Chapter 1. Not your Jeanne
- Bravo, pitiful foolish believer, you have defeated me! - laughed Jeanne Alter, lying on the ground and cunningly staring into the face of the victor. She lay there in beautiful black armor, defeated but not broken in spirit, with a determined face, like that of a lion.
The real Jeanne d'Arc looked at her with sympathy, as if it wasn't her sword at the defeated one's throat. She used to be an ordinary shepherdess until she heard the amazing voices in her dreams. They called to her, guided her, and led her to victories, forever inscribing her name in the history of France. She couldn't even imagine how much evil her distorted copy was capable of causing. In her worst nightmare, she did not dream of that bloody sea with floating islands of corpses, and estuaries of tears, suffering, and grief, from which her sinister dark copy eagerly drank, unable to quench its thirst. The one whose heart beats under her foot, encased in shining armor. The one whom she, perhaps, would have pitied if there hadn't been so much evil created behind her back.
- You know your fate! Burned at the stake, like a witch! - said Jeanne Alter. - Betrayed by friends, the king, and the people of France for whom she fought!
She stared into the eyes of the real Jeanne without looking away, and for the latter, that gaze was worse than being burned at the stake. It seemed that just one look from those amber eyes would blacken her own perfectly polished armor, turn her hair gray, change her eyes' color, and she would burst into a ringing laughter and go on to deliver what she deemed justice. Horrified by this, the real Jeanne shuddered. Jeanne Alter sensed her tremble and voiced the laughter that had recently haunted the real Jeanne's imagination. But now the real Jeanne did not lose her composure.
- I am needed by the world, it's my duty, calmly replied the real Jeanne. - Tell me, why did you copy so many famous people? What did you want to say with that?
- I just wanted to prove who the real Jeanne d'Arc is!
- Really? - asked the real Jeanne, pondering.
- Bravo! - applauded Ritsuka. - Bravo. The copies you created surpassed their originals. But don't you feel sorry for them?
Jeanne Alter blinked for a second, looked to where the fake Brunhilde had fallen in battle, and after a short pause replied:
- They were never perfect anyway. I couldn't summon them in the proper form.
Ritsuka and the others exchanged glances. After the intense battle, they all looked as if they had been hit by a speeding train, and they survived only by a mysterious miracle. The last fight - no longer with fakes, but with Jeanne Alter herself - almost cost Ritsuka his life, but he was saved by the real Jeanne, with whom she clashed. Jeanne Alter skillfully fought several of Ritsuka's servants at once, finding it amusing, making cruel jokes and laughing at her opponents. Now she lay defeated on the ground, but her spirit remained unbroken, she was satisfied with herself and a smile never left her face.
The real Jeanne finally found words and asked:
- Who are your parents? Where did your childhood take place?
Jeanne Alter paused for a second.
- What does it matter? I am forever your aspect, your dark side! Accept me!
- Dear Jeanne! - Da Vinci addressed her. - You surrounded yourself with male servants, you even created a loyal friend who died for you. What do you know about yourself? Nothing.
In response, Jeanne Alter only smirked and lowered her gaze. Throughout all this time, her face seemed stone-like and completely impenetrable to emotions or any thoughts. Even Ritsuka, though he had encountered her more than once before, wondered about her thoughts. He couldn't anticipate what would come to her mind in the next moment of battle, and now the expression on her face told him nothing at all.
The real Joan of Arc looked at Jeanne Alter with increasing regret until she lowered her sword. She did it with such a painful sigh, as if her last strength had left her and she anticipated a swift death from multiple wounds. But these wounds were not physical - her armor protected her from them. Jeanne Alter did not react to her gesture. She remained lying in the same spot, defeated in battle. She was deeply engrossed in something, looking at her chest that rose and fell frequently. Gradually, her gaze became unfocused, but the expression of deep thoughts did not disappear from her face.
"I created them only for my own amusement," she fake laughed in response. "Like toys."
"Your counterfeits far surpassed the real Servants they were copied from," continued Da Vinci. "You are very talented, Jeanne, you surpassed even your own creator, Gilles de Rais. They were happy and genuinely enjoyed themselves and the wonderful company you rewarded them with. That's why they loved you and took care of you."
Jeanne Alter closed her eyes.
"How dare anyone give love and care to such a vengeful and malicious creature like me?" she asked incredulously.
