how no one helped you back then."
This voice was soft, yet every word pierced the heart, accurately stabbing Jeanne's most painful old scars. He was testing her, probing the limits of her fall, wanting to see if this former Saint could still maintain her nauseating "persistence" while witnessing such a tragedy.
The hand Jeanne used to hold the Holy Sword remained motionless. On her face, which appeared even more coldly elegant after her fall, there was no expression, as if she were a divine statue that had truly lost all emotion. Only in the deepest depths of her eyes, it seemed as if invisible flames were burning beneath a frozen lake, yet remained sealed by the extreme cold.
She knew Kanjuro was testing her.
She also knew that any extra movement at this moment, whether intervening or losing emotional control, would fall into Kanjuro's trap and become another piece of data for his "human depravity experiment."
She had once stood for justice and righteousness, only to be consumed by fire.
Now that she had chosen to fall into darkness, was even her last bit of hatred and resistance toward "distortion" itself to be stripped away by this demon?
No.
Precisely because she knew the pain of being misunderstood and betrayed, and precisely because she felt a resonant pity for Kariya Matou at this moment, she could not act.
Her intervention would only make Kanjuro's game more "interesting" and ensure this drama of betrayal ended in an even more tragic fashion.
She simply stood there quietly, like an eternal ice peak, allowing her inner heart to churn while her surface remained unchanged.
Her silence was itself a wordless answer—a final, yet initial, persistence against Kanjuro's complete and nihilistic malice amidst the ultimate fall.
What she persisted in was not justice, but... not letting things go your way. In the filthy worm pit, the cruel drama of the cat-and-mouse game continued. Sakura stumbled and fled, pursued by the "Kariya Matou" whose will was completely overwritten by Kanjuro. He continuously fired filthy magical energy and swarms of insects, precisely manufacturing fear like a toy with its prey, yet in no hurry to deliver the fatal blow.
However, inside this controlled shell, a silent yet fierce war was taking place. The soul fragments of Kariya Matou, crushed by despair and pain, actually erupted with incredible resilience at this moment, like a guttering candle in a gale, burning desperately in an attempt to expel the invading, abyss-cold will!
"Get out! Get out of my body! Kanjuro!!!" He roared in the depths of his consciousness, using all his heart to protect Sakura and his bone-deep hatred for Kanjuro as fuel to strike at the invisible shackles.
This tenacious will to resist did not annoy Kanjuro; instead, it made him feel incredibly excited. Like tasting the spiciest wine, his consciousness whispered in Kariya Matou's mind with playfulness and absolute superiority:
"It's useless, Kariya. Struggle, resist; the more you do, the more pleased I am. But your strength and your will are nothing more than a firefly before the bright moon in my presence. You will never be able to dispel me, this 'nightmare,' from your heart."
Kanjuro's mental power was like a bottomless dark quagmire, firmly gripping the core of Kariya Matou's consciousness. How could power originating from a contract with Nyarlathotep, the authority granted by the dark bible that touched the most primal fears of living beings, be shaken by a mere human's momentary fit of rage?
Every impact from Kariya Matou was like a moth flying into an invisible barrier, only able to fruitlessly shatter itself, making the barrier seem even more indestructible. He felt himself sinking into an endless, cold ocean abyss, his consciousness gradually being assimilated and swallowed by the darkness.
And just as Kariya Matou's consciousness was about to completely sink and Sakura was about to be driven to a dead end—
A wisp of Kanjuro's will separated, like pulling a puppet string, and issued an unquestionable command to Jeanne, who stood silently nearby.
The silver-armored Saint's figure moved instantly.
She glided across the filthy ground like a ghost, appearing precisely between Sakura and the path of the pursuer. The Holy Sword: La Pucelle, carrying the dark flames of revenge, stabbed without hesitation at the "Kariya Matou" covered in Crest Worms!
Puchi!
The sword tip pierced the wriggling insect body, and the dark red flames scorched the Crest Worms, emitting a "sizzling" burnt stench. However, the thick, sinister magical insect swarm acted as an incredible buffer; this strike failed to reach the true core.
Almost at the same moment, the loyal (or rather, bound by contract) Berserker Lancelot let out a furious roar and charged recklessly at Jeanne, attempting to protect his master—even if the master was occupied by a demon.
At the very instant Jeanne's sword pierced the insect body and Lancelot lunged forward—
Kanjuro, controlling Kariya Matou's body, took all the magical energy within him brought by the Crest Worms, mixed with pain and despair, along with the Mad Enhancement power surging through the contract channel with Lancelot, and unleashed it all without reservation, like a mountain-collapsing tsunami!
"Jeanne, oh Jeanne—!" "Kariya Matou's" distorted face let out a wild laugh, the voice a mix of Kariya's own rasp and Kanjuro's characteristic coldness. "If you want to survive this game, if you want to carry out your pathetic 'orders'—you must come to 'kill' me with the resolve of a certain kill! Otherwise..."
The surging dark magical energy was like a physical shockwave, cracking the ground and turning countless Crest Worms into dust under its power!
Lancelot's attack also became more violent and swift due to the boost from this power! Jeanne was instantly trapped in a desperate situation of pincer attacks and magical pressure!
The Holy Sword blocked Lancelot's heavy blow, the massive force making her arm numb. And ahead, "Kariya Matou's" filthy strike, which condensed all his magical energy and was enough to erode a soul to nothingness, was already before her eyes!
Life or death?
In this critical moment, a thought uncontrollably burst into Jeanne's mind:
Kill him?
Kill this man whose body is occupied by a demon, and whose self-will and reputation have been stripped away?
Kill this soul who thought of protecting until death, yet was forced to become a perpetrator, whose final struggle was even used as a tool to test her?
This pitiful man, this pitiful knight... Is his life to end by my hand in this way, misunderstood by everyone and hated by the one he cherishes?
This hesitation, like a crack beneath the ice, clearly spread across her rock-solid heart for the first time.
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