Two days later...
Night was approaching slowly, as if the sky resisted surrendering itself to the dark. The last orange glow of the sun faded on the horizon, leaving behind a violet hue that draped over Trifas like a silent veil.
In the courtyard of a modest church, Jeanne moved the broom with steady, deliberate strokes. The day had been long, yet she insisted on sweeping every corner of the ground, as if this dostic act was her way of keeping her own mind in order.
"It’s already getting dark... Will there be a confrontation tonight?" she murmured, glancing at the sky.
"Jeanne?"
The sudden male voice made her turn quickly.
"Avenger?" she blinked, surprised.
Before her stood Arthur, who, for convenience’s sake, had been going by the na "Avenger."
"Can you stop calling that?" he said, arms crossed in a relaxed manner. "I’d rather you just call Gil, like Rider does."
"Are you sure? What if soone from the Red Faction hears?" Jeanne raised an eyebrow.
Arthur shrugged. "So what? If they find out, they find out. It won’t really change anything."
She sighed, lowering her gaze for a mont. "You talk as if everything were that simple..."
"But isn’t it?" he countered with a smile.
For the past two days, Arthur had been keeping track of his Noble Phantasm’s preparations. But upon sensing the approach of a certain red-armored Servant—Mordred—he decided to walk through the city to clear his mind. Chance, or perhaps fate, had brought him to Jeanne.
"Gil...?" she repeated, as if testing the sound of the nickna on her lips.
"Yes, you can call that," Arthur replied with an almost mischievous smile.
He tilted his head, watching her sweep with stubborn diligence. "You only noticed when I spoke. Were you that focused on the floor?"
"Of course. If I don’t give my best even in the smallest details, I wouldn’t be able to eat in peace." Jeanne replied without faltering, still focused on the broom.
Arthur chuckled softly. There was sothing both amusing and charming about her manner. A saint, and yet... so determined, even in trivial tasks.
’Do I have so kind of thing for won like this?’ he wondered, furrowing his brow briefly.
Jeanne paused her sweeping and lifted her gaze. "Besides, I believe Servants won’t fight during the day. It would be far too risky."
"Agreed. Mages hate sunlight, after all," Arthur replied. "Magecraft is ant to be hidden, secret. To show yourself in broad daylight would be to expose the entire world to sothing that must remain concealed. Only an idiot would do that without reason."
She nodded, satisfied with the answer.
Arthur then broke the silence with a sudden question:
"Jeanne... have you had dinner yet? Would you like to join ?"
"Dinner... with you?" she blinked, puzzled.
"Why not?" he grinned slyly. "Think of it as a bribe."
"A bribe?" Jeanne stared at him, incredulous.
"Of course! Bribing the Ruler of the Holy Grail War. Isn’t it obvious?" Arthur said, already heading toward the city.
"I really don’t know whether to laugh or be worried about your boldness..." she muttered, but ended up following him.
---
Later, in a restaurant in Trifas.
The hall was lit by warm lanterns that cast soft shadows on the stone walls. The atmosphere was simple but cozy, carrying the pleasant aroma of fresh herbs mixed with roast fresh out of the oven.
Arthur leaned back comfortably in his chair, savoring a glass of local wine. Across from him, Jeanne sat with perfect posture, almost immaculate, as though even in such a humble setting she couldn’t help but embody her saintly image.
"So... your goal is to fight the Red Saber," Jeanne said, her calm voice carrying a spark of curiosity.
"Exactly," Arthur answered without hesitation, taking a sip from his glass.
"And you believe you can defeat her?"
Arthur nearly choked. For a second, the wine almost spilled onto his clothes, but he managed to steady himself, shooting her a look of disbelief.
"You still doubt ?"
"A little," Jeanne admitted with a discreet smile.
Arthur set the glass down harder than intended, leaning forward.
"You really don’t hold back, do you? I thought the saint of Orleans would be gentler with her words."
"I’m not being cruel, only honest," she replied, amused.
"Honest? That sounds a lot like a lack of faith," he said, feigning offense.
Jeanne covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.
"You want to have faith in you? ?"
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Ah, so that’s how it is. Faith you reserve for the Almighty, but for , only skepticism?"
"Naturally," Jeanne replied, chuckling softly but standing her ground.
Arthur sighed, pretending to be resigned, though inwardly he found the exchange more entertaining than it had any right to be. Jeanne’s straightforwardness, her honesty—it struck him in a strange way.
’Maybe I really do have a weakness for determined won...’
The waiter arrived with the main courses, interrupting their sparring. Arthur received a grilled cut of at seasoned with local spices, while Jeanne limited herself to a hot soup with chunks of rustic bread.
He raised an eyebrow. "Just soup? You’re not going to try the at? It’s delicious."
"I’m fine with this," she replied calmly, lifting her spoon.
Arthur leaned across the table, lowering his voice in mock provocation.
"Are you sure? Refusing a al like this could be considered heresy against common sense."
Jeanne stared at him for a mont, as if deciding whether to laugh or scold him. In the end, she simply muttered:
"You’re insufferable."
"I’ve heard that before," he shrugged, smiling contentedly.
For a few minutes, they ate in relative silence. The sound of cutlery, the faint murmur of other tables, and the soft music of a lute filled the room.
Until Jeanne spoke again:
"If you’re going to fight the Red Saber—Mordred, as you said—you know it won’t be an easy battle. She’s strong, relentless, and..."
"Stubborn to the bone?" Arthur finished, raising an eyebrow.
Jeanne laughed. "You talk as if you know her well."
"Let’s just say I’ve dealt with plenty like her. Actually..." Arthur propped his chin on his hand, giving her a crooked smile. "I’m starting to see a pattern. I seem to have a magnet for determined won."
Jeanne’s eyes widened slightly at the audacity, and she quickly looked away, pretending to focus on her soup.
"I don’t know if I should feel proud or worried about that."
Arthur chuckled softly, pleased with her reaction.
After a few more exchanges of banter, the waiter brought dessert: small fruit tarts with warm syrup. Arthur imdiately dug into his, but noticed Jeanne hesitating over hers.
"What is it now? Not going to eat?" he asked, spoon already raised.
"It’s... too sweet," she murmured.
"Even better. Less competition for ," Arthur declared, shalessly reaching over to eat hers as well.
Jeanne’s eyes widened in outrage. "Hey! That’s theft!"
"Theft? No, no... think of it as a lifelong loan," he replied nonchalantly, chewing with obvious enjoynt.
She tried to hold back her laughter but ended up letting out a light giggle, unable to stay stern. The sound was soft, almost musical, and for a mont Arthur simply watched her in silence, struck.
Not as Ruler. Not as the Saint of Orleans. But as a woman.
’There’s definitely... sothing about her that draws in.’
Finishing his al, he dabbed his lips with the napkin, then leaned slightly forward, eting her gaze with sudden seriousness.
"Jeanne... do you really think I can’t defeat Mordred?"
She hesitated for a mont, then answered with a serene smile:
"I think you can—if you believe in yourself as much as you believe in teasing others."
Arthur let out a genuine laugh, though inwardly, he was more captivated than ever. She was right. And worse, she had carved deeper into his thoughts than he cared to admit.
---
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain , try to throw those pathetic power stones at . Let’s see if even your insolence can amuse a king."
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