Chapter 12

The Duke of Lorraine had fought a civil war against his nephew, who coveted his title.

He failed to achieve any meaningful success in that conflict.

In the end, the prolonged civil war weakened the duke’s authority, leaving him unable to respond effectively to Burgundy’s schemes or the changes taking place in Domrémy.

It wasn’t that he simply chose not to provoke Domrémy.

There was a well-known saying in Lorraine:

“If you don’t want to die, don’t fight in Domrémy. They’re a race born for battle wearing human flesh.”

For that reason,

The village head of Maxey felt as though the sky had fallen when he heard the message delivered by the courier.

“Do-Domrémy’s Maxime summoned me? That monster of a village chief is going to kill me…!

This is so unfair… I’ve even overlooked all the trouble his people caused in my village just to avoid provoking them…!”

“He said if it’s inconvenient for you to come, he’s willing to come here himself.”

“I didn’t hear anything. I don’t know anything about Domrémy. Please, just shut up!”

“I’m just the messenger. Why are you taking it out on me…?”

“If anyone asks for me, tell them I’ve come down with a terrible illness and I’m at death’s door. Got it?”

“But you look perfectly healthy.”

“You little… I’ve known you since you were a baby. Are you saying I’m old enough that it wouldn’t matter if I died now?”

“No, I really don’t think he intends to hurt you. He was even polite to someone like me, just a messenger.”

“Get a grip. A man who lives like a noble in his own village isn’t going to have anything to discuss with a powerless village head like me.

Now that there’s been a fight, he’s using it as an excuse. He’s planning to wipe out every village that supports Burgundy.

That’s right. It was strange how quiet they’d been all this time. Those wicked Armagnacs have finally shown their true ambitions.”

“I thought the people of Domrémy were nice…”

“You’ve been completely bewitched by the devil!”

***

“…That’s strange. It’s been ages since I sent the messenger. Why haven’t I heard anything back yet?”

Coat cleared away the refreshments he had prepared.

The tea and snacks had been meant for the village head.

“If he’s the village head, he could just be out tending the fields. If you don’t hear back, go see him later. It’s not like Maxey is far away.”

“Getting there isn’t the problem. It’s just… that village head is usually so energetic. The fact that there’s been no word at all has me worried. Once you’re in your fifties, it wouldn’t be strange if you dropped dead any day now.”

I’d intended to invite the village head of Maxey over, have a friendly conversation, and write off the tavern brawl as nothing more than an unfortunate incident.

If it came to that, I was even willing to donate some of Domrémy’s surplus supplies.

What I hadn’t expected was complete silence.

Maybe I’ll hear from him tomorrow.

There was no point obsessing over a reply that hadn’t come.

With a small sigh, I put the matter aside and turned to the day’s work.

“How’s production of the Thunder Falcons coming along?”

“We’ve started carving the basic components. It’ll probably be a few more days before it’s your turn to work on them. If you’ve got time later, you should stop by and see how everything’s progressing.”

We hadn’t been producing Thunder Falcons for very long, yet the workshop already seemed to be settling into a proper rhythm.

“The wheat harvest is almost here. I noticed earlier that a lot of the farm tools are in desperate need of repairs. Dad won’t be able to finish them all before the harvest on his own, so I think we should help.”

“That won’t be a problem. The two of us can finish the whole lot in a single day.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at Coat’s justified confidence.

“How’s the atmosphere in the village? This is the busiest time of year. Anyone causing trouble or complaining about the workload?”

“Don’t worry. Everyone’s still excited after the Thunder Falcon demonstration and the festival. If anything, they look like they’re itching to get back to work.”

“…How’s Jeanne? Has she been acting any differently?”

“Jeanne? She’s the same as always. Whenever she’s not working, she’s usually praying. Although… now that I think about it, she does seem to be spending more time praying lately.”

My brow twitched.

Jeanne’s condition had been bothering me, but I didn’t want to invite unnecessary suspicion.

I casually changed the subject.

“I’m thinking of making a dedicated shield for the Thunder Falcon.”

“A dedicated shield?”

Coat gave me a look that clearly said, “Now what are you planning?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not addicted to work. Crossbowmen have always needed cover.

“Instead of a pavise that’s planted into the ground, I want to build a mobile shield that can be carried into battle.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just carry a regular shield?”

“A small shield has obvious limitations. The Thunder Falcon isn’t meant for fighting bandits. It’s a weapon designed to fight armies. There’s a reason I want a dedicated mobile shield.”

I spent the next several minutes explaining the advantages of a mobile shield.

“…You’ve been placing a much higher value on the Thunder Falcon than I realized.”

“Its range has increased. That means we can strike before the enemy can.”

“When you put it that way… I can see why a mobile shield would be necessary to take full advantage of that range.”

Coat accepted the need for a mobile shield without recoiling at the prospect of another new project.

I guess people really do need rest. After taking a few days off, his enthusiasm for work had come right back.

“How are you planning to stabilize the shield? If someone’s going to carry it around, you’ll have to keep the weight down. But if it’s too light, won’t it tip over easily?”

“I’m thinking of adding a fold-out footplate. The Nestman’s body weight would help anchor it to the ground.”

“Would that really provide enough stability? And if they have to reposition often, wouldn’t the footplate just get in the way?”

“How about this? We could secure the shield to the user with straps and put spikes on their boots so they won’t be pushed back as easily.”

“…So making the shield alone won’t be enough.”