The real Jeanne answered, "Because you are not at all the evil that you believe yourself to be."
"True," agreed Da Vinci. "The Gates of Chaldea found no reality where Joan of Arc was a villain. And if she is not a villain, then you cannot become one."
"What are you talking about?"
"Embrace your thirst for revenge, Jeanne. You can never be entirely heroic or villainous. Your place is to become a true embodiment of the anti-hero."
For the first time, a flicker of fear appeared on Jeanne Alter's face.
"If I become a Servant, and you summon me..."
She paused for a moment.
"Why wasn't I created by someone else?" she disappointedly asked. "It's so humiliating - to be someone's failed clone and never become a heroic soul..."
Glancing at the real Jeanne, she exclaimed:
"I wanted so much to resemble you! I am insignificant compared to you, not even a shadow of you! I hate you and myself for it, and I will always hate! I hate the whole world for how they betrayed us! No matter how many lives I save... my hatred will remain with me forever! I will always seek revenge! Revenge is the only thing I live for!"
"Be it as you wish," calmly replied the real Jeanne.
"Ritsuka," called Jeanne Alter.
"Yes, Jeanne?" Ritsuka responded.
"I can feel my future self forming a connection with you and preparing to accept you as her master. Perhaps, my future self will forget how it used to be embodied as a fake heroic spirit. But I want something good to remain in my memory... Ritsuka, promise me that you will take responsibility for my future incarnation!"
After finishing her request, Jeanne Alter froze in place and a second later, disappeared into thin air.
- What a complicated case, - thoughtfully said Mash Kirielight, studying the reports of the conducted operation and sipping coffee at her workplace.
- Indeed, it is a complicated case, - agreed Ritsuka. - So now we have a walking combination of blatant incompetence, talent, and inexhaustible energy.
- So, a walking disaster?
- Depends on the perspective, - smiled Ritsuka.
An alarm signal echoed throughout the gates of Chaldea. Ritsuka's smile disappeared instantly from his face.
- What happened? - Ritsuka asked, arriving at the scientific department.
- The supercomputer detected a singularity. After June 2, 1998, no life forms have been detected on Earth. - the specialists in the scientific department reported.
- Any reasons?
- Someone gained access to the Holy Grail, and the presumed geolocation is an uninhabited and inaccessible area in Great Britain.
- Have you identified the person responsible?
- No. We are dealing with a previously unknown historical figure.
- Don't you think this historical figure possesses too much power to remain in the shadows in all other realities?
- We also suspect, Master Ritsuka, that the world is like a box with a false bottom. We want to find the person in the outer box, but we need to search for them in the inner one, which we have no access to. We recommend sending one of the Servants there for reconnaissance.
- That is risky, - Ritsuka thoughtfully replied. - By sending a Servant there, I risk becoming the catalyst for a catastrophe. And why only a Servant?
- If that were the case, Chaldea would create more problems than it solves. Wasn't it you who prevented the emergence of singularities before, Master Ritsuka?
- You haven't answered why I should send only a Servant.
- It's more reliable that way.
- Whom will you send to the past, Master Ritsuka? - Da Vinci asked, as Ritsuka stood, examining the time machine.
Numerous technicians, engineers, and scientists bustled about, launching one complex system after another in the intricate machine. The time machine was only preparing for launch, the room brightly lit with an array of lights. From minute to minute, this device would come alive, its mechanisms springing into action and manifesting fantasy into reality once again. But Ritsuka was not concerned with that; his thoughts were consumed by the weighty decision.
- Date set!
- Confirming date setting! July 30, 1994!
Whom will you send, Ritsuka?
- Confirming date setting, date set correctly!
Who among the Servants will fare better than the others?
- Location set!
To whom would you entrust your own life?
- Confirming location setting! United Kingdom, London, Charing Cross Road!
- Choose, Master, whom you wish to send, - Da Vinci said.
- Master Ritsuka! Send me! - Astolfo jumped in front of Ritsuka. - I won't let you down!
Ritsuka, deeply immersed in his thoughts thus far, replied:
- No, Astolfo.
- What? - Astolfo was surprised.
- The external temporal contour is ready.
- I believe you are a very good guy, capable of many things, and you will not let me down for anything.
- But why, Master Ritsuka? Why do you refuse to send me, knowing all this?
