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

[You arrived at the French military camp besieging Auxerre Castle and successfully reunited with Jeanne]

[Under the oppressive presence of the 300 "Holy Knights" you led, the entire camp ultimately obeyed Jeanne's command to withdraw—to ride for Chinon and rescue the besieged Crown Prince Charles]

[Though Count de Robes and others were unwilling to abandon the near-captured fortress of Auxerre, failing to seize it meant losing the initiative in the north and leaving their fiefs—mostly bordering northern France—exposed]

[Still, they understood well: your 300 "Holy Knights," though few, could shatter entire armies. Under that overwhelming force, they dared not resist]

[It was not only the English who feared you. The French did too]

[The nobility feared the day that sword you wielded might turn on them]

[But you had no such intent—at least for now]

[The war council ended in a suffocating, terrifying atmosphere. One by one, the officers and nobles withdrew to their own tents to prepare for the retreat]

[You did not leave]

[For you had always lived and dined alongside Jeanne—before you left, and now again]

The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows. The once-loud command tent now fell into quiet.

Lucan circled the central table, glancing over the miniature sand table with its clustered flags. With a glance, he understood: it was a representation of the enormous campaign Jeanne had commanded—now numbering over 30,000.

They had captured fort after fort, secured the Loire, and stabilized French control over the remaining southern territories. The plan had been to march north, take Auxerre, and then push to Paris. That was the strategy Jeanne had followed—until the English appeared suddenly from the southwest.

Had they not, her approach would have been both steady and swift. Nearly flawless.

"Well done."

Lucan withdrew his gaze and looked at the girl he hadn't seen in six months. He smiled without reserve: "You've almost caught up to me."

"Really?"

Jeanne had nearly slumped into her chair. After holding herself with utmost poise before the generals, she was utterly spent. Before Lucan, she didn't bother to hide it.

Even after half a year, she felt like he had never left—that they were still perfectly in sync.

"Though you still can't read," Lucan added dryly. "Someone needs a refresher—with a stick."

Jeanne flinched, straightening up and preparing to flee.

Lucan caught her by the forehead and pressed her back into the seat.

"Sit. Don't run. I have something to say."

"Mm..."

She slumped back down, raising both hands: "I won't run!"

Lucan finally let go, robes swaying as he casually paced the tent.

The firelight shimmered along his tall frame. Far from weary, his long journeys only added to his mystique.

Jeanne, meanwhile, watched him closely. Her figure, too, had matured. Her golden braid now reached her thighs. Her once-youthful face had gained poise and strength. Her purple uniform was taut over her chest, accentuated by silver armor that narrowed her waist. Even her split battle skirt swayed with power and grace.

Yet Lucan valued her growth not for her beauty—but her strength.

"You've done well," he repeated.

Though Orleans was her foundation, she had since won battles alone, commanding entire armies. It proved her natural talent for war.

In some ways, Lucan couldn't compare.

Without future knowledge and magical methods, he couldn't achieve the same.

Of course, he didn't feel inferior. His cheats were still his own ability.

And if the game didn't lock the door—why not walk through?

Jeanne, surprised by his rare praise, sat straighter. She had grown used to Lucan's sarcasm and teasing, like a strict older brother. Genuine compliments caught her off guard.

She flushed slightly.

And, deep down, she felt happy.

She murmured, "It was all thanks to the Lord..."

"No," Lucan cut her off. "That was your own doing. Not even 'the Lord' can take it."

...

As a believer, she should have been offended.

But she wasn't.

She simply raised her eyes and gazed at the man before her.

And nodded.

Not in affirmation of God.

But of herself.

She realized—

Ever since she took up the banner of divine righteousness, no one had spoken to her like this.

Even Gilles de Rais—her most loyal knight—praised only her mission, never her.

But Lucan... saw her.

Not as a fraud.

Not as God's envoy.

Not as a vessel.

Just as Jeanne.

A girl of will, of talent, of conviction.

That's why—

They could truly fight side by side.

"I see," Jeanne murmured.

And she understood.

"Yes."

Lucan nodded, then reached out his hand:

"And as a reward for your growth—I've brought you a gift. I am your teacher, after all."

"A gift?"

The armored girl raised her gloved hand.

Lucan pulled her up, then turned to walk out of the tent.

She followed, confused.

Outside, the night wind brushed past. Auxerre Castle loomed nearby, tall and imposing under the moonlight. Soldiers stirred in the shadows, packing up the camp under Jeanne's orders.

But of Lucan's men—no sign.

The Holy Knights were nowhere to be seen.

Then—

BOOM!

Fire erupted like daylight.

The roar of battle echoed from the castle walls.

Stone burst apart.

The towering fortress crumbled beneath the charged glow of slashing mana.

Jeanne froze.

The fire lit her bright, determined face.

She saw it.

Knights surged through the breach.

The fortress—once thought impregnable—was shattered.

There they stood.

Three hundred Holy Knights.

Their mana shone, solid as stone.

Their formation... a moving temple.

"They call them Holy Knights—my sword against the northern English."

Lucan stood amid smoke and fire, smiling as he turned to Jeanne.

"But they're not just swords."

"They're Templars."

"Three hundred men—together, they form a complete temple."

Like the arrays etched into his body.

Like the spells he'd cast countless times.

But this temple wasn't magic.

It was a miracle.

Born of loyalty. Of faith.

"They—and this conquered castle—are my gift to you, Jeanne d'Arc."

His voice rang clear.

The soldiers and officers paused, watching.

Some were stunned.

Others thrilled.

Some laughed and rode out in pursuit.

But Jeanne heard only him.

His voice.

His gift.

[You gave Jeanne the Holy Knights and Auxerre Castle as a gift]

[It was a gift you'd long prepared]

[You couldn't deny your feelings for her—not quite love or affection, but something deeper]

[You wanted to save her]

[To give this pure, brilliant, yet naive girl a happy ending]

[Not to change the world—but to change her fate]

[With the loyal Templars, Jeanne would never again be betrayed or sold out]

[And you knew—even though she had chosen to retreat, deep down, she still wished to take the castle]

[You believed she would like this gift]

[A gift not in the name of "the Lord"—but of Jeanne herself]

[You also believed—it would bind you two even closer]

[Until you both ascended to sainthood]

...

The fortress that held for ten years fell to mortal hands.

The miracle meant for God now rested with men.

The Roman Church was outragd.

—The Song of the Hundred Years' War