Chapter 120
Boudica's eyes widened.
In the midst of extreme absurdity and silence, she suddenly found it somewhat amusing.
She had never seen such a wide-area combat instrument before.
What does this mean? It means that the wars that the North had believed to be evenly matched over the previous decades were nothing more than small-scale training exercises in the eyes of the Atlantis.
This was a great irony, Boudica's face even flushed with shame and indignation for a moment, but then a strong chill spread through her heart.
I've never had an experience like this in the past few decades.
Why would Nero bring the organ to the front lines for no reason?
Boudica, of course, was not so arrogant as to think it was herself. She turned around with all her might and roared loudly in the direction of Jeanne and Hebe.
"Silly child, run!"
It was too late; amidst the hoarse chanting, the sacred melody finally reached its magnificent climax.
Countless rainbow-like rays of light descended from the sky, each containing a metal cross. They pierced the ground like a torrential rain, shattering both Northern warriors and Golem Knights equally in the storm of metal.
But this is just the prelude.
In the Golden Theater above the Vast Sea, Nero waved his arm, gliding out a series of dramatic Musical Note.
Suddenly, flickering flames rose from the cross piercing the earth, and those turbulent, rising white flames stretched out in a continuous line, accompanied by a maddening noise, surging towards every part of the battlefield.
The wheels of the chariot rumbled, but were quickly drowned out by the pervasive noise. The warriors drove their chariots around Boudica, protecting her as she charged forward with their own bodies.
One by one, the wheels shattered and went out; one by one, the soldiers fell to the ground, engulfed by white flames, barely able to utter a last word.
On Boudica's chariot were two young warriors. They exchanged a glance and then jumped off the chariot.
The white flames engulfed them, disappearing completely in an instant.
Boudica didn't shed a single tear, or perhaps she had already cried all her tears twenty years ago.
As they accelerated out of the battlefield, which had become a metal jungle, only four of the nearly one hundred tanks remained.
But Boudica felt no joy at having successfully broken through.
In the distance, the pipe organ, resembling a small island, still floats on the sea.
Nero continues to play his part, brewing the next impending disaster.
The sea fog had dissipated sometime earlier.
The remaining three legions under Nero's command quietly appeared from the sea, cutting off their retreat.
They remained silent in the sea fog until now, as the Fifteenth Legion was trampled by Boudica and crushed by Nero's Requiem.
These golems stood side by side, like one terrifying city wall after another.
But they showed no sign of charging; they simply maintained a terrifying silence.
Because the protagonist of this war is Nero Claudius, a direct descendant of the Philosopher King Remus, the leader of the citizens, and the one among the Three Grand Harmonizers who represents secular royal power.
The tides rose and fell quietly, and Nero continued to play with abandon.
A fierce light is brewing in the clouds.
The defeat in the North is inevitable.
186. This is Maid of Orléans.
A playful melody drifted in from afar on the wind, swirling mischievously around Hebe's ears.
This was Nero's malicious mockery of them.
Perhaps she also felt that giving the northern barbarians time to say their last words was a kind of leeway that a victor should have.
The roar of the wheels finally faded into the distance, Boudica almost fell off the chariot.
Fortunately, Jeanne caught her, saving Boudica from a close encounter with the ground.
That heavy crown of thorns drained the last bit of her life.
"Break out," Boudica said. "You were right not to join the battle earlier. Once you return to the North, you can make a comeback in twenty years."
In this war, the North completely wiped out an entire enemy legion.
This can be described as the most glorious victory in decades.
Boudica wasn't without suspicion that it was a trap. But Northerners were cheap, and on this table where human lives were the stakes, it was never a losing proposition no matter how you played the game.
Jeanne, however, was different. Boudica could tell at a glance that she was a leader capable of leading the North to rise again, and that her talent far surpassed that of Boudica, who was about to be overwhelmed and crushed by the crown.
As long as Jeanne can live, everything will be alright.
Boudica has calmed down.
She reached out and grasped her thorny headband, struggling to pull it from her skull, blood splattering everywhere.
Boudica looked at Jeanne and Hebe, her gaze shifting back and forth across their faces.
Who will take up this crown?
Boudica favored Jeanne, but Hebe reached out and snatched the thorn headdress from her hand with an almost forceful gesture.
"I'll do it."
Hebe placed the rather crude Crown of Thorns on her head.
The cold iron pierced her forehead, and a familiar throbbing pain followed.
Boudica's eyes widened.
She had never looked at Hebe so closely before, and this time, she scrutinized the girl wearing the Crown of Thorns.
The memories of the Northern Kingdom's power, passed down through generations, gradually overlapped with the appearance of the person before him.
Boudica suddenly recalled a story her mother had told her when she was a child: Legend has it that in the distant past, there once was a true king in the North.