- Astolfo, if I send you, I will immediately reveal all the cards to the enemy, whoever they may be. It would be a very rash move. I'm sorry, but I have to bet on the dark horse.
- On whom? - Astolfo was surprised.
- Opening the temporal corridor in five seconds...
- On the one who wants to be a hero but can only seek revenge.
But you won't entrust your life to her, Master Ritsuka?
On July 30, 1994, on a street in London called Charing Cross Road, not far from two music shops, between which there was a pub with a completely unremarkable sign, a woman in black armor appeared. Jeanne Alter glanced around briskly. Her gaze seemed to be searching for new victims, while her mind undoubtedly prepared to continue her deadly march right here. With a smug, nasty smile, she inhaled the air of this little street and studied the few passers-by who happened to be there by chance.
"I sense traces of powerful magic," she thought, closing her eyes to focus only on her internal sensations. "Somewhere around here, there are a great many wizards!"
She almost laughed and turned towards the pub with undisguised excitement. Its unremarkable sign proclaimed "The Hole in the Cauldron."
Like an amazingly light shadow, Jeanne Alter glided through the doors of the peculiar pub. Inside, there were a couple dozen diverse visitors. What surprised Jeanne the most was their attire, in the form of various – sometimes very colorful and vibrant – cloaks. Curling her lips in surprise, Jeanne froze for a moment in the pub's doorway, checking her senses.
"What a lovely masquerade!" she smirked and headed towards the bar. At the edge of the bar, she caught sight of a newspaper out of the corner of her eye and immediately grabbed it with her hands. The Daily Prophet. Despite all the efforts of the Ministry, the dangerous prisoner Sirius Black escaped from the custody organized by his vigilant teachers at Hogwarts! screamed the headline of the issue. Jeanne studied the moving photograph of the prisoner – a man with sunken gray eyes and long black, limp hair, worn out by years in prison. In the photo, he looked completely beaten by life. Evaluating his appearance, Jeanne flipped the page with disinterest. Whatever Sirius Black might do, he would not be seeking the Holy Grail or making world-threatening wishes.
"You can take this issue if you want, young lady!" the bartender addressed Jeanne. "It's been lying here since last month, and nobody reads it."
Jeanne looked at him and cast such a gaze that anyone would want to disappear into the ground just to avoid looking into those cruel amber eyes. But the bartender proved to be different, and with a friendly smile, he said, "Ah, youth! I see you're not from around here! Allow me to help you, young lady."
The bartender, quickly finishing with another customer, took a glass in his hands and swiftly started pouring something into it, clearly intending to treat Jeanne to a cocktail.
"I treat the beautiful lady on the house!" he smiled at her, ignoring the skepticism and confusion written on her face. He continued, "On the other side of the bar, you will see a brick wall. Tap a few times on the marked bricks with a stick, and you will enter Diagonal Alley. Do you have a stick? If not, I'll guide you myself. There, you can buy clothes, household items, pets. You can enjoy the best ice cream in the world at Floriana Fortescue's café!" The bartender happily patted his stomach at these words. "At Gringotts Bank, you can ask the goblins for a loan if you're really short on money. And at Madam Malkin's, you can buy yourself a dress..."
Jeanne listened attentively to the bartender while simultaneously watching his hands as he mixed the cocktail for her.
"...and at old Tom's, you can spend the night."
Finishing, the bartender garnished the glass with a slice of lemon and stirred the cocktail with a straw before placing it in front of her.
Taking the glass in her hands, Jeanne looked at the bartender.
"Do you have any more questions?" he asked.
Taking a sip from the glass and smiling, Jeanne nodded.
"Tell me about the most powerful dark wizard of the past decade."
"Oh, so you're French? You have a distinctive accent," he said.
Jeanne clenched the glass in her hand so tightly that tiny cracks began to form under her fingers.
"Oh, oui," she replied surprisingly calmly, despite what happened to the glass.
"Tell me, lady... I can't remember what you called yourself... why are you so nervous? Sit at a table and relax."
Jeanne stared at him intently.
"It won't cost you a knut," the bartender assured her. "Wait until the establishment closes, and I will tell you about the most recent dark wizard. I'll tell you just a little, only what I know myself."
Jeanne looked at him with interest, nodded in agreement, and walked to the dining area, where she found an empty seat.