SWNOVELXO Chapter 80: The end of the simulation — A Century Later, Four Teachings as One, The Endgame of the Skyborne Princess
[The Miniature Egg of the World—this Grand Thaumaturgy, a Reality Marble, is a Mystery you could never grasp]
[It is unrelated to ability or talent, simply a matter of compatibility]
[As a projection of one's inner world, it touches upon the domain of divine authority, and your inner world—your soul, your origin—has already transformed into a "demon god," the embodiment of a complete existence]
[Your origin is all things you have seen]
[And thus, you can never master such Mystery]
[But magi were never those who relied solely on themselves. Humanity is a species defined by tools. Just because you cannot wield it directly does not mean you cannot employ it through external means—you have already done so once]
[The difference is that last time, you created a world egg fixed in the deep layers of the world, immovable]
[This time, you created a living "miniature world"]
[You left it in the deepest depths of the Tomb of Albion]
[You left the Clock Tower]
[You soon departed from Britain]
[And returned to France]
[Soon, you will hold a grand wedding with the girl named Jeanne d'Arc—the King of France]
[You will make your vows]
[You will be joined]
[Forevermore]
[This year, you are twenty-seven. Jeanne is nineteen]
[All of France celebrated your marriage, rejoicing with you]
...
The "Victor" Victoire, conqueror of battlefields, politics, and faith.
His life was not long, but he achieved greatness across all domains. In his youth, alongside his wife—the girl of Orléans turned Saint-King of France, Jeanne d'Arc—he rode into battle. With her support, Jeanne never lost a single campaign.
Later, he devoted himself to religion, leading the native French church in defiance of the Roman Papacy. He became the true Patriarch of the Esoteric Church of France.
And yet, he never abandoned his wife's cause. In truth, he served as the de facto chancellor of France. Under his counsel, the Saint-King reformed the nation's many internal flaws, laying the groundwork for the coming Renaissance.
He even designed inventions that shaped the coming industrial era.
He ruthlessly purged political enemies.
He crushed foreign conspiracies.
He caused a Roman Pope to die of stress-induced illness.
He was invincible.
He was the one who laid the foundation for the kingdom's future.
—Excerpt from Victoire the Victor
...
[Thirty years passed in a flash]
[You are now fifty-seven. Jeanne is forty-nine]
[You both still appear young, as if no time has passed]
[You have no children—despite still being vigorous, despite the enduring and ever-deepening love between you]
[Though you sometimes grumble about always being the one beneath her]
[You know it is because your body is not physical, but a perfect projection of reality]
[And even if it were real, your divine body's blood is too dense—conception is unlikely]
[Thankfully, over a decade ago, you adopted a daughter]
[She will inherit your and Jeanne's legacy—inherit all of France]
[Through her, you will guide history back to its proper course]
[Her name is Louie]
[Known in later generations as Louis XI—the Spider King with a Thousand Faces]
[Now she is grown]
[Now, you and Jeanne have decided to abdicate]
[To leave the stage of French history]
[You look upon the ever-beautiful girl beside you and know: because of you, the world may lack a tragic hero remembered by history—but you are glad to have changed things]
[For a life cannot be reduced to a few lines in a history book]
...
The Saint-King Jeanne d'Arc's sudden abdication stunned all of Europe.
She was in her prime, strong and capable.
She had the support of Victoire, the Patriarch of the French Church.
France, under her rule, had grown powerful and stable.
Even England now deferred to her will.
Yet she relinquished her throne.
Some said she was still the Orléans girl who never sought power.
Others claimed she had grown weary of the court's endless scheming.
But records show that she left with Victoire at her side.
Perhaps they retired to seclusion.
Perhaps they wandered the world together.
From meeting to knowing to loving to walking side by side—
A hero's life, unmarked by tragedy.
—Excerpt from Saint Jeanne
...
The world changed.
Thirty-nine years after Jeanne and Victoire vanished—
Their adopted daughter Louis XI carried forward their policies: open reform, suppression of the nobility, and national unification.
She annexed the Duchies of Burgundy, Anjou, Provence, and others, fully centralizing France under the crown.
She declared the King the sole owner of all land, with nobles and peasants granted only usage rights.
She proclaimed that all wealth belonged to the crown, and that all subjects were equal beneath it.
She never said "I am the State"—but she lived it.
Though she stumbled, France under her rule prospered.
She was the heir groomed by Lucan, and she was more than worthy.
Sixteen years ago, she passed away.
Her adopted son, Charles VIII, was crowned at thirteen.
He was frail—but ambitious.
At twenty-three, he launched an invasion of Naples, setting off France's Italian campaigns.
Just as Lucan had foreseen.
Just as history intended.
The ripples of the Hundred Years' War faded like a dream.
While the world turned, rural France remained unchanged.
Golden wheat swayed gently in the breeze.
Children laughed in the fields.
Adults smiled in peace.
