At the entrance, Jeanne, clad in black armor, stood as still as a statue. She looked at Kanjuro and spoke coldly, "You are essentially no different from those medieval noblemen who were sanctimonious on the surface but filthy within."
"Oh?" Kanjuro raised an eyebrow, looking at her with great interest. "What makes you say that?"
"Holding special feelings for those young and ignorant girls, even developing distorted desires—if that's not being a psychopath, what is?" Jeanne's words were as sharp as her blade, showing no mercy.
"Hahaha!" Kanjuro laughed uncontrollably, clutching his stomach as if he had heard something incredibly hilarious. His laughter sounded particularly abrupt on the quiet street. "So, do you mind?" He stopped laughing and asked back.
"I've seen too many people like you." Jeanne's tone remained icy, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with her. "If this were the past, I would have purified you countless times already. But now... I don't care anymore."
"Oh? From what you're saying, did someone actually dare to offend you, the Saint, in the past?" Kanjuro caught the detail in her words and pressed for more.
"The title of Saint Jeanne d'Arc itself was enough to deter most petty crooks." Jeanne sneered, a flash of complex darkness crossing her eyes. "Even the most despicable villain would have to weigh the wrath of God before attempting any desecration."
"So you're a virgin?"
"Of course."
A flash of genuine interest crossed Kanjuro's eyes. He turned his head to look at the Servant beside him. "Speaking of which, in the history of the Hundred Years' War between England and France, how exactly did you transform from an ordinary country girl into a military leader capable of turning the tide and winning a hundred battles? There must be some special reason behind it, right?"
Jeanne's deep eyes seemed to be covered by the dust of history. She was silent for a moment, her voice carrying a distant echo: "I... once believed in God with utmost devotion."
Since childhood, I could hear the revelations of the Archangel Michael. I firmly believed it was God's blessing and guidance."
Her tone gradually became complex. "Perhaps it was this 'gift' that allowed me to show extraordinary swordsmanship talent from a young age. And when the horns of war sounded, those complex tactics and the art of commanding armies seemed to pour into my mind as if I were self-taught."
"In that case... does a so-called God truly exist in this world?" Kanjuro mused, the indescribable figure of the Old God Nyarlathotep surfacing in his mind.
"Humph, God?" The corners of Jeanne's mouth curled into a cold arc.
"Who knows. What I firmly believed in ultimately became my shackles."
The Church labeled me an evil witch, a calamity of the mortal world, and even colluded with my enemies—the English—to fabricate charges and frame me.
The irony is, no matter how hard they searched, they couldn't find any evidence of me doing evil.
In the end, they could only tie me to the stake and burn me alive on trumped-up charges like'spreading heresy' and 'practicing witchcraft'."
Deep in her eyes, a fire that had not been extinguished for hundreds of years surged—it was the purest malice, born from the collapse of faith, extreme betrayal, and injustice.
"This is the faith I served, the Church I protected... Do you understand now?"
"I see," Kanjuro nodded understandingly. "So I understand why you're still willing to stay by my side and assist me even though you know I'm an irredeemable scumbag. Because essentially, we are both people who have been betrayed by the world."
Jeanne gazed at Kanjuro with a complex look, as if trying to see through his cynical exterior. "Everyone has a past where they had no choice, don't they? I don't believe you were born this way."
The smile on Kanjuro's face faltered slightly. He didn't answer, but instead turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, his tone returning to its usual indifference. "Don't you hate the Church? Let's go, I'll take you to stretch your legs."
"Oh?" Jeanne raised an eyebrow, her expression questioning.
"For example," a cold light flashed in Kanjuro's eyes, "let's go find a few Church envoys participating in this Holy Grail War to 'catch up'."
Hearing this, Jeanne let out an ambiguous chuckle. "Why not just target ordinary people? Wouldn't that be simpler?"
Kanjuro shook his head, lacking interest. "What pleasure is there in slaughtering ants?"
"That's true."
"Besides, I've received news," Kanjuro added, "there's a Magician organization called the 'Clock Tower', with its headquarters in London. In this Holy Grail War, there is a master who hails from there."
"London? England?" Jeanne repeated these two words, the faces of those sanctimonious people who pushed her into the flames instantly surfacing in her mind. The smile on her face gradually became cruel and cold. "I understand. Let's move, master. I'm already looking forward to this 'catch-up'."
Kanjuro looked at her reaction, smiled with satisfaction, and said no more.
Jeanne watched Kanjuro's back, her thoughts racing.
She felt that Kanjuro's current attitude of disrespecting women and treating others as tools must hide some profound reason behind it.
Perhaps he, too, had experienced some unknown trauma?
Unknowingly, she developed a strong curiosity about this mysterious master.
Kanjuro took Jeanne back to the Sacred Bible Academy.
Morimoto Leona had been waiting for a long time and handed a sealed document to Kanjuro.
Her gaze was involuntarily drawn to Jeanne behind Kanjuro. A sense of inexplicable jealousy and inferiority arose—even though the other woman looked cold, that awe-inspiring, inviolable noble temperament, settled through years and legends, was something she could never reach.
Jeanne leaned lazily against the wall, cradling her longsword. She glanced at the document in Kanjuro's hand and asked, "What is it?"
"Information on the target," Kanjuro opened the document. "Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, one of the twelve Lords of the Clock Tower, and also one of the masters in this Holy Grail War. He has already arrived in Fuyuki City."
"I see." Jeanne nodded understandingly.
Kanjuro then called for a helicopter and boarded it with Jeanne, flying toward Fuyuki City.
Meanwhile, in the zenjou family courtyard, young Tohsaka Rin and Sakura Matou were standing under a cherry blossom tree, looking up at the departing helicopter.
"Mommy," Rin tugged at Tohsaka Aoi's sleeve and asked curiously, "Where is Uncle Kanjuro going?"
Aoi followed her daughter's gaze and answered softly, "He is going back to Fuyuki City to handle some matters." Chiba Prefecture was originally a satellite city around Fuyuki City, and the two places were not far apart.
"Oh..." Rin nodded, only half-understanding, but her heart was full of curiosity and a trace of subtle longing for this mysterious and gentle Uncle Kanjuro.
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