I, Jeanne d'Arc, Walk on The World of Arknights Chapter 476 473: No One Ever Listens To The Wendigos

The sound of the two n's argunt could not be concealed, so this ti Jeanne didn't even need to eavesdrop; their shouting could be heard crystal clear even from outside. Even the birds in the nearby forest, which had long since gone to sleep, were so startled by the fierce row that they flew out of their nests in the middle of the night, frantically searching for a place they deed safe to hide.

"Those two... they have quite the voices!" Jeanne had rarely heard Patriot use such a loud voice to argue with anyone. This consistently steady old gentleman, even when debating with others, usually kept his voice very low and stable, unlike the intensity displayed today.

"Jeanne, what's the situation?" Having heard such a violent argunt, everyone beca concerned about Patriot's safety inside the tent and began to ask Jeanne for specifics. In truth, if Jeanne hadn't been standing there looking unbothered, they would have already rushed in to see if Patriot was in danger or if sothing had happened.

Hearing everyone's worried inquiries, Jeanne simply turned around, waved her hand, and said, "Don't worry, there's no problem. Patriot is just having a disagreent with an old friend."

Jeanne spoke very casually, though she could tell from the exchange how heated the situation inside was; it was entirely possible the two could co to blows at any mont. Consequently, she gripped her large flagstaff tightly. If any special circumstances arose, she would rush in, subdue the man, and beat him until he lacked even a shred of resistance.

However, Jeanne stood there for a long ti, silently observing the situation inside, only to find that the two were rely shouting at each other with great vigor, with no actual intention of fighting. After a while, even the fierce shouting ceased. It sounded as if the two had regained their composure, sitting down to talk calmly once more.

"?????" What kind of situation is this? Jeanne stared with wide eyes, looking toward the tent with a confused expression, unable to understand what these two were playing at. Just monts ago, they were on the verge of fighting, and now they could sit there and communicate peacefully. It was sowhat miraculous. Could this be the Sarkaz way of communicating?

However, Jeanne suspected it was more likely because the two were tired from shouting, or simply lacked the energy to continue such a fierce row. After all, that level of arguing truly was physically exhausting.

"If you ca here to speak of those ridiculous ideals, then please leave. I already know you have nothing useful here; I will not co again."

Inside the tent, the Confessarius spoke. As for bringing people back to this gods-forsaken place to try for revenge or sothing similar? He had no intention of entertaining such mad thoughts this ti. The possibility of success was pitifully small, and the losses would be excruciatingly heavy. Kazdel could no longer afford losses of this magnitude.

But his aning was also very clear: asking them to give up the pursuit of that Horn? Such a thing was absolutely impossible; they would not abandon this opportunity. Even if it were truly as Patriot said—that possessing that object again would cause the Sarkaz to encounter misfortune once more—it didn't matter. The situation of the Sarkaz couldn't get much worse than it already was. Moreover, as long as they obtained that Horn, they would have hope of rebuilding the glorious Kazdel! For them, this was sothing they simply could not give up.

"You... you are just like that foolish Demon King of the past! Thinking you can control that thing with your own power, only to ultimately destroy everything through your stupidity!"

Although Patriot was no longer shouting, his tone was still laced with fury. But this was not just Patriot's anger alone. It was the anger of everyone within the vast tide of souls! Because from the mont that strange object first appeared, the Wendigos had opposed using its power, arguing it should be placed where no one could find it.

The Wendigos of the past had once advised the Demon King that such an object was not sothing they could control, and that reckless use would trigger disasters beyond their imagination. Unfortunately, whether in the past or the present, those who controlled Kazdel never listened to the opinions of the Wendigos, blindly pursuing that illusory, epheral power.

And now, he was as powerless as his ancestors, watching these people walk down the wrong path while having no right to interfere.

Originally, this matter had nothing to do with Patriot anymore, as he had long since left Kazdel and no longer interfered in any of their actions. Had they not co here this ti, Patriot would not have interfered with their pace as they led Kazdel toward a dead end—and the utterly desperate future they would inevitably face at the end of it.

"The history of the Sarkaz was not glorious because of the Horn; it began to decline precisely because that thing appeared! Ever since we used it, misfortune has surrounded the Sarkaz!"

Patriot spoke to the fool before him who was bent on restoring the forr glory of the Sarkaz. His eyes seed even brighter than before, the crimson light becoming even more piercing. Patriot's tall fra almost enveloped the fellow, covering him in a massive shadow. Coupled with his eyes emitting that crimson glow, he looked like a fearso demon-god, inspiring awe and dread.

"The Sarkaz have tried to regain their glory countless tis. There have been many like you with this plan; you are not the first instance. But without exception, they all paid the price for their actions!"

In the past Patriot saw within that river of souls, his ancestors had also tried to find this object in hopes of recreating that period of glory, but every single ti, it caused the Sarkaz to experience another catastrophe. They had tried to attack Laterano, attempting to seize that object from their hands. They had even tried to join forces with other nations to take action.

However, the reason they gave was rely the hatred between the two races and the plan to split the incredibly rich resources of that paradise; they did not leak word of the Horn. Yet, without exception, they failed. Allies would even plunge a sharp blade into their bodies at their weakest mont, preventing them from rising again.

Patriot also found it strange: why were the Sarkaz always betrayed? Why was the hatred those fellows held for the Sarkaz so deep it reached the marrow of their bones, even when the Sarkaz hadn't waged war against them before? Every ti the Sarkaz were on the verge of reaching the mont of rebuilding Kazdel and the Sarkaz nation, they would fail for various reasons.

There had been Catastrophes, there had been shifting hearts, there had been the betrayal of allies, and there had been the departure of supporters. Every ti they were about to reach the summit, it was as if a pair of giant hands pulled them back to the bottom of the valley. This ti was the sa; they had finally managed to rebuild the nation through the efforts of the two siblings, only for a civil war to break out just as things stabilized, splitting the country once again.

So attributed this to the innate evil of the Sarkaz, which was a truly unfunny joke. What race in this world was born evil? Although Patriot did not believe in things like luck, he had to admit the luck of the Sarkaz was bad to a certain extre! It was no longer a matter of luck; it felt entirely like so kind of curse.

"I have tried my best to persuade you both, just like my ancestors once did! Perhaps the result will be the sa—no one will listen to the opinions of us Wendigos!"

After Patriot finished speaking, he left the tent in a fit of rage. This ti, he had perford the final effort of a Wendigo to dissuade them from such folly. He had never expected these people to actually listen to him; he only did it to fulfill the responsibility of a Wendigo—the responsibility of the last pure-blooded Wendigo.

Inside the tent, the Confessarius watched the Wendigo leave and remained silent for a long ti, sitting there with a dark expression, seemingly frustrated because he hadn't perford well in the argunt just now.

"Thank you for your hard work. My business here is finished," Patriot said to Jeanne, who was waiting for him outside.

Subsequently, the two left the area where the Sarkaz were held. Patriot looked back at the area for a long ti, finally letting out a long, heavy sigh.