Drawing Cards in the Middle Ages to Rise in Ranks-Chapter 402 - 87: Francesco

Atop the city walls, Jeanne, clad in silver-white armor, emotionlessly hoisted the Holy Spear in her hand. Her golden hair fluttered wildly in the cold wind blowing from the mountains.

"I heard you had a conflict with Prajna last night?"

Jeanne raised an eyebrow, "How do you know?"

Hans chuckled and said, "Everyone’s talking about it. Wolf Castle is a small place, and I heard it when I was using the restroom last night..."

"By the way, the restrooms here lead to the bottomless mountain paths. Once released, everything returns to the earth. I wonder if any expedition troops encountered it while climbing. The thought is quite amusing."

"Only you would find such a thing amusing."

Hans curiously asked, "Does Lady Jeanne find such restrooms inconvenient?"

She rolled her eyes, "Saintesses don’t use restrooms."

"Really?"

"Really!"

Seeing Hans’s shocked expression, seemingly pondering how consumed food is expelled, Jeanne couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

The two chatted idly, feeling at ease. The enemy hadn’t attacked from here, but to avoid leaving a critical position unguarded, they stayed put, awaiting Juliano’s command.

However, while they could remain calm, others couldn’t.

A young man from the Wolf Race, filled with anxiety, said, "Lady Jeanne, the brothers over there can hardly hold out much longer. If that front line breaks, our original plan..."

Jeanne frowned, "Don’t worry, if they truly can’t hold out, your clan leader will send reinforcements."

Mercy cannot command soldiers, nor righteousness gather wealth.

"But..."

"No buts, return to your post, soldier!"

Jeanne’s voice was cold, lacking the usual playful banter she had with them.

He opened his mouth but finally hung his head dejectedly, "Yes."

"What is that?"

Suddenly feeling something, she looked up. An invisible storm gathered overhead, sweeping countless souls into it, casting them toward distant city walls. A terrifying dark aura caused the Holy Spear in her hand to tremble.

"That woman Prajna is truly hiding deeply."

She furrowed her brow.

Initially, she thought her now elite power would steadily suppress Prajna, but now it seemed if there weren’t attribute restraining factors, she might not even win against Prajna.

"Come out, stop hiding."

Jeanne suddenly scowled, "Even from a distance, I can smell your stench."

A shadow gradually appeared.

He wore a white mask, with red paint forming facial features on it, slightly resembling a clown yet not evoking any of a clown’s whimsical humor. Looking at it for too long, an overwhelming fear began to seep in.

This Wolf Race member’s frame was not burly, appearing no different from an ordinary young man, holding a black flag depicting a wolf’s head in his hand, flapping in the wind.

"I didn’t expect the deception mask wouldn’t fool Lady Jeanne’s nose, as expected of the legendary Knight of Radiance, the nightmare of all dark creatures."

Jeanne frowned and said, "You must be that Ripper, right? Among the expedition army, only you have this strength."

"It is me."

"Appearing before me like this, do you think you can win against me?"

He bowed slightly, "I know that I am not a match for the lady, so my sole goal is merely to hold you off."

The black flag slammed into the stone slab with a bang.

Before Jeanne, the scene changed to one reminiscent of a great arena in the Middle Ages, with a packed audience around, cheering and raising their fists.

"This is the Duel Banner, the treasured artifact of the Wolf Race lineage. Before either of us dies, no one can escape from here."

Francisco the Ripper chuckled lightly, "Even though you hold the legendary Gungnir, it’s impossible to break through this barrier; it’s the power of rules."

"The power of rules..."

Jeanne’s expression turned somber. The power of rules was hard to counter—it’s the standard of divine artifacts. Though it simulated a single combat scene, it was undeniably more favorable to the user, and her current strength hadn’t reached its peak.

Francisco smiled, "Let’s see if the lady kills me first, or if my clansmen resolve the mixed breeds and Basilicata’s rebels."

"You really have no confidence in yourself, huh."

Jeanne’s face was unreadable, only expressionless as she made a sarcastic comment before she swirled the Holy Spear in her hand, the holy brilliance in the air scattering like dust leaving a brilliant trail.

It looked like a sentence in French, yet somewhat resembled the theological script invented by the Avignon Church.

"What does it mean?"

Jeanne concisely replied, "Punish the wicked."

The Ripper chuckled lightly, "Lady Jeanne, is the Wolf Race really wicked? Indeed, we wield the majority of Italy’s regional power, but simultaneously we brought order here, enabling the cheap agricultural products of the Two Sicilies to sell throughout Italy, allowing most of the poor to fill their stomachs."

"Conversely, in France, capitalists force young children into factories, paying them paltry wages, allowing smoke, dust, and poison to harm their bodies, causing them to die young before reaching twenty.

On the streets of Paris, towering chimneys spew thick smoke, poisoning the lungs of every living person; workers with limbs smashed by machines can only despair and await death; the Seine River fills with the factories’ foul wastewater, making it difficult for ordinary people to drink clean water.

Is this justice?"

Francisco’s tone was sincere, "Lady Jeanne, why not punish those ’vampires’ and instead interfere in Wolf Race’s internal politics, where’s the logic?"

"Are you trying to buy time?"

Jeanne raised an eyebrow, having no intention of debating with the Ripper.

One should not concern themselves with affairs beyond their position.

Jeanne understood her own role clearly.

"Is what I said unreasonable?"

Jeanne coldly replied, "It seemingly makes sense at first glance."

During the Victorian Era when the Industrial Revolution was unfolding, Italy, constrained by fragmented states, impoverished lands lacking in energy minerals, and the Wolf Race’s stubborn traditionalism, lagged far behind.

If Italy entered the industrial era, the Wolf Race, for the sake of profit, would not act any less wickedly than their capitalist counterparts in England and France, perhaps even more so.

Capitalists, bureaucrats, dark forces—they’re all cut from the same cloth.

"Enough with the idle talk, let’s settle this with our skills."

"Lady Jeanne, wanting to kill me is no simple task."

Francisco retreated a step, the smile on the clown mask on his face becoming more sinister.

He thus merged into the darkness.

"Come, let’s see if your Spear of Certain Hit can capture my whereabouts."

The voice echoed from all directions.

The Holy Spear in Jeanne’s hand began to blaze with radiant light. Her body became enveloped in a dense holy radiance, flowing like molten gold. Golden wings extended from her back, and the silver-white armor was engraved with golden god patterns.

She flapped her wings and ascended into the air, like a deity on high, her gaze cold and devoid of any emotion.

The pressure coming from all around was unprecedentedly great, like invisible hands trying to drag her body back to the ground.

Chanting as resonant as morning bells and evening drums rang out.

A voice of holy praise.

Golden light filled the sky.