She created fertile land on the islands and herded fish in the sea. She fed everyone with meat and rice and built a magnificent city-state in the depths of the sea.
The name of that city-state was Mycenae.
"Hehe, Mycenae, Mycenae..." Boudica murmured the name, a smile appearing on his face.
She slowly stopped breathing.
Jeanne gripped the flagpole tightly, her slender hands turning white.
She had just been reborn when she "killed" a friend who trusted her completely on the battlefield.
A voice echoed in her heart: Look, you claim you can change fate, yet everything repeats itself.
"No, I can," Jeanne said through gritted teeth. "There won't be any more sacrifices... I promise, I promise!"
She is no longer Domremy, the young girl of Jeanne.
She is Joan of Arc.
—She was Maid of Orléans, both chaste and virtuous.
Joan of Arc pressed her trembling left hand to her forehead, pulling down the trident-shaped iron mask to cover her soft eyebrows and eyes.
A long spear pointed straight to the sky.
The spear was clearly bare a moment ago, but in the next instant, a flag appeared out of thin air on the shaft.
The flag flutters in the wind, proudly displayed.
It was a flag with a pure white background and embroidered irises.
[The First Imprint: At the End of a Pure and Cold Prayer]
Joan of Arc once walked silently through the nightmarish world, dragging her dust-covered banner.
It's hard to say whether she was chasing the flames or the flames were chasing her.
Was that flag once pure white? It was a gift that Ishtar once gave her.
But the endless journey was too long, and the flag was stained with an ominous darkness until it turned to ashes along with Joan of Arc of Arc.
The remnants of the northern army stared at that flag.
The Golem Legion silently watched the remnants of the Northern army, surrounded in the center, still trying to put up a last-ditch resistance.
Even their expressionless, metallic faces betrayed a hint of mockery.
What's the point of a cornered beast fighting back?
But a miracle happened: the clouds inexplicably opened up a hole, and brilliant light shone down, falling on the iris banner.
The spear tip turned, and the remnants of the northern army silently followed Joan of Arc toward the Golem Legion.
What gives these physically weak barbarians such confidence?
Joan of Arc, her face covered in iron armor, tilted her flagpole and began to run ahead of the pack.
Joan of Arc was not fast, and it was nowhere near as fast as Boudica's chariot.
But when she started running, the Golem Knights, who were much taller than her, inexplicably felt an unstoppable sense of oppression.
When the golem's greatsword clashed with Joan of Joan of Arc's spear, one of them was swiftly and decisively destroyed almost without any hesitation.
Surprisingly, it was not Joan of Arc of Arc's ordinary flagpole that was destroyed, but the former.
Joan of Arc wielded her spear and swept it across the battlefield. All the golems in her path were destroyed at the same time, seemingly no more difficult than destroying a box or crushing a rat.
However, if someone were to look more closely, they would notice that before Joan of Arc swung her spear, faint cracks had already appeared in the chests of the Golem Knights.
It seemed as if the container in which their minds resided had cracked on its own.
Beneath the iron mask, Joan of Arc's already resolute face softened somewhat.
'It's Ishtar... she's helping me.'
Thinking of this, Joan of Arc of Arc put even more strength into her hands.
The Golem Knights silently retreated, and began to draw their bows and nock their arrows.
As they drew back the bowstring, destructive flames erupted from the great bow, which were then molded into a rain of arrows that swept across the land.
But an unexpected situation occurred once again.
Joan of Arc suddenly stopped her charge and slammed her spear heavily to the ground.
A pure Fleur-de-lis Banner was prominently displayed.
Arrows rained down, but none hit their mark.
An invisible yet overwhelming pressure fell upon the Golem Knights, forcing them all to bow their heads!
A brilliant halo rose behind Joan of Arc, and the intense light almost overflowed from her eyes.
[The Second Mark - The Restoration of Power Through Radiant Holy Light]
The Northern Army calmly tore a gap in the encirclement and left triumphantly.
The scattered legions tried to regroup, but to no avail.
Although they dared not question it, they had doubts in their hearts: why had Lord Nero delayed in bringing down destruction?
Joan of Arc believed that Hebe was hiding among the northern army.
She thought that Hebe, as Pure Water Spirit, was hiding to protect herself under Nero's nose, so she was deeply moved when she found out that Hebe had "lent a helping hand".
In fact, Hebe never left with her in the first place.
The cool seawater washed over Hebe's feet and toes, and she floated on the water's surface.
The blessing of pearls played a significant role here.
Of course, it wasn't just the pearl's blessing and water-walking that had an effect, but also the Scar Father's blessing and the Envoy's Prayer.
Hebe temporarily summoned Boudica's corpse, causing her to once again drive the chariot recklessly, charging around the area and drawing a great deal of attention to herself.