Orléans

3,947 years since initial death
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This was no ordinary duel.

Joan of Arc never responded to Milton's challenge. She kept her blade by her side and studied his every move.

Milton tried to overcome the sudden worry that overwhelmed him. She's just a child, it was impossible to lose this fight. It was almost too easy, yet he still felt a sense of dread. He flourished his blade and twirled it threateningly to test her reaction. 

She replied by speaking with confidence. "Surrender. Don't die in vain." 

Every part of him wanted to rush forward to commence the attack, yet his limbs betrayed him. His heart told him to surrender, but his mind only saw victory through killing her. Even if he were to die afterwards, defeating her is all that mattered. 

He stepped back and paid attention to her movement. She followed him slowly, carefully stepping towards him as he continued his reversal. Despite his confidence telling him he could kill her in one blow, he couldn't trust it. The girl showed no fear in her expressions. That's what scared him. 

His senses soon regained assertiveness however, as Joan steadily approached him. Milton took a large step backwards this time, his eyes lowered to inspect the grass. He stopped himself from smiling, and he stood still. 

"Drop your weapon, I will not ask you again." Joan commanded.

Milton kept his sword by his side. He waited for the right moment. Just when Joan advanced further, he watched her feet and anticipated her next pace. She took one more step, and it would be her last.

Her foot suddenly impaled itself against a hidden spike in the grass. The bastille had several traps and defenses scattered, and Milton gained the advantage. While Joan was occupied with her foot, he wasted no time in raising his blade. He swung it downwards with full force and intent to decapitate. 

With his attack completed, Milton froze in his tracks and gasped for air. Joan was still standing, her head intact. Blood trickled down her sword, held above her figure. Her foot raised and stood on solid ground. Though her limbs shook to account for the injury, nothing else about her screamed defeat. She glared back as if to mock him, and her eyes darted to the ground. 

Milton's sword rested on the grass below, right alongside his severed hand. Furthermore, a searing pain in his abdomen caused him to grasp it. A line traced diagonally across his body, leading to where his right hand would have been. It was instantaneous. Joan won the fight with one attack.

He stumbled backwards some more until he tumbled down. With his right arm held against his chest, and his other hand clenched around his waist, he looked back up. Joan limped towards him and pointed her blade forward. 

"Admit defeat, don't die with your pride."

Milton groaned in response, quietly cursing at his predicament. He lost to a girl. He had to live with this embarrassment forevermore.  

There was no way out, and no way to continue the fight. He had to surrender. No other option paved his clouded mind. He would rather take his own life, yet his own body deceived him when his lips opened and whispered back. "You've bested me. I'm sorry." 

Joan exhaled in what appeared to be relief as she lowered her blade. She watched her step as she limped away. She said something to one of the French soldiers, and Milton showed no resistance when one of them approached him and helped him stand. He gave up in all his efforts.

The last he saw of her, a few tears rushed down the side of her cheeks. A carriage arrived to pick up the wounded, and Milton was taken to Orléans and stripped of all his belongings. Even his staff was gone, left behind in the newly conquered bastille.

He was thrown in a cell and had his wounds tended to. Medics sterilized his right arm and wrapped it in bandages. His cut across his abdomen wasn't deep enough to inflict any major damage, and they only stopped the bleeding. 

Over the next few days, Milton was kept inside his cell as a prisoner, and he heard the news of what was happening outside the city walls. Reports of a large English invasion were on the march from Paris to help conquer Orléans. Rather than preparing for this assault, Joan had the idea to launch an unexpected offensive. 

Her plan was to sail down the river and head southwest, to ambush the English battalion and stronghold in Tourelles. She had no trouble whatsoever persuading her soldiers to follow after her, and that's what Milton found so curious. He couldn't believe a young girl was leading an army and forming strategies to help a nation win a war. What baffled him further was how willing everybody was to obey her.

During his time in Orléans, Milton was made aware of who Joan really was. Some of the people here worshipped her. News of three nuns who all suffered from illnesses prayed to Joan. Shortly thereafter, all three nuns were miraculously cured as their illnesses had subsided and disappeared. Furthermore, the people spoke of a prophecy that only she could fulfill. Milton never had the chance to ask what this prophecy may be, but it continued to linger in his mind.

