I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 807: Jeanne SS [5]

“Was that true?”

By the time lunch finally ended, the atmosphere on the upper floor had calmed, at least on the surface. But the awkwardness left behind by Layla’s appearance still lingered in Jeanne’s mind. Her words had not sounded like empty provocation.

They still had some time before the joint practical class began, and Jeanne found she could not simply let it go.

Aurora turned slightly toward her as they walked. “Concerning what exactly?”

Jeanne was quiet for a brief moment, choosing her words.

“You know what I mean,” she said at last. “What Layla said.”

Aurora’s expression shifted, not with surprise, but with the look of someone who had expected this question sooner or later.

“You do not know much about it,” she said gently, “since you were summoned after it all ended. But there was a war for the past months.”

“The Utopian War?” Jeanne asked.

She had heard the name many times already. In hallways, in classrooms, in passing conversations between students and nobles alike.

Aurora nodded.

“It was fought between the elves of Utopia and the kingdoms of Sancta Vedelia,” she said. “It lasted for months, and the casualties were severe. By the end, Sancta Vedelia had come dangerously close to collapse.”

Jeanne frowned slightly. “Sancta Vedelia is made of several kingdoms, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Aurora replied. “You may think of it as a vast island, or perhaps even a small continent. It is made up of eight kingdoms. They have long existed in hostility with Utopia, but tensions rose in recent times. Then during an important meeting in Edenis Raphiel, Edenis Raphiel chose not to intervene on either side, and once that happened, there was little left to restrain Utopia from launching a full war.”

Jeanne listened in silence.

War between nations. Elves. Holy trees. Divine politics. Even now, hearing it explained so plainly still felt surreal. But war itself, stripped of its fantasy elements, was sadly familiar. Earth had known enough of it.

“But Utopia lost in the end,” Jeanne said.

Aurora inclined her head. “Yes. Once the Utopian King, Durathiel Ruvelion, died, the elves had little choice but to surrender. Without their king, their position collapsed.”

Jeanne’s gaze narrowed slightly as she thought back to Layla’s words.

“If Sancta Vedelia won,” she said, “then why are they angry with Edward, was it?”

Aurora let out a faint breath.

“Because the situation is far more complicated than a simple victory,” she said. “There is a great deal of politics involved. I cannot say with certainty whether Edward himself killed the Utopian King, though if Layla claims it so confidently, I find it difficult to believe she is lying. But the real issue is what he did afterward.”

Jeanne looked at her. “What did he do?”

Aurora’s tone grew more thoughtful.

“He gave Utopia the seed of a Holy Tree, one comparable in power to Sancta Vedelia’s own sacred tree, and it is a young one, priceless. Then, before the eyes of the world, he publicly formalized his marriage to Freya Ruvelion, the younger sister of Durathiel and the princess of Utopia.”

Jeanne blinked.

Aurora continued.

“You can understand why many in Sancta Vedelia see that as betrayal. Not only did he bind himself to the enemy’s royal line, but by doing so, and by giving them the seed and his allegiance, he prevented Sancta Vedelia from fully exploiting its victory and taking control of Utopia.”

Jeanne was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “So the victors expected to divide the defeated.”

Aurora did not answer immediately, but she did not deny it either.

Jeanne lowered her gaze slightly.

It was ugly, but not unfamiliar.

It was no different from what history on Earth had shown over and over again. When nations lost catastrophic wars, the victors imposed terms, seized land, divided power, occupied territory, and stripped the defeated of the right to recover on their own terms. Whether done in the name of justice, security, revenge, or stability, the pattern remained the same.

If someone had stepped in after such a war on Earth and prevented the victors from claiming their due, especially after so much blood had been spilled, the backlash would have been enormous.

“No wonder they’re angry,” Jeanne mumbled.

Aurora nodded.

“I do not fully understand why Edward chose to act as he did,” she admitted. “He must have had his own reasons. But regardless of his motives, the result is the same. He is now hated throughout much of Sancta Vedelia.”

Her expression grew more thoughtful.

“In that light, what Layla said may well be true. Sancta Vedelia may be purposefully reducing his role in the war, removing his involvement from the official story as much as possible.”

Jeanne fell quiet again after that.

It made a sort of sense.

History, she knew, was rarely just a record of what happened. More often, it was a record of what the powerful were willing to admit had happened. If Edward had won the war for them and then denied them its spoils, then erasing him from the victory was not only petty, it was politically useful.

“However, he seems hated here as well,” Jeanne said.

