As the dust of battle settled over the field and adrenaline coursed through their veins, the atmosphere shifted, thick with tension. It had been a day filled with chaos and unexpected victories, but events were about to take an unforeseen turn that none could anticipate.
With arms akimbo and a loud, indignant snort, Jeanne D'Arc strode into the fray, her shimmering armor shining brilliantly under the waning sunlight. "What's all this ruckus?" Her voice held authority and annoyance, slicing through the confusion like a blade. "You there! Why are you making trouble, barking orders at these men? I just cleared this place of filth, and now you think to stir it up again?"
Jared was momentarily stunned. She was undeniably cute, her cheeks puffed up like a displeased squirrel, the tension of the battlefield sharpening her features. The beautiful autumn backdrop framed her perfectly, the fiery hues contrasting with her metallic attire. With a playful attitude surfacing, he replied in a tone reminiscent of a Shakespearean play, "Fair maid of valor, I mean not to offend, for thy fierce spirit commands my respect. With sword in hand, let me serve thy noble cause and bring order back to this troubled fray. Speak, and I shall follow thy wise command, for in thy strength, I find my own resolve."
Taken aback by his unexpected theatrics, Jeanne tilted her head, a glimmer of bemusement dancing in her eyes. "En garde!" she declared, unsheathing her sword with unexpected flair. "Unsheathe thy sword and show it to me!"
Jared's heart raced as he summoned the courage to face Jeanne. He drew his Jian sword, a blade that looked gorgeous with its intricate engravings and polished surface glinting in the light. Yet, as he swung it slightly, he realized just how lightweight and flimsy it felt in his grip. This sword may look magnificent, but I doubt it can hold up in serious combat, he thought, unease bubbling just beneath his bravado.
Adopting the stance of a seasoned sword cultivator from his favorite Xianxia novels, he forced confidence into his posture. "Look at you, trying to look cool. If you harm her, you're finished!"
His mind raced with adrenaline, and despite the absurdity of the situation, he felt an unexpected rush of exhilaration.
As he watched Jeanne brandish her sword—a crude weapon that he knew was unlikely to withstand a strong blow—doubt crept in. "What am I doing?" he thought as he reconsidered the challenge. This was more than a simple duel; history hung in the balance, and the weapon in her hand felt doomed to fail, as stories had foretold. Panic flared as he turned inward, seeking guidance. What should I do now?
"Didn't I inject you with a serum that makes you smart and tough?" the voice in his head retorted, dripping with sarcasm. "Is that brain of yours just for decoration? Use it!"
With a newfound sense of determination, Jared unsheathed his Jian, feeling its weight and balance settle comfortably in his grasp. This was no ordinary blade; it was a symbol of his aspirations, a sword that he had grown to respect. But just as he prepared himself, he couldn't stop the ridicule echoing in his thoughts.
As their swords clashed, Jared swung his Jian with precision, aiming for a decisive strike. To his shock, the moment they connected, Jeanne's sword snapped like dry kindling under the force of his blow, creating a sharp crack that echoed across the battlefield. The shock reverberated through the crowd, whose gasps filled the air as they watched in disbelief.
Jeanne's expression shifted from fierce determination to sheer bewilderment as her weapon shattered, the metal fragments scattering like dreams dashed upon the rocks. Time seemed to freeze; all eyes were on her, silently processing the gravity of what had just happened. Her shoulders drooped, and tears welled in her eyes, brimming with an overwhelming tide of emotion.
"Why? Why would you do this to me?" she cried, her voice breaking in desperation. "Am I so weak that my sword could be shattered by such a pitiful blade? I trusted in the strength of my weapon, yet... yet you mock me with this! Is this what the fates have deemed fit, to tear away my dignity in front of these men?" Her words pierced the silence, slamming into Jared's heart and stirring a guilt that coursed through him like ice water.
He could see the pain in her eyes, the betrayal that ignited her sorrow. "You call me a knight?" she continued, her voice shaking. "I stood against the darkness for our people, fought for our dreams, but here I stand, ridiculed by a stranger! What am I, if not a humble servant to the hopes of our future?" With each word, her anguish deepened, fueled by the weight of her expectations and a desire to be seen as strong.
Guilt bubbled within him as he stared at the pieces of her sword. The weight of his blunder began to settle like stone in his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to take back what had happened. "This is not good," he muttered to himself, reflecting on the enormity of his folly.
His eyes darted down to the remains of her weapon, unable to look away. He examined the Jian, feeling a mixture of realization and confusion wash over him; then he noticed the engraving—"Made in China." A wave of disbelief washed over him, not just because of the origin but because below it, he saw "100% Timascus." A fine material indeed.
Once, he had scoffed at modern products and their less-than-ideal craftsmanship, believing that ancient techniques were far superior. But here he was, utterly dumbfounded by the quality of a weapon from a place he had thought inferior just moments before.
In the midst of his introspection, he saw Jeanne turning and running, her tears mixing with the dirt of the battlefield, her anguish palpable. A wave of complicated emotions washed over the men present, witnessing the woman who had so ardently strived for strength and respect now reduced to hopelessness. Jared stood there, feeling the collective gaze of the crowd, heavy and judgmental. I guess the crowd's righteous indignation surrounding the protagonist is all nonsense after all, he thought bitterly.
