MTLNOVEL Chapter 22
The bow cannot defeat the gun.
In every aspect—speed, range, destructive power, rate of fire—the gun utterly dominates the bow.
Above all else……
Ding!
[A battlefield aura has been detected.]
[Napoleon’s Rifle has unlocked its abilities.]
[General Napoleon of Grape Shot]
[Accuracy: Increased by 60%]
I had in my possession a one-of-a-kind relic.
Tang─!
Napoleon’s rifle, with its accuracy boosted by 60%, shot down the arrow aimed at Joan of Arc.
The startled archer quickly tried to nock another arrow, but…
Tang─!
The bullet struck true, piercing the archer’s forehead and sending him plummeting below the castle walls.
The time it took for him to draw back the bowstring with its 70kg tension could’ve let me fire ten shots from Napoleon’s rifle—and still have time left over.
Tang─! Tang─! Tang─!
I eliminated every archer that posed a threat to Joan of Arc.
Of course, arrows weren’t the only things targeting Joan of Arc.
“There’s the Maid!”
“Seize the Maid!”
Realizing they wouldn’t win if Joan of Arc remained alive, the English army abandoned their fortifications and charged directly at her.
But this was not my concern.
For Joan of Arc had exceptional knights sworn to protect her.
“Sir Gilles.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
A pale-faced knight stepped forward.
Gilles de Rais.
Joan of Arc’s closest knight, who tragically turned to dark magic after being traumatized when she was burned as a witch.
But right now, Gilles was nothing short of an outstanding holy knight.
And there were others too—Duke Alençon, Jean de Dunois, La Hire—all heroes of the Hundred Years’ War stood beside her.
They formed an unshakable iron wall against the advancing English forces.
Joan of Arc survived not just because of her own brilliance, but also thanks to the dedication of these remarkable knights.
That way,
“The gates of Tourelles have opened!”
“Charge!”
Joan of Arc surpassed her first death.
*
After surpassing her first death, Joan of Arc continued to face numerous threats.
Arrows flew, assassins came and went, and poison was delivered.
Yet none of these dangers managed to bring her down.
It wasn’t a miracle of the maiden.
“Joan, you must wear your helmet today.”
“I understand.”
At her side was someone who knew the future.
Kaaang─!
A rock from the trebuchet aimed at the girl’s head ricocheted off Yi Sun-sin’s helmet.
Tang─!
An arrow aimed at her knee was neutralized by a bullet.
Puhk─!
The soldier trying to push her off the battlements with her banner got his skull cracked instead.
Death.
Death.
Death.
Three recorded deaths in history passed her by. The girl transcended them all—not through “miracles,” but through her own strength and my help.
And now, the final death awaited her.
The death that would complete the saga of the Maiden.
Her execution by burning.
*
As dusk fell on the Loire Riverbank, many wounded knights and soldiers lay injured.
They were prisoners of war from England and Burgundy captured by France.
Squeeeek!
“G-gracias, Lady Saint.”
Joan of Arc tended to the wounded soldiers from the war—both allies and English prisoners alike.
She showed no distinction between friend or foe as she cared for the injured.
From the early dawn until the evening sky turned red, she tirelessly treated the wounded, staining her hands and clothes with blood.
Squeeeek!
“Kuuuh, t-thank you.”
Pouring holy water onto a bleeding knee saved an English prisoner’s life.
The man’s pale face regained some color.
Already this morning, the girl had saved over two hundred lives.
“That’s enough, Joan.”
Someone approached Joan as she treated another man.
A kind-looking middle-aged man. Bishop Cambrai. He smiled benevolently and raised his hand.
Then one of the knights accompanying the bishop plunged a spear into the chest of the man Joan was treating.
Fwuuk─!
The man died pointlessly.
Joan’s eyes wavered.
“Why…”
“We didn’t receive ransom money for the prisoners.”
Bishop Cambrai comforted Joan with a sorrowful expression.
“It’s unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do, Joan. Since we didn’t receive payment, we must grant them a merciful death.”
“….”
“Surely they’ve peacefully ascended to the Lord’s side.”
Bishop Cambrai’s words were cruel, but they weren’t wrong.
The idea that killing prisoners is cruel only became widely accepted less than a hundred years ago in modern times.
The Geneva Convention, which stated prisoners should be treated humanely, was established in 1864, and agreements containing human rights concepts were born after World War II in 1949.
Before then, prisoners were considered the property of the victors, and how they were dealt with was entirely up to the victor’s discretion.
Of course, even considering this, Bishop Cambrai’s decision was undeniably cruel…
“We must send them to their eternal rest as mercifully as possible.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Bishop Cambrai justified the massacre with the guise of “mercy.”
That day, the Loire Riverbank turned crimson with thousands of bodies.
The moment rumors spread that Joan was a “witch.”
*
“You needn’t worry about public rumors, Joan.”
I consoled Joan as I changed the bandages on her stigmata wounds.
