SWNOVELXO Chapter 79: Beneath the Tomb of Albion
At this point in time, with the fundamentals of Mystery for this era fully mastered, Lucan could now produce extraordinary effects even with ordinary magecraft, powered solely by the True Ether generated through the 46 Magic Circuits of his young divine body. Combined with his Mystery rooted in mental authority—"magecraft of the heart, where thought is law"—he stood above even the pinnacle of Grand.
He was no longer bound by era or body, no longer restrained by material limitations—but by thought alone.
Lucan understood that in this world called the "Moon," there existed an extremely high-level Mystery—a power attainable only by inherently powerful beings: the ability to manifest through pure thought. It was the concept of "Imaginary Manifestation."
Now, he had nearly reached that level.
Though not yet truly omnipotent, not yet able to create from nothing, what he lacked was only depth—his soul, his "origin" still needed to record more forms of Mystery across different eras before his mind could fully inscribe itself upon it.
Whatever he witnessed would become his origin. Whatever became origin, would become will. Whatever became will, could take form as law of the flesh.
This was the trinity he once envisioned: Body, Mind, and Soul in perfect motion.
And yet, even with that gap— Even if he still fell short of those monsters hidden behind the world, those mages who had long dwelled in secrecy and held dominion over ancient Mystery— Lucan already stood at the undeniable peak of the public Mystery world.
If not, he wouldn't have dared walk alone into the headquarters of the magi—into the Clock Tower.
Not when he had slain a Lord.
To the Clock Tower, that alone made him their enemy.
From the mist, Lucan's figure slowly emerged—like Moses parting the Red Sea.
At the base of Big Ben, under the gaze of the Lords, the elite magi—those of the Opening Rank and above—readied themselves. Though wary, they also couldn't help but feel reverence.
Reverence for a higher Mystery. Fear for a greater being.
"***!"
A voice rang out from above. Applause followed.
From the top of Big Ben, a figure descended.
He wore the black robes of an ancient magus, held a staff, appeared hunched with age, his beard and hair snow white—but his eyes shone with stunning intensity.
Despite his elderly appearance, Lucan sensed the vast magical power and weighty Mystery within.
That magical energy rivaled Edmond Tremblerio. That Mystery, perhaps even surpassed it.
"The current Barthomelloi...?"
The ancient lineage that ran through the very heart of the Clock Tower—none other than the Barthomelloi.
Lucan identified him without hesitation.
Only someone of Barthomelloi blood could contain such magic within such a frail, aged body.
"Vitro Barthomelloi. That is my name... France's uncrowned king of the Mystery side."
The aged Barthomelloi stepped forward. The magi around him made way, paying respects to the current Grand Lord. Compared to the outsider Lucan, their reverence for this Clock Tower patriarch was visibly deeper.
Barthomelloi was not just one man—he represented the entire Clock Tower's might.
But Lucan's attention was not solely on him.
Another figure descended from above—silent, elegant, wearing a tilted hat.
A young woman, another Lord of the Clock Tower.
A powerful heir to the ancient witches of the Age of Gods.
The current Botany Department Lord: Mansfield Achelott Valérie.
A true witch—or rather, one of the rare descendants of the Five True Magicians. A bearer of elven blood.
Lucan knew this from the records, even before he reincarnated into this world.
There was no way he could ignore someone with a connection to the Five Magicians.
"The title of France's uncrowned king embarrasses me," Lucan said with a smile. "If anything, I'd prefer to be called the High Priest of France's Esoteric Church."
He had not come representing magecraft—
—but as a religious leader.
"A priest, huh? Who would've thought that the boy once praised by Nicholas Flamel would end up in the arms of the clergy."
The voice came not from either Lord—
—but from a young girl among the magi.
She had heard Lucan's words and couldn't help but snap, her tone fiery.
But no sooner had she spoken than—
Boom!—she collapsed to her knees under Barthomelloi's sweeping gaze.
