France

3,947 years since initial death
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There were more French prisoners than there were soldiers in the English army.

Under King Henry V's command, they were all executed. Milton followed those orders like every other soldier did.

The invasion of Orléans had initially started on October 12th of 1428. With the French already on the brink of defeat, losing Orléans would certainly end the war in a decisive English victory. The city was entirely locked down as English troops already set up blockades around the area. Thousands stood outside the city walls, cannons were brought and readied to fire upon the first command.

Milton expected a grand English victory as the city was already in a full state of panic. But it was harder than it seemed. This was no ordinary battle, it would take more than a few days or even a week to come out victorious this time. It would be months before a successful siege could be laid to the entire city.

Within the first month, several English stations were set to look out onto Orléans. It was during this time that the first blood was shed, south of the city in Tourelles. After exchanging constant volleys of arrows and cannon fire, both sides suffered casualties and the French were forced to retreat further back. In order to slow down the English soldiers, the French detonated a bridge that crossed a river in the city making it impossible for the English to advance.

The conflict seized for a while, as both sides prepared for the worst. Although a significant English victory was imminent, the tides could change at any moment. Milton was sent south to aid the troops in Tourelles, as hundreds of extra soldiers arrived north from over the hills atop Orléans.

Cannon fire continued everyday from both sides. The English Earl of Salisbury had half of his face torn off after being struck by debris as a result of an explosion from a nearby cannon. He survived, only to finally succumb to his injuries a week later. Despite the minor setbacks, the English remained confident in their strategy.

Several fortresses and bases were erected surrounding Orléans, with Milton being positioned in the Bastille of Saint Loup, just east of the city. It was already the year 1429, as a few months have passed since the beginning of the siege. Throughout this time, both sides have attacked, only to end all conflicts in a draw. French resources were diminishing, and an English naval fleet arrived at the river to resupply their troops.

Occasionally, during the winter, English and French commanders exchanged gifts and often stopped combat to play an orchestra of instruments and allow music to boost everyone's spirits. Milton found it strange, yet wholesome, that these people will murder each other and still find the time to act so friendly.

Back at the Bastille, Milton remained on scouting duty. While positioning himself south of their base, he spotted French reinforcements marching from across the river. They were of average size, with a few hundred men on horseback, most of whom were carrying banners. The leader at the front lines looked somewhat smaller than the others, unidentifiable from Milton's position.

"Sir, Frank reinforcements are moving south of our position. By my count, I spot roughly four hundred soldiers in full march behind their commanding leader, and they're heading east." Milton reported his scouting to his English commander, who in return replied with a smirk.

"They're already retreating by the looks of it. Return to your post and remain guarded. I anticipate more will show, and we'll put an end to them." The commander responded, seeming overconfident in himself.

Before Milton obeyed, he asked one question on his mind. "Could that leader be La Pucelle? Heard from some men that the Franks have God on their side, and that he sent La Pucelle to aid them."

"That Pucelle is nothing but a soon-to-be corpse. The Lord wouldn't waste his favors on the Franks." His commander left him alone to ponder. He's heard a lot of talk about a secret soldier that the French say was sent by God himself. Whoever he is, and if he's real, Milton would be delighted to sever his head and remind the French that they're going to lose this war.

Fortunately, he wouldn't need to wait long. The French may be on the verge of collapse, but their determination to continue fighting proved to be strong. Only a few days after Milton's discovery, the Bastille of Saint Loup was dragged into battle during the night. But the effort the French placed into this fight was pathetic, rather this was a skirmish. In the far away distance, Milton could spot the French leader sail the river accompanied by several supply boats.

This skirmish was a distraction. The French were attempting to sail to the city while using the darkness as a shroud. Milton had escaped the conflict to watch the boat in amusement. The wind was violently blowing against them, it was impossible to sail back without attracting attention.

Just as he snickered to himself, he sensed a change around him. He paid attention to the trees nearby. Just a minute ago, the wind forcefully shook them as they faced east. All of a sudden, the trees turned and leaned towards the west. It was instantaneous. This should have been impossible, yet it happened.

It was as if Mother Nature sided against him just out of spite, to wipe the smirk off his face. Upon defying what he once thought was possible, the sudden change in wind guided the French boat down the river with ease. 

As he watched the boat disappear in the darkness, he wondered how this was possible. Was this an act of God? Perhaps they were right after-all. 

Milton spent the remaining few days thinking it over. The first thought that came to mind was an immortal ability. His wrath empowered him beyond human capabilities and helped him recover wounds faster than anyone could. But what sin could manipulate the wind? Could the French really have an immortal being aiding them in the war? It all led back to La Pucelle. He tried his best to remember what that word translated to, but he hadn't spoken French in nearly a century. It must have been an important title, and it made Milton's goal clear. Whoever he is, he must be dealt with. 

