Chapter 268: The Great Saint is About to Save France Again
Siegfried was one of the protagonists of the ancient heroic epic The Nibelungenlied, a dragon slaying hero who once killed the evil dragon Fafnir.
He came from the same source as Sigurd of Norse myth, and their deeds overlapped so closely that modern scholars often treat Siegfried as a later retelling of Sigurd's legend. In a world where myths are true, though, Siegfried was undeniably a real hero.
Their relationship was closer than simple resemblance. It was like Scathach and Skadi in this era, except even tighter. Same origin. Same path. Two names that pointed to the same blade.
That was why, after the Dragon Witch summoned the evil dragon Fafnir with resentment toward the world and toward the France that betrayed her, Siegfried arrived as well.
Not because Gilles de Rais willed it.
This was a spontaneous summoning from the Holy Grail itself.
Gilles used the Holy Grail to summon four Servants, but there were still vacant slots within the system. And the world's corrective force, the one that wanted to mend the Singularity, would never waste an opening.
So Siegfried came for one purpose.
To slay Fafnir.
"The dragon slaying hero…"
The carriage jolted to a stop. Dust rose from the road. Wild grass swayed in the wind. In the distance, mountains stretched like the spine of some sleeping beast.
The black steed pulling the carriage stared at the man blocking the path and let out a roar that sounded far too much like a dragon.
The tall hero from The Nibelungenlied slowly raised the silver greatsword in his hand. His eyes settled on the carriage, then on the horse, then on the posture that did not match a horse at all.
"The evil dragon of old," Siegfried said quietly. "Reduced to this?"
There was no mockery in his voice, no disdain. Only pure confusion.
But confusion was enough to stab Fafnir where it hurt.
"What does it have to do with you?!" the black steed snapped, the roar rippling like thunder. If there had been another choice, who would volunteer to become a dog?
The front hooves slammed down. The air twisted.
In a blink, the magnificent horse expanded into a giant dragon. Black wings unfolded like storm clouds, swallowing the sky. Scales drank in the light. A shadow fell across the road like night arriving early.
"What is happening?"
Ritsuka tried to poke her head out of the carriage, but Rowe pushed her back with a calm palm.
"I will check. You two stay here."
"I will go as well," Jeanne said, already rising.
Outside, the evil dragon returned to its true form.
Siegfried tightened his grip on the greatsword. He exhaled. The silver armor he wore erupted with radiant light.
In The Nibelungenlied, after Siegfried slew Fafnir, he bathed in the dragon's blood and gained an indestructible body. Dragon blood armor. A blessing that nullified most attacks and even resisted Noble Phantasms that carried less Mystery than the blood that stained it.
It was proof of his triumph.
It was also the seed of his downfall.
A body bathed in dragon blood was not without weakness. A single spot on his back had been covered by a fallen leaf, and so it never touched the blood. That tiny flaw became the doorway for betrayal, the reason he died to a strike from behind.
In his hands, the silver greatsword answered that legend.
The dragon slayer's holy sword.
Balmung.
"Evil dragon," Siegfried said, voice steady. "Show your wickedness, then fall here."
Facing the looming dragon, Siegfried lowered his stance. The dragon blood armor blazed. Crimson magical energy poured from Balmung in a burning surge.
Fafnir answered with a black storm, the air around him twisting into pressure that felt capable of crushing the land itself.
The earth fractured under the weight of their opposing power. Dark clouds rolled in. Blood red light laced through them like veins.
"The dragon slaying hero," Fafnir growled. "This is not your era anymore."
His maw opened. Dragon breath surged.
Siegfried did not step back. Balmung lifted. The blade waited at its highest edge, ready to cut.
They collided.
In the same instant, a clear, sharp voice rang out.
"My Lord is here!"
A fleur de lis banner snapped open in the wind. Bright, sacred light fell like ripples on water, weaving an invisible barrier.
Balmung struck it.
Fafnir struck it.
Terrifying magical energy scattered, overflowing in every direction. Yet not a single spark crossed the boundary. It was a forbidden line. A cut between two spaces.
Siegfried froze.
Fafnir, on the other hand, recoiled so fast it looked like instinct.
"Woof."
Siegfried blinked once.
He looked at Fafnir, tongue out, posture obsequious, utterly lacking the terrifying majesty he had shown a heartbeat ago.
Then he looked at the two figures who had appeared between them.
"Who told you to start a fight without permission?" Rowe asked, gaze sliding to Fafnir.
"Woof woof woof!"
The dragon "roared."
Siegfried's expression stiffened.
He finally accepted he had not misheard.
Is this Fafnir?
Is this a dragon?
Even with his restrained temperament and the humility expected of a hero, Siegfried had always taken pride in slaying Fafnir. The evil dragon was a curse given flesh, a malignancy that once ran rampant through mythic ages. Even gods did not dispel such a thing casually.
Siegfried had only barely slain him through fortune, timing, and the hard edge of survival.
And now…
"This," he murmured, disbelief creeping in despite himself, "is what I killed back then?"
A dog's bark.
Then what did that make him?
A dragon slayer hero turned into a dog slayer hero?
Siegfried's gaze shifted toward the girl holding the fleur de lis banner.
As a Servant summoned through the Singularity's Holy Grail, by a system that mirrored the Counter Force's intent to mend the distortion, he had seen the Dragon Witch from afar. Deep in Paris, seated at the core, identical in face.
Different hair color. Different clothing.
But the figure was unmistakable.
Jeanne d Arc.
