“Behold, I have created the smith who blows the coals in the fire and forges a weapon for its work… Though an enemy may rise against you, no weapon formed against you shall prosper.”
Isaiah 54:16–17
“When someone stronger attacks and overpowers him, he takes away the armor in which the man trusted and divides up his plunder.”
Luke 11:22
***
Sometimes, you meet people like that.
Someone who makes the worst possible first impression, only for you to somehow end up becoming friends.
Someone you never had the slightest intention of getting close to, yet before you know it, you’ve grown attached to them and gotten used to having them around. Someone you thought was nothing but trouble, only to discover it was a bond after all.
“Pierre, what was the Saint like when he was young? Tell me everything you know about him!”
“Well, where do I even start? He mastered blacksmithing before he was even fully grown, and he trained us using his ability to see what lay ahead… Oh, do you know about the Heaven of Souls the Captain made? When you pray there, it really feels like your soul itself is being healed. It’s an incredible place where you can remember those who passed on before us.”
“Oh! Ohhh!”
Gilles de Rais listened intently to every story about Maxime. If he’d had pen and paper, he looked ready to write it all down.
Pierre didn’t mind him either. Gilles was certainly an enthusiastic listener. So moved by what he had heard, Gilles de Rais even grabbed hold of a nearby knight.
“You heard all that, didn’t you? Why don’t you join the Order as well? It would be reassuring to have you with us. Don’t tell me being put in temporary command of the fortress has already gone to your head?”
“…Fuck off. It’s not like that’s some special honor.”
The knight Gilles de Rais had accosted was Étienne de Vignolles.
He had the potentially fatal disadvantage of having a limp on the battlefield, but the man himself had never let it stop him from living as a warrior. His prowess had earned him the respect of those around him and the nickname La Hire, derived from the Latin Ira Dei, meaning “Wrath of God”.
“…Hey, kid. If you’re from Lorraine, have you ever met the Duke? If you have, how has he been lately?”
Before becoming lame, La Hire had aided the Duke of Lorraine against Burgundy and contributed to a glorious victory. It was a memory he would cherish forever as a warrior.
“If you mean the old man who was having such a good time talking with the Captain, then yeah. I never spoke to him myself, but I heard he’s still vigorous enough to carry on with his lover at his age.”
“I see… Heh.”
La Hire was pleased to hear that the Duke was still hale and hearty. It was a small piece of news, but somehow it made him feel as though his own accomplishments were still alive and well.
Gilles ignored La Hire’s sentimental mood entirely and, just as he had before, pulled out his weapon to show it off.
“The weapon Sir Maxime bestowed upon me truly is magnificent, no matter how many times I look at it. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“The Captain made this halberd too.”
“He gave you a halberd? I knew it! You’re already a member of the Order!”
“I’ve always dreamed of becoming a knight.”
“Then as Commander, I shall take you under my wing!”
“So I finally get to be a knight.”
The two of them simply said whatever they wanted to say. Strangely enough, they somehow managed to understand each other perfectly well.
La Hire watched their antics as though he were watching a pair of monkeys. After observing their childish behavior for a while, he muttered under his breath.
“…I’ve met all kinds of people in war, but even I’ve never seen anyone quite like them.
Maybe that path to salvation you keep going on about really is possible after all…”
“Of course it is! Who sees reality more clearly than I do?”
“Fuck! You rotten bastard, don’t yell right into my ear! You wanna fucking die?”
The three forged a friendship through profanity and violence.
***
Jeanne d’Arc led a procession through the city in celebration of the Feast of the Finding of the Holy Cross.
The next day, the day of the decisive battle they had announced, finally arrived.
“Warriors of France, the time has come to punish the shameless English!”
Their target was the fortress of St. Loup. Until the previous year, the site had been home to a convent in Orléans.
William de la Pole, the English commander, had built a fortress atop the ruins of the convent he himself had destroyed. Reborn for military purposes, the fortress now served faithfully as an English outpost.
Some claimed this was an affront to God.
The Church had grown corrupt, and the papacy had only just recovered from its division.
