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

[The Reims region lies near the capital of France, Paris.]

[Though you've passed through Paris many times before, this is your first time truly setting foot in the heart and core of the French national church.]

[You had once passed by, gazed at it from afar, and felt the rich atmosphere of faith crystallize into the miracle-like Mystery it produced.]

[But now, in approaching it properly for the first time, you find yourself experiencing something new.]

Reims.

An ancient city that predates even the founding of France itself. Long before Clovis I led the Gauls to independence, when Gaul was still a province under Rome—indeed, even before Rome itself—this city already stood.

The immense weight of its history imbues Reims with a charm unlike any other. