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

Kenneth had another dream—just like the one he'd had the day Lucan arrived.

He dreamt again of the former Lord El-Melloi. His grandfather whispered scenes from Lucan Luvist's childhood, as recorded in the annals...

When the dream shattered, he awoke to the same sight: the antique chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the El-Melloi manor.

Kenneth El-Melloi Archibald sat up in bed, accepting the towel from the servant who had been quietly waiting at his side. He gave his face a quick wipe.

"What time is it?" he asked in a low voice.

The servant retrieved the towel with a bow. "London time, 7:30 a.m., sir."

"Seven-thirty..." Kenneth narrowed his eyes.

This was his regular wake-up time.

Kenneth, who prided himself as a peerless genius, maintained strict discipline in all aspects of his life—except when it came to his fiancée, Sola.

Fortunately, the matter Sola had entrusted to him had already been completed.

And it had been done flawlessly.

"By now, Sola should be on her way to that so-called 'haunted house' in the suburbs of London, shouldn't she?" Kenneth muttered.

Sola's request had been related to investigating that 'haunted house.'

His fiancée, Sola-Ui Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri, like him, came from an aristocratic lineage within the Clock Tower. But she wasn't a direct descendant—just one of the many children borne by the Head of the Spirit Evocation Department's many wives. She had no right to inherit the family's magic crest.

Still, Kenneth knew his fiancée well. She was proud and decisive. Her trip to the haunted house was an attempt to capture the vengeful spirit rumored in London's urban legends, and prove she had the talent for Spirit Evocation.

All she asked from Kenneth was some magical ritual tools.

But Kenneth had gone ahead of her, captured the 'spirit,' and prepared everything in advance. When Sola arrived, all she'd find was a creature already kneeling in submission—tamed and obedient.

Kenneth thought she would be very pleased.

The servant at his side, however, seemed hesitant, as if wanting to speak but holding back.

Noticing Kenneth's satisfaction, the servant chose not to say anything.

Kenneth then asked, "What's that guy doing now?"

"In the library, sir," the servant replied.

"The library... what a diligent student." Kenneth touched his lips. "He's been here three days now, hasn't he?"

"And all three days in the library?"

"Yes, sir."

Hearing that, Kenneth was reminded of the dream he just had.

A dream was a prophecy.

Luvist... perhaps he really would shine brightly once more in the world of Mystery.

Kenneth slowly rose from his bed.

"Bring me the Book of Law."

"I need to study it again."

Then he paused, frowning slightly.

"Also bring the Trismegistus next to it."

Trismegistus.

A mystical tome expounding on the triadic cycle of body, mind, and soul.

It was said to have been written during the Hundred Years' War in France.

It was also said to be the inspiration for Luvist's creation of the Book of Law.

"What is great—is the mind, the soul, and the body. And that greatness... is humanity itself."

—Trismegistus

...

Three days passed in a blink.

In the El-Melloi manor's third-floor library, sunlight filtered down like dust upon rows of shelves. Light and shadow dappled the neatly arranged book covers.

Lucan sat at a desk between the shelves.

He was reading.

But more than that—he was waiting for sunset.

There was no doubt the El-Melloi library was vast and well-stocked. But it paled in comparison to the former Imperial Library of the Tsar's court.

Kenneth would never allow unrestricted access to the true Mysteries of the El-Melloi lineage.

Only superficial tomes from both the surface and hidden worlds were stored here.

Three days had been more than enough for Lucan to glance through them all.

Now, he was merely passing the time.

And counting down to the next activation of the Simulation.

Minute by minute, second by second.

The wall clock ticked slowly.

Finally—

Sunset arrived.

[Dream Fragments Fully Assembled]

The voice echoed in Lucan's mind, startling him.

It was here.

He smiled.

He rubbed his temple under the newly lit lamps of the library. Three days without hearing from the 'system spirit'—it felt smarter somehow.

[Simulation Phase Verified. Activation: Proceeding]

It was even interrupting now!

