Chapter 72

"I will carry her," Guillaume stated with determination as he lifted the unconscious Jeanne from the ground and placed her over his shoulder. François watched with a mixture of disgust and contempt, intensifying his disdain for Guillaume. In a macabre gesture, François grabbed Rémy's decapitated body and casually threw it over his shoulder, holding the severed head separately. Amidst this grotesque scene, he pleaded, almost begging, "Can we at least bury Griffin?" François refused to leave his comrade's lifeless body on the ground, even though he was responsible for his death. It was his way of honoring Griffin's memory, a gesture of remorse for being his executioner.

"We don't have time, you can do that later," Guillaume refused without hesitation. Time was a scarce resource, and Guillaume couldn't waste it on burying a body. He moved forward, indifferent to the whirlwind of emotions François was experiencing. François, on the other hand, yearned to shoot an arrow in that damn guy's direction but restrained himself. He cast one last glance at Griffin's lifeless body on the ground, a farewell look filled with sorrow. "Sorry, I'll bury him later," murmured François, turning his back and following Guillaume, who was already one step ahead. François knew he had to overcome his pain and leave the burial for later.

"Why is it raining now of all times?" lamented Guillaume as he carried the body, careful not to slip on the muddy ground. The rain made the task even more arduous and delayed their arrival in the city.

"Fortunately, I thought ahead. Further ahead, there are horses we can use," Guillaume informed François, who remained silent, enveloped in his own somber thoughts.

Finally, they reached the place where the horses were. Guillaume placed the still unconscious Jeanne on the horse and mounted his own. François did the same with Rémy's body, but he had to hold the severed head separately.

The journey continued into the night, nearing dawn. Guillaume had to wake Jeanne repeatedly during the journey. Finally, they arrived in the city of Rouen. Guillaume took Jeanne to a prison and deposited her there without care.

"Enjoy your stay in prison, my saint," Guillaume mocked, casting a sarcastic look at Jeanne, who still remained unconscious inside the cell. He threw her in haphazardly, unconcerned about causing her more pain.

Minutes or hours passed. Jeanne's eyelids began to stir. She slowly opened her blue eyes. A glimmer of hope surged within her. Perhaps it was all just a dream.

"It's not a dream... Rémy..." Jeanne murmured. She rose, moving from the position she was lying in. She held her legs tightly, bowing her head between them, as tears welled up in her already swollen eyes.

"I didn't want this, I just wanted to save everyone..." Jeanne trembled, feeling the bitterness of her actions. She longed to help people and free France, but as her desires transformed, she began to yearn for something different. However, those desires dissipated.

"I'm about to join you," Jeanne said with pain but a spark of hope in her eyes. She had done what she could, although she wasn't satisfied with how she had fulfilled her role. She knew she had helped, even though she considered her actions insufficient. However, Jeanne was unaware of how much she had impacted and inspired so many people.

Jeanne remained with her head between her legs for hours, immersed in her thoughts. Suddenly, she heard footsteps approaching.

"I see that you have awakened. Today is the day of your trial," announced Guillaume, who had arrived. Jeanne lifted her head to look in his direction. Guillaume hoped that now that she was more lucid, she would start screaming or at least try to do something to resist. However, what he heard was unexpected, although he thought he knew Jeanne's personality well.

"I'm fine," Jeanne replied calmly and determinedly, getting up with steady steps. She approached the bars that separated her from Guillaume.

"Hm... Alright," Guillaume took a brief moment to process what he had just heard. Then he opened the cell, prepared to defend himself, but Jeanne did nothing. She simply walked out of the cell and stood there, waiting for Guillaume to lead her to the trial, aware that she was walking towards death.

Guillaume was stunned as he watched Jeanne, a mixture of surprise and perplexity on his face. He did not expect such a calm and resigned reaction from her. For a brief moment, a wave of doubts plagued him, questioning whether he had underestimated Jeanne and if he didn't know her as deeply as he thought.

Without exchanging a single word, Guillaume took the lead and guided Jeanne through the corridors to the imposing courtroom. As they advanced, Jeanne refused to look back or show any signs of fear. Her determination seemed unshakable, ready to face her fate with unmatched courage.

As they entered the courtroom, Jeanne was placed before a group of judges, powerful and influential men, who stared at her with curiosity and disdain, ready to condemn her for heresy and witchcraft.

"Joan of Arc, do you dare to accuse her of heresy and pact with the devil? Is that what you maintain?" one of the judges exclaimed, his voice full of accusations, before proceeding to ask if she agreed with such allegations.

"No! I never involved myself in dark arts! Everything I achieved was granted by divine will!" Jeanne replied vehemently, her voice echoing through the courtroom. She refused to accept the false accusations, aware that the judges longed for a confession. However, Jeanne was determined never to yield to such pressure.

Her fearless gaze and firm posture revealed her unwavering conviction. She was ready to face the consequences, remaining true to her principles and her belief in the divine intervention that had guided her journey.

"This is heresy! You are a witch! How dare you claim that God granted you power, especially for war?" the judge exploded in anger, slamming the table violently, causing the room to tremble.

"No, I am not a witch! My actions were driven by a divine calling, a summons that resonated in my soul for this war. I heard the lamentations of God and the people, a symphony of suffering that consumed my essence. How could I remain passive in the face of others' anguish and the very God Himself?" Jeanne raised her voice with determination, defying the unfounded accusations. She refused to admit to being a witch because she knew her mission did not involve dark or occult practices. Her purpose transcended human limitations; it was a divine task.

While Jeanne spoke, Guillaume observed everything in silence. A mixture of remorse and admiration took hold of him. Despite all their differences and disagreements, he recognized Jeanne's courage and determination.