"When did the voices of children become part of a Lords' dialogue, Callilith?"
The old man's beard twitched. "Pay no mind to the disrespectful, Your Eminence."
He changed his tone quickly.
"I don't mind."
Lucan smiled as if nothing happened.
He understood the centuries of conflict between magecraft and the Church.
Both institutions—born nearly simultaneously—stood forever opposed in creed and history.
He truly didn't care.
Because he didn't truly believe in "God."
What he pursued was the light stolen from God—and a split in the Church's power.
Church or mage—it was all the same to him.
Tools for his purpose.
What did matter to him, however—was the girl who had spoken.
That young magus.
Far too young—perhaps under eighteen.
Far too gifted—already of Domain Rank.
"The next Barthomelloi, it seems... Still producing successors."
Her features and aura were similar to the future Vivian and Lorelei Barthomelloi.
A true lineage of "hardened stock."
Lucan almost suspected the Barthomellois were mass-producing clones using Mystery.
"Merely a disappointing junior," said the old Barthomelloi.
"She's not worthy of the name yet. Nor will she be one to innovate. At best, she might maintain."
"Come, Your Eminence. This way."
...
[You met with the two reigning Lords of the Clock Tower.]
[You entered the headquarters.]
[This era's Clock Tower was much smaller than its future counterpart. The five Grand Lecture Halls had only just taken shape. The many Minor Classrooms didn't exist yet.]
[You understood why—the twelve Lords of this age were not yet fully established.]
[You marveled at Barthomelloi's frailty—and his lingering strength.]
[You had a deep and productive conversation.]
[The hostility you expected never came. Even though you'd killed a Lord, they still respected you. You came not as a magus, but as the High Priest of the Esoteric Church—and with that, you returned the Tremblerio Magic Crest.]
[You met the next heir of the Tremblerio family—the future Lord of Foundations.]
[She thanked you—even though you had killed her brother.]
[Magi are cold-blooded. They care not for emotion, only benefit.]
[This era's Barthomelloi—given that the Clock Tower Director (Lord Brishisan of Archives) and the Marshal of the Association, the Second Magician Zelretch, were both absent—was the de facto highest authority of the Association.]
[He thanked you, and even offered a reward.]
[They invited you to delve into the Tomb of Albion beneath the Clock Tower.]
[Guided by Valérie Achelott—the heir to the First Magician's bloodline.]
...
The Tomb of Albion.
Lucan had long heard whispers of it as a Clock Tower student in the future.
Even before transmigrating, he knew—
It was the reason the Clock Tower was built atop London.
One reason England's Mystery ran deeper than other lands.
It was the resting place of a primordial dragon—a mythic beast of ancient legend.
Buried beneath the earth, its corpse exuded limitless mana.
A fountain of Mystery.
Throughout history, countless magi had unearthed treasures of Mystery here.
Even lesser magi built bloodlines off what they found.
In fact—
Lucan had once planned to investigate during his attack on the Tremblerio faction—but an accident had interrupted him.
Now, faced with Barthomelloi's invitation, he had no reason to refuse.
Not just out of interest—
—but to leave behind something tangible.
Something his future self could inherit—like a certain scientific city.
That was his true goal on this journey.
...
In 1432, deep beneath London, tremors shook the ground.
Eyewitnesses claimed they heard the roars of the earth itself—as if an ancient dragon had awakened.
According to Valérie Achelott, the Botany Lord who accompanied him into the Tomb—
She followed behind France's High Priest, the spiritual leader of the people—
—and in the deepest part of Albion...
They saw Albion awaken!
—"Bureau of Occult Anatomy: Historical Records XI"
...
Just like the summoning of Fafnir in France—
[In the depths of Albion, you used True Ether and mental magecraft to reassemble a miniature "Dragon of the World."]
[A dragon that bore the seed of a miniature world.]
[A creature that should only exist in the Age of Fantasy.]