Chapter 30

Jeanne disliked prostitutes approaching the army to sell their bodies. She also actively put a stop to the army’s rough way of life and barbaric acts that went against religious doctrine.

“You must not use foul language. You must not keep women around, you must attend Sunday Mass, and you must confess the sins you have committed.”

The soldiers willingly followed the Saintess’s instructions. She was the one who had personally handed out food and delivered the wages they had gone without. If such a Saintess asked it of them, they would gladly begin living more upright lives.

The religious transformation of the army under the Saintess’s leadership was met with active cooperation from the townspeople.

Bakers carried bread to the foot of the city walls, while merchants provided the soldiers with wine and cloth. Some even offered their own warehouses as quarters for the troops.

More people also began attending Mass. This came to be seen, consciously or not, as a sign that the city had been purified.

Count Dunois made no particular effort to stop these changes. Whatever doubts he had about Jeanne, there was nothing to gain from needlessly interfering with a positive movement driven by faith.

I was just as busy as the Saintess.

“Agathe, let’s work on your gear.”

“Ah! Finally!”

Commoners could hardly afford new clothes every time a child grew, so they would simply patch together old clothes for them to wear.

Agathe’s clothes were no different, with mismatched pieces of varying sizes awkwardly stitched together.

I took her measurements and planned to make her a custom set of armor that she could continue using as she grew.

She’s precious family to me, but even if she weren’t, she’d still be well worth the investment.

After seeing what she had accomplished as a sniper at the Belcroix fortress, I became convinced that I could put her abilities to strategic use. No matter how exceptional a weapon was, it would lose its luster in the hands of an inferior wielder, while an exceptional wielder could bring out even more of its potential.

Let’s make the armor light and practical. I’ll design it so she can wear separate camouflage over it, with one version suited for hiding along city walls and another for concealing herself in the brush.

I gathered linen fiber and other locally available cotton fabrics in Orléans. I created a padded layer between the outer and inner fabric and stuffed it with filling. Doing it all by myself would have taken too long, so I enlisted the help of some local women.

“No, you can’t just sew it together like that. You need to spread multiple layers of cloth and wool over a broad area. That way, if an arrow hits, it’ll reduce the arrowhead’s ability to penetrate.”

“Yes…”

“We’re going to make the surface hard and smooth. If it’s rough, arrows will catch on it more easily. So don’t do any finishing work yet. Just leave it as it is for now.”

“Yees…”

“You really are something else, bro. You’ve managed to terrify the neighborhood women with nothing but sheer manual labor…”

“If you’ve got that much time on your hands, Coat, quit resting and help reinforce the leather.”

“Yes.”

The vulnerable areas also needed reinforcement, such as the shoulders, chest, and centers of the knees. I carefully reinforced the areas where a crossbowman’s gear tended to rub during combat.

I also added a leather waist belt that could be adjusted as she grew.

The key was to make all the various pieces of equipment as light and comfortable as possible without sacrificing their functionality.

Every so often, I brought Agathe over to try it on, having her move around so I could check for any discomfort or other problems.

“That should do it.”

I carefully tied off the final knot. As a finishing touch, I applied a thin coat of oil and pine resin to the outer surface and left it to dry.

“So? Comfortable enough to wear?”

Agathe sniffled, her face on the verge of tears.

“Sniff… Thanks… I’m going to treasure this and wear it for the rest of my life.”

“If you wear it for the rest of your life, you’ll have a hard time once it stops fitting. Wear it while you can, then put it away. Once you’ve racked up enough achievements, it’ll be a keepsake and a medal of honor all on its own.”

“Brotherrrr!”

“Hey, you’re getting snot on me…!”

My shameless little sister, having used my work clothes like a handkerchief, sprang to her feet and ran off, saying she was going to show it off to her sister.

“Let’s take a break.”

We headed outside into the sunlight and enjoyed a short break while eating.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Walter around lately.”

“He’s a traitor. I saw him following Count Dunois around the other day.”

“Walter’s not the type to follow someone around for no reason…”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s such a lapdog for authority that he chose Dunois over you.”

“Did you get into a fight with Walter?”

“…He stole the meat I was eating and ran off with it. He ate like he hadn’t had anything in days. Thanks to him, I went hungry instead.”

“I knew it.”

Once our break was over, we headed to the smithy instead of the workshop. Inside, military blacksmiths heated and hammered weapons amid the glow of the forge and molten metal.

“Take it easy this afternoon. Get some rest and just check in from time to time to make sure the men are doing their jobs properly.”

“Got it. You make sure you don’t overdo it either, Brother.”

I parted ways with Coat. I went over to my station and began melting down the metal.

Now, let’s make the weapon I promised Gilles de Rais.

In medieval Europe, bestowing a sword was more than simply giving someone a weapon. It was a ceremony recognizing a man as a knight before God.

Since I’m the one making it, I’d like it to be as useful in actual combat as possible.

It didn’t necessarily have to be a sword. What mattered was the symbolism of “bestowing an object”, not that the gift itself was a “sword”.

In fact, it was common to bestow banners or lances, and there were plenty of records of living horses being bestowed instead of weapons.

A knight will probably fight other knights often enough. …What would be an effective weapon for getting through armor?

A razor-sharp sword capable of slicing through thick armor in a single stroke existed only in fantasy.

Even if such a sword did exist, the wielder would have to strike with greater precision than a machine, and the edge would go dull after only a few uses.

