Chapter 145
Did Athens just let them pass without firing a single shot?
In this situation, Joan of Arc did not immediately raise her weapon.
She overlooked one point: Hebe was Pure Water Spirit, while she was now a manifestation of ocean currents.
Hebe had no need to fight Athens to the death; she simply followed the Golden Waterways to the Ys City.
In a brief moment of hesitation, Joan of Arc heard someone ask, "When a person dies, it's like a lamp going out; there is never a soul. Have you come here because of some obsession?"
The voice was gentle yet resolute, compelling one to listen and respond.
"Raise your weapons!" Joan of Arc immediately gave the order.
But it was too late; amidst the vast army, discordant noises began to emerge.
The gentle yet resolute voice continued, "Look at all this asceticism, hardship, and toil. We should pursue happiness and joy, but I think this happiness and joy should not come from material enjoyment, because material enjoyment will eventually be exhausted."
"True happiness should come from the tranquility that comes after emotional distress. This applies to worldly troubles and war as well."
"If anyone is tired of war, come in and sit with me at the table."
The moment the words fell, the once solid army suddenly responded in many ways—several hundred people threw down their weapons, took off their armor, broke away from the ranks, and vanished into thin air.
A second voice then rang out.
He was cheerful and always smiling, making people want to laugh along with him.
"All things in the world are but endless changes, and everyone's feelings are real and reliable. This is the teaching of the Prophetess Sibyl. I dare say that everyone will make different judgments about all things based on their own feelings, so there is no such thing as true or false, right or wrong."
"The existence, nature, and form of all things are relative and depend entirely on human subjective perception. Humans are the measure of all things, and thought and knowledge are the measure of human beings."
"The dignity of the deceased comes from themselves, not from the creation of gods or the favor of fate."
"If anyone understands this, please come and walk with me."
Joan of Arc could not stop it; in fact, when she hesitated due to many factors, she had already lost control of the army.
Symbolism is reciprocal; when cracks appeared in Joan of Arc of Arc's army, the same sign of fragmentation appeared in her.
The flag, already reduced to ashes, finally began to fall and decay from its edges.
Immediately afterwards, a third voice rang out...
When Joan of Arc finally managed to lift her head from her splitting headache, the once imposing army of ten thousand men was now less than two-thirds of its original size.
So many people vanished into thin air.
But that's not all.
The philosophers' voices echoed in the ears of the remaining soldiers, these remnants of differing opinions overlapping and reverberating, easily causing infighting among the remaining troops, who turned their weapons on their own comrades.
"The essence of the world is nothing but atoms and void, and man is the measure of all things. In other words, each of you is an atom, and the world is void."
"Who is it that leads you to place your hopes in nothingness?"
Their first target was Joan of Arc, who had led them on their campaigns from north to south.
Blood flowed across the wilderness outside Athens.
Joan of Arc of Arc's achievements protected these people too well, while armies are meant to be tempered in blood and fire.
The Maid of Orléans used the barrel of her spear to support her body, which was on the verge of falling apart, making it difficult for her to even issue a single command.
The guards who surrounded her silently drew their swords and charged forward to meet their comrades.
Joan of Arc strained to open her eyes wide.
She could barely make out that the soldiers protecting her were the original warriors who had followed Boudica and followed her in accordance with Boudica's dying wish.
"Protect the Maid of Orléans— "
She heard someone shouting at the top of their lungs. It was a thin man wearing silver armor, and his name seemed to be Gilles... Gilles what was it again?
Everything in the world seemed to slow down, and splattered blood and dirt brushed against the faces of the warriors.
The man who had organized the army and was shouting loudly was pierced through the chest and abdomen by two spears, one on each side. He roared in pain and struggled to swing his sword.
The man named Gilles struck the first soldier, and then more men rushed up, pushed him to the ground, and stabbed him with swords and guns.
