Chapter 1. Not your Jeanne
"Bravo, pitiful foolish believer, you have defeated me!" laughed Jeanne Alter, lying on the ground and slyly looking into the face of the victor.
She lay in beautiful black armor, defeated but unbroken in spirit, with a determined face, like a lion. The real Jeanne d'Arc looked at her with sympathy, as if it was not her sword at the defeated one's throat.
Around them stretched wasteland, scarred with deep cracks and craters from the explosions of a fierce battle. Remnants of ancient temples and statues were scattered everywhere, as if they were in the ruins of an ancient city. The sky above seemed distorted, with whimsical rifts and flashes of light, as if this unnatural zone hovered between dimensions.
Da Vinci held tightly onto an ancient book, in which she had sealed the remnants of a broken relic. Ritsuka leaned on his sword, breathing heavily after the tense battles.
Around the defeated Jeanne Alter lay the bodies of the defeated fake Heroic Spirits, almost turned into shapeless magical energy after their defeat. The atmosphere was heavy with the echoes of a fierce battle, but now everything had quieted down in tense silence as godlike forces clashed for the last time.
Once Jeanne was just an ordinary shepherdess, until she heard miraculous voices in her dreams. They called her, guided her, and led her to victories, forever inscribing her name in the history of France. She could not even imagine how much evil her twisted copy was capable of causing. In her worst nightmare, she had never dreamt of that bloody sea with islands of drifting corpses and havens of tears, suffering, and sorrow, from which her sinister dark copy greedily drank, unable to quench her thirst, the one whose heart beats beneath her foot, clad in shining armor. The one whom she, perhaps, would have pitied if there weren't so much evil created behind her back.
"You know your fate!" Jeanne Alter spat with bitter venom. "Burned at the stake, like a witch! Betrayed by friends, the king, and the people of France, for whom you fought so selflessly!"
Her amber eyes blazed with hatred as she looked directly into the real Jeanne's face. For the holy virgin, this gaze was worse than being burned at the stake. It seemed that at a touch, the impeccably polished armor of the real Jeanne would tarnish, her hair would gray, and her clear eyes would change color. And she would laugh deafeningly, madly, preparing to mete out her own twisted justice.
Horrified by the fiery passion in her Alter self's gaze, Saint Jeanne involuntarily flinched. The sinister copy caught her tiny tremor and let out a loud, eerie laugh—exactly as the real Jeanne had envisioned a moment earlier in her imagination. But this time, the saint quickly regained her composure.
"I am needed in this world," she answered calmly. "It is my duty. Tell me instead, why did you copy so many famous historical figures? What did you hope to prove with this?"
"I simply wanted to show who the real Jeanne d'Arc is!" Alter retorted challengingly.
"Is that so?" the real Jeanne asked, and pondered.
"Bravo!" came Ritsuka's voice, applauding. "Bravo! The Servants created by you have surpassed the originals. But don't you feel sorry for them?"
He looked at the fallen Jeanne Alter with sympathy, masking his sincere sorrow for the senseless bloodshed behind the Master's guise.
Jeanne Alter blinked for a second, casting a glance where false Brunhilda had fallen in the recent battle. After a short pause, she responded with cold indifference:
"They were imperfect anyway. I couldn't summon them properly."
Ritsuka and the others exchanged puzzled looks. After the exhausting battle, they all looked as if they had been hit by a speeding train and survived only by a strange miracle. The last battle - not against imposters, but against Jeanne Alter herself - almost cost Ritsuka his life. She had almost reached him with her bloodied sword, but was stopped by the real Jeanne, with whom she engaged in a fierce duel.
Jeanne Alter fought with inhuman skill against several of Ritsuka's Servants, taking sadistic pleasure in it. She taunted them with cruel jokes and maniacal laughter. Now she lay defeated on the ground, but her spirit remained unbroken. With a self-satisfied smirk on her face, she savored her final triumph.
Saint Jeanne remained silent for a while, but finally gathered her strength and asked:
"Who are your parents? Where did you spend your childhood?"
Jeanne Alter pondered for a moment, then shrugged.
"What does it matter? I am forever your aspect, your dark side! Accept me!" Her gaze flickered with deadly rage as she spoke.
"My dear Jeanne," Leonard addressed her with sympathy, "You surrounded yourself with male Servants, even created a loyal friend who died for you. What do you know about yourself? Nothing."
Jeanne Alter only smirked self-assuredly in response.
"You betrayed your only true friend," Leonard continued sadly.
To this, Jeanne Alter only frowned and looked away. Throughout this time, her face seemed completely impassive, like it was carved from stone - an unreadable mask devoid of emotion or thought. Even Ritsuka, who had encountered her before, now wondered about her intentions. He could never predict what ruthless move she would make in the next moment of battle. Now, the expression on her face revealed nothing to him.
