Chapter 134

This era lacks the gentle breeze that brings forth a thousand blossoms at night, but that doesn't stop Hebe from being amazed and nostalgic.

Of course, she didn't have much time to reminisce, because the gun suddenly burst into flames.

From the firelight emerged Joan of Arc, clad in armor and armed with weapons.

Her eyes... were extremely cold.

Her blue-purple eyes were illuminated by the firelight, turning them golden; and her long hair appeared pale in the flames.

206 Salieri

Under the cover of night, flames rose, and the air was filled with the ozone-like smell of tar.

Hebe and Joan of Arc stood facing each other.

Hebe could read a lot of emotions in the Maid of Orléans's eyes.

—Confusion, doubt, disbelief, and indignation at being betrayed and deceived.

Why? This is Joan of Arc's silent question.

Hebe laughed helplessly: What "why" is there?

She couldn't help but recall how Joan of Arc of Arc had repeatedly claimed to be "doing it for her own good" and tried to persuade her to "turn back from her misguided ways"... Wasn't she now repeating the same mistake?

"No, we're not the same," Hebe said. "I'm not like you."

Joan of Arc could not change anything, but she could.

Hebe pulled off the hair tie, and her flaxen hair fell down like brocade.

Under the dark and windy night sky, she seemed to be shining.

The Maid of Orléans's eyes reddened as she stared blankly at the radiant Pure Water Spirit.

So beautiful, yet so enviable.

What method can we use to keep her here?

"Don't you have Command Spells?" Hebe thought for a moment. "How about trying to use it to command me to stop?"

The Pure Water Spirit held her head high, the corners of her mouth curving in the firelight.

One moment it looks like it's smiling, but the next it looks like it's tilting its head down.

When she spoke these words, her expression was more human than anyone Joan of Arc had ever met. Her melancholy smile was like the universe, beautiful as if she were committing suicide.

Joan of Arc's lips moved as if she were moving two heavy clouds, the wrinkles between her lips and teeth rubbing together, producing a sound like thunderclaps in a downpour.

"No."

Joan of Arc repeated it again.

She wouldn't use Command Spells, she absolutely, absolutely wouldn't use Command Spells on Hebe.

If Hebe hadn't pointed out the existence of Command Spells, she would have almost forgotten about this rein used to restrain Servant.

"Then pick up the gun," Hebe said. "We talked during the day. Now I can answer you... There's a main reason I wasn't loved: I don't need to be loved. We are opposing blades, and we can only exist in conscious pain."

Joan of Arc's eyes suddenly glazed over.

She recalled those unforgettable moments from her memory, and remembered how Hebe had so resolutely refused her.

Pain erupted from her heart like magma, melting away all the "intimacy" they had shared during the day.

Joan of Arc gripped the flagpole.

Hebe didn't pull out the stick; she simply spread her hands out.

Joan of Arc, wielding her spear, almost transformed into a whirlwind as she thrust it towards Hebe's shoulder. The spear tip trembled in the air, emitting a piercing shriek.

Just as the spear was still some distance from Hebe, the latter suddenly swung her hand.

Smack

The spear was intercepted by Hebe midway.

She punched the side of the gun, causing the tip to deflect.

But in the next instant, the spear flew out of Joan of Arc of Arc's hand.

"She was knocked away? No, no... she let go of it on her own!"

By the time Hebe realized this, she and Joan of Arc of Arc were already less than inches apart.

Fist. Elbow. Palm. Leg.

In just a few seconds, the two sides exchanged attacks and defenses dozens of times, and every part of their bodies became a deadly weapon.

It was clearly a dangerous social engagement, enough to trigger a storm, yet both parties managed to handle it perfectly.

Joan of Arc let out a sharp cry.

The spear that she had deliberately released suddenly flew up into the air again, as if it were alive, and thrust towards Hebe's legs.

"Trouble!"

Hebe originally thought that Joan of Arc knew this trick before, but had not used it as a trump card.

But now it seems that all of this was a fighting style she figured out on her own after burning away her damaged achievements.

—It's very simple. Doing this will allow her nearly vanished achievements to reach their maximum effect.

Hebe, expressionless, crashed into Joan of Arc of Arc's arms. Just as the flying iron spear was about to pierce her calf, her body suddenly turned into a puddle of water.

The iron spear lost its target and stuck crookedly into the ground, its shaft still trembling slightly.

Water turns into flowers, and people are in the flowers.

With ease, Hebe emerged from the water once more and took the sword hanging from Joan of Arc's waist.

Both involve changes in the properties of matter, but Hebe's demonstration is far superior to Elizabeth's. If the latter were watching the battle at this moment, she might be so ashamed and indignant that she would bang her head on the ground.

After all, Elizabeth was just an outsider to Hebe...

Joan of Arc slumped to the ground, her spear slipping from her hand. The military banner that had once fluttered in the wind now hung limply on the ground, soaked with the pure water droplets.

Hebe walked over and gently placed the sword on her knee. Just as she knelt down, Joan of Arc into a tight embrace.

If the fairy is the moon reflected in the water, then why does she hang so high, and why does she not shine on me alone?

Both past and present lives are the same.

The sound was almost squeezed out from between his teeth.

Hebe simply turned into water and flowed away through her fingers.

Your flaw lies in wanting the moon as if it were something easily attainable.