Joan of Arc stared wide-eyed, as did the man named Gilles, whose eyes bulged out like a dying fish thrown ashore.
He left no last words, and then more people shoved each other, stabbing one another with swords and spears.
"Ah—ahhhhh..."
Everything that existed before finally crumbled in Joan of Arc of Arc's mind.
The entire world she once championed was destroyed like a sudden downpour.
Those vows of integrity, justice, and the determination to redeem everything are now fading away as quickly as memories, like condensation on glass being wiped away carelessly.
Joan of Arc of Arc's world fell into darkness.
Pale flames ignited from her hair, the hem of her clothes, and her fingertips.
She looked around blankly, everything was shrouded in the dim firelight, and those who fought for her and those who fought against her were all just gray silhouettes.
She turned her head again and looked in the direction of Isu.
In the vast and boundless world, only Hebe's figure is clear.
That's good, that's good... she thought.
The pale flames burned silently on the flower crown above her head, like some kind of thorn.
The fighting armies were suddenly torn apart by some great force.
The warriors who had sworn to fight Joan of Arc of Arc silently withdrew their weapons, and pale flames engulfed them. Moments later, their faces were covered with armor of the same color, like ghosts returned from hell.
Emerging from the howling flames was Joan of Arc with white hair... Her face still held a blank expression, and blankness meant nothingness, meant that there was nothing at all.
At this moment, these rebels finally understood the utter despair of the enemy standing in Joan of Arc's way.
The flames ignited the blood-soaked wild grass as soon as they landed, then rose at a frenzied speed along the blades and armor, seeping into the gaps between the skin and armor, and finally burning through the rebels' faceplates.
Joan of Arc was still casually waving her spear.
Her posture was far from elegant; it was more like a child swinging a branch, yet everything she touched twisted from the inside out.
Trees, buildings... and of course, the human body.
In the end, there were no more black silhouettes among those flames. Flames produce light, and light cannot contain even a single shadow.
The pale firelight gently enveloped her, and Joan of Arc slowly closed her eyes.
She turned around and silently pointed her spear at the shadowy city of Athens.
In this city, there are still many shadows that are difficult to see clearly...
Faced with Joan of Arc of Arc approaching with fire, the Athenians finally broke their silence. They launched a kind of long-tube-like carriage and raised the muzzle of the foremost cannon.
Immediately, black liquid with a pungent, fishy smell was splashed around Athens, followed by ghastly green flames rising from it.
Even though Greek Civilization has been lost, something still remains, and the more it is lost, the more remains.
In the modern world, the Eastern Roman Byzantine Empire repeatedly used a weapon called Greek Fire to destroy the Arab navy.
It did not extinguish upon contact with water; instead, it burned even more fiercely, causing great distress to the Arabs.
When the Byzantine Empire fell, Greek Fire also disappeared without a trace.
In Hebe's past life, experts speculated that Greek Fire might have been a weapon made using petroleum.
This is the "Greek Fire" of Atlantis.
The Greek Fire that Hebe knew in her previous life was merely a physical phenomenon caused by the ignition of oil, but this was not the case here.
Most flames in the world have an owner.
Taking the Celestial Flint as an example, the flame it wields symbolizes "change," "destruction," and "recasting." Its origin lies in the tiny Mars that flew out when ancient humans struck flint.
At this time, the "Greek Fire" has two symbolic origins.
First, it is the "blood" that flows endlessly deep within the earth; second, it is the fire caused by lightning striking the trees.
The former comes from the Holy Grail's wicked bestowal; the latter originates from the Fisher King was not yet incapacitated at that time.
In the past, the Fisher King was regarded as Zeus!
With Eris's assistance, He used the symbols of the two rulers to interweave and reproduce the power of the third ruler.
The ghastly green flames and the pale white flames clashed and fought for each other's foundations, and amidst this eerie burning, the Athenians began an orderly evacuation towards Isu.
