Jeanne didn't pay much mind to Gawain, whose head was currently spinning with shock. She examined the blade in her hands—the legendary Sigh of Kings, said to be capable of slicing clean through Catastrophes—yet found nothing particularly special about it.
It couldn't absorb her Mana to form a glowing beam of light, nor did it possess any transforming mechanisms or hidden spirits within the steel. In Jeanne's hands, the blade seemed like little more than a sturdy piece of metal.
In fact, strictly speaking, its durability wasn't even superior to her own Sword of Saint Catherine. To her, this royal treasure was essentially a glorified decorative heirloom—hardly living up to its grand myths. She almost felt it would serve a better purpose if sold off to a museum as a high-priced antique.
"Well? Is there anything special about it?" Talulah leaned in with genuine curiosity, peering closely at the Sigh of Kings resting in Jeanne's grip.
Gawain simply lay quiet on the stone floor, offering no further commentary. Let them do as they wish.
Meanwhile, hidden deep in the shadows of the underground hall, a lone Sarkaz quietly dispatched a covert message to the forces waiting above: The Sigh of Kings has been drawn from the stone. Proceed with the plan!
"Here, take a look," Jeanne sighed, handing the weapon over. "It's completely inert in my hands. No different from an ordinary chunk of iron, really."
Her hopes of swapping her class to Saber vanished into thin air. Though Miss Jeanne shared the exact same Artoria face as King Arthur, she possessed zero talent for the Saber class—meaning firing massive energy beams simply wasn't in her cards.
"It won't activate? Could it be broken?" Talulah frowned, taking the blade. Had two decades without proper maintenance damaged the internal mechanisms of the royal weapon?
Both women turned their gaze toward Gawain. The golden lion lay on the cold floor, eyeing them with a mixture of helplessness and caution while keeping a safe distance from Fafnir, who was still casually stalking him for gold clues.
"The Sigh of Kings cannot be damaged by mere passage of time," Gawain stated solemnly. "However, I will not reveal the secret of its activation to either of you. That is a oath bound strictly between our kind and the Aslan royal lineage. Even if you slay me here, I will take that secret to my grave!"
Gawain glared at them with absolute resolve. Both Jeanne and Talulah could tell the beast was telling the truth; he would sooner die than surrender the royal secret.
"Suit yourself," Talulah replied flatly. Neither of them had any intention of torturing a talking lion for information—especially when fighting it would just cause a pointless mess. It was far easier to let the resourceful Jeanne experiment.
"Hmm... how do you work this thing?" Jeanne muttered, inspecting the hilt again. She tapped a few intricate runes along the crossguard, accidentally triggering a hidden mechanism.
Clack!
A faint hum of energy coursed through the steel as the Sigh of Kings flickered to life.
Jeanne gave the blade a quick experimental swing. The legendary wave of energy capable of cleaving Catastrophes failed to manifest, but the swing did manage to slice clean through an uncarved stone statue left behind by the late Aslan King.
"It's neat, but definitely not as powerful as the myths claim," Jeanne noted, tossing the Sigh of Kings carelessly over to Talulah. "Maybe I'm missing a specific requirement, or maybe I activated it wrong. Either way, I've lost interest."
She had genuinely hoped for a high-tier armament powered by Mana like Saber's noble phantasm, but reality fell short.
Upon deeper reflection, however, it made sense. If the ancient Aslan Kings had possessed weapons on par with top-tier Noble Phantasms, they wouldn't have struggled so fiercely against the Dracos in the first place.
Compared to a weapon that was finicky to use and weaker than her own noble phantasms, Jeanne was far more interested in the hoard of gold and treasures Gawain had mentioned earlier.
Beside them, young Fafnir was practically spinning in eager circles. Had Jeanne not held her back, the young dragon would have already started digging up every square inch of the stone floor to unearth the gold.
"Go on then," Jeanne laughed, patting Fafnir's head. "If I keep you waiting any longer, I'm worried you're going to burst into tears."
"This little one has been desperate for gold all day," Jeanne turned to address Gawain. "You don't mind if she digs around a bit, do you?"
