Joan of Arc's will is unquestionable, and neither the insults from her past enemies nor the burning of her body at the stake could shake her in the slightest.
The feeling of guilt is unquestionable, but being able to resist this feeling of guilt is beyond the reach of ordinary people.
But, in the end, this happened.
The dark stone room was filled with a foul stench.
In the center is a luxurious bed, and on the table next to it are countless cut-out children's heads.
The ground was filled with countless carcasses that originally belonged to them.
While half was fresh, the other half was starting to rot.
But the fact that he bleeds and dies with an expression of despair is the same.
With his thin cheeks and eyes shining with brilliant madness, the bravery of the past was gone, replaced by an appearance full of despair and hatred.
After the burning scene, such a familiar figure appeared in front of Joan of Arc.
Gildray, Joan of Arc's comrade-in-arms.
"Oh, isn't this Joan of Arc?
What's wrong?
Why do you come to a place like this?"
They greeted each other easily, as before, they were the closest comrades, invincible on the battlefield.
However, what he held in his hands broke Joan's previous impression of him.
Those were heads, the heads of children.
The immature faces still showed the fear before death.
They must have suffered a lot of torture during their lifetimes.
If Atalanta were still here, she would probably go berserk immediately after seeing this scene.
Anyone who sees this will probably not be indifferent, and the same goes for Joan of Arc.
The hands holding the holy flag clenched involuntarily.
She knew what her friend did after her death.
Of course, it is only in terms of knowledge.
Followers will gain basic modern common sense when they appear in the world, which is absolutely unavoidable content when discussing themselves.
However, things that you experience personally always have the greatest impact on you.
"That's enough.
End this scene now.
It's a pity that he started to behave badly because of my death.
But, I" "Let me tell you something good.
This Gil is not a troupe puppet like those who can only speak the lines I specified.
Gildrey can think with his own will and corrode the world with his own will.
The hero is the familiar servant summoned by my red caster."
An unexpected answer, this answer even made Jeanne's body freeze.
"Servant is so ridiculous.
You are obviously a Servant.
How can you still summon a Servant?"
"As long as he is the owner of this garden, there is no problem at all.
But even so, he is not a being who has been given a job.
Since you are Ruer, you should understand that he only reproduces Gildre's soul, and the outer shell is just He’s just a fragile old man.”
It was a huge impact, and this scene was even more incomparable than all the previous ones put together.
"Caster on the red side, what is your purpose in doing this?"
"You only need to ask him about that.
Baron, you must have something to say."
"Jill"
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With difficulty, Jeanne uttered the name of her best friend.
"Long time no see, Joan of Arc, I just happened to be preparing new material, would you like to take a look?"
Just as he was talking, Gill raised the head in his hand as if nothing had happened.
The face full of fear and distortion seemed to be shouting silently, and the smell of blood was spreading in the air.
"Jill, stop it.
You shouldn't be like this.
You should be a hero, someone who is admired by the people, instead of falling here for me, a person who has died long ago."
The former hero became a murderer and a blasphemer obsessed with black magic.
In the end, he was nailed to the pillar of shame in history and was despised by people as a synonym for murderer.
However, all this is because of his own death.
Because of his own death, his comrades will complete this series of transformations, complete this series of shocking events, and finally usher in a tragic ending.
I am responsible for all this.
Responsible.
He said this in a somewhat gaffeful tone, even though it had no meaning, he and he had already died and had become a part of human history.
"Do you think I became like this because of your death?"
At the unexpected answer, Jeanne couldn't help but raise her head.
"You are so kind.
No one can compare with your noble soul.
No matter it is the legendary king or the legendary hero in history, they cannot compare to you in the slightest.
But, but those so-called gods, But I took you away.
You believed in the so-called Lord so devoutly, but those superior beings watched you buried in the flames.
The reason why I did this was to allow you to return to the world again.
Come back to me in this world."
Already crazy, anyone who sees the look of Jill in front of them will probably have this idea involuntarily.
"You shouldn't turn a blind eye to the harm this world has done to you, but you should hate it, burn everything in this world with the flame of hatred, and take revenge on those beings who hurt you.
This is what you should do, Joan of Arc."
Crazy words came out of Gill's mouth.
He is now in his later years, which is the most crazy period.
The moment he saw Joan of Arc, his twisted mind completely exploded, and his eyes even protruded like frogs, making his face look even more terrifying, or more in line with people's impression of a perverted murderer.
"Jill" Facing her former comrades, Jeanne didn't know what to do.
Shakespeare watched the play honestly on the sidelines.
This was perhaps his favorite thing.
There were so many things that interested him in this Holy Grail War, whether it was the meeting again between the legendary king and the rebellious knight, or the duel between master and apprentice in Greek mythology, they all made him feel relaxed and happy.
For a writer, all these things It is unparalleled material.
However, due to various reasons, he was unable to witness all this in person.
However, this time is different.
This time the material was contributed by him personally.
Think about it, what could be more interesting for a originally noble saint to see her former comrades who have fallen because of her?
Thinking like this, inspiration keeps emerging, and I write vigorously to describe what will happen.
Everything is so beautiful.
What kind of play would be better to write?
Tragedy.
After all, the most shocking drama is tragedy, right?
Thinking of this, Shakespeare's pen speeded up a bit again.
Infinite Sword System Wreaking Dimension
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