(This chapter is from the first-person perspective of Jeanne dArc.)
This was a luxurious feast I couldn’t even imagine in my dreams, even more luxurious than a king’s banquet.
All the ingredients were laid out on the table.
In the middle of the table was a stove that was constantly releasing flames, and on the stove was a pot with boiling soup.
The soup was overflowing with fragrance, as if various spices had been added; just smelling it made me feel very hungry—it seemed that as long as I threw the ingredients into the soup and waited for them to cook, I could eat them directly.
The variety of ingredients was diverse, mostly meat, as well as various mushrooms and vegetables.
The portion was too large; there were ten big boxes of meat alone, each box likely containing half a kilogram of meat.
These boxes formed a circle, surrounding the big pot in the middle.
Not to mention the mushrooms and vegetables; these were each placed on plates, and the plates almost filled this large round table that could seat ten people.
I didn’t count wrong; there really were ten people, because there were indeed ten wooden chairs placed in this small room.
Even after hearing the explanation from these two people from Britain, I still couldn’t imagine that with their delicate frames, they could actually swallow so much food and digest it all.
I was so surprised, so surprised that even though my body was very hungry, I didn’t realize I should eat.
“You’ve been hungry for a long time, right?
Hurry up and eat.”
That woman sat in the seat facing the door of the room.
She sat there without even thinking; it was simply a habit.
Her expression was still so calm, so calm that it frightened me.
Truly frightened; the way that woman released her magical energy and walked slowly toward me was far more terrifying than the demons in stories, making my soul scream uncontrollably.
I swallowed my saliva—mostly because of fear—and asked cautiously.
“Uh…
can I really eat?”
“Of course, did you think what I said before was fake?”
Taking a breath, I sat down.
Mordred sat opposite that woman, and I had no choice but to find a random spot between the two of them and sit down.
In that instant, I immediately felt extremely hungry, as if I could eat a whole cow—well, I was just using a metaphor.
But these two humanoid Evil Dragons, they could definitely eat a whole cow.
I observed that woman; she put a pile of ingredients into the pot, and then, not long after, used chopsticks—this utensil seemed to be called by that name—to fish out the ingredients one by one, placed them in a dish, picked up a large piece in one go, put it directly into her mouth, chewed it casually, and swallowed it.
It was simply as rude as the Teutons, with no elegance to speak of.
Thinking about it, I used chopsticks to pick up a piece of beef roll and put it into the pot.
I waited for a minute before taking the ingredient out.
Then, I gently bit into a corner…
“Hot, hot, hot!
So hot!”
I hurriedly put the meat on the plate, waiting for it to cool, and then complained to that woman: “Hey!
I’m telling you!
Are your mouths and tongues also those of dragons?
You swallowed it directly even though it was so hot?”
“…You have a cat’s tongue, don’t you?” That woman raised an eyebrow and asked very casually.
I glared at her and said: “What cat’s tongue?
I am a witch, yes, but I am not a cat!”
“A common Japanese metaphor, referring to people who are afraid of heat when eating or drinking, unable to accept even a little bit of temperature.”
“If you think it’s hot, just blow on it.
Have you been without food for so long that you’ve even forgotten such common sense?” Mordred’s words were truly grating; hearing them made my head ache.
“Oh my, it’s a good thing I put so much effort into learning to read and write brittonic and latin back then.
If I hadn’t worked hard back then, I’d probably be like you now, right?”
“…Hmph!”
Blowing on the food?
Wouldn’t that be too rude?
Wouldn’t that be the same as a peasant who has never left the village in their whole life?
Rationally speaking, that village girl saint wouldn’t have so many taboos.
But who am I?
I am a witch!
Since I am a witch, of course I must be a bit more elegant.
Even if not a princess, at least I should be similar to the courtiers in the royal palace, right?
Thinking this, I had no choice but to do as that woman did, first putting many ingredients into the pot, and after waiting for them to be cooked enough, I fished them out, then quietly waited for the ingredients to cool down a bit, before finally chewing gently and swallowing in small mouthfuls.
How should I put it…
although it looked unbelievably rude, like a chaotic stew as if it were a gathering of savages, the taste was actually quite good.
I tasted these foods and finally began to enjoy the pleasure of dinner.
But those two women—those beast-like women—actually ate everything while I wasn’t paying attention!
The speed was so fast that I blinked several times before finally confirming that they had actually finished it all!
Most of the plates were clean, and more than half of the base of that huge pot had been dipped away!
They only left me a few vegetable leaves and a soup base so thick it was unpresentable!
Just like that, that woman still smiled easily, as if showing mercy, and said words that made my nerves tense—”No need to be so anxious; tomorrow is Saturday, and school is off.
You take your time eating; when you’re done, we’ll leave.”
What a joke!
How much have I even eaten!
This dinner has only been going on for ten minutes or so, right?
How could it end so quickly!
And that woman, that hateful woman, leaned back against the chair, arms crossed, sitting with her legs crossed, one foot raised, staring straight at me.
Not only her, but Mordred on the other side also rested her face on her right hand, a strange smile on her face, also staring straight at me.