Saint Jeanne d'Arc looked at the fallen Alter with growing pity, until she finally lowered her lance. She did so with a painful sigh, as if her last strength had left her tired body and she anticipated a swift death from her many wounds. But these wounds were not physical - her armor protected her from them. The fallen Jeanne did not react to her gesture, continuing to lie in the same spot. Lost in deep thoughts, she gazed at her heaving chest. Gradually, her gaze unfocused, but the expression of concentrated contemplation did not leave her face.
"I created them just for my own amusement," Jeanne Alter laughed mockingly, tossing her head back. "They were just my toys."
"Your imposters far surpassed the real Servants they were copied from," Leonardo continued in a soft but persistent tone. "You are incredibly talented, Jeanne. You even surpassed your creator, Gilles de Rais. They were happy and genuinely enjoyed themselves in your splendid company. That's why they loved you and cared for you."
Jeanne Alter closed her eyes, unable to bear the sympathetic gaze of the genius.
"How could anyone give love and care to such a vengeful, wicked creature like me?" she exclaimed with bitter confusion.
The real Jeanne replied, "Because you are not the evil you think you are."
"Indeed," agreed Da Vinci. "Chaldea found no reality where Joan of Arc was a villain. And just like the real Joan is not a villain, you cannot become one."
"What are you talking about?" Jeanne Alter grumbled, keeping her eyes closed.
"Embrace your thirst for revenge, Jeanne," Leonardo urged. "You can never be fully heroic or villainous. Your place is to become a true embodiment of the anti-hero."
At that moment, a shadow of genuine fear flickered on the face of the fallen Jeanne Alter.
"If I become a Servant, and you summon me..." she hesitated, battling with doubts.
For a moment, she paused.
"Why was I not created by someone else?" she said with disappointment. "It is so humiliating - to be nothing but someone's failed clone and never become a real Heroic Spirit..."
Looking at the real Jeanne, Alter cried out with passionate bitterness:
"I wanted so much to be like you! I am nothing compared to you, not even a shadow of your likeness! I hate you for this, and I hate myself, 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 stay with me forever! I will always seek revenge! Revenge is the only thing I live for!"
Saint Jeanne stepped closer and knelt beside Jeanne Alter. Her gaze was full of compassion.
"My poor, lost sister," she said softly, placing a hand on Jeanne Alter's shoulder. "I know your pain, your hatred. But this is not the way. Let me share with you the true light."
Da Vinci approached and also touched the shoulder of the defeated:
"Jeanne, you were created in anger and hatred, but your soul is not marked by irredeemable evil. Let us help you find a new purpose."
Ritsuka knelt before her.
"Jeanne, I see your soul yearning for redemption. I promise to be a kind and caring Master for you if you choose to join me. You will no longer be alone."
Tears finally flowed from Jeanne Alter's eyes. She looked at Ritsuka:
"Ritsuka," called Jeanne Alter.
"Yes, Jeanne?" he responded.
"I feel my future forming a bond with you and preparing to accept you as my master. Perhaps my future will forget, as before, being embodied as a false heroic spirit. Take care of me, please! But I want something good to remain in my memory... Ritsuka, promise me that you will take responsibility for my future embodiment!"
Finishing her request, Jeanne Alter trembled and froze. In a moment, her figure dissipated, turning into a stream of shimmering particles of light that disappeared into the air.
The real Jeanne looked up to the heavens and said a prayer for the repose of the soul of her dark sister.
2
Ritsuka sat in a cozy room of Chaldea, sipping fragrant coffee from a cup with portraits of heroes from an old movie. Something about wizards, but Ritsuka didn't delve into details. On a low table in front of him lay several volumes of various books with greasy covers, as if they had been read many times.
Mash Kyrielight, sitting on the couch next to him, studied reports on the recent operation to combat fake Servants of Jeanne Alter. She also held a cup, but with the emblem of the Chronicles of Narnia.
"What a complex case," she said thoughtfully after a moment of silence, taking a small sip.
"It's a complicated case," Ritsuka agreed, reclining on the couch cushions and setting aside his cup. For a moment, his gaze lingered on a book about magical creatures existing in the pages of a fantasy world. It seemed Mash dreamed of visiting there.
"So now we have a walking amalgamation of a screaming complex of inadequacy, talents, and inexhaustible energy," Mash continued to ponder.
"So, a walking disaster?" Ritsuka smirked.
"Depends on who you ask," Mash replied with a warm smile.
An alarm spread throughout the Chaldea complex. The smile faded from Ritsuka's face instantly.
3
Ritsuka quickly entered a room separated from the rest of Chaldea, cluttered with monitors and complex instruments. The windows were covered with dark curtains. Maps of the world and various diagrams hung on the walls. There was a faint scent of magic and ozone in the air.
"What happened?" he asked, glancing at three specialists in white coats who were focused on the data on the screens.
