In the Nasuverse (TYPE-MOON), I Created a Magical Family Lineage

[Defeating the Mage King Edmond Tremberio is a critical milestone for you. It marks that you've now surpassed your previous simulation—not just by dismantling an entrenched barrier like Academy City, but by relying on your own abilities alone. You've taken one step further past the benchmark of "Grand" and achieved a small success in the domain of magecraft.]

[Yes, for you, this is merely a small success. In this ancient age, your pursuit lies in uncovering even older mysteries. And now, having achieved your prior goal of simulating the "Great Source" through a "Lesser Source," and having forged a godlike body capable of carrying the soul that has ascended to the level of a Demonic God…]

[Even so, there remains a gap between the "godlike" and the "divine."]

[It can bear the load—but not yet perfectly.]

[You seek perfection.]

[You must continue refining the foundations of mystery—the development of your physical vessel.]

[Only then can you unlock its full potential and realize the final stage of the triple-loop theory.]

[To that end, you require more foundational knowledge in magecraft.]

[To that end, you needed the mystic crest of Mistil magecraft passed down in the Tremberio family for over a thousand years, focused entirely on foundational development.]

[That, too, was one of the purposes behind this battle.]

[Now, that goal has been achieved.]

[And so, you intend to leave this place—the apex battlefield of the Mystery Side.]

Lucan truly intended to depart.

Having accomplished his objective and claimed the Tremberio family's mystic crest—

Having achieved a rare feat of king-slaying on the Mystery Side—

Yet just as he planned to move—

A fierce wind howled once more!

Lucan halted. The aftermath of Edmond's Mistil-powered solar incineration had left the mountaintop in ruins, even melting much of the stone beneath his feet into muddy lava. Suddenly, beams of flickering light erupted in all directions atop the tower.

That light, bluish like the deep sea, interwove and overlapped from above and below, forming a complex mystic formation etched in midair, spinning and shifting.

It resembled an invisible prison—surrounding the entire tower and enclosing Lucan—Vic Toval—at its peak.

"Vic Toval, slayer of a Mage's Association Lord... You have committed a sin utterly intolerable to the Mystery Side. For that, you shall suffer agony as deep as the abyss—until you are no more."

A voice echoed from beyond the formation.

One shadow after another materialized over the shifting glyphs—dark figures emerging from all sides, encircling Lucan at the tower's center.

They lowered their gazes and solemnly declared:

"But in light of your contribution to Mystery, by Grand Decision authorization, you are permitted a special status within the ranks of the 'Sealing Designation.'"

"We shall now preserve you—and the marks of Mystery you have forged—through eternal sealing."

"Take pride in this... 'King-Slayer' Vic."

...

One voice after another.

Lucan, halting in place, surveyed the sudden scene. Of course he recognized them. Born of later eras and steeped in foresight, he knew these people well. He had encountered them during the Tsarist period under the name "Luvist."

They were enforcers of the Mage's Association's Sealing Designation Department.

Old rivals, in more ways than one.

But—

"Not even a single Mage King showed up? Not even Barthomelloi herself? Are you seriously underestimating me?"

Lucan chuckled, relaxed and derisive.

He understood that in this era, the Clock Tower's twelve Lord system had only been recently established—barely two centuries old. Not all the Lord seats had even been filled. The rise of a true Grand-tier Lord from an old family required multiple generations of refinement and accumulation.

Yet without even one Lord present—without a Grand-tier mage to lead them—

This lot? He didn't take them seriously at all.

But in answer to his provocation, the enforcers silently raised their hands, activating the ancient mystic formation inscribed long ago.

Blue light flickered beneath the sky. The glyphs spun faster, absorbing and condensing—drawing in something unseen.

Lucan quickly understood their strategy.

The formation wasn't meant to trap him, but to enshroud the area—the battlefield.

It was drawing in the residual Mystery generated during his duel with Edmond—residual energy left in the Great Source itself.

Using the clash between two Grand-tier magi to suppress one of them in turn—

It was clever, he had to admit.

A creative approach.

A form of reliance—designed specifically to deal with him.