Convents, which had served as refuges for noblewomen, were quietly regarded as sanctuaries of faith, standing as examples of what the Church ought to be. And now, one such convent had been swallowed up by war.
Jeanne d’Arc, too, grieved that a place of faith had been turned into a battlefield.
To remain silent in the face of injustice is itself a sin, I believe. When battle comes, I will stand at the very front as one who carries out His will.
She had shed tears over what was to come, yet she had no intention of avoiding the battle. Just as Maxime had led her, she would lead the soldiers.
It was courage difficult to imagine from a tenderhearted girl who empathized deeply with the suffering of others and cried so easily.
And now, that girl stood before the soldiers and addressed them.
“We never wanted this war. Even so, someone must bring the fighting to an end. Those who refuse to turn a blind eye to injustice and follow the will of God… that is who we are!
Raise your heads. There is nothing to fear. We will march forward in faith!”
The brief speech captivated the soldiers in an instant.
Until then, it had been nothing more than a war. The moment the Saintess joined them, that ordinary war became a holy war. The mere fact that such a pure and beautiful girl stood on their side became proof in their minds that they were fighting for justice.
Even Gilles de Rais, loyal as he was to Maxime, nearly betrayed his master on the spot and dropped to his knees before the Saintess.
“I will go as well.”
Maxime took to the battlefield as well. He wouldn’t be leading any troops, but he intended to remain on the field with them and see everything for himself.
In a way, it was a foolish decision. There was little strategic benefit and plenty of risk in sending a production chief with no combat instincts onto a battlefield.
Still, there are things I need to see for myself.
He stroked Walter, who had come along to protect him. Walter even rolled over to expose his belly. Whatever he had been up to, there were some unfamiliar hairs mixed into the fur around his stomach.
“Why don’t you just go back? It’s not like there are any idiots who’d think the Captain was a coward for staying behind.”
“That’s not why I came. …There are going to be plenty of battles from now on that I won’t be able to attend even if I want to. At the very least, I want to be there for the first one.
Besides, as the chief engineer, I need to see how effective the military supplies I’ve provided actually are.”
“Fear not, Saint. I shall protect you with my life.”
We arrived at the fortress of St. Loup. The cavalry formed up for a charge and waited in place.
The field artillery opened the battle. Our soldiers positioned several mobile field guns and began firing sporadically.
…The results were underwhelming. The cannons lacked both accuracy and destructive power.
Rather than destroying structures outright, the most they could usually do was crack them. With a good hit, they might break apart some stone.
In truth, the real value of cannons lay less in their destructive power and more in their noise.
The ear-splitting blast of a cannon made your heart pound regardless of how lethal the shot itself was. Timid soldiers could be terrified by cannonballs that hadn’t even come close to hitting them. It raised the morale of allies while putting pressure on the enemy.
And once the battlefield descended into chaos, a commander’s orders to advance or retreat could no longer be heard.
About the only thing loud enough to cut through that chaos was the thunderous roar of a cannon.
“Charge! Death to the invaders!”
“Forward! Follow me!”
Jeanne d’Arc, moving as one with her mount, charged forward with her banner waving. The path she led them down exploited a weakness the enemy had yet to recognize. She had found the optimal route in a matter of moments.
The cavalry followed her lead as though spellbound. The infantry joined the battle close behind.
“The will of Heaven is with us!”
Her voice captured not only the attention of her allies but even that of the enemy. Yet despite drawing every eye toward herself, her command never faltered for even an instant.
“Pierre, take the left position! If we seize the open ground first, we have a chance! Knights, the enemy is counterattacking. Prepare yourselves!”
Maxime couldn’t follow what her eyes were seeing. He could only analyze the path she had taken after the fact.
Sound judgment at the right moment, coupled with swift decisions, left the enemy no time to respond. Meanwhile, before the enemy could even finish dealing with one situation, they were confronted with another.
If that continued, the enemy commander would eventually be driven to the point of giving up altogether.
As Maxime grasped the process unfolding before him, a slight shiver ran through his body.
All that work reforging their weapons was worth it. The soldiers’ weapons are biting in much better across the board. But more importantly…
“Kehehe! Kneel before me, barbarians from across the sea!”
