Shinji Matou at Your Service

Thud.

The scene that unfolded was a materialized hell. The dimly lit stone room reeked of a foul stench. In the center was a luxurious bed, and on the table beside it were numerous severed heads of children. The floor was littered with countless bodies that once belonged to them. Half of them were fresh, while the other half had already begun to rot. However, they all shared the same fate of having died with expressions of despair and bleeding wounds.

Jeanne clenched her fists. She was not familiar with such a hell, but she had some knowledge of it. This was an unavoidable part of her history.

"…This place, it's Tiffauges Castle, isn't it?"

"You are correct. This is the castle of the Hell Baron—Gilles de Rais."

Gilles de Rais. He was Jeanne's comrade who stood up to save their homeland and one of the heroes who liberated Orléans. He had achieved numerous feats during the Hundred Years' War, eventually becoming a Marshal of France—a great hero. And yet—

At the same time, he was a serial killer who indulged in pederasty and black magic on his estate, torturing and murdering hundreds of childrens.

Jeanne did not know. Aside from the Gilles who fought alongside her on the battlefield as her protector, she knew nothing. Of course, as a Servant, she was aware of Gilles de Rais' cruel and violent deeds in terms of knowledge.

But—

"Knowledge and reality are two different things, aren't they?"

Jeanne gazed at the pile of children's corpses with a stiff expression. It was a horrifying sight. While seeing corpses on the battlefield was common, the bodies before her were small, with limbs as thin as withered branches—corpses rarely seen on the battlefield where adults fought and killed each other.

Although it was a blasphemous and dizzying scene, it only shook Jeanne's heart slightly. The past was the past, an irrefutable fact.

Their deaths, even if they were like stage props, must be remembered.

At the same time, Jeanne rejected the notion of defining her entire life as a regret based on this alone.

Jeanne's resolve was strong, and her righteous heart would not be swayed.

"Even so, I will not waver."

"Perhaps. Seeing the corpses of unknown children might evoke sympathy, but it won't reveal any weakness that would make your heart falter."

Accompanied by the creaking sound of wood, the door slowly opened. Jeanne reflexively turned her head and was shocked. The man had a gaunt face and eyes gleaming with manic brilliance, his former valor replaced by despair and hatred.

This was not the Gilles de Rais Jeanne knew—

But the legendary monster known as Bluebeard.

"Ah, Jeanne! What brings you to such a place?"

Gilles greeted Jeanne casually, holding something wrapped in a blood-stained cloth with great care.

Stay calm, this is just an illusion—Jeanne tried to convince herself. The feeling was like biting down on rusty iron, a discomfort that chilled her to the bone. Whatever was wrapped in that cloth—no, she must not imagine what it was. It was something undoubtedly fatal to Jeanne d'Arc.

"…That's enough. End this scene now. Regrettably, my death led him to commit such heinous acts, but I—"

"Let me tell you something good. This Gilles is not a mere puppet spouting lines I dictated. Gilles de Rais is a hero who can think with his own will and corrupt this world with his intent. He is a Servant summoned by me, the Red Caster."

Ruler exclaimed in surprise:

"A Servant… That's absurd! How can you, being a Servant yourself, summon another Servant?"

"It's entirely possible as the master of this garden. However, he's not a being endowed with a class. As a Ruler, you should understand, right? He's just the soul of Gilles de Rais manifested, with the outer shell being nothing more than a frail old man."

Jeanne glared fiercely at Shakespeare. Such a summoning was an insult to the hero Gilles de Rais.

"Red Caster, what is your true purpose in doing this?"

"You can ask him yourself. Baron, surely you have something to say?"

Upon hearing Shakespeare's words, Gilles revealed a maniacal smile:

"Yes. Jeanne, I have something I want to show you. Up until now, I've beheaded countless children, and every time it brought me unparalleled excitement..."

The cloth was slowly peeled back. Jeanne opened her mouth and, with a hoarse voice, whispered:

"...Stop, stop it, Gilles!"

Gilles did not stop. Jeanne knew intellectually that Gilles always beheaded children he fancied and cherished their heads. Stop it, Gilles. He would kill the children, cut open their bodies, and enjoy the sensation of their entrails—

"Look, Jeanne! This head."

The cloth was removed, revealing a head. A head with features she recognized—Shinji Matou.

"And this one, and these as well—"

The heads kept changing, sometimes taking the form of Artoria, sometimes Jack the Ripper, and sometimes Reika Rikudou. Each one was someone Jeanne felt close to.

"You know my other name, don't you? The infamous Bluebeard. To blaspheme and betray the saint, I've committed every conceivable atrocity! Do you want to hear it? The children's screams! The laments of despair from the gods!"

"...No... That is not right...!"

The saint finally let out a cry. She did not want to see this tragic scene, did not want to witness the fall of her once trusted comrade and partner.