The rumble of wheels came down a village path.
A silver-haired girl stepped from a carriage.
She had come—just as she had a century before—to teach a child to read.
"This place really hasn't changed in a hundred years..."
Silver hair falling, red eyes squinting, her black-and-white ornate gown clashed with the pastoral scene.
A parasol cast her in a shadowy grace.
People watched curiously, no longer reverent as in centuries past.
The girl—François Prelati—clicked her tongue in amusement.
She followed the path from memory.
To the modest but elegant home of "Tourelle."
No one would suspect the savior-saint and Victor once lived here.
But knowing Lucan, Prelati was not surprised.
She stepped forward—and pushed open the door.
"You've finally come."
The courtyard opened before her.
A handsome youth sat serenely beneath the trees.
He hadn't aged a day.
Prelati blinked—until Jeanne approached, golden-haired and graceful.
"Oh my, if it isn't our little Vic—who stole away France's Saint-King," Prelati said, grinning wickedly.
"You look very well cared for... And no wonder, with Jeanne at your side~"
"Hm?" Jeanne's gaze turned sharp.
She studied the newcomer like an enemy on the battlefield.
Prelati wisely ceased her teasing and sat opposite Lucan.
Lucan couldn't help laughing.
Truly, after leaving the backstabbing courts of Paris behind, his life had been good.
He traveled the world, recorded all Mystery into his soul.
Returned to his homeland.
Perfected his craft, day after day.
Yes—life had been good.
"Since you're here, teacher—Jeanne, could you bring the book I just finished from my study?"
"Of course."
Jeanne gave Prelati one last glance before leaving.
"A proper housewife, I see."
Lucan winced slightly. If only you'd seen her when she's angry... Without my divine body, I might not survive.
"Let's get to the point, teacher."
"Oh? Not here to hear my thoughts on your domestic bliss?" Prelati smirked. "Then why am I here? You don't look like someone about to die."
"I don't. But I soon will."
Lucan smiled.
Prelati's eyes narrowed.
"You...?"
"I'm going to die. Like Master Nicolas Flamel before me."
Like in his simulation during the Tsar's era.
Not because his time was up—
But because he chose to embrace death as a human.
To end his life with dignity.
He had already made a pact with Jeanne.
After his passing, she would follow.
Her body would be taken into the world's Reverse Side, protected by Fafnir the evil dragon.
Until they could meet again.
"I see..."
Prelati smirked again—but her eyes softened.
"So eager to die, when you could have lived ten lifetimes longer..."
"You who chase the end of Mystery are all mad."
"Then don't try to understand us," Lucan said. "Our paths are not the same."
He never understood Flamel's death.
He never desired the Philosopher's Stone.
They had walked different roads.
"..."
Prelati looked at her student, remembering a letter she once received from a noble girl.
She thought of the boy she once taught in a rural village—
And how far he had come.
She understood now.
"You figured it out already, didn't you?"
"I should have known from the start," Lucan said. "When Jeanne vowed to be with me forever—when she said I resembled the angels in her dreams—even before that, I should have known."
"You, teacher—you were the 'god' who gave Jeanne her divine revelation."
A declining demon god.
Older than Nicolas Flamel.
Revered by him as a teacher.
Mistaken for an angel.
A demon god—Prelati.
Yes, it all fit.
She gave Jeanne hope.
And then, as tragedy struck, offered nothing more.
A cruel joke.
But Lucan had changed that fate.
He replaced Prelati's voice.
And so, everything changed.
As he watched Prelati's silent expression, Lucan smiled.
Perhaps—he hadn't just changed Jeanne's life.
...
The date of Victoire's death—Saint-King, savior of France, Patriarch of the Esoteric Church—was never recorded.
Only the date of his disappearance remains.
But on the true day of his death—
Observatories worldwide recorded the stars shifting.
Mystical leylines stirred of their own accord.
He died in 1499.
On the eve of the Renaissance.
"I can now see the stars."
"Dawn is not far behind."
—Clock Tower Astronomical Records
...
"Inheritor of this generation's French Esoteric Church—François Leclerc du Tremblay—do you accept the Lord's embrace?"
"Yes. Yet I still follow the Esoteric Doctrine—concealment is our creed. I honor the will of the Great Vic. He is the Lord's inverted shadow upon earth—His incarnation, His likeness, His saint."
Atop the highest spire in Rome—
A young man in grey robes bowed his head.
"I accept the Lord's embrace. But I will remain the shadow beneath His radiance—until the White Dragon He rode returns to burn the world."
"I shall gather all saints of the Esoteric Church."
"I shall become the Executor of Executors—"
"—the strongest Burial Agency, to bury all heresy not beneath God."
The French Esoteric Church returned to Rome.
The infamous Grey Archbishop—
The second generation "Serpent of Akasha," François Leclerc du Tremblay—
Declared this with fervent eyes.
Eyes that had once seen a god rise from a storm of blood.