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

The Tremberio family was one of the oldest magical lineages, its history no shorter than that of the Mage's Association itself. It originated in Italy and migrated to Britain over a thousand years ago.

A force that had flourished for millennia on the mystic side—

And now, thanks to one man, it had reached unprecedented new heights.

Edmond Tremberio.

Known across the mystic world as the "Lion," he was a man who not only dreamed of dominating the entire mystic realm, but possessed both the ambition and the power to do so. He had personally devised England's policy of plundering ancient mysteries stored across French soil to refine and complete his family's magic foundations. Though the rise of Toval had delayed his plans, Edmond's advance remained unstoppable.

For these achievements, he had risen to the rank of "Grand" within the Mage's Association. More than that, he had become one of the twelve Lords established by the Clock Tower over two centuries ago, presiding over the Department of General Fundamentals.

He also held the highest peerage bestowed by the Kingdom of England—a duke above even the regent-like Duke of Bedford.

In both the seen and unseen worlds, Edmond Tremberio's status was exalted beyond measure.

All this, Lucan knew.

In fact, during the years of mystic conflict early in this simulation, the Tremberio faction had been his chief adversary. Though a decade had passed in relative quiet, Lucan remained acutely aware of his old rival's movements.

Thus, even though this was their first meeting face to face—

There was no sense of unfamiliarity.

Atop the tower, sea winds stirred. Clad in black robes, Lucan paused in his steps as the towering Mage King slowly rose. His words were calm.

Edmond sneered coldly. "Even a villain would say he admires the glory of kings?"

Lucan strolled forward. "Not your glory. Just your eagerness to die."

"A villain is a villain, indeed."

Despite the insult, Edmond didn't stop Lucan from sitting across the long table. In fact, he even called for wine and coffee, as if welcoming a guest.

Edmond knew full well how powerful Toval had been even ten years ago—defeating mystic factions across England while still a youth. He had never underestimated him, and didn't intend to start now.

The sheer mystic pressure Edmond emitted while standing still would overwhelm most. Yet Lucan sat with ease, unshaken.

He had the right—

The right to stand before a king. The right to challenge a king.

Naturally, a battle between monarchs could not begin without a prelude.

"I'll let you watch your precious France fall before I bury you myself," Edmond said.

The banquet continued in form only. In reality, it was a silent war of mystics.

Lucan swirled his wine. "Fall, you say? Don't be so sure. Jeanne's talent is no less than ours."

...

BOOM—

Explosions roared across the battlefield.

The fleur-de-lis banner fluttered high. Magic-armored templars followed closely behind the golden-haired girl in gleaming armor as she plunged into the English front lines.

"Charge! Charge!"

"The Lord is with us!"

"Glory to France!"

Her clear voice rang out. Her spirit became the army's rallying cry.

Lances shattered barriers. Blades cut down English soldiers. Blood flew in arcs through the hazy sunlight.

In the rear camp, the Duke of Bedford climbed a tall watchtower. Seeing the French breakthrough, he squinted.

"With spirit like that… no wonder they keep winning."

He turned to his aides. "Mobilize the flanking camps. Crush them!"

Bedford took no chances. He knew this was a war between nations.

Soon, rumbling sounded from the plains.

"Report! Both flanks under attack!"

"Rear under attack too!"

Scouts rushed to Jeanne's side with reports. She didn't turn.

"Collapse the flanks. All power—forward!"

The only escape from a trap was to break its heart.

The French condensed into a tight wedge, accelerating through the central English lines.

Cannons fired. Swords flashed.

Bedford watched, amazed.

"That girl's grasp of battle… incredible."

He realized she was coming for him.

And he responded:

"Push the rear guard forward!"

BOOM—

From the rearmost English camp surged an army of fully-armored knights—over a thousand strong. Not mere levies, but professional heavy cavalry.

"When did England train such knights?" Jeanne gasped.

Historically, England relied on longbowmen, not cavalry. But here—Bedford had secretly trained a force to match even Lucan's templars.

Edmond, watching from the tower, smiled.

"You're not the only one who trains warriors, Toval."

"Bedford may lack mystic talent, but his grasp of war surpasses most. While you rampaged through France, he prepared this army for you."

"He has more wealth. More time. He will win. England will win. I… will win."

Lucan only laughed. "Victory, huh? Big words for a side character."

Edmond didn't understand—but he understood the tone.

He was about to retort—

When he stopped.

Lucan's smirk deepened. "See it now?"

Edmond looked.

Jeanne faced the heavy cavalry head-on.

She raised her banner. The templars followed, their magic linking together in radiant light.

But not just them—the whole army began to glow.

"A miracle's power flows from faith," Lucan said. "And now, this entire army believes in one thing—France."

The templars weren't just elite soldiers. They were anchors—components of a grand ritual.

Using the simulated Mystic Core within each templar, Lucan had trained them to form a massive reality marble—a grand barrier reflecting the faith of two thousand men.

Only Jeanne could wield that power.

Only under her could France be truly invincible.

Glory to France.

BOOM—

The English line shattered.

From the tower, Bedford staggered forward, gripping the railing in disbelief.

On the docks, Edmond leapt to his feet—his face twisted.

...

The battlefield was swept clean.

From that day forth—

Glory belonged to France.

Miracles belonged to Jeanne d'Arc.

—"Biographical Chronicles: Jeanne d'Arc"

...

A full frontal breakthrough of heavy knights.

A miracle of medieval warfare.

Historians would forever dream of witnessing Lucan's templars.

But they never reappeared.

The iron hooves faded—a final song of the medieval age.

—"History of World Wars"

...

Broken, routed, defeated.

As the English lines collapsed—

On the tower, tension mounted.

Edmond Tremberio glared at Lucan.

Mystic pressure surged.

"Playtime is over."

"Now… it's just you and me."

Lucan finally stood.

Not like a challenger—

But like the true Mage King.

And Edmond, the usurper who dared to face him.