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

The grand bell tower rang from on high, its chime rippling across the city like waves through a corridor of time, echoing in every ear. Beneath the soaring dome of that great structure, stairs spiraled ever upward. Countless pilgrims streamed through the city's gate, ascending toward the highest sanctuary.

The knights of the sanctuary, clad in armor, resembled heaven's gatekeepers. The solemn pace of the pilgrims seemed as if they were about to step into the Kingdom of God.

This was the seat of all churches in the world, the very root of faith in the "Lord," the Holy City where God Himself once descended to dwell among men—Vatican City in Rome.

Here resided the most exalted wielder of miracles in the mortal world, God's voice on Earth.

Across the vast mountains and seas of Europe, even if some did not believe, few dared to show disrespect.

But on this day—

This most sacred place on Earth…

This sanctuary perched at the very peak of mortal reverence…

Was disrupted by hurried, irreverent footsteps.

By a fountain of holy water, a cardinal robed in scarlet turned calmly at the approaching figure.

"Archbishop Yagrian, do mind your comportment. Your steps are a disturbance on this day of solemn mass."

His voice was aged and hoarse, reverberating through the grand hall.

The man halted before the miraculous spring. He bowed his head. "Forgive me, Your Eminence Pedvin…"

"What news do you bring?"

The cardinal was not offended, nor did he reprimand, but simply skipped ahead—as if he already knew this must be important.

In Pedvin's memory, Yagrian was a worldly-born man who had joined the Church as a youth. At just forty, he already held responsibility within the sanctuary. His faith was devout, his command of miraculous arts vast. Even so, to behave with such urgency during morning mass—when the Pope and cardinals prayed—was uncharacteristic.

"Yes, Your Eminence," Yagrian said respectfully. "I bring news from France."

"France…" Pedvin narrowed his eyes. "Ah yes, the western nation embroiled in war again?"

"If I recall, our regional Church there has long severed contact with us, has it not?"

For over a millennium since the descent of the Son of God, the Roman Church had dominated secular faith and monopolized the mysteries of the present era.

That lofty authority granted them power to judge all secular matters. But such dominance inevitably clashed with the kings of the world.

A century ago, at the peak of France's power, King Philip IV allied with magi and raised secular armies. He struck Vatican City while it was weakened after purging the city of True Ancestors and battling the newly risen Princess of the Moon.

They overwhelmed the Vatican's miracle guardians, abducted the Pope, and forced him to Avignon, on the border of France and Italy. There, a new papal court was established—under French control.

Half a century passed, two popes came and went, before the Church returned to its promised land: Vatican City.

From that day, the Vatican fortified its strength—founding new militant orders not only reliant on fading magical power, but on military force.

And since then…

The rift between Church and magi only grew.

France's relations with the Church plummeted. The churches within France, though nominally under Vatican authority, split into factions and rarely made contact.

Though the Church longed to reclaim religious dominion over France, it had been recovering in silence—until now.

Had the French Church sensed a shift? Was this advance notice of a possible confrontation?

If so, it might demand a holy war—requiring the counsel of the cardinals… or even the Pope.

So thought Pedvin.

But Yagrian shook his head again.

"Not from the French Church. The news comes from an Executor embedded within France. He reports… a miracle."

"A miracle?"

The cardinal's dim eyes sharpened to points. His uplifted hands halted mid-air. The fountain vanished.

"Without the Lord's sanction—without permission from the Pope and cardinals—how could a miracle manifest?"

Unlike magecraft, miracles drew from a single divine source. There could be no second origin.

At least, not in an age before the emergence of Protestantism or the Orthodox Church. Even those were permitted only in response to shifts in the magical foundation.

As Pedvin considered whether the French Church had turned to heresy, Yagrian denied that too.

"Not the Church either," he said.

"Archbishop Yagrian," Pedvin sighed. "Please finish your statements in one breath. I cannot read your mind."

"My apologies," Yagrian said. "The miracle comes from a rural girl claiming divine blessing—and a young man also of rural birth."

"Their names: Jeanne d'Arc and Vic Toval."

—'The Maiden' and 'The Victor.'

Pedvin's gaze turned thoughtful. For a moment, his mind raced.

"To claim divine grace… It could still be a ploy. A bid by the French Church to sever our authority completely."

He stroked his beard and made his judgment.

"Have the Executor monitor them closely. If necessary—strike."

"Yes, Your Eminence."

...

France.

Time passed, and autumn deepened once more.

[It has now been a full year since Jeanne came to fetch you from the countryside]

[In that year, the war changed utterly because of you both]

[In that year, you watched the maiden grow]

[In that year, you completed your initial magical foundation—deducing the theory of a "pseudo-Root"]

[And now, in the late autumn of that same year…]

[You've taken Orleans, eliminated the English threat to central France, and turned your army back south]

[Seven days later, you crossed the Loire]

[A month after that, you arrived at the fortress of Crown Prince Charles, in Chinon]

[At the moment your army arrived, the English retreated ten miles]

[Thus, you entered the fortress without resistance]

[And met the last remaining heir to the French crown]

[The Dauphin Charles]

Or rather...

The Dauphine?

"It's been a long time, teacher Vic Toval."

The girl on the throne smiled brightly, waving to the handsome youth beside Jeanne.