"My countrymen, charge forward with me!"
Having crossed the Loire, Jeanne bypassed Saint-Loup and pressed upstream toward Orléans. Riding at the head of the column, she raised her banner high, her voice burning with resolve as she led the charge.
"Charge!"
Her spirit swept through the ranks like wildfire. The soldiers roared in unison and surged toward the main gate of Orléans.
Thundering hooves, clattering armor, and pounding footsteps made the very earth tremble.
On the other side, the English soldiers scrambled in alarm.
"It's the French! Prepare the defenses!"
"Archers, ready your bows!"
"Where are the cavalry? Move!"
Jeanne's sudden assault had caught them completely off guard. No one had expected a direct attack on the main gate—precisely why their defenses were weakest there.
At the front lines, Jeanne wielded the spear Laurent had given her, striking through the enemy ranks with swift, merciless precision.
She moved like a swallow in flight, cutting through the chaos, felling anyone who stood before her.
"The Lord is with us! Do not falter—run toward the light!"
Even as she fought, she guided her troops clearly:
"Rescue our countrymen! Carve a straight path forward!"
"Charge!"
"Follow Lady Jeanne!"
Driven by her example, the French soldiers fought with furious strength, gripping their weapons and plunging into the fray.
Though it was her first real battle, Jeanne showed no fear.
She knew her hands were stained with blood, yet she felt no hesitation.
Victory belongs to those who fight with one heart!
Blocking an incoming blade, she kicked its wielder to the ground.
If she didn't take this path—if she didn't step forward to save her country—there would be even more blood spilled.
Touching the blood that had splashed across her face, Jeanne's fierce beauty sharpened, her eyes burning with determination.
Raising her banner high, she shouted:
"Today, we shall liberate Orléans!"
Laurent, you'll understand this, won't you? she thought quietly.
The only person she never wanted to see bloodied was him.
There was no right or wrong on a battlefield. The road before her was paved with blood and bone. She knew her sins well—and she would bear them alone.
"Kill the French!"
The English soldiers struggled to resist, but the French, fully armed and prepared, gave them no chance. Forced into chaos, the English ranks crumbled fast.
"It's our reinforcements! They've come to save us!"
The cry from within Orléans reignited hope.
"Brothers! Let's charge out and meet them!"
Inside the city, the trapped soldiers rallied, seized their weapons, and fought their way out to join Jeanne's forces.
The English broke completely.
In only a few hours, Jeanne carved a bloody path to the city gates, her face spattered with blood—but she felt no unease, only growing courage.
When the enemy finally fled, Jeanne stood atop the gate, lifting her banner high.
"The Lord will shine upon us in the end! Whether He loves or hates the English, I do not know—but this I do know: they shall be driven from France, save those who die here! Warriors! Raise your swords and fight with me for our nation!"
"Victory to France!"
Her radiant figure shone like a blazing star, lighting every heart below.
Gilles de Rais could hardly believe his eyes. Staring up at Jeanne, tall and unyielding above, he saw something divine—a true Holy Maiden.
A Holy Maiden… Has God finally blessed us?
Is this truly His chosen one?
Such holiness—indeed, the Dauphin had chosen wisely.
These thoughts echoed not only in Gilles's heart but in the hearts of countless onlookers.
It was no wonder. The armor Laurent had crafted for Jeanne was strikingly distinct—so dazzling that she stood out instantly amid the crowd. With the sacred banner fluttering above her, from that day onward, wherever it rose, everyone would know her name.
Though the battle hadn't yet fully liberated Orléans, it marked the turning point—the spark that reignited hope across France.
...
By eight o'clock that night, Jeanne entered Orléans at the head of her generals and two hundred armored knights. The city burst into celebration, torches flaring as the people welcomed their Holy Maiden.
At first, Jeanne disliked the title. She never thought of herself as one—just a girl fighting to save her homeland.
But Gilles disagreed. The people needed a symbol of hope, he said, and Jeanne was exactly that.
He insisted she truly was a Holy Maiden.
Worn down by his conviction, Jeanne finally accepted the title—outwardly, at least. In her heart, she never would.
"We can't grow complacent," Jeanne told them firmly. "Today's victory changes nothing. The English still surround us. Tomorrow morning, we march to attack the Saint-Pouair fortress—Talbot awaits!"
Even amid cheers and celebration, she couldn't relax.
Every second counted. She couldn't afford to waste a moment.
"Long live the Holy Maiden!"
As the citizens shouted their heartfelt blessings, Gilles de Rais was swept away by the moment.
What a magnificent sight.
Jeanne smiled warmly, returning their cheers.
But in that joy-filled moment, a familiar face flashed in her mind.
If Laurent were here, she thought, she might truly feel happy.
She realized then how deeply she missed him.
Ah—she suddenly remembered. I still need to keep writing letters!
Maybe tonight, she could ask someone to help her draft and send one again.
Her gaze wandered among those nearby.
I wonder… can Gilles write letters? she thought with mild curiosity.
With that idea in mind, Jeanne decided to speak with him privately once the celebrations ended.
She would have to think carefully about what to write to Laurent next.