Lucan let out a soft chuckle.

He had waited long enough.

"Let's get started."

He hoped this time he could infiltrate the Church.

And hopefully—

Place his 'relics' in more accessible spots.

That way, he wouldn't need to wait for Barthomelloi to come knocking.

He'd bring himself straight to them.

Lucan thought this, though he couldn't be entirely sure. His time with the simulator was still short, and many rules were unclear. He didn't yet know if the simulations were completely random or had some directed purpose.

Maybe it was just luck?

All he could do was hope he'd be as lucky as last time.

That was his final thought.

Then darkness descended—just like the first time he entered the simulation, it engulfed his vision and consciousness.

[Confirming Start]

The system spirit responded again.

It said—

[Welcome to the infinite possibilities of the past]

...

[Year 1405]

[Ten years after the peace treaty between England and France. Though France had rallied late in the war, the country lay in ruins and needed time to recover.] [But everyone knew the truce was only temporary.] [England, still holding five key northern ports in France, was sharpening its blades. Its ambitious king was ready to reignite the war at any moment.]

[In this brief window of peace, you were born in a small village in south-central France.] [Your father was a low-ranking veteran who fought in the counterattack. Now he served as the village constable. Your mother, once a noble's daughter, now had hands roughened by soil.] [You were their love incarnate—and their greatest hope for a better life.]

[They named you Victoire Tuval, meaning "victor." Knowing war was inevitable, they hoped you'd one day emerge victorious and survive.]

[They wished you a healthy life, but fate had other plans. At two months old, you fell gravely ill, leaving you frail and sickly.]

[And yet, despite your fragile body, you were remarkably bright.]

[By age one, you spoke fluently. Your talent delighted your parents.]

[But your body remained weak—always thinner and smaller than your peers.]

[They were both proud and worried.]

[At age two, while other children ran and played, even brief sprints left you gasping for breath. Your parents fretted. You found solace in books.]

[Still, they were both proud and worried.]

[At age three, you devoured every book in your modest home. Your father hoped to train you for self-defense, but seeing your condition, he gave up.]

[That year, you finished every book in the house—yet your hunger for knowledge remained unsatisfied.]

[At age four, your parents, desperate for your future, hired a mysterious tutor from the nearby town.]

[That year, you gained a mentor: a young silver-haired woman named François Prelati—a famed magus of the era. She once knew your noble mother, and it was this connection that convinced her to become your teacher.]

[At age five, you studied daily under her guidance. You excelled at extrapolating ideas from books. François praised your brilliance.]

[At age six, your teacher suddenly asked you a secretive question—] [Would you like to learn the legendary art of magecraft?]

[You had already read about magecraft and didn't hesitate. You knew it was a mysterious force that could let you run and live like normal people.]

[You'd always yearned to run freely like others.]

[Only then did you realize that everything she had given you until now had been preparatory texts for magecraft. She had long since taken interest in you—and had subtly guided you into the world of the arcane.]

[From that day on, you trained under her daily. She called you a 'throwback genius'—a prodigy born from common blood.]

[You possessed forty-six primary magic circuits and over sixty auxiliary ones—an accumulation surpassing even families with centuries of magecraft lineage.]

[With both intellect and magical talent, you soon engraved your own unique Magic Crest as a first-generation magus—a leap from ordinary human to true practitioner.]

[It was a Crest of Mental Magecraft—one that linked you to a new demonic god.]

[François was stunned but delighted. She grew even more curious about your future.]

[That year, you turned eight. Officially "initiated," and at the same time... "graduated."]

[To begin was to finish.]

[The entire process had taken just two years.]

[After graduation, you were to leave your teacher and walk your own path. She had planned to depart.]

[But that same year, she received a letter from afar. She halted her departure, and suddenly told you—she would take you to visit some old friends.]

["Let's show off a little."]

[She didn't say it outright, but you could read it on her face.]

[Coincidentally, you had entered the phase of magical growth that required real-world experience.]

[You felt—it was time to explore the world.]