[You guys are gonna kill me. Bonus chapter for 400 powerstones. From next reset onward, it'll be 200 powerstones per bonus chapter so that I don't collapse *runs away in tears*]
The English were roaring with fighting spirit. The truth of the matter was that they had suffered successive losses over the last few months. It was to the point where they might be kicked out of France entirely at this rate. However, their morale was still raging.
The reason for this was simple. They refused to lose to such an enemy and they were the true elites of the English army.
They had been hearing stories about Joan for almost a year now. The idea that a woman was the one putting their armies in such a sorry state was a great humiliation to them. It was simply going against the will of God.
Of course, the English had no idea that the real reason their morale was so high wasn't due to their own will at all.
On the castle walls, two men stood side by side. They wore silver armor and the English flag was painted on their shoulder guards. Both swept indifferent gazes at the roaring men on the tall walls and cold sneers toward the approaching French army in the distance led by a woman with flowing black hair and her knights.
"How is it, Reimond? Is she as much of a beauty as you thought she'd be?"
One of the previously expressionless men grinned, sizing up Joan. If others saw how he was acting, they would definitely be shocked. After all, he spoke about Joan as though she was right in front of him and he could see her every detail. However, she was easily over a kilometer away. If it wasn't for the size of the approaching army and their high vantage point, it would be difficult to make out even her gender, let alone how beautiful she was.
"You like used goods that much?"
"How do you know she's used goods?!" The man rebutted.
"The Bishop is our savior, but he isn't a Saint. If he really let her go, he might as well castrate himself."
The man paused and seemed to think that this made sense.
"I don't know why I even bother to argue with you anymore." The man said. "You pretend like I was seeking her out to be my wife. How could I marry someone who's destined for a coffin in a few months? I just want to have some fun."
Reimond glanced at the man but didn't say anything in response. It was only after Joan had crossed the kilometer mark that he finally spoke again.
"Nigelle. There's something wrong with the path of the winds."
The man, or rather, Nigelle, frowned at these words. The true reason he didn't like arguing with Reimond wasn't because he was no fun, but rather due to his ability. It was an ability that made it hard for him not to be serious all of the time.
"There might be some variables." Reimond continued. "We should be prepared."
Nigelle's playful demeanor disappeared and he was once more expressionless.
"Archers!" Nigelle's roar cut through the battlefield as he took his longbow from his back as slammed its lion shaped edge to the stone beneath his feet. "Aim!"
Nigelle himself didn't aim his bow. Its almost three meter tall form was held in his left hand, radiating such a faint glow that it was almost impossible to see.
The French army was still charging.
One Kilometer. Eight hundred meters. Seven hundred meters. Six hundred meters.
The rumbling of horses made it seem like the skies might collapse at any time.
"Set up a defensive line! Ready the cannons! Shieldmen forward!" Joan's cries resounded over the battlefield.
"Fire!" Nigelle's voice followed hers as the French crossed the 500 meter mark.
It felt for a moment that night had descended, a vast expanse of black covering the skies like hand enveloped the lands followed by the sound of the winds being torn apart beneath their might.
The French weren't slow. They reacted to Joan's commands, bringing the shieldmen forward to block the rain of arrows.
"Towers!" Joan roared.
Tens of wooden towers came forward, hiding the violent power of their cannons behind their windows as they pressed onward.
The French crossed the 300 meter mark. Under Joan's commands, they flowed like the water of a rushing river. Nothing was rushed and everything was organized. If a war historian of Leonel's time were to witness such a scene, they would be shocked beyond belief. It simply wasn't possible for an army even of modern times to move so swiftly, let alone one of the middle ages.
However, these things were simply beyond the normal realm of logic and reason. One only needs to look toward the faint golden glow of the large French flag in Joan's hands to understand that this was no longer just a battle of mortal men. The Gods had intervened.
Nigelle roared once more and a second volley came.
More men died horrible deaths. Though the shieldmen did their jobs as well as they could, how could it be possible for them all to come out unharmed?
Maybe the most sickening part was that if one ignored the cries of pain and closed one's eyes, the sound of arrows piercing skin was little different from the sound of an arrow hitting the bark of a tree.
However, very soon, the French weren't the only ones suffering, because the cannons Joan had asked to prepare were ready.
The tall wooden towars stopped just within 200 meters of the castle walls, the barrels of deep black cannons aimed forward before a cacophony of booms resounded.
The cries of the English sounded and the bloody battle that went down in history truly began.
In the distance, Leonel looked on with a serious expression. By now, he had already been in many battles. However, he had never set eyes on a siege before. Though he was prepared for it to be bloody, he really hadn't expected it to be to this extent.
'We were right to move so far back.' Leonel thought to himself. 'That man shouting out commands and the one by his side are definitely not normal. They're also most definitely not the same English generals who fought this battle according to history.'
Leonel took a deep breath and his frown deepened.
Just what was going on? Who was scheming against Earth ?
But there was an even more shocking realization that made Leonel's spine tingle with coldness.
It was only possible for a single group to enter a Zone at one time. Until that group succeeded or failed and died, said Zone would not open again.
What did this mean? It meant that whoever was toying with the matters of the past now had been doing so for at least one thousand years already. How could they even begin to fight against such a thing?