The Girl Called the Saint (2)
Protect the girl who became the scapegoat of the Hundred Years' War.
The quest the status window had given me.
I hadn't understood what it meant at first.
After all, the saint Joan of Arc was the girl of miracles.
She wasn't someone who needed protecting—she was the one who protected others.
But now I understood.
Joan of Arc wasn't protecting anyone. She was sacrificing herself.
Stigmata.
A crimson mark shaped like an angel's wings was etched across the girl's back.
Every time she waved her banner, red blood would trickle from those wings.
The more soldiers whose wounds she healed, the more blood flowed from the wings.
Christ's Wounds, known as the highest-grade light-attribute awakening ability.
Stigmata.
Another name for it was the holy mark.
Yet the only person the Vatican had ever officially recognized as bearing stigmata was Saint Francis of Assisi.
Saint Francis of Assisi had witnessed a vision on Mount La Verna of Jesus Christ in the form of a six-winged seraph imprinting the stigmata upon him after years of asceticism and fasting prayers. Upon waking from the vision, the same angelic wings had appeared on Francis's back.
However, Saint Francis of Assisi had never bled once, nor had he suffered any side effects.
It's fake.
The stigmata carved into Joan of Arc's back had been artificially implanted by someone.
A counterfeit stigmata created to maximize the power of the saint's banner.
"……"
The girl bearing the stigmata looked exhausted.
She was plagued by severe fatigue and winced in pain whenever a stone thrown by the enemy struck her.
It was different from what history recorded.
The Joan of Arc written in history was an invincible superhuman, a warrior of God whom no one could doubt.
Even when an arrow pierced her neck and she collapsed, even when a flying stone struck her head, even when she leapt from a great height—
Joan of Arc would appear on the battlefield the next day, completely unharmed.
That sight, like witnessing Christ's resurrection, boosted the morale of her allies and instilled terror in the English.
Until the very end of the Hundred Years' War, when she was captured by the English, branded a witch, and led to the stake.
She had been an invincible warrior of God.
Yet……
The Joan of Arc I was seeing now was nothing more than a frail girl writhing in pain.
She didn't show it outwardly, but I could feel that she was suffering.
It was only because she was accustomed to pain and unskilled at expressing it that it didn't show.
Could this girl truly survive all the countless crises recorded in the history books?
Impossible.
Even with the saint's banner, it was a banner that required Joan of Arc's sacrifice as its premise.
Using it to heal herself would only bring more suffering.
A banner of sacrifice that devoured life in exchange for surviving mortal peril.
—Thank you, Saint.
—Thanks to you, I'm healed.
The girl could ease others' pain, but she only endured and suppressed her own.
It was a far cry from the warrior of God, Joan of Arc, that history described.
What had happened?
Had history lied?
The official history that France and England had cross-verified?
Many suspicions arose, but they were all mere speculation.
There was only one certainty.
Protect the girl who became the scapegoat of the Hundred Years' War.
The fact that I had to protect Joan of Arc.
Step, step.
I approached Joan of Arc.
It was late at night, bathed in moonlight.
The girl sat by the lakeshore, exposing the stigmata on her back as she suffered alone.
A saint must never show weakness.
Since raising her allies' morale was the saint's role, Joan of Arc would endure her pain alone in empty spaces like this.
"Jeanne."
"Seojun-nim?"
Her violet pupils trembled, as if she hadn't known I was watching.
I raised a hand to stop Joan of Arc from trying to cover her back.
"Stay still for a moment."
I took a mana potion out of my subspace backpack.
It was a recovery potion Kim Hayun had given me as a gift before I came to this world.
I opened the lid and carefully poured it over Joan of Arc's back.
Joan of Arc instinctively frowned, perhaps recalling the pain when holy water had touched her.
But the recovery potion that touched her back produced an effect completely different from holy water.
The bleeding stopped, new flesh filled in, and the wounds of the stigmata faded.
As expected from a gift given by the team leader of Yeomyeong-ui Seongjwa, the potion was top-grade.
That must cost millions per bottle.
It was an excessively good gift.
Joan of Arc, who had been grimacing in anticipation of pain, widened her eyes in surprise.
"What did you use?"
"An expensive holy water."
"Is it all right to use something like that on me?"
"Of course. I'm here to help you, Jeanne."
"To help me?"
"Yes. You came to my store first, didn't you?"
"……"
"It's a place not just anyone can find."
Jeanne wore a puzzled expression, as if she didn't understand, but it didn't matter.
"If it hurts, don't endure it—come to me, Jeanne. You don't need to worry about the bishop's eyes."
I had no intention of explaining my ability to her.
"You're the only one who can enter my store."
After I finished speaking, I looked at the stigmata and saw that the potion had already been fully absorbed into her skin.
However, it hadn't completely healed, so leaving it alone would likely cause it to worsen.
An incompletely closed wound would sting terribly if it rubbed against clothing.
"We'll need to wrap it."
"……?"
I took an emergency bandage from my bag and wrapped it around Joan of Arc's back.
When the startled Joan of Arc tried to stand, I pressed down on her shoulder.
"Stay still. If you leave it like this, it'll get infected."
"Eut!"
I wrapped the bandage tightly enough that the stigmata couldn't be seen.
*
To protect Joan of Arc, I needed to stay by her side.
Fortunately, that wasn't difficult.
Though it was only formal, Joan of Arc, as the saint, possessed the authority of a commander.
Thanks to Joan of Arc's permission, I could stay by her side without issue.
There had been some opposition, but the saint's authority silenced it all.
"Time to change it."
On days when there was a battle, I would treat Joan of Arc's stigmata every night when she came to the store and change her bandages.
Thanks to that, the risk of Joan of Arc suffering from the stigmata's side effects had decreased.
But treating the stigmata alone won't be enough.
History recorded that Joan of Arc faced death three times.
Joan of Arc overcame all three deaths and came to be called the miraculous saint.
And the first of those deaths was approaching in two days.
—May 7th, the siege of the Tourelles fortress.
Joan of Arc would be sniped by an English archer's arrow, her neck pierced through.
Yet even after being shot through the neck by an arrow fired from a longbow with 70kg of draw weight, Joan of Arc would wash the wound with olive oil and participate in battle the next day, completely unharmed.
It would be the first death the girl of miracles would face.
"Jeanne, be careful of arrows in the battle two days from now."
As I wrapped the bandage around her, passing under her arm, I warned her about the arrow that would come flying.
"An arrow?"
"Yes. An arrow will fly aiming for your neck, Jeanne."
Joan of Arc looked like she didn't quite believe it, but simply being aware was enough.
I would be the one to stop it.
*
The siege of the Tourelles fortress began with the French army's attack.
"Advance! Advance!"
"Set up the ladders!"
"Uwaaaah!"
As soldiers carrying siege ladders rushed toward the walls, arrows rained down from above.
Joan of Arc waved her banner in the very center of that battlefield.
"Don't be afraid! The saint is with us!"
"Waaaah!"
The French army's morale soared to the heavens at the saint's presence. However, contrary to expectations, the battle turned unfavorable.
Though the soldiers charged in human-wave tactics, they couldn't set up ladders against the walls.
—The moat.
The walls had been dug deep in front and filled with water, making it impossible to approach them.
The soldiers had to stop before the moat, which had been carved wide and deep like a river.
As the stalemate continued, the priest assisting Bishop Cambrai spoke.
"Your Excellency, it seems we won't be able to enter Tourelles today."
"Then we can only hope for a miracle of Christ."
Even as he said they couldn't enter Tourelles, Bishop Cambrai wore a benevolent smile.
He had mentioned a "miracle."
At that, the assisting priest quietly withdrew.
A moment later, French knights began charging toward the moat.
Among them were many holy knights who had been guarding Joan of Arc.
The English soldiers watching from the walls wouldn't miss this.
"The saint's surroundings are empty!"
"Aim for the saint!"
"Fire!"
When Joan of Arc's guards decreased, a rain of arrows flew toward her.
Most arrows failed to reach Joan of Arc and fell short, but several were threatening.
And one of them flew toward Joan of Arc at a terrifying speed.
It was an arrow shot by an awakener the English had hidden.
"Protect the saint!"
"Stop them from shooting!"
The startled knights hurriedly turned to protect Joan of Arc, but it was too late to block the arrow.
Shwaaaaaak—!
The arrow, infused with mana, scattered a piercing sound as it aimed for Joan of Arc.
Bishop Cambrai quietly watched the situation.
"Block it!"
The guards protecting the saint drew their swords.
In that moment of crisis.
The arrow looked as though it would pierce through the knights and impale Joan of Arc at any moment.
Taang—!
However, the arrow never reached Joan of Arc. Sparks flew as it was deflected.
The knights who had been late to arrive returned, and a solid wall was once again formed around Joan of Arc.
Taang—! Taang—!
The archers on the walls collapsed one after another like dominoes.
Taang—! Taang—!
Bishop Cambrai's gaze turned toward the source of the noise.
"……"
There stood Choi Seojun, shooting down the archers on the walls with Napoleon's Rifle.