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

The battle between Grand-class magi from the world of Mystery reached its conclusion after a brief tug-of-war.

When Lucan, carrying the same level of mystery as a Grand, stepped into the blazing solar furnace conjured by Edmond, when he tore through the domain constructed by the Mage King, the outcome was already decided.

Matching mystery alone wasn't enough to completely suppress Edmond Tremberio's Mistil magecraft. But the moment Vic Toval set foot in that domain—his soul magecraft erupted in full force.

A dual foundation of Grand rank. That alone was enough to shatter everything Edmond built.

His fundamental Crest-based spells came to a halt. The vast magical energy he had channeled burst apart, reversing and exploding from within.

Light flared. The solar shadow vanished into thin air, leaving only the faint glow of a fading sunset.

Lucan stood tall, robes unruffled, soul magecraft shimmering.

Edmond staggered back. His lion-like visage contorted with disbelief, pupils contracted tighter than ever. His face turned pale. Blood dripped from his lips. His towering form crushed the high tower's staircase beneath his retreat, shrinking by the moment.

He had lost.

Completely. Shockingly. Inexplicably.

"Impossible…" he rasped, more roar than whisper. "A mere commoner possessing two Grand Foundations—how can that be…?"

Even the most gifted magi, even monstrous talents, could only forge one Grand Foundation in a lifetime. Not because of difficulty or time, but because the completion of a Grand left an eternal imprint on the mind.

That imprint would reject all other mysteries of equal depth.

It was common knowledge among all magi.

That's why Edmond had only prepared to counter Lucan's soul magecraft—and nothing more.

And now that common knowledge was being shattered.

A man with no ancestral bloodline. A first-generation mage.

How could such a thing be possible?

"There's no such thing as impossible," Lucan said calmly, his aura still glowing. He looked at the stunned Mage King, his eyes steady. "Isn't Mystery, by its very nature, something that defies common sense?"

Mystery was the rejection of common logic.

And magecraft was the art of manifesting the impossible.

Lucan had always believed that.

From this angle, even his "Simulator" could be classified as mystery—perhaps even as True Magic.

Sure, he was technically cheating.

But he refused to admit it.

Edmond suddenly froze.

"Defying common sense… no framework…" He muttered Lucan's words. In the span of a breath, confusion turned to revelation—and then to laughter.

A madman's laugh. But it was the laugh of a true magus.

All magi were extreme. Fanatical.

They pursued mystery with obsession. Everything else was secondary.

Even kings.

In that moment, Edmond glimpsed a higher level of mystery in Lucan's words. Even as defeat and death loomed, he couldn't help but rejoice.

"No framework… boundless…"

"I see now. I understand."

Lucan, seeing his reaction, slowly raised a hand.

"If you understand, then let me see you off," he said. "Let me deliver the Mage King to his mysterious, unrecorded funeral."

The brilliance of soul magecraft coated his godlike body—transformed by the Simulated Core.

Facing a wounded Edmond, Lucan showed no mercy. His strike was still full power.

As the dual mysteries approached, Edmond ceased laughing.

No longer ferocious. No longer resentful.

Only solemn.

"Vic Toval… it seems my defeat was not unjust."

"You've walked further along the path of Mystery than I have."

"But remember—Mystery is not yours alone. My descendants will rise beyond my corpse. They will charge at you once more."

"To them, you will be the final and greatest obstacle before the Root."

He had lost. But he did not yield. He did not kneel.

Magi were strange beings. Defeating the father only invited the wrath of the son.

Tremberio was like that now.

Just like the Bathomellos had been before.

Fortunately, Lucan was used to it.

Fortunately, he had faith in himself.

Even if their descendants inherited ancient talent, he believed he could outstrip them all—more thoroughly, more completely.

"Then I'll be waiting, Edmond Tremberio."

As the light of magic approached the battered Mage King, Lucan spoke calmly:

"After your death, your magic crest will fall into my hands. I won't leave it gathering dust—I'll study it. That's the price you pay for crossing me. But once I'm finished, I'll return your crest to your family. Let them inherit your throne."

"And hundreds or thousands of years from now—I'll be waiting for their challenge."

"If they dare to come!"

Edmond burst into laughter.

Perhaps he was glad his life's work wouldn't be wasted.

Perhaps he was glad his lineage would continue.

Perhaps he was just happy he'd picked the right rival.

Vic Toval—the common-born magus who had left a mark on him more than a decade ago.

A monster among mysteries.

Still laughing, he was struck down by Lucan's dual mysteries.

Still smiling, he was unmade by Lucan's soul-coated, divine-forged hand.

Split by the soul.

Undone by the divine.

"The dual mystery that dissects all—it can analyze the impossible and deconstruct all forms."

"Let's call this…"

"The Hand That Resembles God."

Everything it touches—

Returns to the embrace of divine nature.

...

Since the 10th century A.D., when the Bathomello monster recreated a magic foundation from the Age of Gods and laid the first cornerstone of Grand rank for the Mage's Association…

Since the 12th century, when the Clock Tower established its twelve Lord positions…

Since the 16th century, when twelve ancient families each passed on their Lordship…

To this day, the Mage's Association has produced many generations of Mage Kings. Though few attained the Grand rank, those who did inevitably inherited the title of King and became its undisputed leaders.

Grands were powerful—and unique.

Only the Bathomello family had ever produced more than one per generation.

And the unnatural fall of a Grand-ranked Mage King?

There was only one known case.

It occurred in 15th century Europe, amidst the fires of mundane war.

The first King of the Tremberio family…

Versus Vic Toval of France…

A battle between peak magi.

"He manifested the riddle of the soul in a body resembling God…"

"With that divine hand, he pierced the sun carried by the lion…"

That was the prophecy left by the Astronomy Department in shame that day.

—From the "Genealogy of Mage Kings, Mage's Association"