Still, Lucan remained composed.

He even took the time to analyze:

"So, you prepared this in advance."

"Seems the Clock Tower of this era isn't as unified as it pretends."

Clearly, this had been arranged before Edmond's defeat—even kept secret from him.

"Who was it then?"

"Barthomelloi? No, if the head of the Political Department wanted to go after Tremberio, she wouldn't need such theatrics."

"Was it Brissin from the Department of Inheritance? No, he's Solomon's disciple, devoted to preserving Mystery."

"Then perhaps Achelot from Botany, said to have witnessed the appearance of the Five Magics?"

Of the Clock Tower's twelve Lord seats, only four were publicly known.

Four Lords—each at the pinnacle of the Grand tier.

Lucan had been to England himself. He knew this well.

But the enforcers offered only one reply:

"No more words. Commence operation!"

The howling wind roared for the third time. Mystery surged. The formation's glyphs began projecting a divine sun and soul-light circling its rim.

Lucan said no more.

Though he found the Clock Tower's internal politics fascinating, it was clear these agents wouldn't reveal anything.

So words were pointless now.

What remained—was the test of battle.

But he was not afraid in the slightest.

This method of using ambient battlefield Mystery could suppress a normal Grand-tier mage at best.

Lucan's Mystery far exceeded that.

He drew breath.

Magic circuits flared. The Lesser Source was tapped once more.

His soul magecraft, godlike body formed from the Simulated Mystic Core, began to hum—

"My lord is present. All non-divine phenomena—be undone!"

In the next instant—

The banner of the fleur-de-lis descended from the heavens!

A mystery not of magecraft, but of miracles, came crashing down.

A dazzling figure descended with it, piercing the magical radiance over the tower.

Lucan's raised hand paused.

His circulating Mystery abruptly stilled.

All around him, the enforcers were swept away by invisible pressure—scattered through the air.

For the first time, Lucan was genuinely stunned.

He had never feared this scene.

Never cared for the threat these people posed.

But now—

"Vic is the strategist of our army—the invisible 'king' among us."

Golden braids fluttered in the wind. A slender yet upright girl stood before Lucan, her battle skirt rippling, her armor gleaming. She stood like a flag, radiant and resolute. Her sacred, brilliant smile shone.

Jeanne d'Arc.

Lucan blinked, genuinely surprised.

The fallen enforcers around the tower looked up at the King-Slayer and France's Holy Maiden.

They rose quickly. They weren't defeated yet.

But in the next second—

The ground trembled.

Thunder roared.

Dust surged.

And then—

Armored paladins surrounded by magical light.

Heavy cavalry of France.

Light cavalry in swift formations.

Infantry with shields and swords.

Pikemen holding spears.

A tide of soldiers, wrapped in miracle and steel—France's army, belonging both to the mundane and to the miraculous.

The enforcers staggered back, their Mystery completely suppressed.

Lucan stood tall atop the tower, looking at Jeanne, then at the army encircling him.

He realized the war was over.

And he was... surprised she had found him here.

Looking at her radiant face and hearing her words, he couldn't help but laugh:

"Are you trying to crown me with the royal robe?"

"Is this your gift to me?"

"Trying to ruin me with kindness?"

"Of course—"

Jeanne stepped forward.

She raised the fleur-de-lis banner.

And in that moment, she pressed close to Lucan.

So close that, from afar, it looked like an embrace.

She lifted her face.

She said:

"I cannot force others to call you king, Vic."

"But I can call you mine."

"I was born to protect France, to save her people."

"But that is my mission—not my entirety."

"My entirety lies before that—above that."

"From this moment—I shall become your shield, bound to you alone."

"You have your own battlefield, but you must not fight alone."

"And I will bear that burden with you."

These were her words.

Her vow.

A miracle sealed in time.

And in that instant—

Lucan felt it.

He felt all of Jeanne d'Arc—body and soul.

This was her fierce, irrepressible desire.

Born of seeing Lucan grow close to the Crown Princess.

It wasn't about anything else.

She simply wanted to fight by his side.

Forever.