At that, Aurora looked away for a moment.

“It is complicated here too,” she said at last. “He killed the King’s brother. My uncle.”

Jeanne blinked, unable to hide her shock.

He killed the King’s brother?

Even to Jeanne, who still felt as though she was only half-caught up with the scale of power and politics in this world, that sounded like the sort of crime from which there should be no return. On Earth, someone who killed a king’s brother would not be banished and sent away. They would likely be executed without hesitation.

Aurora seemed to understand the thought crossing Jeanne’s mind.

“My uncle betrayed us,” she continued quietly. “He was also responsible for Edward’s sister’s death. Edward killed him for that. But my father saw it happen with his own eyes, right in front of him, and in his anger he had Edward imprisoned. Later, after talks and negotiations, it was decided that Edward would be banished from Celesta and sent to Sancta Vedelia under the guise of rehabilitation.”

“And that is how things ended up where they are now,” Jeanne said.

Aurora gave a bitter smile.

From the outside, Jeanne had to admit it painted a very particular picture. Edward sounded less like a man and more like a storm that kept passing from one nation to another, leaving upheaval in his wake wherever he went. Anyone hearing only the surface of it would naturally think him reckless, uncontrollable, ungrateful, perhaps even dangerous by nature.

And yet, even Jeanne, who barely knew him, could already tell the truth was not that simple.

Aurora seemed to share that thought.

“I do not believe Edward is the cause of all this,” she said. “But it is also true that ever since he stepped into Sancta Vedelia, everything there only worsened around him. And people are quick to cling to simple explanations when they want someone to hate.”

Jeanne could understand that.

It was easier to point at one person than to face an entire web of grief, power, and failure.

Aurora’s gaze softened slightly.

“I cannot blame him entirely either,” she added. “He lost too much in too little time. Within a single year, he lost his father and his sister. In the end, I think that was simply too much for him to bear.”

“The former Duke Falkrona,” Jeanne said slowly, “and Simon Falkrona’s sister.”

Aurora nodded, clearly pleased that Jeanne had managed to keep so many names and relations straight so quickly.

“Yes,” she said. “Edward had already given up his position as heir to the duchy even before that, so in itself that caused no great issue. But when he publicly formalized his marriage to Freya Ruvelion, he took the Falkrona name again and named Belle Falkrona as his mother. That was not done on impulse. He had clearly thought it through, and I am certain the Heads of Sancta Vedelia know that as well.”

Jeanne was silent for a moment, then asked the question that had begun pressing more insistently at her mind.

“How old is he?”

Aurora glanced at her. “He may already have turned eighteen by now.”

Jeanne could not quite hide her surprise.

Aurora actually smiled at that, despite herself.

Jeanne noticed the expression immediately. “You do not seem to hate him that much.”

Aurora’s smile faded into something quieter, more thoughtful.

“I told you,” she said, “it is complicated. He saved my younger sister from my uncle. He saved my life as well. And I know what he did was done out of anger, and grief.” She paused, then added, “My brother does not truly hate him for it either.”

Jeanne listened carefully.

“Most of us who know why Edward acted that way understand it, at least to some extent,” Aurora went on. “We all knew Elona. She was close to many of us. Bright, kind and innocent. So I cannot pretend I would have remained calm either if my sister had died and the man responsible were standing right before me.”

Jeanne gave a small nod.

Who would stay calm in that situation?

The thought itself felt absurd.

As for whether she could kill someone in that kind of moment, she did not know. She wanted to believe she could not. But anger, grief, and shock made strangers of people. Perhaps, if someone she loved were taken from her and the cause stood before her, she might do something unforgivable too. She truly could not say.

Aurora looked at her then, her voice gentler now.

“Do you have a sister?”

“No,” Jeanne said, shaking her head lightly. “I… have a younger brother. An adopted one.”

Aurora’s expression softened at once.

“That is good,” she said. “My younger brother only recently woke from a long coma.”

There was such fondness in her smile when she spoke of him that Jeanne felt a faint ache in her chest.

She nodded, but her thoughts were already drifting elsewhere.

To Jason.

She wondered what he was doing now.

Then her mind moved, as it always did after that, to her parents.

They must have been worried sick by now.

No explanation, no trace, nor goodbye.

Just gone.

And no matter how many castle walls surrounded her, no matter how many people bowed or called her a Hero, that hollow truth remained unchanged.

…

…

By the time practical class began, all of the academy’s classes had gathered together in the large training stadium.

