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

Fafnir, the Evil Dragon, originates from the northern European myths, once defeated by the great hero Sigurd—and later, by Siegfried, his heroic successor born from that legend.

It was not merely a singular evil dragon but a phenomenon—an embodiment of "evil" itself, a conceptual creature.

As long as evil exists in the world, the soil for its rebirth remains.

As long as evil souls exist, the evil dragon Fafnir can take form again.

Of course, that refers to a distant past, thousands of years before Lucan's era—when myths still lived, and gods walked the earth—the Age of Gods.

Regardless, Fafnir was a Dragonkind.

A being from the Age of Gods.

Unless it is downgraded or summoned through a ritual comparable to summoning a Servant via magecraft, it could not return to the world.

But for Lucan, that presented no difficulty at all.

He now possessed a divine body. With forty-six continuously operating magic circuits, he refined true ether—an energy only found in mythic times—directly from his own flesh. He was, in essence, a miniature Age of Gods environment.

Small, perhaps.

But filled with boundless potential and overwhelming power.

Fueled by true ether, the Mystery of his soul—the true source of his mind-based magecraft—could finally display its rightful strength. It revealed its true nature: Authority.

Indeed.

Lucan's soul magecraft wasn't mere Mystery or magecraft.

It was a derivative of divine Authority.

Naturally so.

Authority is the manifestation of a god's power.

And Lucan's soul—his origin—was that of a Demon God.

Previously, limited by a lack of mana and his worldly shell, his abilities could only manifest as magecraft.

But now, things had changed.

Now, he wielded a divine body, with divine Authority empowering his Authority.

A qualitative leap.

With this, summoning an evil dragon phenomenon—something that should only appear during the Age of Gods—was no longer difficult.

To fight evil with evil, to devour the wicked with an evil dragon.

With Fafnir suppressing opposition, France's internal unrest was quelled at last.

No one dared rebel again.

And so, only two things remained on the agenda:

The coronation.

And the marriage.

...

In medieval Europe, the Hundred Years' War finally ended. Jeanne d'Arc and Victoire, famed across the continent, had driven the English back across the sea. Their reconquest of all France rivaled Clovis I's unification of Gaul.

Perhaps not equal to Charlemagne, but for rising from despair, they were second to none.

Then came the shocker: the coronation of both Jeanne and Victoire in France.

Among the European nobility—whose bloodlines were often entwined—their achievements, however great, were deemed worthless without noble lineage.

"Peasants," they said, had no right to be called kings.

So, began the great movement among Europe's aristocracy—

The Bloodline Tracing Campaign.

They combed ancient genealogies, hoping to find noble ancestry in Jeanne or Vic.

Desperate to fabricate legitimacy.

Even though Jeanne and Vic didn't need it.

They needed it.

Which prompted Vic's sarcastic quip upon hearing the news:

"Whenever I enter a new place, scholars emerge to defend my doctrine."

—The Maid of Orléans and Victoire the Conqueror

...

In truth, Lucan had said: "When I cross the pass, great scholars shall debate on my behalf."

He cared little for Europe's bloodline obsession.

France had just undergone a purge.

The remaining nobles supported him and Jeanne. Officers were loyal appointees. The masses adored them.

France's military was at its peak—able to rally 60,000 to 70,000 troops, rivaling England's historical best.

This was the military zenith of medieval Europe.

And not just in numbers.

Their quality, too, was unmatched.

Lucan feared no foreign invasion.

No nation would dare anger the victors who had crushed England.

Even if they resented Jeanne and Lucan's coronation—

They could only accept it.

And justify it.

They could not stop what had happened.

Nor what was about to.

[You and Jeanne led your army to Reims]

[Returning to a familiar place, though your purpose now was very different from a year ago]

[At Reims Cathedral, you again met the Archbishop of Chartres—older now, as if he had long awaited this day]

[He welcomed your coronation with sincere anticipation]

[A public declaration by France's native Church affirming your legitimacy]

[The coronation was set for three days later]

[It would be her coronation]

[And yours]

...

For the next three days, Lucan—and Jeanne—enjoyed a rare peace.

Since her revelation at fourteen, Jeanne had lived with constant tension. From her uprising at sixteen, three years of war had consumed her. Only time spent with Lucan brought her rest.

She had never shown her girlish side.

But now, her mission was complete.

Her life was just beginning.

And she would embrace it.

Not just the sacred, but also—emotion.

"—Time to wake up, Jeanne."

In the early sunlit room, Lucan opened his eyes, gazing at the girl clinging to him like an octopus.

Jeanne's golden hair, normally braided, now spread across the bed like silk. Her face, usually valiant, was soft and serene. Her cheek pressed against his chest, her full bust resting on his stomach, toned legs wrapped tightly around him, hips rising with each breath.

Lucan moved—only to realize he couldn't.

Not without invoking divine strength.

He was genuinely helpless.

He had always known Jeanne had incredible physical strength.

But this...

This was on another level.

He—a man, a magus—still vastly stronger than normal humans.

Yet compared to Jeanne?

Utterly pinned.

Was this what they called a "natural-born body"?

Would he always be the one underneath?

With a sigh, Lucan gave up struggling.

Instead, he lowered his head...

And kissed her lips.

Her face flushed red.

She could no longer pretend to sleep.

"Mmwaah—!" She yelped.

[After a heated exchange of lips, you finally woke Jeanne]

[And you both arrived at the cathedral on time]

Reims Cathedral was packed.

Over three days, people had flooded in from across France.

All came to witness the coronation.

All came to see the Saint and the Victor.

Cavalry led, soldiers cleared the path.

A red carpet stretched from their residence to the cathedral.

The youth and maiden appeared in full ceremonial garb.

Before the great doors, beneath the cross and the Virgin's gaze.

He wore his black robes—deep, mysterious.

She donned her violet battle armor—radiant, resolute.

True regalia suited their essence, not superficial finery.

"Let us begin."

The Archbishop of Chartres smiled.

He had waited longer than anyone.

He had held a prophecy since before becoming Archbishop.

Even before Lucan's arrival in this age, before Jeanne's birth.

He had hoped for France's salvation.

For freedom from Rome.

Now, with pride and joy—

He handed the French crown to the young man.

Yes—

Traditionally, the Church crowned the King of France.

But this time, not the Archbishop.

Lucan would do it.

Victoire would be the head of the Church of France.

Meanwhile, Jeanne received another crown—

The Papal Crown.

Leader of a new Church.

One that succeeded the old, but stood apart from Rome.

They stood face to face, each holding a crown.

They smiled.

And crowned each other.

In the name of the state, and in the name of faith.

Princess Charlotte, the former heir, watched from afar.

In her court dress.

With envy, and blessing.

...

They were now kings of France—both temporal and spiritual.

They crowned each other.

And reigned together.

—The Hundred Years' War: Final Chapter

...

Meanwhile—

The English Channel surged.

Waves crashed against the coast.

A raven flew across the sea from France.

Toward a vast city on the horizon.

It carried a letter.

A message from across the waters.

—Victoire Lucan would personally visit England.

—The spiritual King of France, High Priest of the Esoteric Faith, Dual Crown Bearer—

—Would soon visit the Clock Tower.