Epilogue: Those Who Seek Divinity
In France, within the depths of a chapel, there lies a rapier. A rapier that emanates a mana that simply can not belong to a mortal being. Its gold and red handle is encrusted with an emerald at its hilt. Its slender, narrow blade gleams with a faint silver light. To call it invaluable is all but an insult to its majesty. It is rather simple to understand why it is hidden away, and why only someone who is utterly insane would even attempt to make away with such a grand treasure.
"There it is. The Nail Of Michael."
"It's beautiful..."
"Praises be onto ye, Saintess."
A band of templars encroach upon the rapier, in awe of its seemingly divine presence. They kneel on both knees, and begin to silently pray.
Behind them, lays a scene that opposes the one that they are looking upon completely.
Mangled and brutalised corpses of priests, priestesses and holy knights lay strewn haphazardly along the floor. Their spilt blood seeps together, forming a sea of slowly drying, congealing blood.
"Saintess Jeanne D'Arc. Soon we will free you, and all of your peers from your accursed prisons..."
The lead templar shuffles on their feet, and raise their hand to the heavens above.
"...And then, together shall we bring forth divine retribution onto the heretics and heathens that so foolishly dared to imprison you."