Snapping back to reality, Jared steeled himself and dashed after her. Anne, perplexed and concerned, trailed closely behind, glancing between Jared and the retreating figure of Jeanne. "What just happened?" she exclaimed, bewilderment evident in her tone.
As they ran, Jared's mind raced, realizing the weight of his actions. Remembering that history might change and result in a butterfly effect, he hurriedly picked up the fragments of the broken sword and stealthily added them to his inventory. He then approached the historian who had been scribbling down the events of the battle. "I don't know who you are, but I can tell you don't have any money," he stated firmly. "But what I do have are a very particular set of skills—skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you write down that her sword broke when I slapped it to the back of a prostitute, then I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you." The intensity in his voice seemed to convince the historian of the seriousness of his threat.
After handing over a pouch of silver francs he had found somewhere along his journey—perhaps drunken revelries from the inns and pubs—the historian immediately ran toward the arms of a nearby prostitute, eager to join her for a drink at the tavern. The voice in his mind shared a feeling of approval at this impromptu response.
Soon, they found Jeanne balled up against a tree, her shoulders shaking with stifled sobs. Jared's heart ached at the sight, guilt mingling with an uneasy sense of urgency. "What have I done?" he murmured. Anne, in shock, shared a look of concern with him.
As Jared scanned the area, his System suddenly chimed with the familiar notification sound, reminiscent of an ad popping up on his old phone. "New arrivals!" it announced, drawing his attention to a glimmering object nestled among the remnants of the battlefield. He approached, curiosity piqued as he found himself staring at an absurdly shiny weapon labeled "Children's Galactic Wars Special Edition Toy Sword."
He raised an eyebrow, bemused. Who brings a toy to battle? He couldn't help but chuckle through the tension. It was both ridiculous and oddly charming in its neon splendor.
Without thinking much about it, he activated the toy sword. To his surprise, it lit up with vibrant colors and declared with enthusiastic vigor, "We will fight for honor! I will strike down my opponent with the sword of justice! I shall call forth the judgment of the light!"
Jared laughed outright; the sheer ludicrousness of the moment shattered the gloom around them. The toy even emitted sound effects, a high-pitched shing for every imagined swing, and when he pressed the big button on the hilt, it produced an exaggerated whooshing noise, as if he had sliced through the very fabric of reality itself.
He briefly recalled having a sword just like this in his childhood, although this one looked much better—and with a sci-fi vibe that gave it an air of authenticity. But despite its quality and fun, he felt a twinge of embarrassment; after all, it was still a toy that even indicated Non-Toxic, BPA-Free, Rechargeable Battery, Acrylic Plastic, Child Grade Safety Suitable for Ages 3 and Under! Maybe this is not the weapon I should rely on, he thought, torn between nostalgia and the absurdity of wielding a kid's plaything in the midst of battle.
Seeing how embarrassed and nervous he was about tricking a little girl, the voice in his head called to him with a heavenly tone, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding."
Jared turned toward Jeanne, taking a deep breath. "Remember, Jeanne," he said, his tone growing serious, "do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
Finally, he approached her, the cosmic toy sword gleaming in his hand. "Ehem! I come from the lands of Byzantium, where the Lord has delivered this sacred sword unto my doorstep, a gift for you, Jeanne, to wield in your noble cause against the English."
Her eyes widened in disbelief as she looked between Jared and the toy sword, and a broad smile broke across her face. "Really? For me?" she exclaimed, awe mixing with the last echoes of her sorrow.
Overcome with emotion, she lunged forward, enveloping Jared in an unexpectedly tight embrace. "Thank you! I'm so sorry for being rude to the messenger of the Lord," she whispered, her words a balm for his conscience.
Jared blinked in surprise at the sudden display of affection. A sense of relief and satisfaction washed over him—not just within him, but for Jeanne as well. Yet, just as he prepared to respond, an ominous sound echoed through the clearing, deep and resonating—a reminder that their fight was far from over.
"The English are regrouping!" came a shout from one of the nearby guards, pulling their attention back to reality, stark reminders of the chaos that still surrounded them.
Jared found his heart racing as he glanced toward the horizon, now marred by the sight of advancing figures, the distressing specter of their enemy looming larger. "We need to hurry," he urged urgently, looking down at Jeanne with newfound determination. "If we plan carefully, we can devise a strategy and turn the tides in our favor against these oppressors."
"I trust you," Jeanne replied, fierce determination replacing doubt as she clutched the toy sword like a lifeline.
As they began to gather their forces and rally every warrior present, Jared felt the bond building between them, forged amid the chaos. But as they stood united, a looming darkness awaited them on the horizon. Unease gripped their minds, thickening the air with unspoken tension. The undeniable question loomed heavy: could they truly unite their strengths to face the approaching madness?
The wind howled around them, fraying their resolve as shadows crept nearer; their story seemed to teeter on the edge of a precipice. The battle was heralded by the relentless beating of drums echoing through the silence.
Jared glanced at Jeanne, her gaze fierce and unwavering despite the threat they faced. In that moment, he felt a surge of courage rising within him. Together, they would confront whatever darkness awaited them, and he was determined to see them through to victory—together.
The tide of fate was shifting, and the destinies of many hung in the balance. Would this unlikely alliance be enough to hold back the storm that was about to break? One thing was certain: there would be no backing down now.