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

The greatest alchemist of the century, the first to successfully create the Philosopher's Stone—Nicolas Flamel—once wrote in his later years:

"I have lived eighty long years, and in what seems an eternity to most, I met the most gifted child I have ever seen.

I never believed in those born with perfect knowledge—for I know that all things in this world come with a price.

But that one time, I was forced to believe."

—"The Testament of Nicolas"

[You never shy away from showcasing your talent—whether in the realm of Mystery or in the mundane world.]

[Because you understand clearly: the greater your ability, the greater the resources you can command.]

That was true in this simulation. It had been true in the last. And it remained true in reality.

Playing the fool might allow you to defeat a tiger, but pretending to be one ensures you're fed like one—provided you can withstand the pressure.

[And just as expected, your gamble pays off.]

[You were right about everything.]

[The world of Mystery, like the mundane, has its own wars. France's magi had already gathered in the ancient city of Paris.]

[Nicolas Flamel brought you and Prelati to meet them.]

[You met Isabelle de Rais, a woman in her early twenties from the de Rais family of Brittany, western France. She manages one of the Loire River's ley lines and may be a relative—perhaps even a direct one—of the future saint-following Gilles de Rais.]

[You also met Audun Lautrec of the Toulouse-based Lautrec family. Not only a magus, but also a landed noble in France's mundane world.]

[There were others too—the Fécon family of Rouen, the Mortaux family from the banks of the Saône, and more.]

[As you suspected, magi of the Middle Ages were also the aristocracy. Lords, landholders, and leyline custodians. They might not fight for France, but they would fight for themselves.]

[You, an eight-year-old boy, were an anomaly among them.]

[Yet Flamel lavished praise upon you, declaring you a future Grand-class magus, a sovereign of the mystical realm.]

[It reminded you of a martial arts tournament where the top master praises an unknown youth.]

[And in truth, Nicolas Flamel deserved his title as France's leading figure of Mystery.]

[You are confident in your own future.]

[For you, Grand is the floor—not the ceiling.]

"A future sovereign magus, is it?"

In a hidden chamber deep within Flamel's ancient shop, wide as a library and stacked with parchment, figures sat scattered in solemn silence.

They watched Flamel enter with a laughing Prelati and a child following behind.

Everyone recognized Prelati—not just for her arcane knowledge, but for her incorrigibly vile personality.

And as for the child… introduced as "Vic" by Flamel, and said to be Prelati's new student—one receiving such open praise from the world's foremost alchemist? That turned heads.

A tall woman in an elegant noble dress, her skin pale and almost otherworldly, her long hair flowing freely, murmured:

"So that's him—Isabelle de Rais."

There was no jealousy in her tone. Magi didn't care for pride, only for results. None of them would bicker with a ten-year-old.

Next to her, Audun Lautrec yawned.

"We'll see in time. Monsieur Flamel, I trust you know the current state of affairs. England is mobilizing its army again, and the magi follow."

"Magic may claim no borders—but magi certainly do. England has no right to meddle in France's Mysteries."

"I hope you've prepared more than praise for children, monsieur."

Audun was in his thirties, lean and upright, with curled whiskers that made him seem petty.

But his words rang true.

"Of course I've prepared," Flamel said, guiding Prelati and Lucan to seats among the others. "My strategy is—observe."

Frowns all around.

Audun's voice sharpened: "You mean to sit and wait?"

"To observe," Flamel repeated. "You all know England's Mystical strength exceeds ours. Their island geography helps preserve Mystery."

"We must understand them before we act. Julius Caesar once said: know your enemy before drawing your blade."

"So we wait for them to attack first?" Audun scoffed. "That's cowardice."

His frustration wasn't just theoretical—his own lands were nearest the likely warzone.

Many in the room agreed with him.

A rotund woman in her forties, from the Fécon family of Anjou, barked:

"Why not use the Philosopher's Stone like last time? That alone drove them back, didn't it?"

"And draw the Sealing Designation Enforcers? Or worse, the Church's Executors?" another rebuked.

The Mage's Association tolerated internal conflict, but Mystery still needed to remain secret. Too much noise, and their wrath would follow.

Even Flamel wasn't invincible.

He had only narrowly escaped that fate last time.

[You and Prelati remained silent, watching.]

[Prelati clearly enjoyed the tension—her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. You, however, were lost in thought.]

[Then, you rose and spoke.]

"Since England can strike us..."

"Why can't we strike them first?"

"Let's bring the war to English soil."

The Hundred Years' War had its visible front.

But behind the mundane conflict lay another—

A secret war, waged in the shadows by magi.

In the mundane world, Jeanne d'Arc turned the tide.

But in the arcane, the name Victoire Tuval was etched in legend as well.

He was the first to propose the counterattack.

He wielded magecraft like a weapon—and met no equal.

And he would be remembered, by all who treated magecraft as a tool of battle, as the founder of their creed.

—Excerpt from Chronicles of the Hundred Years' Mystical War, Clock Tower Archives, Hall of Records, Wing Seven.