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

At that moment on the banks of the Seine, the miracle of France still lingered. Yet the cathedral that had enveloped the skies and earth had vanished completely. Even the pseudo-divine era environment briefly formed from a fully realized simulated Mystic Core, supported by the Mystery of all of France—it had lasted but an instant.

But that instant was enough.

It was enough to forge a true miracle.

Guided by Jeanne d'Arc.

Accepted by the people of France.

Fully inherited by Lucan—by Victoire.

It became the cornerstone for unveiling the highest level of Mystery.

It became the foundation for forging a unique and unrepeatable monument of the arcane.

Resurrection—true resurrection. Not the false return of an undead, nor a rebirth through discarded reincarnation.

But genuine continuation—embracing the past, extending to the future, a never-ending rebirth.

This was the scene that now appeared before Michael Roa Valdamjong.

It was the most sublime miracle he had ever witnessed—

Like the faithful who had seen Christ rise from the dead outside Rome fourteen hundred years ago... only more arcane.

Through his Mystic Eyes, brimming with mana, Roa saw it clearly:

The matter and elements torn apart by his superior numerical Mystery were returning and recombining. The concepts he had erased with enhanced bounded fields were being restored. The mana that had dispersed into the atmosphere was converging again. That which had died—man and matter—opened their eyes once more.

Yet it could not be seen by his physical body.

Because it still lay beneath the surface of the water.

In the world's reflection.

A mysterious figure, hanging inverted from the world—its appearance identical to the Lucan known as Victoire, yet radiating Mystery fully belonging to himself.

He walked slowly out from beneath the water.

From every drop of the once-stilled Seine, from every splash of water.

He emerged from the reflection of the world.

As though returning from a moment erased from the timeline.

This was—

"The Inverted God, the Shadow of the World."

A posture simulating the origin of the Church. The only stance in which divine power could still be invoked in the modern day.

A manifestation of divinity itself—rivaling the gods of the Age of Gods.

The waters roared anew. Roa, staring at Victoire emerging from the inverted world and returning upright, held his breath—silencing the shock in his heart, and the crawling, virulent reverence that clung like maggots to his soul, ever-regenerating.

A miracle can elicit awe, reverence, even assimilation.

Those who once witnessed Christ's ascension became saints and apostles.

Now, Roa faced the same fate.

He had believed he could resist.

And perhaps he could—partially.

He could sever it—but the reverence regrew.

"Then."

Lucan, now fully aware of his perfected form—a human shape forged by momentary divine sublimation—raised his hand calmly.

He could feel it.

His body, now nearing the divine, bursting with primordial vitality. The true boon wasn't merely quantity, but quality—his circuits now capable of refining mana of unprecedented potency.

As a soul-born Demon God must spend long years maturing, so too would his current divine body need time and Mystery to reach its peak.

But he had time.

He had the simulator.

And even now—

His soul and body, both divine, bound by thought, enhanced one another.

The Mystery he could wield had increased tenfold.

He feared no challenge.

"Still wish to fight, Serpent of Akasha—Infinite Reincarnator?"

Once, Lucan had been overwhelmed in Mystery by Roa.

Now, even with bounded field reinforcement, Roa fell short.

Killing an immortal snake would still be troublesome.

But perhaps—it might be worth keeping him around.

So Lucan waited.

He only asked, calmly.

Roa, suppressing the effects on his soul, stared at the divine youth before him—knowing he could no longer win.

"Seems... you're better at strategic use than I am."

Like a serpent, Roa kept a composed mask.

"You imprisoned the magi in Paris. You lured me to the Seine. You provoked me into killing you—so that you could resurrect, didn't you?"

Only death could lead to resurrection.

Only rebirth could yield this divine body.

"I only did what you did," Lucan said. "I used external power to complete a ritual years in the making. The difference is, the power you borrowed... you can't even resist. But the power I borrowed—now, it pales before me."

"If you still want to fight, I'll oblige. It'll take some effort, but ending you is no longer a problem."

"But I suspect you've lost the will."

"Because from the start, I was never your true enemy—and now that I've named her, Arcueid Brunestud must be awakening."

Roa's expression changed again.

Hatred surged, barely suppressed.

But Lucan was right.

He couldn't win.

Fighting now meant nothing.

His true enemy had never been Lucan.

It was time to leave.

But first—

"I have one last question."

He stared at the divine youth. "The religion you're creating—what is its name?"

A religion...

Lucan blinked. Then smiled.

"Everything in this world is made in secrecy."

"My faith shall be called—The Esoteric Church."

A hidden faith.

Unknown to the world.

...

The world's largest faith, born in the first century AD, had three major branches:

The original Church, born in Rome, centered on worship of the One True God.

The Reformation, emerging in the 15th century alongside Europe's industrial revolution, opening interpretation of doctrine to the masses.

The Eastern Orthodox Church, formed in the 4th century through Catholicism's eastward spread.

But aside from these—

There was one more.

Hidden.

Never publicly declared.

A faith devoted to the world's reverse side—the Inverted God—the Lord of Matter and Soul.

To Victoire, the One Who Seemed Divine.

It was the Church of France.

Born of France.

Born of a miracle few knew—Resurrection.

—Internal Archives of the Holy Church (Sealed Record of the Eighth Sacrament – Entry Three)

...

[Creating a new church—this had long been your plan]

[You wished to ascend with Jeanne d'Arc—with your Jeanne—to sainthood]

[But not by the old path, not one that led to betrayal]

[Even if the era's outcome was the same]

[Individual paths could differ, and saints might yet be made]

[Creating your own church might be the safest route]

[Splitting the Church from within ensured control]

[You never left anything to chance—not with enemies involved]

[And your three hundred Temple Knights, trained by you and loyal to Jeanne—they were your first believers]

[The Esoteric Church—its founding truth: the mystery of the body]

...

Michael Roa Valdamjong arrived in fury—

And left in silence.

The Seine flowed on.

Lucan stood, staring across at the fortress wall—blasted open.

He did not leave.

He waited.

For word of victory.

For the return of a girl bearing triumph.

...

For a thousand years, the Seine outside Paris had flowed unchanged. A thousand years ago, Saint Lovis I crossed it, founded a city, expanded a nation. A thousand years later, the Victor and the Saint met again—fulfilling a pact.

—A Brief History of the Hundred Years' War

...

A golden-haired girl stepped softly along the banks, shattered by invisible force.

Her twin braids fluttered like windchimes.

The hem of her deep violet battle skirt swayed gently.

Jeanne came alone.

No army.

She looked far ahead, to the figure she sensed—high above—and smiled.

As she'd believed.

Victoire was not dead.

Her senses had not betrayed her.

"Victoire..."

"You were the one who gave me all those 'revelations'."

She gazed up at Lucan.

And went no further.