The philosophers and musicians stared intently at the continuous, ghastly green wall of fire, convinced that Joan of Arc lacked the wisdom to break the Greek Fire curse.
To create or dismantle Greek Fire, one must have a deep enough understanding of the nature of the world, or rather, of the realm of governance... Looking across the entirety of Atlantis, there are only two and a half people capable of creating Greek Fire.
The Philosopher King Remus; the uncrowned king; and the last Prophetess Sibyl.
Why can it only be counted as two and a half? Because Sybil has no human form; her true form is a golden bee dwelling on the Golden Tree, and her consciousness is the Grand Symphony itself.
The existing batch of Greek Fire comes from the creation of the Uncrowned King in the Academy of Philosophy.
Several minutes passed, and the philosophers were slightly relieved after the first group of evacuees had safely left—it seemed that Joan of Arc indeed did not possess the ability to pass through the flames.
However, just as they relaxed, a pale white flame suddenly rose from the fleet that was far away from Athens.
The flames stretched along the sea and easily poured into the open spaces of Athens.
The philosophers sighed, looked around, then sat down on the ground and began to exert their last ounce of energy... not to fight the flames that were spreading through Athens, but to take this opportunity to conduct a final debate.
The musicians were the same; they faced the pale flames with composure, playing their violins, clarinets, and hand drums... before being engulfed by the flames.
Finally, Athens fell into a fiery silence.
The pale green Greek Fire shrank, and as its fuel was exhausted, it would no longer spread outwards, but it would burn quietly here for a long time.
The pale flames roared toward Joan of Arc. She turned her head, her golden eyes swirling with chaos, and quietly waited for the army outside the city to begin its march.
Their numbers are far, far fewer than before.
When Hebe saw Athens bathed in a mixture of pale green and ashen white, Hebe knew that Joan of Arc must have crossed her own boundaries.
Perhaps, her army of ten thousand men was also wiped out beneath the walls of Athens.
This is certainly a good thing, because when the final truth is revealed, if Joan of Arc were to become an enemy, her army of thousands would be a hot potato.
Hebe silently twitched the corners of her mouth: There have to be some sacrifices. The important thing is to complete the Lostbelt conquest.
She was now standing before the grand Imperial Road of Ys—pillars like strings stood on either side, and diluted golden spiritual dew flowed continuously in the waterways beneath them.
At the end of the Great Imperial Road, there are two golems that are almost as tall as the city walls.
They have long, slender arms and a single, Gilgamesh eye, and they hold equally enormous metal bows and arrows in their hands.
Even in Hebe's simulated memories, these two golems had not moved. But at this moment, one of the enormous golems collapsed at the end of the Imperial Road, blocking the city gate; the other knelt on the edge of the city wall, maintaining a posture as if it were about to pry open the wall with its hands.
Faint string music drifted through the air above the city, and the branches of the Golden Tree were cracked and broken, allowing light to peek through them.
Good news, now Hebe doesn't have to besiege cities or face large-scale wars.
Bad news: the gates of Ys cannot be opened from this side, and the situation inside is unknown.
Hebe faintly smelled the scent of a certain Mr. Miyazaki.
It's not Hayao Miyazaki, it's Hidetaka Miyazaki.
222 will win.
The main gate of Ys was once made of amber, and when it gazed at the passing crowds and ships, it always looked like a silent sun or a wordless eye.
But now the enormous golem lies fallen in front of us, its body and arms completely blocking the doorway.
Hebe was forced to climb onto another golem and ascend its arm that was clinging to the city wall to enter the Ys City.
Entering the Ys City was not as simple as it seemed. Hebe nimbly leaped down from the golem's palm and peered into the city from the wall. What she saw was utterly shocking:
Most of the buildings in the city had their doors and windows sealed with a wax-like substance. Pale dust accumulated along the roadsides and in the cracks between buildings. Hanging from the eaves were numerous desiccated corpses, which swayed slightly in the wind like wind chimes...