"But I insist on breaking free from this love and enjoying the cold freedom in the heights of nothingness."

Hebe's answer, and her own thoughts, rang in Joan of Arc's ears almost simultaneously, leaving her dizzy.

Just as Hebe had said before, she wanted to leave, and Joan of Arc couldn't stop her except with the Command Spells.

"Where are you going?" Joan of Arc asked wearily, raising her head. "Ishtar, where shall I look for you?"

"If you had asked me this question earlier, we might not have had to fight just now."

"But a fight might not be a bad thing. At least you'll see me for who I am now, won't you?"

Hebe spoke these words blankly, and everything was proceeding steadily according to her calculations.

She tapped the ground with her toes.

A refreshing change occurred instantly – her thin, flowing elven robe was replaced by a well-fitting gray striped suit.

The soles of the feet, which were originally in close contact with the ground, are now wrapped in a pair of comfortable and sturdy leather shoes.

Hebe reached out and adjusted his dark red tie, then fastened a gold pocket watch.

The wooden stick at her waist was also enveloped in a dull silver, gradually reshaping itself into a slender and square shape—it was clearly a sheathless cross-shaped short sword.

Rather than a short sword, Hebe saw it more as a baton.

The hem of her suit jacket hung down quietly as Hebe pulled a mask from her bosom that resembled overlapping wings and placed it on her nose.

In an instant, her face was "hidden," shut out of all sight.

The musician gave a graceful bow.

"I am Antonio Salieri, the Tuners who holds the name 'Echoes'."

"The Grand Harmonizer with the name of Orthodox, Amadeus Wolfgang Mozart, is destined to die by my hand."

"I will end all his reputation, all his melodies, all his visions."

207 Which uncle is this?

Many years later, when the inhabitants of Agor recall that earth-shattering battle that broke through the vast sea, the first person that comes to mind is not the current chief governor of Agor.

In their memories, there was always that Maid of Orléans, clad in armor and wielding weapons, who was like a flame and like the sun, always leading the way for them.

War is like a whirlpool, forcibly drawing everyone in and changing everyone, making everything unrecognizable and leaving people sighing.

But even amidst the rhythm of war, the Maid of Orléans would reveal a softer side: she would gaze at the flickering campfire and visit certain pristine, unpolluted water sources, her expression gentle and tender, as if she were facing someone.

Her methods became more sophisticated, imbued with a gentle wisdom. Often, she didn't even need to wage war; a few words were enough to make the enemy surrender and submit with courtesy.

When asked where these wisdom and talents came from, the Maid of Orléans simply smiled and sighed.

These skills had been demonstrated to her by Hebe before her eyes, and now, Joan of Arc was gradually living out the image of her from her memories.

Hebe, of course, did not know how Joan of Arc would change after she left, but she believed that the Maid of Orléans would be able to stabilize the situation.

Whether Mycenae had a monarch or not was irrelevant, since from the very beginning, this country was born out of war.

The king was merely a figurehead to reassure people; the real figurehead was Joan of Arc.

Hebe saw it very clearly:

Those Northerners did indeed revere the Iron Crown; but they revered Joan of Arc even more.

Undefeated in every battle, without a single casualty. This was the miracle Joan of Arc displayed, and her prestige was so high that she could easily place any random person on the throne.

Mycenae can live without a king, but it cannot live without Maid of Orléans.

Just as Joan of Arc believed in her, Hebe believed in Joan of Arc as well.

She embarked on her journey to Ysus in the guise of Salieri.

The road to Issu passes through three towering triumphal arches, but ironically, only one of them was built during the reign of the Philosopher King. The other two were built by the Grand Harmonizer to proclaim his "sweeping away the enemy's lair" achievements.

If Hebe remembers correctly, their so-called "plowing the court and sweeping the caves" ultimately failed to kill too many Northerners.

One reason was that the number of Northerners had been greatly reduced by the slaughter; another reason was that the Northerners had become accustomed to this kind of sweeping, so much so that when Nero's army pressed in, they were able to run away very nimbly.

So in the end, in order to make up the number of people, the Grand Harmonizer had no choice but to use these residents who actually lived in the Iss region.

Haha, the North was at least voluntarily ceded away by the Three Grand Harmonizers, which is why they were reduced from citizens to barbarians.

Hebe gave a mocking laugh.

This was once the largest port in the Burgundy Province, a place that received ships and provided engine and propeller replacement services for warships; but now, the bustling merchant ships were gone, and few vessels were anchored on the wide sea. When Hebe expressed her desire to take a boat trip along the way, the owner readily agreed.

"Our ship is both a cruise ship and a merchant ship."

The ship owner, dressed like a respectable gentleman, pointed at the magnificent ship, which resembled a city wall, with a walking stick in his hand, his expression full of praise and pride.

Regardless of gender or race, living beings always hold awe and respect for giants.

Hebe tilted her head back. "Not bad, not bad."

"What do you think is good about it?" the boat owner pressed.

"I think it's great everywhere," Hebe replied.

The ship owner laughed heartily, quite satisfied with Hebe's answer.

He could tell that Hebe was a highly accomplished musician. That was why Hebe's praise made him feel quite honored.

In doing so, Hebe successfully waived part of her ticket fee and boarded the ship via the gangway.