Thanks to her efforts, the French army reclaimed Paris, but rumors began circulating that Joan of Arc was a witch.
The massacre at the Loire Riverbank had spread across both French and English lines.
What started as “The French army killed prisoners” grew into exaggerated tales like “The Maiden slaughtered prisoners.”
Despite Joan tirelessly treating prisoners, the truth was overshadowed by the spreading rumors.
Even among the French citizens, there were those who feared Joan as a witch.
Of course, it was a rumor unworthy of attention.
Because very few actually believed she was a witch.
“The fact that Joan isn’t a witch is known to everyone.”
It was merely a malicious rumor deliberately spread by England, but Joan was still regarded as the Maiden.
I gently brushed her bright blonde hair while wrapping her back with bandages.
“Have a good trip to the coronation, Joan.”
“Won’t you come with me, Sejun?”
“No, I’m not from here.”
Charles VII of France officially proclaimed himself king.
His coronation was set to take place in Paris, where Joan was scheduled to be ennobled.
“You’ll be fine with me.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I will wait here.”
I handed Joan over to Gilles waiting outside the door.
“Sir Gilles, please take care of the Maiden.”
Joan eventually left with a slightly disappointed look.
I gave a bitter smile but couldn’t help it.
Because I wasn’t meant to stay here forever.
Since I’d have to leave someday, I needed to keep my distance from Joan.
If I grew attached, it would be painful when it came time to leave.
So Joan departed for Paris to attend the coronation.
And never returned.
*
Joan of Arc, who was supposed to return from the coronation, didn’t show up after several days.
Meanwhile, Charles VII declared himself king, and the English army retreated from Paris.
“She’s late.”
One day, as I wondered why Joan hadn’t returned yet,
Kwang─!
The door to my assigned castle room burst open, and someone rushed in.
It was Gilles, the knight who had gone to Paris with Joan.
However, Gilles’ face was filled with rage.
Something was definitely wrong.
Standing up instinctively, I asked,
“What’s the matter, Sir Gilles?”
“The Maiden… Joan has been captured by the English bastards!”
“What? What are you talking about?”
I was shocked by the unexpected news.
Joan wasn’t supposed to be captured by the English yet.
There was still plenty of time before Charles VII betrayed her.
“Bishop Cambrai, that bastard handed Joan over to the English Church!”
Through Gilles’ angry explanation, I understood the situation.
Rumors calling Joan a witch had spread, and Bishop Cambrai was using them to put her on trial for heresy.
‘Trying to end the war.’
The Hundred Years’ War was destined to conclude with Joan of Arc’s noble sacrifice.
Agreed upon by both the French king, who found Joan increasingly burdensome, and the English, who feared her.
– Execution by burning.
The process might have twisted a bit, but history was repeating itself.
*
I immediately mounted my horse and headed to Paris, where Joan’s heresy trial was taking place.
Although Joan’s execution was a historical event that had to happen, I hadn’t expected it to unfold like this.
Bishop Cambrai’s current manipulation of the situation made me sick.
It felt downright dog-like.
He always hid behind a hypocritical benevolent smile, leaving Joan to suffer while he stayed safe in the background.
Even if this was “history,”
I couldn’t stand it.
But I couldn’t enter the Paris diocese where the heresy trial was being held.
“I’m sorry, but you cannot enter.”
“Why not?”
No matter how I questioned, the knight guarding the diocese refused to let me pass.
“Those who accompanied Joan d’Arc are considered flight risks, so we’ve been ordered not to let you in.”
As I contemplated whether to knock the knight out and force my way in,
A familiar face appeared from inside the diocese.
A kind-looking priest with a perpetual compassionate smile.
“What brings you here?”
It was Bishop Cambrai.
After hearing the situation from the knight, Bishop Cambrai spoke to me.
“Please, come in.”
As if bestowing mercy.
“I’ll guide you to Joan.”
Bishop Cambrai led me through the corridors of the diocese.
We arrived at a massive chapel where mass was being prayed.
“This isn’t the trial venue, is it?”
“You’ll be able to see Joan from here.”
“Your Grace.”
“Speak, Brother.”
“Why did you hand Joan over to the Church?”
“Didn’t you know, Your Grace, that Joan isn’t a witch?”
The massacre at the Loire River wasn’t caused by Joan but by Bishop Cambrai himself.
Joan had even treated the prisoners.
Yet the reason Joan faced heresy charges was due to the “witch” rumors stemming from the massacre.
“To end the long war lasting a hundred years.”
“For a hundred years, far too many people have died and been injured.”
Bishop Cambrai expressed his sincere feelings with a sad face.
“Though it pains me deeply, if the sacrifice of one person can save many, I am willing to do it.”
“…”
“Even if it means I fall into hell.”
It was the image of a true saint willing to descend into hell for his beliefs.
Staring intently at his conviction-filled face, I asked,
“Your Grace.”
“Speak.”
“How many times?”
“What do you mean?”
“How many saints, tell me, trash. How many have you killed?”