Aside from the Saintess,
The most conspicuous person on the battlefield was Gilles de Rais. Any armor struck by the Knight Buster didn’t merely crumple… it tore apart.
He had just punched straight through a knight’s armor. Even his allies cried out in astonishment at the unreal sight.
…Just as I thought. It’s performing beyond anything I designed it to do.
Normally, whenever Maxime made something, he could predict the results of his work with reasonable accuracy.
The Knight Buster went beyond his predictions and beyond common sense itself.
It was never supposed to be a weapon that could be used so brutally. Even rock drills used to break stone required frequent drill-bit replacements. That was precisely why he had designed its components to be easily replaceable in the first place.
Even when I made rock drills using the exact same design, not a single one performed anything like that.
At best, they would break along with the armor. That alone was useful enough, but…
The weapon he had bestowed upon Gilles was the only one that defied common sense. It gave him the same strange sense of disconnect he had felt when he forged the Sword of Sainte-Catherine.
“The enemy is fleeing!”
“We won! We won!”
While Maxime was lost in thought, the tide of battle had turned completely. It hadn’t taken long. The overly cautious Count Dunois had brought twice as many troops as the fortress garrison for this battle.
“Now is our chance! Let’s press the attack and take the other fortresses while the enemy is retreating!”
“Yeah! Let’s chase them down and crush them for good!”
An overwhelming victory, followed by a pursuit. Rather than getting drunk on their brief triumph, the French immediately prepared to chase the fleeing enemy.
Just as Jeanne d’Arc eagerly stepped forward to join them—
“Stop! Stop! Everyone, halt the pursuit!”
Count Dunois threw himself in front of his own troops. With their commander physically blocking the way, no one could simply ignore him and push past.
“Count, why…?”
“Calm yourselves! We’ve just fought a battle. Our men need rest!”
The argument itself was sound. No matter how brief, battle took a physical toll on the body. But considering the circumstances, something about it felt wrong.
“If we’re exhausted, then so are they. We have a clear advantage, and the enemy is fleeing in disarray. There’s no reason to let them escape.”
Maxime abandoned his role as a mere observer and stepped forward.
“I will hear no excuses. Calm down and rest first.”
“No. You’re the only one here who needs to calm down, Commander.”
“…My heart is steadier than ever.”
“Did you really stop the pursuit because we need rest? There isn’t some other reason?”
“He’s right! We also deserve a reasonable explanation for why you stopped us from pursuing them!”
“It’s not too late! Give us the order to advance!”
“…Do none of you understand how many commanders have ruined themselves by rushing to exploit the slightest advantage? I’ve seen more of them than I can count. If we push the offensive too far and lose, all the morale we’ve built will vanish in an instant. You need to learn to think in the long term.”
Ah.
Only then did Maxime finally understand exactly what kind of man Dunois was.
“You’re hiding behind cold reason like a shield, but underneath it, you’re whining like a frightened child. Where did you get the arrogance to believe you can fight only the battles you want on a battlefield?
If you’re afraid of casualties, if you’re afraid of defeat, then you never should have come to the battlefield in the first place. Everyone shares that fear, but it falls to the commander to make the choice. You’ve convinced yourself that you’re making the right decisions, but the truth is, you’re terrified, and you keep choosing avoidance.”
“…….”
Maxime’s entire demeanor changed. His voice was ominous and cutting, like a priest delivering a prophecy.
Every word sent a chill through the Count.
“Y-You… If you mean to insult me…”
“The Saintess has proven herself. You have command experience of your own, so surely even you’ve realized at least a little just how brilliant the path she leads us down is.”
“Can you not hear me?!”
“I have no intention of arguing with you. Nor do I intend to insult you. All I want is victory for France.
If you’re still afraid even after hearing all this… there is one way to put that fear to rest.”
The Count had no confidence that he could answer Maxime’s relentless words. Half resigned, he asked,
“…And what would that be?”
A Saintess who had dominated the battlefield. A Saint whose every word grew more unsettling the longer he spoke.
Dunois had looked down on them for their lowly origins, but what he had once believed to be common sense had long since crumbled like a castle of sand.
“Give me authority over the gunpowder.”
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