In Type-Moon: Creating a Magecraft Family Lineage

It was the only time the Church and the Mage's Association had ever joined forces on a global scale. It was also the only time that both sides had suffered a great defeat. In the two thousand years since their founding, neither the Mage's Association nor the Clock Tower, as the hubs of magic and religion, had ever suffered such a setback. But their opponent was not some behemoth organization, nor was it the descent of some fierce demonic god. It was just one person. A single, most ferocious and evil man.

—From "The Clock Tower Chronicles"

...

'How rude, how arrogant—that fellow is a villain, a tyrant, a sinner who desecrates the ultimate mystery!'

'All descendants of Barthomeloi must remember—'

'We must crush him on the field of mystery!'

—Vivian Barthomeloi.

...

Once the long-prepared god-creation ritual was initiated, everything proceeded as a matter of course. Under the nation-scale mystery that Lu Kang had displayed, the arriving Enforcers and Vivian Barthomeloi were completely unable to stop his actions. Even though every Enforcer was an elite among spellcasters, the most skilled in combat magecraft, and Vivian Barthomeloi was the current head of the Barthomeloi family, one of the foremost Lords of the Clock Tower... in the face of the slowing of all things, no amount of mystery could be activated, no amount of power could be exerted.

At this moment, Vivian finally realized that this young man had never considered her an opponent. To him, they were just a group of 'spectators' who had happened to arrive, witnesses to the second large-scale mystery he was displaying.

In the majestic hall, the lights scattered. Lu Kang walked forward slowly, as if strolling through a courtyard, and left the palace. He ignored the furious glare from Vivian behind him. He thought to himself that this current Lord Barthomeloi was clearly not as strong as Kishinami Kiara. After all, there was only one alternate-universe counterpart of an Evil of Humanity... Facing her, he really didn't need to be so on guard.

Stepping outside the hall, Lu Kang laughed softly. A faint light appeared behind him, ethereal—it was the slowly forming, illusory image of a god. It was still mottled, fragile, and thin now. The reason it could bring the entire Tsarist empire to a standstill was only because of the momentary impact of its birth, but it was only for a moment. However, it was also a genuine 'God'. It was the source of mystery.

In this world, whether magecraft or miracles, their essence was but a fragment of the authority flowing from the source of a god. It represented infinite possibilities. It symbolized the growth of the system of mystery that Lu Kang had established in this era.

Vivian Barthomeloi's guess was entirely correct, but what she had not expected was... the hazy, indistinct appearance of the being emerging in this phantom was identical to Lu Kang's. The 'God' he had created was also himself. Using his own soul as the god. Only then could it be completely controlled. Only then could he realize the Magecraft of the Mind, where 'Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law'.

From this day forward, perhaps moving forward, perhaps backward, Lu Kang would also, with his 'mystery', flow with and against the current, spreading wantonly through time!

[You have left the Kremlin.]

[The foundation of mystery has been cast. The great edifice of the empire has collapsed. A new era has arrived. In this era, everything belonging to the Tsar has been turned over. No one will be able to do evil in the Tsar's name again, nor will anyone be able to use it to stage a comeback. The past has become history, a past that has no influence on the future in people's eyes.]

[This is a conceptual severance through mystery.]

[The mystery of the past still exists, but it has become the past.]

[You also need to fulfill your promise to Nicholas II.]

[To handle the final arrangements for him.]

[His family, his homeland.]

[After you leave the court, the flow of time in the Tsarist country returns to normal. Vivian Barthomeloi and the others quickly leave, leaving this enemy territory. But before leaving, Vivian lets out a sound of gritted teeth. This failure is a humiliation for her, not just a personal humiliation, but a humiliation for her family.]

[What Vivian does not know is that, though far away, you still hear her gritted teeth—as the 'God' you have created, although you are still weak and cannot compare to a true god, you already possess the characteristics of a god.]

[All that is spoken shall be known.]

[But you don't care.]

[Although you have left the Kremlin, you do not immediately leave Moscow. You stop outside the court and watch as the Mensheviks stage a comeback and occupy the Kremlin. They try to make Moscow the capital of their new regime, but the fruits of the revolution are ultimately stolen by the onlooking bourgeoisie—the great landlords and merchants, who have joined forces. You also watch as the Bolsheviks liberate the shackles of countless poor people. You stand on the streets of Moscow, like an ordinary passerby. Those revolutionaries, rushing past, do not even see you.]

[By chance, you brush past Vladimir on the street.]

The streets of Moscow, teeming with people, were in exceptional chaos. Since the collapse of the Tsarist government, this country with its vast territory had inevitably fallen into a brief period of turmoil. The provisional government actively seized power in various places, benefiting the bourgeoisie. The Bolsheviks, on the other hand, were committed to rescuing the common people everywhere. They united with the failed Mensheviks, setting aside their ideological struggles for the time being. With the Tsar, their common enemy, gone, the conflict between them and the provisional government was now inevitable.

During this time, Vladimir was worried about this. He did not want to see the country fall into the mire of civil war, but from the looks of it, it seemed unavoidable. He walked hurriedly through the streets, the dark sky reflecting his heart. But in the next second, he suddenly stopped. He glanced back, looking at the back of the young priest who had brushed past him, going in the opposite direction. He was stunned, feeling a strange sense of familiarity, but for a moment, he couldn't remember who it was.

"Mentor?" someone beside him called, waking him from his daze. "What's wrong? Do you know that person?"

He came back to his senses, his mustache twitching. He shook his head. "No, I don't." That's what he said, but in the next second, a smile appeared on his face. "But I know what to do now. Let's go. We must make a decision—even if it means bloodshed, there is no room for hesitation!"

A revolution is not a dinner party. To avoid bloodshed is not realistic. Vladimir had always been clear on this point, and at this moment, he had made up his mind.

It was you, wasn't it? He glanced behind him again. The back had already disappeared down the street, but he laughed softly. The one who cleared up my final confusion... my mentor. The mentor's mentor.

[In October 1917, another change occurred in the Tsarist country. The provisional government of the bourgeoisie, which had briefly seized power, was completely overthrown by the workers' party led by the Bolsheviks. For the first time, a political party leading the broad masses of the people stepped onto the stage of history.]

[You, who had given Vladimir the last bit of firm belief, stand on the highest clock tower in Moscow, watching that flag slowly rise.]

[So beautiful, you think.]

[You have been in Moscow for a full ten months.]

[It's time, you think again.]

[Time to go and see Nicholas II's family.]

[To see the girl who has been waiting for you all this time.]

...

An unknown mentor, a demon known to thousands. In that era's Tsarist country, two completely opposite existences appeared at once, as if corresponding to an angel and a demon. The mentor led the common people to freedom. He was the mentor's mentor, the sage of knowledge recorded in the mentor's diary. The demon, however, occupied the court and brought down the crimson curtain on the sunset empire. Some said they might be the same person. Some said... that he was an angel, and also a demon.

—From "The Longman Companion to Imperial Russia, 1689-1917"

....

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