“That’s only one of the things we need to think about. We have to design it so it stays stable on any terrain, and we’ll also need to make a special pair of gloves for carrying the shield.”

“My head suddenly hurts…”

As I saw it, the “Nest” wasn’t something you simply carried by hand.

Even if we reduced the weight as much as possible, a large shield would still weigh at least six kilograms.

That was far from light. Carrying it for a few moments was one thing, but on a battlefield, it would become a considerable burden.

If someone tried to carry it using only their hands, the strain would eventually snap their wrists.

The dedicated gloves were meant to reduce that burden.

I planned to make long gloves extending up to the forearms, allowing the shield to connect naturally to them.

“How are you planning to maintain visibility behind the shield?”

“That’s a very smart question… I was just going to cut a small cross-shaped viewing slit into the shield.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s not like I come up with brilliant ideas every time.”

If it were up to me, I’d install a transparent viewing panel.

Unfortunately, glass was too brittle because of its impurities, and transparent plastic was practically a dream material.

Even if I somehow attached a sheet of clear glass, the impact of carrying the shield around would probably shatter it into pieces.

“The more I hear about this, the more demanding the role of a Nestman sounds. They’d need stamina, good judgment, and the courage to keep fighting even when their vision is limited. Is anyone really going to choose this over using the Thunder Falcon?”

Sharp as always. He’d gone straight for the heart of the issue.

“Don’t worry. I’ve already got a good idea.”

***

The Sanctuary of Souls (Le Paradis des Âmes) was a place every devout believer in Domrémy visited regularly.

There were several reasons for that, but the biggest one was simple: the village no longer had a church.

It used to.

Then Burgundian raiders set it ablaze.

If there had been a priest, it could have been rebuilt. Unfortunately, the only priest in Domrémy fled to another region the moment he laid eyes on the raiders.

As things stood, Domrémy had no true spiritual leader.

Without a leader to guide the faithful, the villagers had grown all the more attached to their sacred site.

Jeanne was no exception.

She came to the sanctuary to pray almost every day.

Our Father in Heaven, thank You for giving us our daily bread once again today.

Today is the day Agathe begins her training as a squire. I pray that my precious little sister walks in accordance with Your will. Please grant her the courage not to lose heart, no matter how difficult her training becomes.

Brother Maxime continues to walk in accordance with Your will. I sincerely pray that You guide him on every step of his journey and bless him with a happy and peaceful life.

…I also confess my sin. Last night, I couldn’t fall asleep and gave in to shameful temptation.

Please forgive my failing and deliver me from the sin of lust.

She prayed with such intensity that cold sweat ran down her face. Her devout faith had become an example for the other believers.

Even the voice of the angel remained silent today. She devoted herself entirely to prayer, hoping to overcome the guilt weighing on her heart.

Then—

“Greetings, faithful believers.”

A voice suddenly broke the silence of the sanctuary. The quiet authority in its tone caused Jeanne to stop praying.

“My name is Jacques Gelu, Archbishop of Embrun. I know how devout you all are, so I thought it only proper to introduce myself first.”

He wore the robes of a priest, along with the sash reserved for bishops and those of higher rank.

It was a noble attire rarely seen in a rural village like this.

“I would like to speak with all of you.”

An archbishop held one of the highest positions within the Catholic Church.

Even bishops, who governed dioceses, were rarely seen. An archbishop, who stood above them, commanded a status comparable to that of a high-ranking noble.

The villagers stared at him in stunned silence, unable to believe what they were seeing.

“Welcome to Domrémy, Archbishop Jacques Gelu.”

Jeanne stepped forward and greeted him with confidence.

The archbishop smiled warmly at the young girl.

“We welcome you as well, Your Grace!”

“Please… please give us a sermon!”

The deeply faithful people of Domrémy welcomed the archbishop with overwhelming enthusiasm.

Ever since their only priest had fled, they had longed to hear the word of God once again.

The people of Domrémy had witnessed the miracle that was Maxime. It was only natural that they would yearn even more deeply for spiritual guidance.

“What brings you to Domrémy, Your Grace?”

Jeanne asked the question, and Jacques Gelu answered without hesitation.

“I have come to meet a sculptor named Maxime Blanche.”

“I thought as much.”

Jeanne immediately understood.

The villagers readily accepted the news that the archbishop had come to see Maxime.

Not a single one of them seemed suspicious.

The one caught off guard by their unquestioning reaction was the archbishop himself.

It seems his standing in this village is quite extraordinary…

Jeanne made a suggestion.

“How about we spend some time in prayer together?”

“I would be delighted. Afterward, I would like to hear more about Maxime Blanche.”

“With pleasure. I could talk about Brother Maxime all day.”

Although the archbishop addressed everyone present, it was always the young girl who answered.

One might have thought her behavior presumptuous, yet no one rebuked her.

At that moment, Jacques Gelu realized something.

That young girl has more authority than anyone else here. What an interesting village…

***

After nearly two days without any word from the village chief of Maxey, Maxime finally ran out of patience.

“Where’s Pierre? I think it’s time I paid Maxey a visit.”

Coat tilted his head at Maxime’s sudden decision to head out.

“Are you planning to pick a fight with them?”

“What are you talking about? I’m just bringing Pierre along as a bodyguard.”

“…If you’re not going there to fight, then why are you bringing Brother Pierre?”

“Do you not like Pierre or something? Why are you so horrified?”

“It’s not that… Big brother, do you have any idea what kind of reputation Brother Pierre has?”

“……?”

“Wow… you really don’t know, do you?”