Tours – The City.
Zoth had now been living in this ancient French land for two months. In that time, he was like a dragon stranded on foreign soil — no one knew where he came from, but whenever trouble brewed, he always showed up.
With Caladbolg at his side, he hunted down all kinds of human trash — from bandits and highwaymen to cruel nobles with twisted hobbies. Whenever someone bullied the innocent, he'd swing his sword and, while at it, "collect a cleanup fee."
The stolen goods? Well… he was just "safekeeping" them. Thanks to this bloody little side job, he could survive. As for a proper job? Nope. Too lazy. So lazy that without [Omni Force], he'd have probably starved by now.
Zoth currently lived in a small house on the eastern outskirts of Tours — a place he built using every bit of modern knowledge he remembered: it had a water tank, a homemade flushing toilet, and even naturally fermented bread. The villagers called him "the eccentric sage from the East."
That morning, as usual, Zoth stood atop the city walls — a piece of bread in one hand, a cup of chamomile tea (brewed from herbs he foraged) in the other, eyes watching the bustling crowd below.
A peaceful scene, like something straight out of paradise.
[BOOOOM—!!]
A black column of smoke rose from the southwest side of the city. The explosion shook the sky. Birds scattered. Civilians screamed in panic.
Zoth glanced at the smoke, took a bite of his last piece of bread, tossed his tea cup somewhere random, then slung Caladbolg over his shoulder.
"By the moon last night… don't tell me it's the English again."
And just as he expected—when he arrived, a battle had already broken out. Two forces clashed violently in the middle of the main road. Blood ran like rivers, bodies lay everywhere.
A group of soldiers clad in silver armor, flying the red-and-white banner of St. George, were storming through, slaughtering everyone—old men, women, children… no mercy.
Zoth narrowed his eyes.
"Bloody hell… can't a man just enjoy his tea in peace for one day?" he cursed, then swung Caladbolg.
A slash of red-orange energy tore through the air, streaking straight into the enemy formation.
An English soldier looked up, barely managing to shout a warning before—
[KA-BOOM—!!]
The area where he stood was completely wiped out—along with several dozen comrades. Flesh exploded, blood painted the ground. It was a scene straight out of hell.
Zoth landed on the battlefield, shrugged.
"Shame… none of them dropped any rare loot."
He stored the spoils into the [Wonder Ride Book]'s pocket dimension, then turned away like he'd just stopped by for groceries.
"Senseless war," he muttered.
He then began his new campaign: tracking down every English outpost one by one—leaving no survivors. Wherever English soldiers looted or killed, he would appear—like a grim reaper dressed as a knight.
He kept a small share of the stolen supplies for himself, and distributed the rest to the villagers. They began calling him "The Crimson God of War," while the nobles started to tremble in fear.
Every time Zoth showed up, he brought with him a crimson light and the roar of thunder—like divine retribution sent from above.
One afternoon, on his way back to Tours from a small village, he stopped at a roadside inn to grab some dry rations and bread. As he paid, the innkeeper muttered while counting coins:
"The English… they've been bringing in more troops lately. Rumor is they're planning to hit Orléans."
Zoth paused. The name struck a chord.
Orléans—it rang familiar. He recalled the history he once studied back on Earth. That place… it was where Jeanne d'Arc—the Holy Maiden of War—appeared and turned the tide.
"…So that's how it is. Well… it's not really my problem."
Zoth stuffed the bread into his bag, eyes deep as the sea, then turned and walked out of the inn.
Zoth finished the last of his dried meat, then silently tailed an enemy reinforcements unit. Without a single word of warning, he drew Caladbolg and swung.
The entire unit was cleaved in two—like a knife slicing through a loaf of bread. Blood sprayed into the air. Screams died in their throats.
Zoth calmly gathered weapons and rations as if it were just part of his daily routine. But then—his eyes landed on a large iron cage, filled with women and children.
He froze.
His fists clenched tight. Veins bulged. His entire body trembled with fury.
"You filthy bastards… looting was bad enough… but you took children too?" he growled, his voice dropping to a tone so cold it froze the air around him.
He placed his hand on the cage door, gripped it tightly—then ripped it clean off like tearing paper. No one understood how a human could be that strong… but in that moment, who even cared?
Zoth dragged over a chair, sat calmly in front of the cage, and smiled—a gentle, almost unreal smile, completely at odds with the blood-drenched battlefield surrounding him.
"It's over now. The danger's gone."
"Come on… reclaim your freedom."
He extended a hand, voice deep, yet as gentle as a spring breeze.
