"...Tch. So Rider chose self-destruction. To think that even after the saint was driven mad, reason still lingered within her. Troublesome. Even so, that woman would surely have fought with all her strength. If he cast her down despite that, then I cannot afford to grow complacent merely because our strength seems greater."
Jeanne d'Arc Alter clicked her tongue as though vexed, and her beautiful face twisted. Both her eyes burned with wrath.
Gnash, gnash.
Jeanne d'Arc Alter ground her teeth beneath the swelling tide of hatred. The cause was Elius, that knight of the Round Table who had made sport of her.
Again and again he had stood in the way of her design to reduce France to ashes, and in the end he had even severed the left wing of Fafnir, the dragon she herself had summoned.
Worse still, though reason had remained, even the Berserk Rider she had sent in pursuit had been slain.
"...I should have killed him in La Charité."
She had disliked him from the very first meeting. He had dared call her, the Dragon Witch, a mere witch of wyverns; he had mocked her for having no friends and flung every insolence he could devise.
And then there was that remark—that she was a witch made wholly of hatred...
'No... that part was true.'
Jeanne d'Arc Alter slowly nodded. Certainly, she was a being woven of hatred alone, without any other feeling—
Eh?
Could a person truly possess nothing but hatred?
Jeanne d'Arc Alter's eyes widened. Since the moment she had awakened, what emotions had she truly felt?
If an ordinary person were betrayed, put to death, and then restored to life, what would they feel?
Many things, surely. Joy at having returned from death. Fury toward those who had betrayed them. And alongside that, grief for those precious ones they had lost. A tumult of emotions, without question. And yet...
'...Why is it that I possess only hatred?'
It was strange. Far too strange. When she had first opened her eyes, the only things she had felt were hatred and vengeance.
As that sense of wrongness took hold, Jeanne d'Arc Alter suddenly realized that her memories as well were unnatural.
There were blank spaces scattered throughout them. They did not flow smoothly from one to the next, but came in broken fragments. And even those fragments were incomplete.
"Why... do I see myself acting within my own memories?"
Memory, by its nature, is the recollection of what one has lived through oneself. If so, then as the one who remembers, there should be no 'me' to behold within those memories.
And yet there was. As though she were watching Jeanne d'Arc through another person's eyes, the self within her memories moved and acted plainly before her.
'And more than that, I have no memories from my birth until I entered the army.'
It was abnormal. A void in memory beyond all reason. Even the perspective was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.
No matter how she looked upon it, everything about the self within those memories was unnatural. Unless her soul had somehow slipped free of her body, these memories seemed as though they had been seen by someone else—
'...Someone else?'
Jeanne d'Arc Alter felt a chill race across her skin. Someone else's memories? Then whose were they?
Her thoughts turned swiftly. She had no memories from before entering the army, so it must be someone she had met after joining it. Someone with whom the self in those memories had been familiar. Someone who had treated her with equal familiarity.
"What are you doing here, Jeanne?"
"...Gilles."
There was only one.
As Jeanne d'Arc Alter looked upon Gilles standing before her, she suddenly recalled the words Jeanne d'Arc had spoken to her.
[...Are you truly... 'me'?]
"Ah."
The instant she remembered those words, it felt as though all things had become clear. As though she had at last reached the answer.
Yet she did not wish to believe it. No—it must not be so. It had to be anything but that.
And so, clinging to the hope that she was mistaken, wishing to believe otherwise, she cast a baited question toward Gilles.
"...Gilles. When I saw that other me in La Charité... I became uncertain whether I am truly in the right. There is a me that burns with hatred, yes... but there is also a me whom they still believe in."
"......."
"Am I truly the right one?"
It was a wager of sorts. If her suspicion was false, then surely Gilles would dispel this doubt.
"? Why ask what is self-evident? Of course you are right. Listen well, Jeanne."
Gilles looked upon her and spoke with that peculiar, grotesque smile of his.
"You were condemned to the stake. Not only that—you were betrayed by all! And that hateful Charles VII, whom we slew, merely stood by and watched your death because he begrudged the cost of compensation owed! Worse, not a single soul rose in courage to save you!
If that is so, then what is the cause of this irrational injustice?"
Having posed the question to Jeanne d'Arc Alter, Gilles raised one finger toward the heavens and cried out with a face contorted by loathing.