"The supercomputer is detecting the emergence of a new singularity," the oldest of them replied, not taking his eyes off the monitor. "Since June 2, 1998, no life forms have been detected on Earth. It's a global catastrophe."
"The causes of the singularity?"
"According to the data, someone has gained access to the Holy Grail, Master Ritsuka. The probable geolocation is established - it's a remote, sparsely populated area of England in Northern Scotland."
Ritsuka looked at the huge monitor. He saw the ruins of an ancient, but completely ordinary medieval castle. Nothing remarkable, just enough that people never take pictures near it.
Ritsuka frowned. Some magical objects on the shelves trembled and stirred, as if sensing his unease.
"Have you identified the person who has control over the Grail?" he asked.
"No," the specialist shook his head. "We are dealing with a previously unknown historical figure. There is no mention of them in any parallel reality that Chaldea has reviewed."
"Don't you find," Ritsuka spoke slowly, "that this individual holds too much power to remain in the shadows in all other realities?"
"We have come to the same conclusion, Master. We suspect that the world we are investigating is like a box with a false bottom. We can only see its outer part, and the true cause of the crisis is hidden inside, where we cannot penetrate directly."
Ritsuka nodded. The ancient folios on the shelf nearby rustled faintly, their covers adorned with beautiful inscriptions and crests.
"We recommend sending one of the Servants there for reconnaissance," the specialist continued.
"It's too risky," Ritsuka replied after a pause. "Sending a Servant there, I risk becoming the primary cause of the catastrophe myself. And why only a Servant? Can't I go with them?"
"I fear that your presence in that world will make you part of its history, Master Ritsuka. Therefore, you will become one of the reasons for the singularity and won't be able to observe its development from the side. Chaldea should not exert undue influence on the observed worlds."
Ritsuka nodded. It made sense.
"If only my presence became the cause, then Chaldea would create more problems than it solved," he said. "Wasn't it me who prevented singularity occurrences before?"
"Undoubtedly, Master. But this time the situation is particularly unpredictable. A reconnaissance raid by a Servant will give us the crucial information we missed in our analysis. It will be a more reliable way."
"Understood," Ritsuka finally agreed. "Who do you recommend sending?"
4
In the huge round hall in the center of Chaldea, there was a strange device - giant rings entwined with wires and cables. On the outside, complex runes and magical signs were inscribed on them. Rituka stood in front of this time machine, gazing thoughtfully into the distance.
Many technicians and scientists bustled around, adjusting instruments and starting up systems. Bright lights illuminated the entire hall, preparing for a powerful energy surge. Any minute now, this device would come to life, its mechanisms would spring into action, and fantasy would become reality once again. But Rituka was not thinking about that. His mind was completely consumed by thoughts of the difficult choice ahead.
"Whom will you send back, Master Rituka?" Da Vinci asked him.
"Whom?" echoed in Rituka's mind. Yes, this choice was far from simple...
"The date is set!" a shout came from above.
"I confirm the date setting! July 30, 1994!" other technicians responded.
Whom will you send, Rituka?
Who to send? Who can handle the task better than the other Servants? To whom would he entrust his own life in such a dangerous operation? Thoughts swirled in his head.
"I confirm the date setting," he said mechanically. "The date is set correctly!"
Who can handle it better than the other Servants?
"The location is set!"
The location... Rituka glanced at a small monitor displaying coordinates.
Whom would you entrust your own life?
"I confirm the location setting! United Kingdom, London, Charing Cross Road!"
A pang shot through Rituka's chest. These coordinates led straight to... No, it couldn't be! He focused, staring at the monitor. No, it was just an ordinary, unremarkable pub.
"Choose, Master, who you want to send," Leonora said.
"Master Rituka, send me!" Astolfo instantly jumped in front of him. "You can rely on me! I will never let you down!"
Rituka took a deep breath. He knew Astolfo's abilities and character, but...
"No, Astolfo," he shook his head.
"What?" the other asked with confusion.
"The external temporal contour is ready," another call came from above.
"I believe that you are a wonderful knight and capable of many things," Rituka began gently. "I believe that you will not let me down."
Astolfo glowed with pride at this praise.
"But then, Master Rituka, why do you refuse to send me, knowing all this?" Astolfo asked.
"If I send you, I will immediately reveal all my cards to the enemy," Rituka replied seriously. "Whoever they may be, it would be a very reckless move on my part. I'm sorry, but I have to put my chips on the dark horse."
"On whom?" Astolfo asked in sincere confusion.
"The temporal corridor will open in five seconds," another shout rang out.
Rituka sighed deeply.
"On the one who wants to be a hero but can only seek revenge," he said.
Astolfo's eyes, full of doubt, met his gaze.
"But you wouldn't entrust your life to her, Master Rituka?"