The first thing that comes to mind is a blunt weapon, but things like maces and hammers send the shock back into the wielder when swung, so they can’t be used for long before being discarded. And once the battlefield gets even a little crowded, there isn’t enough room between allies to swing them properly…

The Hundred Years’ War was the period when full suits of plate armor were reaching their completed form. A knight clad in full plate was like a living, moving armored vehicle.

Even the idea that plate armor was weak against blunt weapons only meant they were ‘relatively’ effective compared to blades. The truth was that plate armor offered better protection against blunt force than any armor that had come before it.

There were only a few ways to stop such knights: wear them down until they collapsed under the weight, let the heat cook them alive inside their armor, or thrust a long blade into the gaps in their armor.

By the standards of the time, it was unquestionably overpowered equipment. The only consolation was that it was ruinously expensive, so not just anyone could afford to wear it.

…Couldn’t I make a simplified version of a rock drill that punches forward like a fist?

An idea struck me. The moment it did, my body reacted before my mind could. Every blueprint I had ever seen or made flashed through my mind like a camera shutter going off. The afterimages weren’t hazy but perfectly clear.

I asked one of the men in charge of the materials.

“Give me the hardest iron you have here, with no impurities.”

I picked out a piece of hard iron and took it to the workbench. The tip couldn’t be too sharp.

I heated it in the fire and shaped it into a rod. I gave the end a blunt taper and struck it to test the sound. What I wanted was a short, solid metallic ring.

Tung. Tung.

Not right.

I reshaped it and smoothed out the finish on the tip. I couldn’t leave any room for cracks to form in the metal. Even a microscopic crack could prove fatal under impact.

I polished it until it felt smooth even when I ran my hand over it.

Tung. Tung.

There.

Next came the body.

The upper part of the body needed to flare outward so that any impact would disperse across a wider surface. I gripped the finished body and struck it with a hammer.

Thud.

Perfect. There was no sharp vibration running through my hand when I brought the hammer down. A dull recoil like this meant it was absorbing the impact well enough.

Now it was time to make the handle that would hold the shaft, the round rod-shaped component.

I fitted a thin leather pad inside the handle and placed a piece of wool beneath it.

I gripped it and brought it down. The soft “thump” of the recoil felt just right.

Now it was time to assemble the individual parts.

The rod-shaped striking point, the piece that held it, the impact-absorbing body, and the handle.

I attached a quick crank, a mechanism for rotational motion, to the shaft of the sturdy drill. I kept the design as simple as possible so the parts could be replaced easily. Now, whenever the handle was pulled or pushed in, the rod rotated.

I also fitted a hollow metal tube into the impact body. Once a hole was opened, the drill body could pass through the tube and drive even deeper.

Finally, I wrapped the handle in leather and bound it tightly with hemp cloth to finish it off. The leather prevented slipping and made it more comfortable to hold.

“Someone, bring me a sheet of iron.”

Now for the final step. I propped the iron plate off the ground and equipped the rock drill.

“The Saint made something?”

“That’s an unusual-looking thing… What’s it supposed to be used for?”

Whenever there was something interesting to see, a crowd gathered without anyone having to call them over.

Back in the modern world, this was the sort of thing children would do, but here, people acted the same way regardless of age.

Click.

The moment I gripped the handle, the rotating shaft released. I drew my fist back and gauged the distance to the iron plate.

Then I threw a straight punch.

Booooom! Crackle-crackle!

“…….”

A perfect hole had been punched through the iron plate.

“Eek…”

“Whoa! That scared me.”

Startled by the explosive noise, the spectators toppled over like dominoes. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt.

It works even better than I expected.

A knight in full plate armor. An overwhelmingly dominant presence, virtually invincible against swords and other cold weapons. And one that would continue to reign supreme for at least another two hundred years.

I stared blankly as I lowered the weapon. Its name came to me naturally.

Knight Buster.

A weapon capable of hunting the invincible had been born.

***

Count Dunois stepped away, saying he had something to take care of.

He temporarily entrusted the fortress to Étienne de Vignolles, a fierce and seasoned knight.

When he returned, he proposed going on the offensive for the first time.

“We’re going to attack the fortress of St. Loup to the east.”

For once, that tortoise of a man is on the same page as us.

It was welcome news, but when Jeanne d’Arc heard his proposal, she opposed the Count’s plan.

“No. We should attack the Bastille of Saint-Laurent, the one closest to the southern bank. It’s the largest fortress the English hold, and taking it would give us the greatest advantage.”

“…You really insist on irritating me to the bitter end. I’m still debating whether I should even take you with me.”

Just as their argument was about to escalate, a third party jumped in and drew all the attention to himself.

“The One in Heaven laments that His mercy has not spread far and wide, and so He has sent down a saint to act in His stead. This marks the beginning of spreading His grace throughout the land…”

Gilles de Rais pulled out the Knight Buster Maxime had bestowed upon him and grinned proudly.

“—From this day forward, you may address me as Gilles de Rais, Commander of the Order of Heaven!”

“Have you truly gone mad? You dare proclaim God’s will as you please and invent a fictitious knightly order that doesn’t even exist! It would hardly be surprising if you were sentenced to death for blasphemy!”

“Hahaha! Are you jealous?”

“…Do you truly wish to die?”

Maxime sighed as he watched Gilles de Rais carry on.

I never said he was the commander…

The position of commander of the Order of Heaven (scheduled to be established) was currently vacant.

More importantly, Maxime had clearly said it was supposed to be a secret society. He was starting to feel like he had recruited the wrong member.

At least Gilles was so thoroughly insane that no one suspected the order actually existed.