"It is God! This is nothing more than the mockery of our God! All our efforts, our devotion, our faith, all that we offered in His name—He regarded it as no more than a trifling amusement!"
Yet the answer he gave her was hatred, and hatred alone. Hatred for the retainers who had abandoned her. Hatred for Charles VII. Hatred for those who had not tried to save her.
And at the last, hatred for God Himself. Nothing but hatred.
Yes. Just like the emotions within herself.
Gilles clenched his fist so hard he could scarcely contain his rage, railing against God for a moment before turning back to Jeanne d'Arc Alter with a gentle smile once more.
"That is why we deny God. Is that not so, Jeanne?"
"....."
"Jeanne?"
"Ha... haha... Yes. That is right. You are right, Gilles. There is nothing left in me now."
"Just so, Jeanne! Come, then—let us go at once and to that hateful representative of God—"
Thrust.
Gilles, who had turned away from Jeanne d'Arc Alter and was pouring forth his hatred toward God, suddenly froze as the wet sound of flesh being pierced reached his ears and agony followed after it.
He looked down in disbelief at the black banner, emblazoned with a dragon, that had pierced his spiritual core and burst through his body.
"Kuh... Jeanne...? Why—"
"That is what I ought to ask, Gilles. Why did you manipulate me?"
".....!"
At Jeanne d'Arc Alter's words, Gilles's eyes flew wide. Seeing that look—the look of one asking how she had known—Jeanne d'Arc Alter smiled, wicked and yet touched with sorrow.
"The gaps in my memory. The fragments that remain, all seen through a third person's eyes. The fact that my emotions are made of hatred alone. Is that answer enough?"
"...Kuhk."
"Then now I shall ask again. Gilles—which of us is real? Me, or that woman?"
"......Jeanne."
"Who is the true one?"
"...."
Gilles could not answer. Seeing him thus, Jeanne d'Arc Alter let out a hollow laugh.
"Ha. I can tell from your face alone. Gilles... I did not wish to believe it. I truly did not. And yet you as well have betrayed me."
"Kuh... Jeanne!"
"Do not call me by that name."
"Gah!"
Jeanne d'Arc Alter spoke in a voice cold as winter and violently tore the bannerstaff free. Gilles collapsed to the ground without strength.
Even as blood spilled from his lips and his body began to fade, Gilles barely managed to lift his head and look toward Jeanne d'Arc Alter.
"I-I am sorry... Jeanne, I—"
Crunch.
He did not continue. Jeanne d'Arc Alter crushed the dissolving Gilles's head beneath her heel, then bent and seized the golden grail that remained where he vanished.
"If I am a counterfeit... then I shall become the genuine article."
If France, if the whole world, sought to prevent it, then she would burn France and the world alike.
Even if that meant slaying the true one. All who stood in her path would be shattered without exception.
"Ahaha, ahahaha, ahahahahahaha—!"
Jeanne d'Arc Alter broke into wild laughter. One hand clutched at her head; tears streamed from her eyes, yet her mouth continued to spill forth that mad peal of mirth.
"Haha... ha..."
Then something came to mind, and her laughter slowly died away. A single name passed her lips.
"...Elius."
That loathsome, infuriating knight of the Round Table—yet also the one who had made her understand what state she was truly in. And Chaldea, the organization to which he belonged.
As she recalled that knight and that order, who had thwarted her time and again, she swore vengeance for the first time not with hatred and wrath borrowed from another, but with emotions born from herself alone.
She turned to the two Servants who had approached at the sound of her laughter and spoke.
"...Berserk Berserker, and Berserk Assassin. Prepare to march. We shall erase Chaldea from this France without leaving so much as a trace."
"Grrrrrrrrrrr..."
"Understood."
As they stepped outside, the evil dragon Fafnir descended beside them. Mounting upon its back, they took wing toward the Servants believed to be of Chaldea.
**
"...I have an ill feeling."
I brushed a hand across my arm at that inexplicable chill, then continued along the road as though it were nothing.
After that, nothing of note occurred. There had been no end of chatter and commotion, but in the end it merely meant that Kiyohime and Elizabeth Bathory had joined our company.
Having confirmed one another's allegiance, we resolved to make for Lyon, as Saint Martha had advised. If, as she said, a dragon-slayer capable of opposing the witch Jeanne d'Arc was there, then such a one would surely be of great aid to us.