After long hours of interrogation and deliberation, the verdict was finally pronounced. Jeanne was found guilty of heresy and sentenced to death by burning at the stake.

Guillaume accompanied her to the cell. He opened the cell door for her to enter, without making any jokes, and left. Jeanne could only look into the darkness, awaiting her death.

"No matter what awaits me, I am ready," Jeanne whispered to herself, the whispers of her words echoing in the cold and solitary cell. Her eyes fixed on the stone floor, while her hands trembled slightly, eager to find the courage she knew existed within her. It was as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders, but she was determined to face the challenge with bravery.

Kneeling, Jeanne felt the rough friction of the ground against her knees, but she disregarded the physical discomfort. She sought refuge within herself, a place where she would find divine strength to confront what lay ahead. Her hands clasped together in prayer, fingers intertwined in a gesture of devotion, as she closed her eyes and engaged in a silent dialogue with the divine.

The hours dragged on, as if time itself was suspended in this moment of anguish. Jeanne remained silent, her lips not uttering audible words, but her heart cried out for assistance. Each sigh was a plea for peace amidst the storm that surrounded her. She found solace in the promises she had made to herself, knowing that her mission was greater than her own life. Even if her physical body came to an end, her legacy and inspiration would remain alive, echoing in the minds and hearts of those who believed in her cause.

The next day, the sun rose majestically in the sky, illuminating the square where Jeanne would be sacrificed. The air was charged with a farewell energy and uncertainty. Curious and fearful gazes turned toward the blazing pyre, eager to witness the outcome of this story. The flames danced with voracious fury, waiting to consume the fearless young woman.

As she approached the execution site, Jeanne could feel the intense heat on her face, as if the flames themselves were trying to reach her skin. However, her countenance remained serene, as if she had found an inner peace that transcended physical pain. She walked with unwavering determination, as if embracing her destiny with resignation and acceptance, aware that her life would be offered in the name of something greater than herself.

Voices echoed around her, some uttering words of disapproval, while others secretly admired her unwavering courage. Deep down, Jeanne knew she was fulfilling a greater purpose. Her mind was filled with memories of the moments that had led her to this point, the challenges overcome, and the people who had been touched by her devotion and leadership.

With each step she took, a wave of memories mercilessly flooded her mind. "Will you accompany my journey?" a young feminine voice asked with a mixture of expectation and vulnerability. "Yes, I will," another young voice responded, although uncertainty echoed in their words. It was as if they stood on the edge of an unknown precipice, about to venture into uncharted territory.

"Shall we go somewhere else?" the voice echoed again, now tinged with the maturity of time. The words evoked the longing for an unfulfilled promise, for a destiny not traveled. Jeanne felt the weight of those words reverberating in her mind, stirring her heart with a devastating mix of sadness and regret.

Memories inundated Jeanne's mind like a whirlwind of images and emotions. Her tear-filled eyes glistened with tears that sprouted from the deepest sorrow. They traveled a tortuous path down her face, carrying with them the traces of a past that never materialized.

"If only I had accepted, perhaps things would be different," Jeanne whispered in a melancholic tone, the words escaping her lips with the force of a bitter confession. It was as if, in that moment of reflection, she fully understood what could have been, had she only said "yes" to that anxious and innocent voice imploring her for companionship.

In the ensuing silence, the unspoken words echoed, filling the void with a painful echo. Jeanne stood there, confronted with the reality of her choices and the weight of time slipping away. Tears continued to flow, silent witnesses of a journey that could have been, but now remained only in the mist of unrealized possibilities.

As Jeanne confronted these deep emotions, a whirlwind of overwhelming feelings, she also experienced a renewed determination, an inner flame reigniting. Although regret haunted her, she knew there was no room for turning back. Her destiny was irrevocably set, and with indomitable courage and unwavering dignity, she was ready to face it head-on.

As the crowd gathered around the sinister pyre, a scene merging fascination and fear, curious and fearful gazes met Jeanne's eyes. She could feel the tension in the air, a palpable mix of disapproval and intertwined admiration. To some, she was a heretic, a threatening intruder to the established order that needed to be eradicated. But to others, she embodied an inspiring figure, a fearless leader who remained true to her principles and incited the necessary change.

Jeanne advanced with determined steps toward the place where she would be executed, enveloped by the suffocating atmosphere of heat and intense flames. The tongues of fire seemed eager to devour her, as if yearning for her ultimate defeat. Yet, even in the face of this terrifying prospect, she remained calm and serene, a true force of nature. At the core of her being lay an unwavering fortress that allowed her to face her destiny with resignation, accepting her martyrdom. She knew her death would be a symbol, a burning flame of hope for all those fervently believing in her cause.

She looked around, seeking comfort in the faces that surrounded her, in those who silently supported her, and even in those who harbored disbelief and repulsion. Jeanne understood that her presence there, before the abyss that awaited her, was a powerful reminder to the world. She represented something much greater than her own existence; she embodied the struggle against oppression and injustice. Her courage in the face of death would echo beyond the bounds of time, inspiring future generations to rise against adversity and pursue freedom.

As the pyre crackled and the intense heat enveloped her, Jeanne raised her head with pride, emanating an aura of greatness and resolve. Amidst the darkness of the flames, she radiated an indomitable inner light. She firmly believed that even if her body were consumed by the flames, her spirit and her message would remain alive, glowing in the collective memory of humanity. For in her final journey, Jeanne became an immortal figure, an eternal symbol of courage, perseverance, and the transformative power of the individual who rises in search of truth and justice, regardless of the consequences.

"I'm coming, Rémy, just a little longer," Jeanne whispered, her voice defying the voracious crackling of the flames that surrounded her in the pyre.

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