For François Prelati, defiling, breaking, and finally killing Jeanne d'Arc had been her most fervent wish.
Over countless years, she had defiled and broken innumerable noble and holy souls.
She had made patriots hate their own countries, lovers slaughter one another, and even family members turn against each other in bloody conflict.
She had no special reason for doing so. She simply wanted to do it, believing it would bring her pleasure afterward. Even her targets were chosen entirely on a whim.
They could be royal nobles, heroic figures, or even vagrants at the very bottom of society.
With honeyed words, deception, and her illusions, she had toyed with countless people in the palm of her hand.
Only one person had surpassed her understanding—the sole target she had ever failed to corrupt in her entire life.
That person was Jeanne d'Arc, the saint who had saved her nation, whom she could never forget.
François Prelati had indeed killed Jeanne d'Arc, but she had failed to defile or break her.
Until the moment Jeanne d'Arc was burned to death, her holiness had never gained the slightest stain, and her loyalty had never wavered.
That purity, that radiance, that brilliance, had been the deadliest poison to François Prelati.
It had become the stain on her life, one she could never erase even after Jeanne d'Arc's death.
For that reason, she had given Gilles de Rais Prelati's Spellbook, leading Gilles into the darkness of depravity.
She had prayed that Jeanne d'Arc would see what Gilles had become in the Underworld, then descend into madness and self-reproach, fulfilling her fantasy.
But was that possible?
Jeanne d'Arc's soul would surely enter Heaven after her death. That was a place François Prelati could never reach in her lifetime.
She had thought they would never meet again,