Yet we could not remain hidden from the Dragon Witch forever. And when one considered that the Incineration of Human Order allowed us only limited time, it was plainly best to resolve matters with all haste.
All of us shared that same judgment, and so we set out for Lyon without delay.
For a time, it seemed matters were proceeding smoothly.
"Say... so, really, won't you reconsider becoming my manager? I'd treat you well! What was it called, a concert? If you're my manager, I could give you special treatment for that too, you know?"
"How dare you! Pray cease clinging to my Lord Anchin. Else this Kiyohime shall burn you to cinders."
"...Good grief."
Yes. It would have been smooth, had it not been for those two.
I pressed a hand to my brow and let out a long sigh as I watched Kiyohime and Elizabeth Bathory glare at one another and quarrel at my side.
Ever since our departure, and all the way until now as Lyon drew near, those two had fought noisily without cease. They were the chief culprits devouring my peace of mind.
"...You must be pleased, Elius. You are quite popular."
"...Indeed. Two women fighting over Elius. You must be delighted, mustn't you?"
"......"
Jeanne and Ritsuka smiled as they spoke to me, yet their eyes were colder than ice.
Seeing that, I carefully averted my gaze from the two of them.
Even so, I was not the greatest victim here. True, I had suffered enough in spirit, but there was another who had it worse.
Beside the noble queen of France stood a certain musician, who clapped both hands over his ears and cried out.
"Ghk... my ears are dying... these blasted creatures—"
"Amadeus!"
At Marie's cry, Mozart—still covering his ears—blinked as though he had only just remembered something.
"Ah, right. Sorry, Marie. I forgot what I promised... but Marie, do understand. That is an insult to every sound in this world, to every note ever born!"
"Amadeus, we shall soon arrive in Lyon, so endure just a little longer. Look, I can already see it. We need only reach there. Surely you can bear that much?"
Where Marie pointed, there stood, at a distance visible only to Servants, what appeared to be the walls of a fortress-city.
At the sight of it, Mozart sighed as though he had no choice in the matter.
"Haaah... if you ask it of me, Marie, then I shall endure."
"Mm! Thank you!"
"Well... but is this truly all right? Even to me, who am no Servant of battle, those walls do not look sound in the slightest."
"It seems the same to me. Then the information we obtained in that village was true."
"...."
At Marie's words, all of us nodded with grim faces. On the road here, Marie's easy charm had won us information from a village we passed through.
They had told us that Lyon had fallen not long ago, and that the village was now home to refugees who had fled from the city.
As we drew nearer, the broken and collapsed walls came fully into view, and by their ruin it seemed the report of Lyon's destruction had indeed been true.
And as though to drive that conclusion home, Romani in Chaldea spoke over the communicator.
"...I can't detect any life signs inside. It looks certain that the city of Lyon has been destroyed."
"Then can you detect a Servant's presence?"
We had come to Lyon in search of the dragon-slayer Servant. If Lyon had fallen and the dragon-slayer had perished in the process, then our journey would have been for nothing. We had to know.
"A Servant? Hold on."
At my question, Romani tapped at something in his hand. A short while later, as though he had found what he sought, he spoke again.
"It's faint, but I am detecting a Servant reaction. The problem is, the signal is weak and the equipment has its limits, so I can't pinpoint the exact location. You'll probably have to search in person."
"So long as one exists, that is enough. Then this was not a fruitless journey."
"That is a relief, Senpai."
"Yes, Mash."
At Romani's report, I gave a nod, and both Ritsuka and Mash showed plain relief upon their faces.
"Then let us make haste. We have no time to linger here."
"Yes!"
"Understood!"
We hurried into the city. As expected, the sight within was dreadful. Houses lay broken and burned on every side, bearing the marks of ruin and flame.
"...A scene of utter desolation."
"...Doctor, you said there were no life signs, but just in case, could you scan once more for biological reactions—"
Bzzt...
"Doctor?"
Bzzt...
Mash called again, but only static answered from the communicator. Seeing that, she slowly shook her head.
"My apologies. It seems the connection is poor. In that case, let us split up and search for the 'dragon-slayer' of whom Saint Martha spoke."
All agreed with Mash's proposal, and we scattered throughout the ruined city in search of the dragon-slayer.