Instinctively, she wanted to cover her eyes, but—another force was stopping her hand, the other half of the words spoken by the owner of the first head before the battle began.

—If you fail to kill him and he activates his Noble Phantasm, you will face a trial of your life. It will manifest the weakest part of your subconscious and tear it apart.

There is only one way to counter it—believe in yourself, believe in us, your comrades, and do not waver no matter what you see. Because of your faith, your comrades will never betray you.

Though saying this, if it were me, I might not make it through. But I believe you can, no matter how much suffering you endure, because that's the kind of person you are, Jeanne d'Arc.

Fate is unbearably unfair, making you bear such a burden and experience so much pain. What's even more tragic is that you won't complain or lament. But that's why you are so beautiful, why so many admire you, even though you never see yourself as a saint.

Face everything bravely, and speak your true thoughts. Even if you see hell, as long as your faith remains unchanged, it will turn into heaven.

Her face pale, the holy flag fell onto the "stage," her hands trembling...

A closed world, surrounded by the most terrifying scenes.

So this is what he meant, she thought, having seen it with her own eyes, it was an unimaginable hell.

Attacking the weakest point of the heart with the most brutal blow, if I were alone, I might truly be crushed.

But, Red Caster, you got one thing wrong, I am not alone.

My comrades are here, always supporting me, waiting for me, and so is "he."

So, so—

Her hands still trembled, her face still looked terrible, but her wavering eyes regained their clarity.

"Stop it, Gilles."

It was not a scream, not a plea, not an escape, but an undeniable command, just like when she led the French army, issuing orders. Though she never put on airs, she carried an aura that could not be defied.

"Jeanne...?"

Gilles de Rais trembled and instinctively lowered his head.

"I am deeply pained by your fall, and I cannot deny that part of it is my fault. But Gilles, I want to tell you, ever since I learned you became Bluebeard, I wanted to tell you—you are wrong. It has nothing to do with gods, saints, or anything else; I just want to tell you as your friend, as a human being, you are wrong, and you have committed an irreparable mistake. If I were still around, I would have stopped you, but—"

"But you are no longer here, the country you saved, the people you saved, that damned king! Even the god you believed in—he led you down this path and gave you this end! God is not merciful; he is merely toying with your life, toying with humanity!"

Gilles de Rais's eyes seemed to burn, but his face showed no emotion. This was a stark contrast to his previous passionate displays.

"Look around, at these corpses, these heads. I have committed the most heinous, blasphemous acts possible. But no matter how much I killed or blasphemed, I received no divine punishment. By the time I realized it, I had been on this path of evil for eight years. The cries and laments of thousands of children vanished into the void! In the end, it was not God who destroyed me, but humans with endless desires like mine. The church and the king deemed me guilty of seizing my wealth and lands. Their actions were not to punish my evil but for naked plunder! It was then I realized how vile God is, never punishing, only toying with humanity."

Jeanne shook her head slowly: "No, you are wrong, Gilles, God is not what you think."

"Then how do you explain your fate? Branded as a heretic and witch, burned at the stake? Face reality, Jeanne!"

"The one who needs to face reality is you, Gilles! I have never been a saint; I am a sinner who took countless lives, a sinner like you!"

From the first battlefield, from the first kill, Jeanne knew she was a sinner, so she never lamented fate.

"That is my sin, mine alone. Gilles, you are the same. Your sins are yours alone. Even if we can't atone, this despair belongs only to us."

Jeanne grabbed his chest and leaned in close. Gilles froze.

She is so beautiful, he thought. The angry girl glaring at him was chillingly beautiful.

At the same time, he realized his mistake.

To this saint who did not see herself as a saint, whether in purgatory or hell or even in heaven, she would remain unchanged. As if she had no time for worries, always running around, sacrificing herself for something—

"Blaming God and shifting responsibility is wrong. We are both sinners, with no way to atone for our victims! Face your sins, Gilles. We can only carry this anguish and despair forever. Our only option is to lend our shoulders to the living, and that is the meaning of our existence as Heroic Spirits."

Gilles wept and knelt, gripping Jeanne's hand tightly, pleading:

"—Will we never be forgiven?"

"God will forgive everything, but the children you killed and the soldiers I killed will never forgive us. This guilt, this sense of sin, is our eternal punishment... It's okay, I will lend you my shoulder."

Sin will never be erased.

Though hating herself as a sinner, she still saves the world as a Heroic Spirit—that is their punishment and redemption.

"I understand, Jeanne. Though brief, being able to talk with you again makes me immensely happy."

Evil deeds will never be forgiven.

Atonement will never end.

Despite the saint's declaration, Gilles's voice was calm.

In truth, it was a very simple fact.

He deeply loved this girl. Not as a saint or savior, but as Jeanne d'Arc. His love for this girl, as warm as sunlight, was so deep that her death drove him mad.