5
July 30, 1994. On a quiet street in London called Charing Cross Road, between two music shops, in a building with an unassuming sign, there hid the "Leaky Cauldron" - one of the city's most famous magical places.
Right at the pub's doors, a figure in black armor suddenly appeared. It was Jeanne Alter, just transported here from the 21st century a second ago. Her amber eyes quickly scanned the street, seeking new potential victims. In her mind, she was already preparing to continue her deadly rampage.
Jeanne smirked self-satisfactorily, inhaling the air of the quiet London street scented with city smells. Her gaze studied the rare passersby who had somehow wandered into this corner.
She closed her eyes and focused, only discerning internal sensations. Somewhere nearby, there was an incredible number of wizards! Jeanne Alter could feel their presence like a needle feels the pull of a powerful magnet. She barely restrained a joyful laugh and turned towards the inconspicuous building.
The ancient wooden sign above the entrance read: "Leaky Cauldron." Like a weightless shadow, Alter slipped inside through the heavy doors. In the smoke-filled room, there sat two or three dozen of the most diverse visitors. What struck Alter the most were their peculiar outfits: cloaks and robes of the most incredible colors and styles.
Like a wonderfully light shadow, Jeanne Alter flowed through the doors of the bizarre pub. There were just a couple dozen various visitors seated there. What struck Jeanne the most were their outfits in the form of different - sometimes very colorful and flashy - cloaks. With her lips twisted in surprise, Jeanne paused for a moment in the pub doorway, checking her senses. But a moment later, the delight of the proximity of magical power once again enveloped her.
"What a charming masquerade!" she chuckled and headed towards the bar.
Taking a high stool at the bar, Jeanne noticed a newspaper lying here and deftly grabbed it with her hands - "Daily Prophet."
"Despite the Ministry's efforts, the dangerous prisoner Sirius Black has escaped from the vigilance of his teachers arranged in Hogwarts!" screamed the headline.
Jeanne Alter scrutinized the moving picture of the escapee - a haggard man with sunken gray eyes and tangled black hair with streaks of gray showing through. In the photo, he looked miserable, beaten by life.
Assessing his appearance with a brief glance, Jeanne Alter turned the page with absolute indifference. Whatever this Sirius had done, he clearly wasn't a man who could reach the Holy Grail and make world-threatening wishes.
"You can take the newspaper if you want, young lady!" the bartender addressed her. "It's been lying here since last month. No one else reads it."
Jeanne looked at him and gave such a gaze that anyone would want to sink into the ground just to avoid looking into those cruel amber eyes. But the bartender wasn't fazed and said with a kind smile:
"Ah, youth! You seem to be new here, aren't you? Allow me to help, young lady."
He quickly finished with another customer, took a glass in his hands, and hurriedly began pouring something into it. Obviously deciding to treat the stranger to a cocktail.
"I treat the beautiful lady on the house!" the bartender smiled, completely ignoring the skepticism and confusion written on Jeanne's face.
"From the other side of the bar, you will see a brick wall," the bartender continued, not waiting for Jeanne Alter's reaction. "Tap the marked bricks with a wand several times, and you will enter Diagon Alley."
He looked expectantly at Jeanne.
"Do you have a magic wand? If not, I'll guide you myself. There you can buy clothing, household items, even pets. And at Florian Fortescue's cafe, you'll enjoy the best ice cream in the world!" the bartender smacked his lips and rubbed his round belly with pleasure.
Jeanne listened attentively, not missing any movement of his hands as he offered her the cocktail.
"At Gringotts Bank, goblins can lend you money if you're really broke. And at Madam Malkin's, you can buy yourself a nice new dress…" he looked at her black armor, looking charred. "Well, or something more fitting. And at old Tom's, you can spend the night!"
After finishing mixing the drink, the bartender skillfully placed a lemon wedge on the rim of the glass and, stirring it with a straw, placed it in front of Jean.
She took the glass and gave the bartender an evaluating look.
"Do you have any more questions, dear?" he asked, continuing to smile warmly.
Taking a sip from the glass and smiling, Jean nodded.
"Tell me... about the darkest wizard in recent decades."
"Oh, so you're French? You have a distinctive accent," the bartender noticed.
Jean clenched the glass tightly, so that the finest cracks began to spread under her fingers. But she didn't show any sign of it.
"Oh, oui," she agreed surprisingly calmly, without looking at what was happening to the glass.
"Tell me, madam... what's your name? Why are you so nervous?" the bartender asked worriedly. "Better sit down at a table and relax."
Jean stared at him with a piercing, heavy gaze.
"It won't cost you a single Knut, I promise!" the bartender reassured with a smile. "Wait until the place closes, and I'll tell you about the last Dark wizard of modern times. I'll share what I know myself."
Nodding with interest, Jean Alter stepped away and took the free seat at the table in the hall.