Chapter 34

To achieve definite results within a limited amount of time, Maxime needed a flash of inspiration.

I still hate to give up on metal cannonballs. What if I hammered metal into sheets and coated stone shot with it instead?

It was a pretty terrible idea.

Metal and stone expanded at different rates when heated. Once fired, there was no telling where the projectile might fly. This wasn’t merely a matter of reduced accuracy. It could even end up injuring their own men. And even if he succeeded in coating the stone, unless the weight of the metal was distributed properly, the resulting imbalance in mass would compromise the projectile’s performance.

The Tourelles is a relatively modern fortress. No matter how hard we fire stone shot at it, we’re not going to do much damage…

Iron cannonballs were not an option.

Maxime decided to tear the smithy apart and rebuild it.

Unlike the smithy he had built separately in Domrémy, the one in Orléans, like virtually every other smithy of the era, could not reach temperatures high enough to melt iron completely.

At best, it could soften iron enough to be reshaped with a hammer. That wasn’t nearly enough to pour molten metal into a mold and cast a sphere.

This wasn’t a temperature they could reach simply by working the bellows harder. He would have to open up the roof and redesign the furnace itself.

If he had his way, he would have built a blast furnace, but even Maxime would need to go through several rounds of trial and error to pull that off.

But with the materials we have now, we can reach a temperature high enough to melt cast iron.

Cast iron became fully molten at a lower temperature than steel. That was also one of the reasons it had historically been used so often.

There were two keys to raising the temperature: airflow and fuel quality.

Maxime had already produced high-quality charcoal, giving him exactly the fuel he needed to raise the temperature.

Concentrate all the energy in one place. Trying to melt a large batch is asking for too much.

The modified furnace concentrated its heat into a chamber barely large enough to fit a single bag. Everything else was devoted to directing heat above and below it, along with channels for forcing air in and venting it out.

Using a spherical stone shot he had carved himself, he made and hardened a casting mold.

“The angel of the smithy is watching over me…!”

“My shoulders… I feel like my shoulders are going to pop out…”

“Don’t stop. If they’re going to pop out, pass out first and let the next man take over.”

After more than a dozen strong men gave it everything they had, they finally succeeded in completely melting a small amount of cast iron.

The amount they produced was minuscule, but what mattered was that they had done it.

They carried the molten cast iron in a crucible and carefully poured it into the clay mold.

After the craftsmen burned themselves more than once in the process, the cast-iron cannonball was finally complete.

Now all that’s left is to formulate the gunpowder.

***

Count Dunois found himself awkwardly isolated. His rank and authority remained unchanged, but his actual influence had dwindled to almost nothing. Every time he tried to do anything, the other commanders opposed him.

The person whose defection made the Count feel most betrayed was neither one of the knights who had served alongside him for years nor the high-ranking Duke of Alençon.

“…I never thought even you would side with the Saintess. I entrusted you with a fortress because you were an experienced commander…”

“My apologies. I have decided to place my complete faith in the Saintess and follow her. …If there is nothing else, I will go command the soldiers.”

“Grr…”

La Hire was unwavering. He was so certain of himself that he did not hesitate to stand up to a superior whose rank far exceeded his own.

The Saintess is undoubtedly carrying out God’s will.

The Saint seemed capable at everything, but the fields he worked in were unfamiliar to La Hire, making it difficult to judge just how skilled he truly was.

The Saintess, on the other hand, had fought on the same battlefield as him, allowing La Hire to witness her greatness firsthand. His wealth of experience made him appreciate the depth of her military insight more keenly than most.

Well, considering how completely the Saint has won over the entire corps of craftsmen, I suppose he’s no ordinary man either.

He was simply less impressed by the Saint in comparison to the Saintess. After all, the greatest achievements were won on battlefields where swords and arrows crossed.

La Hire was brimming with excitement. Like a young girl waiting for the finale of a drama, he bounced his shoulders in a manner completely unbecoming of his age and focused every one of his senses on the Saintess’s speech.

“This is the final step… Let us reclaim our land, our families, and follow the will of Heaven.

Shed your blood and tears with me. Prove that our faith stands higher than their walls…!”

“We will gladly prove it!”

“La Pucelle! La Pucelle!”

“”Follow the Saintess! Follow the Saintess!””

It was a speech that rekindled the chivalric spirit they had forgotten.

Chivalry demanded duty toward one’s countrymen and comrades. A knight had to prove his courage and valor, even at the cost of his life.

A knight also had a duty to God. He had to stand against evil and defend what was good.

And he had a duty toward women as well.

In the Saintess, every one of those duties came together.

“Ugh, what a disgusting bunch…”

Count Dunois shook his head at his comrades, who had descended into a frenzy. Since he still did not fully believe in the Saintess, their fervor looked to him like nothing more than the pathetic behavior of men who had lost their minds over a woman.

Three thousand troops now faced a fortress garrison of one thousand.

It was obvious that once the battle began, both sides would suffer heavy casualties.

In a siege, surprise attacks were difficult because the attacking side had to transport supplies and equipment. Both armies would begin the battle fully prepared.

“The Saintess is dead?! We have two people blessed by God on our side! How about that, jealous?! I bet you’re dying of envy!”

Gilles de Rais had not forgotten the false rumors the enemy had spread. Even with thousands of eyes on him, he showed no embarrassment. If anything, he seemed delighted as he shouted at the enemy.

The enemy was too far away to hear him anyway. Only his own men were embarrassed, quietly putting some distance between themselves and Gilles.

Maxime knew when it was his turn to step forward.

“Pierre, you can’t afford to miss. The outcome of this shot will determine how many casualties our men suffer.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m from Domrémy. I’ve done this plenty of times. You really think I’d miss a target that huge?”

This was an opportunity to dramatically reduce their casualties and show everyone exactly what he was capable of.