Around the circular arena, rows of seats rose in tiers, filled with watching eyes and restless voices that gradually quieted as Professor Seiptor stepped into the center.

As usual, he looked as though he had walked out of some old nightmare. With his dark hair, dark eyes. His voice, when it rang through the stadium, was calm and emotionless as ever, stripped of any warmth.

“Today we will continue sparring with practice weapons,” he said. “Mana may be used only to reinforce the body. No spells. You are here to improve technique, not to throw power around mindlessly.”

A murmur passed through the students, then faded again.

Professor Seiptor slowly swept his gaze across the gathered classes, clearly deciding who to call first.

They did not.

Then his eyes settled on Jeanne almost immediately.

“Lady Jeanne,” he said, “am I mistaken in thinking you are ready?”

The sudden attention made her hesitate for a fraction of a second. She could feel it at once, the shift in the crowd, the subtle tightening of interest. Of course they wanted to see her. She was the summoned Hero. The one touched by divine power. The girl everyone whispered about and stared at and tried, in their own ways, to understand.

Jeanne took a breath and rose to her feet.

Professor Seiptor gave a short nod, as though he had expected no other answer.

Beside her, Aurora smiled gently. “Good luck,” she said. “And trust yourself.”

Jeanne nodded back and began descending toward the arena floor under the gaze of what felt like half the academy.

She could feel every step.

When she reached the weapons rack, she picked up a wooden sword and turned it once in her hand. It felt unfamiliar, lighter than she expected. Then she stepped into position at the center of the stadium.

“Teen Masta,” Professor Seiptor called.

A young man rose from among the students with a confident smile. He selected a wooden sword for himself and walked into the arena with a smile already on his lips.

When he stopped in front of Jeanne, that smile widened.

“If I win, Lady Jeanne,” he said, “would you honor me with dinner?”

Jeanne raised a brow at him, more surprised by the audacity than offended.

He took her silence for something encouraging.

“I’ll assume that means yes,” he said with a grin before settling into position.

Jeanne said nothing.

She lifted her sword, though her movements were still a little stiff. Her fingers tightened around the hilt as she tried to focus. Around them, the stadium had gone nearly still. Everyone was watching now.

Aurora.

Alfred.

Jayden.

Milleia.

Layla.

And everyone else.

Every eye was fixed on her, curious to see what the so-called Hero of Eden could actually do.

Professor Seiptor raised one hand.

Then he lowered it.

Teen moved first.

He rushed at Jeanne immediately, his footwork quick as he closed the distance. At the last moment he shifted his stance, feinting before turning sharply and aiming a strike toward her right side.

Jeanne saw it, coming clearly.

The swing seemed strangely slow, every motion stretched out before her as though her senses were moving faster than the world around her. She instinctively stepped back, avoiding the strike with a clean movement that surprised even her. The wooden blade cut through empty air where she had been only an instant before.

A frown flashed across Teen’s face.

He recovered quickly, stepping back and immediately reinforcing his body and weapon with mana. His expression sharpened. Whatever charm he had been playing at before was gone now, replaced by real effort. He surged forward again and brought the sword down with far more force this time.

Again, Jeanne saw it.

Again, it felt slow.

Her grip tightened. Some instinct, sharpened by the power now running through her body, warned her in the same instant that if she met the blow head-on without restraint, she might get hurt. So even as she moved, she held back.

Then she swung.

The impact exploded through the arena.

-BAM!

A brutal crack rang out as Teen’s wooden sword shattered instantly, snapping under the force of Jeanne’s strike. The sound alone made several students jolt in their seats.

Then came the shockwave.

Teen was launched backward with terrifying speed, sent flying across the arena before slamming hard into the stone wall behind him. The impact embedded him deep enough to leave a visible impression before his body dropped forward and hit the dirt face-first.

Silence followed.

A complete, stunned silence.

For one long moment, no one moved.

Jeanne stood frozen, still holding the wooden sword in both hands. Her own eyes drifted down to it, then to her fingers around the hilt, as if she no longer trusted what they had just done. At the last second she had pulled back. She knew she had. She had felt herself restrain the blow because something in her had warned her not to hit at full force.

And even so, she had done that.

Voices rose around the stadium in excitement, awe, shock, and loud bursts of admiration. Students shouted, some in disbelief, some in exhilaration.

But Jeanne barely heard any of it.

Her heart was beating too hard.

Her hand still felt strange around the sword.

And before anyone could stop her, before the attention fully closed around her, she turned and hurried out of the stadium without waiting to hear what anyone would say next.