That smile made me very uncomfortable.
I could only speed up my eating, finishing my portion as quickly as possible.
However, since most of it was meat, it felt alright; I suppose I should be considered full.
Walking down the street, these two fellows were sullenly silent, moving forward at a very fast pace.
This oppressive feeling made me feel somewhat distressed.
After hesitating for a long time, I finally took a deep breath, summoned my courage, walked up to that woman’s side, opened my mouth, and asked her—
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“You know what I’m talking about!
Doesn’t she pride herself on being smart?
If she doesn’t even know what I want to ask, then she must be the idiot!
But she didn’t look at me, continuing to look ahead and walk.
It was just that her gaze suddenly became vacant; rather than observing the road, it was more like she had started daydreaming halfway through, and even her walking speed slowed down significantly.
Moreover, she seemed very exhausted…
wait?
Exhausted?
I felt like I was about to grasp something, but her words immediately interrupted my search, making me a bit annoyed.
“In this world, many things don’t have that many ‘whys’ to begin with.
Just consider it a whim of mine.”
These words were very vague.
It was hard for me to understand.
Instead, Mordred began to “kindly” explain to me: “If you can’t figure it out, you can understand it as Sister wanting to recruit a slightly more capable knight.
Your foundation is good, and like us, you’re someone who came here after death, so we’re of the same kind.
Besides, not many people are recognized by Sister; you should be proud of that.”
Then, almost like a repeating crossbow, that woman followed up with her own rambling: “Why don’t you try thinking about why you came to this world yourself.
Whether your memories before death are complete, what your thoughts are on this current Twenty-first Century, and whether you want to integrate into it.
These things are more important than why I absolutely must control you.”
“Even if it’s a whim, there must be some sort of emotion behind it, right?”
“No particular emotion…
if I had to say something, it’s just that looking at you makes me very annoyed.”
“You…!
You Britons really are as detestable as ever!”
The people I hate most in my life are the Britons, without exception!
And that woman said nothing, just continuing to walk, completely ignoring me.
Halfway there, because Mordred finally realized that she actually didn’t want me intruding into the Pendragon residence at all, she finally couldn’t help but try to resist her “Father King”: “…Sister, are we really taking her back?”
“Isn’t the room next door empty?
And it belongs to the same landlord.
Let her live there.
Of course, she’ll pay for it herself.
Anything she needs to buy will be on her too.
But that’s for tomorrow; it’s too late today.
Let her sleep in that room tonight.
Besides, there are some questions I need to ask; I can’t just leave her be.”
“Hmph!”
I didn’t want to live with this woman at all either; that cold look of hers was infuriating to see.
As for Mordred, upon hearing what she wanted to hear, she immediately beamed with joy.
“So that’s how it is…
I thought you were really going to let her live in our home.”
“That empty room is reserved for Merlin.
We don’t know when she’ll be back yet.
But looking at the time, it should be soon.”
Hearing that woman’s words, Mordred became even happier: “Does that mean I’ll be able to see Mother soon?”
“It should be about then…
at least that’s what I think.”
No basis at all, just going by her own feeling?
The thought that this woman had subjected me to such humiliation based on nothing but her own feeling made my lungs feel like they were going to burn up.
But there was no choice; I had to bide my time.
That woman is an Evil Dragon, a magical creature that shouldn’t exist in reality but only in nightmares.
My strength is currently lacking; I’ll wait until she exposes a weakness…
Though I’m not sure if she really has one, the dragons in those pagan stories mostly have many weaknesses.
This woman must have them too…
I believe she does!
No…
she does!
Though it doesn’t show on the outside, I feel like she’s very exhausted, as if she hasn’t slept in a long time.
I decided to observe her carefully and figure out why this woman is so exhausted.
Observation takes time, so I decided to follow this woman for now.
This era is very bad; the night sky is all foggy, and stars are completely invisible.
Without the stars, I didn’t know how long I had walked before finally riding a device called an “elevator” and stopping on one of the floors of a tall building.
The woman opened the door with a key and pressed something on a white short stick at the entrance.
A “beep” sounded inside the house, and then cool air brushed against my face.
She herself sat straight down on a soft long chair, nearly collapsing into it.
She pointed with her finger, signaling me to sit at the other end of the long chair.
There was a black leather chair in the room, but it looked relatively small and didn’t seem very comfortable, and if I sat there, it would really make it seem like I was inferior.
So after a moment’s hesitation, I still sat at the other end of the sofa, crossing my legs like a lady.
Mordred was the last to enter.
After closing the door, she sat beside that woman as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
It was strange, very strange.
Although they were definitely female in appearance, although Mordred generally called that woman Sister, and although they looked very similar in age, when they sat together, there was a feeling somewhere between mother-daughter and father-son, and a very intimate one at that—like a doting elder and an obedient junior, one proud of the child, the other proud of the close relative, such that outsiders could never drive a wedge between them.
How did they reach the point of killing each other?
And how did they maintain such a relationship after killing each other?
I don’t understand, I really don’t understand.