Lifeless eyes—numb, hollow, long since dead inside—began to shimmer again. Slowly, tears welled up. The faintest flicker of light returned to them.
After safely escorting the civilians to shelter, Zoth heard whispers of a young woman who had begun rallying under a banner to liberate Orléans.
At that moment, everything clicked.
The Hundred Years' War.
He realized where he truly was—smack in the middle of that endless, brutal conflict between England and France.
Zoth asked for directions to Orléans. Once he had the route, he didn't waste a second.
This time, his destination—was the battlefield.
---
It took Zoth two full days to reach Reims, in the province of Marne. When he finally arrived, he stood atop a hill, surveying the city below with a lazy smirk.
"Huh… quite a number of English troops, huh?"
Then he chuckled.
"Looks like this place's about to turn into a battlefield~ Welp… might as well spice things up a little~"
He drew Ankokuken Kurayami, the dark holy sword he had spent months mastering.
Zoth hadn't just been slacking off these past months. He had been relentlessly training, adapting to the powers granted by the Omni Force. By now, he could wield nearly any holy sword—except the Haouken Xross Saber—and had full control over a library of Wonder Ride Books.
He pulled out a thick, pitch-black Wonder Ride Book, opening it with a flick.
[Jaou~ Dragon.]
[Unleash the power hidden within the many dragons lurking in the shadows of ultimate evil…]
Zoth slotted the book into his driver, raised the sword, smirked—and slammed the hilt down.
"Henshin."
A massive book unfolded in midair. Darkness seeped out like a rolling fog, devouring the sunlight over the city.
[Ankokuken Kurayami!]
[Jump out the book, open it and burst.]
[The fear of the darkness.]
[You make right a just, no matter dark joke.]
[Fury… in the dark!]
[Jaou~ Dragon!]
[Dare mo nogare rarenai…]
A suit of violet armor materialized—radiating pure evil. Golden accents lined the shoulders and chest. His arms were armored with razor-sharp spikes. A twisted horn curled from his helmet like a serrated blade. Twin crimson eyes glowed with murderous intent, freezing the very air.
Zoth ran his hand along the blade, voice low and grave like something from hell.
"Now~, thy judgment has come."
He lunged like lightning—cleaving an English knight in half. The townspeople screamed, scattering. The remaining knights, realizing the attack, drew their blades.
"Sound the alarm! There's an—"
One of them tried to shout, but before he could finish, Zoth appeared behind him, covering his mouth and driving the sword into his back.
"Shhh~ You'll get more people killed, silly…"
"But hey, I'm a compassionate knight, I'll have you know. That's why I'll send all of you off together."
"No one dies alone~"
He smiled wickedly, then drove the blade deeper through the man's chest.
Zoth pulled out another book, sweeping it across his blade.
[Jaou~! Hissatsu Geki, Jackku Dragon…]
"Well then~ None of you are getting out of this alive."
He bared his teeth, raised the blade, and pulled the trigger. Violet lightning surged around the edge.
[Kurayami Hissatsu Geki – Shutoku Issen!]
He plunged the sword into the ground. A violent shockwave erupted, launching him skyward like a fallen angel—before he plummeted down like a meteor, bringing Kurayami crashing into the earth.
"A—!"
[BOOOOOOOM—!!]
The ground exploded. The street was shredded, blood and gore sprayed onto nearby walls, mixing with screams of terror.
"Oof~ bit much, huh…" Zoth scratched his head, hoisting Kurayami onto his shoulder.
"Oh well… Killing you bastards breaks my heart too, y'know."
He grinned wide, then dove straight back into the massacre.
A river of blood flowed across Reims. It became a living hell.
As Zoth wrenched Kurayami from a knight's corpse, he heard footsteps rushing in from the city gates.
"Oh? More guests? Guess I get to play a little longer~"
He stepped forward—and saw a group of knights entering the city. Leading them was a young woman clad in black, carrying a banner, sword at her hip. She stood still at the gates, locking eyes with Zoth—his violet armor and flowing black cape like the ghost of war itself.
"Jeanne, that man is dangerous!"
Baron Gilles de Rais stepped forward, drawing his blade and placing himself between her and Zoth.
Zoth tilted his head, smirking.
"Relax. I'm not here to kill you…"
"I'm guessing you lot came to reclaim Reims, huh?"
The girl took a deep breath. She could sense it—this man held no killing intent. At least, not right now. She spoke:
"May I ask… who are you?"
Zoth looked at her, silent for a few seconds. Then, he sighed. His gaze softened—touched by a sadness no one could understand.
"Who, me?"
"Just someone… who wants to be an envoy of justice, that's all."