That opportunity came to him sooner than he expected. When the sun's arrival welcomed a new day, another conflict plagued the Bastille. However, the enemy were the same reinforcements he had initially spotted a week prior. This was no skirmish, this was finally an actual battle.

With barely enough time to get in proper position, the English were forced to stand and defend their ground. Immediately, they were caught under fire by a few hundred French soldiers. Surprisingly, the assault was strong and directly head-on. It seemed the French were also sending their strongest soldiers in a last effort to push the English back.

Milton grabbed his sword and ran outside to face the battle, the familiar sounds of arrows whistling through the sky was something he welcomed now. Several cavalry arrived and began clashing their swords with the English. Milton showed no signs of weakness, allowing his wrath to aid him in the battle. 

The English forces struggled to keep the advancing French and Armagnac troops from the bastille. Blood and gore covered the ground as no man was spared. The French fought harder than ever before, and they were succeeding. In a surprising turn of events, they had finally gained the upper hand and challenged the might of the English.

But the English had something in this battle that the French didn't. They had an Immortal.

Just when the French were beginning to push through, Milton had reached his limit. Every single swing of his sword was devastating. It was enough to break through his enemies' defenses and tear them apart. He was single handedly keeping the bastille from falling into French hands.

Anyone that challenged him was met with death. Not once did he stumble or fall. Not once did he cower or suffer a wound. He delivered a destructive vengeance that nobody could possibly counter.

This battle was nearing its end, and it was about to finally break the French resolve to the point of no return.

But it wasn't over yet. As he struck another soldier, he rested to catch his breath. That was when he spotted a figure in the far distance. Over the hills, one knight on horseback rode hastily towards the battlefield. Milton took him for a lone soldier that might have lost his way. As the knight was approaching, he seemed to be carrying a large national banner. That's when it struck him. That was La Pucelle. 

Charging straight into battle, their leader immediately tore through the English defenses. Already proving to be a highly skilled fighter, Milton was glad. He had been looking forward to a challenge. Killing the French leader now would destroy the army's only hope in saving Orléans.

Wanting to save his energy for the duel, Milton tried to avoid any further combat as he got closer. However, he was met with a surprise. Ever since the leader arrived, the English had been pushed back. With Milton running back and avoiding combat, this battle was quickly shifting in favor of France.

Several English soldiers were defeated as the rest began to retreat. Somehow, this particular French leader was able to ensure a victory. Once again, it almost seemed impossible. But that's the reality Milton faced when he realized that he was the only one left standing with the will to fight.

As the battle had already seemed to conclude, the remaining English troops had surrendered. Milton on the other hand clenched his blade tightly, glaring at all the French soldiers ahead. None of them bothered to attack him. Rather, they surrounded him and kept their blades up. He used this to his advantage and gave the impression that he had surrendered. Instead, he was just waiting for their leader to come to a halt.

When the leader finally stopped, he was given a chance to speak.

"I challenge thee, from one warrior to another, a duel to the death!" Milton yelled at the leader, using the little french he still remembered as he pointed his sword towards his opponent. It would be a fair, one on one fight.

Many of the nearby French soldiers chuckled at him as La Pucelle approached him slowly on horseback. No man alive can best Milton, not when he's committed to a duel.

La Pucelle dismounted the horse and stood tall. His hands reached for his helmet. Upon its removal, Milton's eyes widened as his wave of confidence retreated. What he looked at made no sense, and he thought over his own words. It also helped remind him what La Pucelle truly meant.

La Pucelle meant The Maiden.

The French leader was never a man at all. She was a young woman, no older than eighteen years of age. Her dark hair was shortened, draping by her ears and resembling a boy's hairstyle. The rest of her body hid behind her unique steel armor that shielded her entire self. She reached for her blade and kept her eyes fixed on him, displaying a fierce look of determination that struck a bit of worry in him.

Milton had just unknowingly challenged the seventeen-year-old Jeanne D'Arc, to a duel of fate.

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Historical Notes:

During this time, the French army had lost all hope of survival. It reached a point where French partisans found themselves fighting each other in the open fields. Many of them were left paralyzed and injured due to their own recklessness and worry. 

Furthermore, back in England, a new batch of troops were readied to enter the war. Thus adding a few extra thousand men to the battlefields.

Jeanne D'Arc, or Joan of Arc, was a prominent and holy French figure known best for her efforts during the Hundred Years War against England. 

The wind changing direction suddenly to guide the French boat towards the city undetected is seen as one of Joan of Arc's many reputed miracles. To this day, no one knows how it occurred, only that it happened and was seen as extremely lucky and favorable for the French. This further proved to many that Joan really was sent by God to help. 

The city of Orléans in 1428 - 29

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