At the same time, I’m curious, very curious.
“…Ask whatever you want to ask.” That woman asked me directly, as if she could read my mind.
“Are you…
really King Arthur?” I finally asked the question.
“If you are the real Jeanne d’Arc, then there’s no problem saying I’m the real King Arthur.”
“Actually, you saw through it long ago, didn’t you?
I…
should be considered a fictional existence?
Although I have some memories, I don’t identify with them at all.
The only thing I identify with is the feeling of being scorched by flames and the hatred for France…
But why the hatred?
Is that scorched feeling real?
If it’s real, why aren’t there any burn marks on my body?
I…
don’t know.
It’s as if…”
“It’s as if you had a dream, where you dreamed you became Saint Joan of Arc.
But there was no sense of involvement, so much so that after waking up, you felt you weren’t that Saint at all, because you couldn’t actually achieve those accomplishments, nor could you accept that ending.
Is that it?”
I began to suspect that this woman really could read minds.
After hesitating for a moment, I finally nodded.
“…I suppose so.
Past memories are all very fake, very blurry.”
“If judged from that perspective, I am indeed not the real King Arthur.
I am a fraud, a liar.
My mouth is full of lies, and my actions are completely devoid of integrity…
and not just an ordinary fraud, a major one at that.”
I looked into her eyes.
Those golden vertical pupils stared hollowly at the ceiling, her lips curled in a mocking smile—a mockery of herself, though I didn’t know if she was laughing at her past self or her own existence itself.
In this regard, she really had the aura of those great villains in stories.
But no matter what her expression was, it was a fact that her words made me even more confused.
So, I spoke up to ask: “…Eh?
But aren’t you still a dragon?
Surely even that can’t be fake?”
“Whether it’s true or false wasn’t an important matter to begin with…” She paused, stopping an obscure long-winded discourse and switching to an easily understood one: “Or you can think of it this way.
The reason I am still King Arthur now is only because Mordred is still by my side—for now, I am King Arthur for her alone.
If Morgan and Merlin come too, I will be King Arthur for the three of them.
If…
if even the knights come, and if they still recognize me as their King, then I will be their King Arthur too…
At any other time, I am Uther Pendragon, a transfer student with a special constitution at Private Karyo Academy.
Barely considered King Arthur’s reincarnation?
Since it’s a reincarnation, despite having the karma of a past life, I am ultimately not the same person.”
“Is…
that so…
So that’s how it is.”
I could feel that she was not satisfied with King Arthur’s life.
Yes, I could clearly feel that her emotion was not regret, nor was it pain, but “dissatisfaction.” This is my ability as a Witch.
It’s the same as how I felt she was very exhausted just now.
This is the insight into the human heart that only a Witch possesses.
I did the work, but I didn’t do it well.
I made an effort, but I didn’t give it my all.
I barely reached the passing line, but it was still far from my own expectations.
I certainly achieved significant accomplishments, but these accomplishments didn’t receive enough recognition.
This dissatisfaction isn’t because I’m undervaluing myself; it’s simply because I don’t feel it’s something worth praising.
It’s also not because I doubt my abilities, but rather that, looking back now, I believe I could have actually done better.
But I don’t understand why this woman has these feelings, just as I don’t understand why this woman is so tired.
Thinking takes time.
That woman mistook my thinking for silence and began to lecture me instead: “Your name now is Amano Jeanne.
You are also a transfer student at the Private Kariyo Academy High School.
This world recognizes you by this name and this identity.
Whether you were a witch or a saint, the life of Jeanne dArc has already ended and become a part of history.
It is like a dried-up pond; although there are still traces, the water is gone, so it can no longer be called a pond.”
These were words spoken to me.
At the same time, they were also words spoken to herself.
Or perhaps, precisely because she feels I am very much like her current self, she wants to keep me by her side?
Although her methods are very rough, her words are infuriating, and she is more terrifying than a devil when she coerces people, but…
perhaps, this woman really is, just as she said, acting out of good intentions?
I wanted to continue asking questions, but unexpectedly, it was she who started urging me.
“It is already eleven o’clock, go to sleep.
You have been wandering for so many days, it is time to get some good rest.”
As she spoke, she pointed to the bedroom door and then explained in meticulous detail how to use the device called an “air conditioner,” where to go for clean water, where the bathroom was, and other such minor matters of daily life.
Because it was so detailed, I couldn’t help but feel that she must plan her military operations the same way.
Finally, after she finished speaking, I gathered my courage and said to that woman, “…One last question.”
But Mordred, as if struck by lightning, suddenly stood up.
Looking very angry, she shouted at me in a very loud voice, “Why are you asking questions!
Ask tomorrow!
My sister and I are going to sleep, and you should sleep too!”
It was practically a warning to me not to ask any very sensitive questions, or else she would make me bleed on the spot immediately.
I looked at that woman.
Her expression remained just as calm, calm to the point of indifference, and she said nothing about it.
I opened my mouth.
In the end, I swallowed my doubts back into my stomach.
After all, that question really didn’t seem appropriate to ask at this time…