The Weight of the Crown
It was an unfamiliar space.
A small room containing nothing but a single desk.
Jeanne opened her eyes in a place too modest to be called a study and too cramped to serve as a reception room.
She tried to turn her head and examine the room, but her body refused to obey.
What on earth is happening?
While Jeanne struggled to make sense of the situation, a sudden sound shattered the silence.
Bang!
Someone slammed a hand down on the desk right in front of her.
"Gerard has gone mad! What are you still hesitating for?"
At the voice, Jeanne—more precisely, the body her consciousness now inhabited—lifted her head.
The speaker was a strikingly handsome man.
Beneath his brilliant golden hair, eyes burning with fierce resolve urged her onward.
"Only you can decide, Charles."
Not her. He was speaking to Charles.
A voice slipped from Jeanne's lips.
"Laurent, can't you wait just a little longer?"
It was a low, dignified tone.
Though the sound of her own voice should have startled her, Jeanne's attention was fixed entirely on the names exchanged in their conversation.
Charles. And Laurent.
Names every citizen of Bluisol knew, even children who had only just begun to speak.
They belonged to Charlemagne, the founding Great King of Bluisol, and one of his twelve knights.
"Wait? Stand by and watch? Are you the one who's lost his mind? How long are you going to keep waiting?"
Laurent's voice rose with each word.
"When Gerard doubled the taxes, you said we should wait. When he forced people into labor to build his villa, you claimed he would soon come to his senses. And now that wretch has even proclaimed the right of the first night as law? Does he intend to claim every woman in this country for himself? His tyranny only grows worse by the day. When exactly is he going to regain his sanity?"
Leaning over the desk with both hands planted on its surface, the red gem set into the cross at his throat swayed with his movement. It was the rosary that symbolized Laurent, the most virtuous and devout of knights.
Charles listened in silence, pressing one hand against his throbbing temple.
When no reply came, Laurent's expression twisted. At last he spat out in a low, bitter voice.
"If you won't do it, then I will."
"……"
Charles could not bring himself to answer.
Laurent turned away.
The door closed behind him.
"Haa……"
Left alone, Charles let out a deep sigh and lowered his head.
Upon the desk lay his sword, Joyeuse.
These were turbulent times.
With the royal family proving incompetent, pretenders had risen throughout the land.
Most were little more than bandit chieftains, yet Gerard, who had gathered power in the Aquitaine region, stood among them as a hero among heroes.
With his gentle demeanor, unwavering sense of justice, and remarkable character, he had drawn people to his cause.
Charles was one of Gerard's knights.
"Where did it all go wrong?"
Charles's anguish flowed into Jeanne.
He had been a loyal retainer who followed Gerard since boyhood. Yet several years ago, Gerard had begun to change.
Not content with declaring himself king, Gerard now called himself the Messiah, seizing every shred of power and tightening his grip on the people.
Taking a different woman to his chambers each night had become routine, and anyone who displeased him was executed on the spot.
Tomorrow, an order would be issued to disband all troops except Gerard's personal soldiers.
The decree would strip every knight and soldier of their arms, permitting weapons only with Gerard's explicit permission.
Once enforced, Charles too would have to lay down his sword, leaving him at Gerard's mercy like a fly before a spider.
Charles gazed once more at Joyeuse resting before him. Jeanne, possessing his body, found her eyes drawn to the blade as well.
"I… I cannot raise my sword against him, Laurent."
Even if the world condemned Gerard, to Charles he remained the lifelong benefactor who had taken him in and raised him—the lord he was bound to serve.
His loyalty as a knight endured, and as one man to another, he still believed in him.
That was why he clung to the faint hope that Gerard might yet regain his senses.
Charles's doubts only deepened.
He spent the entire night awake in the study.
So lost was he in thought that he failed to notice the passing of time until sunlight streamed through the window.
"Something terrible has happened!"
A knight burst in at dawn, searching urgently for Charles.
"What is it?"
"Lord Laurent……"
The young knight delivering the report could not hide his tears.
Charles hurried after him.
In the courtyard stood a shabby cart. Upon it lay a single body covered by a coarse cloth.
Charles carefully drew the cloth aside.
Laurent lay there, his entire body drenched in blood.
The wounds were so brutal that scarcely a single part of him remained untouched.
Only the rosary around his neck proved that the corpse was Laurent.
Thud.
Charles dropped to his knees before Laurent's body.
"Laurent……"
The eleven knights who had followed Charles gathered around him.
He reached out with trembling hands and took the dead man's hand.
"Because of me… this is what became of you, Laurent. Because of my incompetence."
Laurent had been Charles's cousin and the knight he cherished most.
Kind, protective of the weak, and unfailingly just, Laurent had been beloved by the people.
Gerard had murdered him without mercy, claiming his popularity threatened Gerard's own power.
In truth, Laurent had been sacrificed in Charles's place.
My indecision killed you.
Charles blamed himself.
The Charles who would one day become a strict, decisive king capable of firm judgment when needed—this Charles was now lost in agonizing doubt.
From within him, from his perspective, Jeanne felt a deep empathy, as though the burden were her own.
Charles's hesitation stirred a sense of déjà vu within her.
"Please become our king."
Before her regression, Divine had urged her to rebel and take the throne.
He had said that he had already prepared everything; all she needed to do was decide.
In the end, I could not make that decision.
Jeanne recalled that moment as she watched Charles wrestle with his choice.
Charles took Laurent's rosary and fastened it around his own neck. The crimson gem gleamed brilliantly, just as the conviction Laurent had held until his final breath.
Then Charles grasped the hilt of Joyeuse at his waist.
When he rose, his eyes were clear and unwavering.
"I have held a sword since the age of five. Though it may sound arrogant, I have never once felt lacking in my skill with the blade."