Siegfried would not confuse her.
Jeanne stiffened. She almost shook her head on reflex, then remembered Rowe's instruction.
Impersonate the Dragon Witch.
She forced herself still.
Siegfried tightened his grip on Balmung and decisively adjusted his target.
Even a hero like him did not recognize the difference. Then the disguise would hold.
"Even you did not recognize her," Rowe said softly, as if reassuring Jeanne rather than Siegfried. "There should be no problem."
Jeanne pressed her lips together.
"Will you truly harbor resentment toward France?" Rowe asked her, as if continuing a private conversation.
"Perhaps…" Jeanne sighed.
Siegfried paused again. He did not rush to strike. They were not hostile. They did not attack him. A hero did not swing first when doubt still existed.
And hearing their exchange, Siegfried began to understand.
"As you can see," Rowe said, turning to him with an easy grin. "This is Saint Jeanne d Arc."
"The genuine Jeanne d Arc."
"The genuine…" Siegfried repeated.
Not the Dragon Witch, but the true saint.
"Are you also a guardian summoned by the world?" he asked.
"Yes," Jeanne answered honestly, voice quiet but steady.
Siegfried exhaled.
"The appearance is identical," he said, "but the feeling is completely different."
He let the tension in his shoulders loosen. His instincts as a hero were sharp. His discernment as a hero was sharper.
Even if that trust had once gotten him killed.
He had no intention of abandoning it. That trust was part of what made him Siegfried.
"My apologies."
Balmung's magical energy receded, though questions still crowded his mind.
"This is…"
Jeanne opened her mouth, but Rowe spoke first.
"My name is Rowe. An unknown missionary."
"Missionary?" Siegfried echoed.
"That is right." Rowe clapped his hands once, smiling. "The faith I believe in is the human heart, and the self."
"The human heart and the self…" Siegfried considered it, then nodded slightly. "It sounds admirable. A preacher of such faith must be a saint."
His eyes shifted again, back to Fafnir, who panted with his tongue out, indignation and helplessness mixing in equal measure.
"Then tell me this," Siegfried said. "Why are you traveling with the evil dragon Fafnir?"
"It is simple," Rowe replied, no hesitation.
"To dismantle the Dragon Witch's forces completely."
He did not hide the plan. He laid it out plainly.
Siegfried's eyes lit up.
Using Jeanne d Arc to deal with Jeanne d Arc.
It was clean. It avoided the ugliest part of correcting the Singularity.
Because the Dragon Witch's strength did not come only from violence. It came from approval.
It was not simply that the Dragon Witch occupied France.
It was that France, in this era, welcomed the saint in their hearts.
The military wanted her. The people wanted her. Many hated the nobles who betrayed Jeanne, who handed her to the enemy and sent her to the pyre.
So when the Dragon Witch rose and spread wrath, most of France applauded.
Her faction held popular support.
Those who wanted to "repair" the Singularity were not just fighting Servants.
They were facing France itself.
A hero did not raise a sword against civilians. That was a line.
So Siegfried praised Rowe's method without reservation.
"Is that why the world summoned Saint Jeanne's true self?" he murmured, as if convinced.
Rowe looked at him.
"If you are willing, come with us."
"Of course."
Siegfried accepted without hesitation.
"I, Siegfried, will serve this cause."
He did not know Rowe's deeper objective. He did not know Rowe intended to expand the Singularity rather than simply mend it. But his own purpose aligned with the surface truth.
Remove the false saint.
Restore the path of history.
Before he moved, Siegfried looked once more at Fafnir.
"I have always believed nothing is inherently evil," he said. "Even curses are not eternal."
"So, evil dragon, for now I will set aside prejudice and fight beside you."
"But if you do evil, I will still slay you."
Fafnir bared his teeth. The dragon head lifted, wanting to roar.
"Woof woof."
Rowe's punishment for the earlier unauthorized fight.
Fafnir snorted and turned away, refusing to dignify the humiliation with further effort.
Rowe glanced at him.
"Do not turn into a horse again. Stay like this."
Then he looked at Siegfried.
"Do you want to ride in the carriage?"
Siegfried glanced at Rowe, then at Jeanne, and considered the cramped interior.
"No. I will stay outside."
"As you wish," Rowe said, clapping once, and turned back toward the carriage with Jeanne.
"A dragon slaying hero fighting alongside an evil dragon," Siegfried said, a small grin breaking through his calm. "Unexpected."
Fafnir did not answer. He spread his wings and moved, pulling the carriage forward.
His drooping golden eyes seemed to say, get on, do not move around.
Otherwise I will kill you.
"Then I will not be polite." Siegfried bowed, bent his knees, and leaped onto the dragon's back.
The giant dragon spread its wings.
Ahead lay a border city, a rare large settlement for this era, deep in the heartland.
A place the Dragon Witch had not yet reached.
…
News ran faster than armies.
The ferocious witch is about to attack Vichy.
The unspeakable demon has climbed the walls of Bourges.
The resurrected monster has set fire to Tours.
Jeanne d Arc, in Orléans, has sworn again that she will fight for France once more.
The great saint who saved the country will save France again, and the defiant old nobles will face destruction.
On the central plains of France, Atalanta moved through the wind, emerald hair flowing, hunter's attire silent against the grass.
She looked at the collapsed mountains ahead, the scars left by dragon and human.
She listened to the rumors.
"That witch…" her eyes narrowed. "Has she left Paris?"
No.
Her instincts twisted.
"Is this that man's doing?"