What exactly happened that day?
After a brief silence, Samael grinned and casually snapped his fingers. Ether surged around them, mingling with the hazy rising vapor to vividly recreate the events of the execution several days earlier.
On May 30, the shackled Saintess was escorted from the Prison Tower to the square.
She was so devout that even after being bound to the stake, she continued praying without pause.
Even as she walked toward the execution ground, her face showed neither resentment nor fear. Whether toward the watching citizens, the guards escorting her, the executioner carrying out the sentence, or even the clergy who stood beneath the light while conducting dark deeds, she remained as gentle and calm as ever.
She had never hated anyone. She accepted her fate with composure.
Before the execution, she asked the priest beside her to let her hold a small cross.
At last, the fire was lit. Under orders, the executioner kept the flames some distance from her, so that she would die as painfully as possible.
Beneath the gloomy sky, a human body twisted in agony amid the blazing flames. The citizens who had once harbored all manner of malice toward the girl could not bear to watch and turned their heads aside. Nearly everyone present shed tears of sympathy.
Even the executioner, tormented by his conscience afterward, murmured this to the law officers.
"If Joan of Arc was a witch, I would gladly have ended her myself. But in the instant before she died, I saw a white dove fly past."
Everything was so tragic, so hauntingly beautiful.
"Congratulations, Jeanne d'Arc. By casting yourself into the flames, you forged a shining symbol of faith. Now you have been remembered by the world and have become the true Maid of Orléans."
Facing the