"Help yourselves," Gawain replied, resting his head on his paws. "Those treasures belong to generations of royal vaults and private hoards. Gold holds no value to me; I remain here solely to guard the Sigh of Kings."
He cast another peculiar glance at the young dragon. To his sharp senses, Fafnir felt far less like a Draco and more like something far more ancient and terrifying.
"Appreciate it," Jeanne nodded cheerfully. "If you had objected, I would have had to waste time sorting the Draco treasure from the Aslan treasure."
She paused, turning her eyes toward the shadowed corner where the stone statue had just been sliced in half. "Now then... as much as I'd love to chat more, I have to ask: my guest in the dark, have you seen enough?"
Before the words fully left her lips, Jeanne hurled her flagpole straight toward the shadows with blinding speed!
BOOM!
The iron banner shattered the stone pillar, forcing a disheveled figure to scramble out from the dust cloud.
"A Sarkaz?" Jeanne noted the sharp, jet-black horns on the assassin's head. It took her less than a second to piece together who had sent him. Did my casual guess earlier actually come true?!
The moment the assassin was exposed, Gawain vanished into thin air, having no desire to linger or be seen by external factions.
"Cough, cough... What sharp instincts," the disheveled Sarkaz hissed, coughing through the rising dust as he readied his curved daggers. "I was standing so far back... how did you spot me?"
"Why is a Sarkaz lurking in the royal mausoleum of Victoria?" Talulah's brow furrowed in a tight scowl. There was only one logical target for a Sarkaz operative down here:
The Sigh of Kings.
She tightened her grip on the sword. The weapon showed no resistance to being wielded by her—suggesting that while drawing it required specific conditions, actually using it carried no such restrictions.
"So we finally meet in person... legendary Saintess of Laterano," the assassin spat, his eyes gleaming with raw, unbridled malice.
"A pity I don't know who you are," Jeanne replied smoothly, scanning the grand hall to confirm that only a single assassin was present.
"Don't bother looking," the Sarkaz sneered. "I am indeed the only one down here... for now. But that won't be the case for long!"
Without another word, the assassin lunged forward like a shadow, driving his daggers straight toward Jeanne's throat!
Jeanne side-stepped the attack with casual ease. The man was a master of stealth and a fine assassin, but in a direct, head-on confrontation, an assassin's light weapons were at a severe disadvantage.
He was no King Hassan, capable of pulling off stealth kills with a tower shield and a massive greatsword.
His swift, unpredictable strikes were completely telegraphed under the guiding light of Jeanne's Revelation. To her eyes, his flashy dagger work looked no different from an awkward dance performance.
"Decent speed, but assassins pose very little threat to me in a duel!" Jeanne delivered a solid, heavy fist straight into his ribs.
BANG!
The Sarkaz crashed hard onto the cold stone floor, writhing in pain as he struggled to catch his breath.
"You said 'not for long'..." Jeanne mused, glancing over at Talulah. "Does that mean Theresis and his main force are waiting right outside?"
She offered a wry smile to her friend. It seemed her earlier offhand comment was about to turn into reality. They were about to come face-to-face with the legendary Regent of Kazdel himself.
"You have no right to speak that name, you dirty—"
CLACK!
Before he could finish his angry rant, Jeanne casually kicked him across the hall, knocking him out cold. He was clearly a fanatical subject of Theresis.
Jeanne walked toward the massive iron gates of the mausoleum, sensing the presence of an entire army gathering on the other side.
"They're really outside?" Talulah caught up to her, her tone growing solemn. "What should we do? Should we fall back and call for reinforcements? They can't force these doors open without the keys anyway, and there are only two keys in existence..."
Before Talulah could finish her sentence, the heavy metal gates began to groan, slowly parting open on their own.
Standing directly outside the entrance was Theresis, his expression cold and unreadable, backed by a vast legion of Sarkaz warriors.
"So we finally meet... Jeanne d'Arc, Saintess of Laterano."
Theresis rested his hand on the hilt of his blade, his piercing gaze locked onto the golden-haired girl before him.