“Count Dunois, the guns are ready to fire. Give us permission.”

“…Already? We shouldn’t be within effective range yet. Unless you’re aiming at something other than the fortress?”

“It’s already within range. If we move any closer, we’ll also risk being picked off by enemy marksmen.”

“…You aren’t lying just to torment me, are you?”

“No.”

What a suspicious man.

“Permission granted.”

I raised my hand and gave Pierre the signal to attack.

Pierre loaded the field gun with gunpowder and then loaded the shot.

“Ignite!”

The moment the fuse was lit, they retreated more than fifteen meters from the cannon. Even then, they raised their shields and kept a wary eye on it.

“What are they doing?”

“For safety, I ordered them to take cover before firing.”

“?”

“There was no other choice. We increased the firepower so much that the guns we have now can only withstand a single shot.”

“What do you mean, they can only—”

There was no need for a tedious, overly technical explanation.

Booooooooooom!!

It felt like bringing a real bomb onto a playground where children had been playing at war. Even Pierre, who had been so confident, collapsed onto the ground in shock.

The cast-iron shot screamed through the air, smashed into the fortress wall, and sent a cloud of stone dust billowing outward.

Part of the wall collapsed, and the soldiers standing atop it went, “Huh?” before tumbling down with it. Brief screams echoed through the air from the shattered wall. A thin trail of smoke rose from the pile of rubble.

The cannon barrel that had fired the shot had collapsed. They had expected it, but it really had lasted for only a single shot.

Maxime walked over to Pierre, who was still staring blankly, and gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

“Why did you stop? We still have another one to fire.”

“…Huh? Oh. Right…!”

Some screamed like little girls. Others fell completely silent. Fear of a weapon beyond anything they had ever imagined filled the battlefield.

Yet amid all this, the Saint and the Saintess went about as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Fire!”

Booooooooooom!!

“#-$*^!”

An English scream could be heard all the way from here.

The French commoners mocked the expression the English constantly had on their lips, imitating it with the derogatory nickname “Godons.”

“God…”

Even a French soldier found himself mimicking the English habit.

Two enormous holes had been blasted into the Tourelles. A path into the fortress now lay open, allowing their men to storm it without even needing ladders.

When the paradigm of an age shifts and people come face-to-face with something beyond their understanding, even their screams can be swallowed whole.

The stench of urine hung in the air.

“You… What in God’s name have you done…?”

“My part is finished. The rest will require your strength. Give the order to attack before it’s too late. The Saintess will bring everyone out of their confusion.”

The Count wanted nothing more than to grab the bastard by the collar.

Meanwhile, Maxime felt a slight sense of disappointment.

It was only a makeshift design, so there are a lot of limitations.

His calculations had shown that the cannon barrel could not fully withstand the pressure of the explosion, so he had adjusted the amount of gunpowder accordingly before bringing it into battle.

If he had maximized the firepower, the barrel would have ruptured from exceeding its structural limits before it could even fire.

“Follow me! When my banner reaches the wall, the Tourelles will be ours!”

Jeanne d’Arc raised her command banner. Her call snapped the knights back to their senses.

“Follow La Pucelle!”

“The Saintess has promised us victory!”

Three minutes had been more than enough.

The rallying cry that the fortress would be theirs the moment her banner touched the wall spread to every soldier. Her ability to inspire courage in her men was almost magical.

The battle began.

The English longbowmen met the advancing troops head-on. More than a few of their men lost their lives just trying to get in.

Stone and steel clashed, and the greater the chaos grew, the more the battlefield became the Saintess’s domain. No other commander could match her composure.

One of the enemy’s drawbridges collapsed in an instant. A major section of their defensive line had completely fallen apart.

The more the enemy faltered, the more their own troops gained momentum.

Pierre and Gilles de Rais fought as a team, slaughtering knights. The moment a gap opened in a suit of armor, they drove their halberds into it with uncanny precision.

Agathe fired arrows at the English cargo vessels whenever she had the chance. Watching her hit moving men aboard moving barges was enough to leave anyone in awe.

The mercenaries came from different places, but they fought every bit as bravely as the men of Orléans.

“Leo, put some oil on my arrows.”

“Okay.”

Agathe set the barges ablaze. Her arrows turned the vessels into burning wrecks and sent them to the bottom.

“Retreat! We’re retreating…!”

The once confident captain of the garrison could no longer withstand the relentless assault and chose to flee.

We can’t even kill a witch..

The Tourelles was an excellent fortress to defend but a terrible one to retreat from.

With one of its three drawbridges destroyed, the enemy had only two bridges left to escape across. And one of those was already being used by the French as a route into the fortress.

Hundreds of soldiers crowded onto the narrow bridge. There was no order. In retreat, the only thing left was the instinct to survive. No one was willing to let anyone else go first.

Creeeak..

Cracks began to form in the wooden drawbridge as it buckled under the soldiers’ weight.

“You bastards, even I, your commander, can’t get through…”

Craack..

Snap.

The drawbridge finally gave way under the weight.

“Huh?..”

Countless English soldiers plunged into the water. Among them was Glasdale, the captain of the garrison who had mocked Jeanne d’Arc.

Splash.

Even someone who knew how to swim could hardly do so while weighed down by heavy armor and surrounded by drowning men desperately grabbing at anything they could reach.

Driven by their own selfish desperation, they drowned one after another.

“A complete victory.”

“……..”

Four hundred were taken prisoner. Everyone else was dead.

They also discovered a French prison camp. Two hundred of the comrades she had so desperately wanted to save were finally freed.

***

A haughty-looking man spoke.

“Even if you are a saint, I do not fear you. If you are a witch, I fear you even less.”

Richemont, whom the Dauphin had ordered assassinated, appeared at the head of his troops.