Important… important…
Hearing Laurent's counterquestion, Sir John Fastolf for a moment didn't know how to answer.
Important?
Isn't that obvious! Any European should understand how deeply rooted this nobility business is here!
But looking at the other man's complete ignorance, Sir John felt a little embarrassed.
This fellow looked like a big shot from the start—reporting it upward would surely be the right move—but the key was that he didn't actually know the man's identity!
"If I have offended in any way, Évigi, please do tell me."
Sir John's tone was deferential. "If you are already of noble rank, I will commend your deeds today to my superiors and speak of your valor to raise your title. If you are not a noble, if you wish, I can have you dubbed a knight or elevated even further."
"I see."
Laurent rubbed his chin. He knew how deeply the idea of nobility was ingrained in people in this era of Europe.
Even the throne seemed to be father-to-son inheritance—in short, hereditary rule.
It seemed that in this age, if a noble's power was high enough, he could command many people and they would have to obey him.
Saying it like that, he actually did need to become a noble.
If the power were sufficient, a single sentence could stop a war.
He and Jeanne both understood clearly: the root of all these conflicts was nothing but war.
Once war entered the equation, notions of right and wrong blurred.
Jeanne was French, and moreover a mere peasant girl—expecting that silly girl to handle policy would be a real disaster.
Laurent had known this for years; he'd been calling her a foolish girl in his head for over a decade and knew her inside out.
If he tried to talk politics or war with her, she'd be utterly confused, probably tilt her head and blink at him with that guileless look, saying, "Laurent, why must we fight over resources? Can't we just divide them fairly?"
Yes—she would definitely say that.
So asking her to think up schemes to infiltrate England or change the nobles was out of the question.
Laurent wanted Jeanne to keep her pure, unblemished heart. That was the woman he loved. He'd deal with the filthy, filthy business himself.
He didn't want his future wife to turn into a scheming vixen.
If she ever became like that…well, okay, occasionally he did hope the silly village girl would learn to be a bit wiser—she really was far too foolish and too kind!
"But I thought knights were commoners?"
Laurent narrowed his eyes.
He still remembered that; those old exam questions hadn't been few.
Hearing this, Sir John hurried to explain, "No, no, no, my dear Évigi, I would never do anything improper. My rank may not be very high, but if today's deeds are reported, I can't promise a high peerage, but a knighthood is certain. Though knights belong to the common-born, they are still—how to put it—lower-tier nobility. If you continue to perform meritorious deeds, I can guarantee you will rise!"
There were things Sir John didn't say.
The best way to elevate a family's nobility was marriage.
He wasn't yet certain of Laurent's value; he wouldn't stupidly offer his daughters just yet.
"All right. I accept."
After a brief thought, Laurent agreed.
If they could grant a high title at once, that would be best—but even if it were modest, fine. Let him join the army, fight, gather intelligence; that would be enough.
After the Battle of the Herrings, Jeanne would properly join the war. If he could learn where she was and keep an eye on her movements, that would suffice.
Looking around at the more-than-five-thousand men, Laurent realized how insignificant a single person was compared to war.
If people ever decided he was a demon to be eradicated, even with his powers, living peacefully would be very difficult. Would he have to kill them all?
After all, the English would eventually be driven off by Jeanne—only for that silly girl to be betrayed by her comrades.
All he had to do was use legitimate means to elevate her to the status of the Holy Maiden, successfully free her country and complete her dreams. Then take her back home and marry her—that would be the perfect ending worth looking forward to.
At that moment, the Scots and the French were completely routed by their soldiers; some troops had even begun to cheer.
"Those French are true idiots!"
"Haha, they're certainly no match for us!"
Sir John was in good spirits as he watched.
"Well then, once we reach the destination, Évigi, just follow me. I believe this will be a good thing for you."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. We will need to look after each other."
After a bit of polite talk, they began to tally their losses.
Nothing had been impossible to avoid, but with Laurent's joining, the losses were significantly fewer.
Soon the group pulled themselves together and set out for Orléans to deliver the supplies.
...
Meanwhile, on the other side, Jeanne—after a few days—was called over by two soldiers upon receiving news.
Commander Baudricourt had been going about his business as usual, but a report had come that did not please him.
The Dauphin's force that had been sent to intercept the English supply convoy had not only failed, but suffered heavy losses.
When he got that message, he felt wretched.
They had planned the ambush, yet were counterstruck—nobody would be pleased to hear that.
By a strange impulse, he suddenly recalled the madwoman who had come here two months earlier and said strange things.
Her words had been so odd that they'd lodged in his mind.
Now that he thought back, Commander Baudricourt felt those words carried some credibility.
"Let Demes and Bertrand de Plancy—do you two remember the address the madwoman gave last time?"
The two who heard the call looked up together.
"Yes, sir."
"Then fetch that madwoman. I have something to ask her."
"Yes, sir."
Watching his men leave, Baudricourt paced anxiously.
He felt the woman must know something. Even if the chance was tiny, she might bring a sliver of hope.
The French army's morale had already weakened greatly; even a deception that raised spirits would be worth trying.
---
T/N:
Hello. I'm Enkidu.
Before you start… thank you for coming this far. Stories are strange things—once they leave the hand that wrote them, they become part of the world, like water joining a river. If this chapter keeps you company for even a moment, I think that is worth something.
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