The knights leaned in, hanging on his every word. Charles swept his gaze over them and spoke with conviction.
"That belief remains unchanged. If I wished only to protect the one person before me, this single sword would suffice. Yet I know that to protect the countless people suffering under tyranny, a sword alone is not enough."
Charles clenched his fist.
"What we need to protect everyone… is the crown."
From Charles's words, Jeanne understood.
Ah.
The difference between what a knight could accomplish and what a king could accomplish was vast.
She was moved by Charles's resolve to wear the crown in order to save the many.
Sometimes, boldness was required.
Charles drew Joyeuse and raised it high.
"Now is the time to raise our swords for justice!"
It was both Charles's declaration and Jeanne's own.
"We accept our lord's command."
The knights knelt on one knee and swore their loyalty to Charles.
Until now they had stood as equals in name, but a clear hierarchy had been established.
Before dawn, Charles and his twelve knights set out for Gerard's castle.
"Return safely."
The soldier guarding the gates opened them without resistance.
It was a testament to Charles's immense popularity—and to how thoroughly Gerard had lost the people's trust.
Charles and his knights entered the castle without incident.
Even Gerard's personal soldiers, who should have barred their path, stepped aside, making additional troops unnecessary.
"What is the meaning of this!"
Charles strode straight into Gerard's chambers and pressed his sword against the throat of the man who had only just awakened.
"This ends here."
"Guards! Is no one there? Seize these treacherous—"
"No one will come to your aid now."
Gerard ground his teeth and glared at Charles.
"How dare you… How dare you do this to me!"
Charles spoke calmly.
"Step down from that seat."
Jeanne moved as Charles, sword in hand, pointing, striking.
To wield a sword meant shouldering responsibility for all the people, not merely one individual.
She felt she finally understood what it meant to possess Joyeuse.
***
In an instant, the scenery before her eyes changed.
Jeanne immediately recognized where she was.
It was the room in the tower where she had spent her time until the moment of her regression.
"Please become our king."
Now she wanted to answer Divine. She wanted to say that she would become his king.
But this was merely a fragment of memory. There was no room for Jeanne to intervene.
"I cannot. If I raise an army, the people who have already suffered through a long war will be the ones to pay the price."
"If Philippe VII remains on the throne as he is, the people will suffer even more."
"But I… I cannot do it. I'm sorry."
"…Understood. Please take care of your health."
Watching Divine depart in disappointment, Jeanne felt a deeper regret than she had at the time.
The present Jeanne, existing in a state akin to a spirit, observed her past self and Divine from the perspective of a third party.
Witnessing her own actions proved far more painful than watching the affairs of a stranger like Charles.
"Divine Dragopoly. You are sentenced to death for the crimes of disturbing the state, inciting rebellion, and treason."
After leaving Jeanne, Divine had been condemned to death in his own country's trial.
He offered no appeal. No matter what measures he took, he had already fallen out of the king's favor, and the verdict could not be overturned. Moreover, it was true that he had attempted to incite rebellion by placing Jeanne on the throne.
Once the trial concluded, the sentence was carried out without delay.
Divine was hanged before a crowd of onlookers.
Because his crime was treason, even his corpse was denied dignity and was strung up on the city walls for public spectacle.
Jeanne could not tear her eyes from Divine's body, tongue lolling as it dangled from the rope.
At the time she had only been able to watch from afar, but now the scene felt close enough to touch.
You died because of me as well.
Though the sight was so horrific she wished to look away, Jeanne forced herself to watch Divine's end and etch it into her memory.
Some time later, Rotinzel demanded Jeanne's surrender as part of the peace treaty, citing the suffering she had inflicted upon them.
The king handed her over to the enemy without hesitation.
Once delivered to the enemy, Jeanne endured countless hardships before finally being burned alive at the stake.
Even in that final moment, she had not regretted her choice.
I thought I had no regrets, but perhaps that was not true.
Jeanne looked honestly into her own heart.
Would it have been better to endure civil war in order to stop Philippe VII's rampage?
Diego, who had already died in the war, had his grave desecrated, his family stripped of their property, and reduced to slavery.
Raphael, the vassal who had opposed sending Jeanne to Rotinzel, relinquished his position and retreated to the mountains.
Ethan, the knight who had always sworn loyalty to her, had charged into the royal castle with his sword drawn, declaring he would kill the king, only to be shot dead on the spot.
What she had believed was the beginning had not been the beginning, and what she had believed was the end had not been the end.
Even while she was imprisoned in the tower, even after she was sent to Rotinzel, people who followed her—whether openly or in secret—had sacrificed themselves at every moment she had not known.
Only after witnessing scenes she had never seen before did she understand.
Until now, she had been blind with her eyes open.
Jeanne asked herself once more.
Did I truly have no regrets?
She could not know what happened after her death, but she had believed that those capable individuals would manage somehow.
Yet reality had diverged sharply from her expectations.
Watching the deaths of those she cherished with her own eyes, Jeanne felt as though her heart were being torn apart.
She had never imagined it would be this horrific.
And it was not only the people who had followed Jeanne who suffered.
The king imposed heavy taxes and forced labor upon the people in the name of rebuilding the castle.
Rotinzel, having signed the peace treaty, watched for any opportunity to swallow Bluisol whole.
Seeing it all from the outside now, she felt even more keenly how complacent her thinking had been.
But things were different now.
Time had been turned back, granting her the chance to correct her mistakes.
This time, she had to choose more carefully, more wisely, and more rightly.
She projected the past onto the present.
How many of her people had she lost helplessly?
She had failed to protect them then, but now she must.
"I will never repeat the same mistake."
Sensation slowly returned.
Jeanne awakened to reality.