Shimmied onto the high fence of a stable, you watch with a mix of glee and unnerving as your Servant indulges in the pleasures of combat, reaping what seems like an endless supply of British soldiers with nothing more than a tall flag and a sword she barely seems to use. You aren’t normally one to grant such wishes, but in a time where paradoxes can’t occur, surely there’s no shame in letting the Dragon Witch take recompense upon the people that wronged her the most, and lit her up at the stake?

Gurgled, terrified cries ring out from all around as one man falls to the ground after another, like a chain of pommy dominoes knocked over by a cruel poke, and it’s only the arrogant voice of an officer that seems to stop the killing in its tracks.

”A coward is you, relying upon holy magiks to boost oneself! Throw those instruments to the side, and fight like a true warrior!”

Everything comes to a standstill for only a few silence, almost no movements made, save for a few glances over in your direction made by Jeanne Alter, followed shortly by an almost Cheshire-Cat grin as only five words leave her lips.

Don’t mind if I do.

With nary a huff of effort, Jeanne Alter’s flag is tossed in your direction, impaling itself within a soldier approaching your distracted form as she cracks her knuckles through her gauntlets, one last warning to the officer to run if they value anything and everything. But, of course, even an act of sabre-rattling does naught to dispel the officer in all of his arrogance. You don’t even manage to complete one blink before a loud, almost crunchy ‘thwack!’ rings out, tearing your eyes back open to be met with the sight of the most savage haymaker in your entire life, directed solely at a pompous British officer, now writhing upon the dirt ground like an insect in their last moments. A flick barely to the right shows Jeanne Alter is already forming another fist, though she pauses once she notices your gaze upon her.

Ah, it’s okay if I do just a bit more, right, Master?