Joan claimed a holy angel had spoken to her and guided her towards this path. She said she had the willpower to believe that she was sent here by God. Her deep belief in religion made Milton think she wasn't immortal, but rather blessed. Whatever the case was, he wouldn't be satisfied until he could confirm it himself.

Besides, what happened at the bastille was a mistake. He underestimated her, but it won't happen again. When another day passed, he was surprised to see his cell door open. Joan had ordered the release of all English prisoners. He made the assumption that she believed treating her prisoners as equals would cleanse their minds and help them achieve peace. 

Milton took the opportunity to flee from Orléans. He had too many questions but so few answers, and he couldn't rest. Upon leaving the city under the supervision of a few soldiers, he returned to the French occupied Bastille of Saint Loup. His first objective was to reclaim Rio. It was too important to leave behind in a place like this. He found it in the armory, resting beside dusty weapons that were lost by the previous English forces. 

Next, he crossed the river. Some French civilians, soldiers and a few handful of prisoners did the same. But while they all crossed to escape the war and head back into mainland France, Milton was here to find the Maiden. 

If Joan was attacking English bastilles, then she would be at Les Tourelles, just south of Orléans. He traveled on foot and arrived just in time to witness the French troops storm the town and invade the Bastille des Augustins. 

The English commander, William Glasdale, defended the bastille from the inside. His defense worked in prolonging his survival, and it seemed there was nothing to do but wait for reinforcements. Joan had the opportunity to push for another attack, but Milton couldn't find her anywhere. 

That was until he conversed with a few French soldiers on patrol, and they spoke of a vineyard. It offered Joan a serene space to mediate and seek guidance from God. The vineyard overlooked the city, and it was heavily secured to prevent any attacks during Joan's rest. 

Milton arrived at the vineyard where several guards stopped him. He kindly asked to speak to Joan. They patted him down and found no weapons on him, though they took his staff away for the girl's safety. Dressed in just a ragged tunic and pants, Milton innocently entered the vineyard, escorted by Joan's own security. 

Throughout his walk, he kept a calm composure. His eyes repeatedly darted to his left to ensure his plan unfolded just as he predicted. Nobody saw the lion march beside them all, but that wasn't what Milton was worried about. The lion carried a small dagger in its mouth. 

To any standard person, they couldn't see the lion. But the dagger was a legitimate item. It would appear to be floating in the air and moving on its own. Often, the lion had to stop and press its face against the grass to hide the dagger from view. 

Straight ahead was the Maiden herself, leaning against a fence that overlooked Les Tourelles and Orléans. She turned to face him, and they shared eye-contact as some of the guards walked off. A few stayed behind to ensure Milton doesn't attack her. 

He joined her and stood tall. The lion slowly sneaked up behind him, and he kept his left hand by his waist. He felt the nudge of the weapon's hilt press against his palm, and he snatched the dagger from his companion. Before anyone could notice, he already tucked it beneath his clothes. 

Now, he could finally speak to Joan and understand what was really happening. She must answer him, and when she does, he will be satisfied.

Afterwards, he'll assassinate her for what she did to him.

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Historical Notes:

There are many speculations people have made over the years regarding Joan's legitimacy during the war. Instances of her shrugging off wounds during battle (such as getting her foot impaled), healing the sick through prayers and even correctly predicting the future are all reportedly true, but many see them as fantasy and claim are impossible. They also believe some bias was present when French historians wrote about her and her 'supposed' power. 

Although a soldier, Joan was opposed to killing and preferred, as possible, to keep as many of her enemies alive instead so they may confess before her. When she was forced to kill, she often cried for her victims and prayed for her enemies. 

The Three Nuns that were cured by Joan all lived in separate locations. They had all prayed to Joan the day before they were cured. One was Sister Thérèse of Saint Augustine, who lived in Orléans. She was cured of leg ulcers.

Sister Julie Gauthier, who lived in Faverolles, was cured of a cancerous ulcer in her left breast.

Sister Marie Sagnier, who lived in Frages, was miraculously cured of stomach cancer.

On April 18th, 1909, Joan of Arc was declared 'Blessed' by Pope Pius X.

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