Wielding a flag and a spear, Joan of Arc charged at Belak with close steps, fluttering on the white battle flag at her side without too much flashy decoration, just a simple golden iris painted on it, which symbolized the flower of light and freedom as pure and immaculate as its owner bloomed in the darkness.

As the pace continued to increase, Joan of Arc's feet, who were staring at the front with pure and deep eyes like heavenly pools, suddenly rose into the air as if they were stepping on auspicious clouds. Behind her was gradually shrouded in pale golden mist-like holy light, faintly, a pair of angelic white wings appeared behind the girl, like a dancer's arms slowly flapping, and this hallucinatory scene made the girl seem to really grow wings and could move in the air at will.

Only the most devout master of holy arts, Dominic, could have caused such a beautiful miracle, but even they could not naturally create the miracle in front of them without closing their lips and not even saying half a prayer like Joan of Arc. Bathed in light, Joan of Arc had a pure smile that only unearthly virgins could have, and although she was stabbing the battle banner in front of her that could easily take the life of her enemy, there seemed to be no malice in her heart, as if she was not killing for herself, but to redeem the sinful soul of the other.

"You're so noisy that you don't let people sleep for a while......"

Dragging a large pillow with wet saliva in her hands, rubbing her sleepy eyes, Anthea, who looked like she might fall like a reed in a storm at any moment, staggered out of the bedroom like a zombie girl.

"Huh?"

Raising his eyebrows, Berak, who was the first to notice the uninvited guest who suddenly appeared in the living room, smiled mischievously as if he had thought of something, his eyes flickering back and forth between Anzia and Joan of Arc, and when Joan of Arc's battle flag was about to stab his chest, Belak unhurriedly stretched out his hand and snapped his fingers.

"You're not-" Anthea's eyes narrowed into thin lines because of sleepiness instinctively dilated her pupils due to the sudden burst of holy light, as if she was still dreaming, Anthea was surprised to find that she who was still standing at the door of the bedroom inexplicably appeared in the middle of the living room in the middle of the living room, and the young lady who had been sprinkled with lime powder by herself before was looking at her with the same suspicious eyes, "Ahh

If it weren't for the red blood dripping from the wound on her head, which had been cut open by the high-speed air current, Anthea couldn't even believe that the tip of the spear that was parked less than half an inch away from her poor little head was real. The nerves, which had been dulled by not waking up just now, had been completely revived at this moment, and on the bloodless pale face, beads of sweat the size of beans slid down Anthea's smooth cheeks, and flowed into her growing mouth, as if trying to bite the tip of the iron and clay hexagonal spear like a pocky chocolate bar.

"Zhen, Joan of Arc, Miss, use quicklime or something out of helplessness! I, I'm sorry for you, don't, don't scare me like this, woo woo woo......

With a sore nose, Anthea, who was immortal, couldn't hold back the tears in her eyes, and cried loudly, and at the moment when Joan of Arc's battle flag stopped, Anzia felt that her three souls and six spirits had been frightened and flew away halfway.

"Who wants to scare you—and don't talk to me about shit quicklime!

The tip of the gun stopped less than half an inch from Ancia's head, and Joan of Arc, who leaned back in the air to stop the car, saw the girl in front of her who had been in her shadow once, and Miss Joan of Arc cared more about the tragic past mentioned in Ancia's words than about the magic of Belac's shapeshifting. Because the body of the Heroic Spirit can be constantly regenerated, the memory of being burned again and again by quicklime or something is more painful than when she was burned to death by the heresy trial, on the one hand, when she was burned at the stake, she already had the intention of serving the gods in the kingdom of heaven, and of course, the more important reason is that compared to those old events, the recent events are too easy to recall.

"Yo, do you just look down on your opponent like that?"

Suddenly appeared behind Joan of Arc, Belak's appearance was as without the slightest sign as he had just disappeared, holding the girl's braided braids behind her with his hands, and before Joan of Arc tried to turn around and fight back, Barack grabbed Joan of Arc's braid and threw the girl out of her original position with a faster speed.

"Ahh

Moving her hands and feet like a baby in her mother's **, Anthea recovered from her sluggish state only after Joan of Arc crashed into the wall with a deafening thud, and was surprised to find herself floating in the air like a bubble without falling, although she had heard that magicians had the ability to make people fly in the air, but this was the first time she had experienced this magical feeling firsthand.

"What's your name?"

A deep male voice rang out from Anthea's ears, and when she looked up, she was greeted by a tall man with a ** upper body, although his strong muscles were attractive to any girl of Anthea's age, but after witnessing him easily slap Joan of Arc back into the wall with a simple wave of his hand, Ancia quickly realized that this guy seemed to be more dangerous than he looked.

"I, my name is Ancia, this magician uncle ......"

Seeing that Barack kicked Baldwin, who was trying to support Joan of Arc, to the ground, Anthea, who thought about it and felt that it should not be very effective to use quicklime this time, respectfully explained his name.

"Very well, you can be a new container," Belak said with a satisfied smile as he took Ancia into his arms, "Knowing the times, although you are only a mortal, you are much more pleasing than these fools who don't know what to do." ”

"Capacity, container!?"

Anthea, who was screaming so sadly in her heart, looked at the remnants of the defeated soldiers in the hall who generally lost their armor and lost their armor, but sadly found that none of these awesome-looking guys could be relied on, and even His Majesty Baldwin, who seemed to be unfathomable before, couldn't even take a single move from this guy. She wasn't a magician, and she couldn't understand what Belak meant by "container", but if she thought about it, she could have guessed that it wasn't going to be a good thing. She was human, a person of thought, emotion, flesh and blood, and even if she lacked neither magical talent nor the physical strength to cultivate her fighting spirit—not even the basic piety to learn holy arts, but that was by no means a reason why she should be treated like a container for something.

Although it was only a hunch, Anthea's intuition told her that if she was really taken away by Barack as a container, she would really die, and in the end, a somewhat desperate Anthea could only put her last bet on the petite figure standing next to the unconscious Mr. Caesar, who had long blonde hair tied into two symmetrical ponytails.

"No, I'm not going to do it!

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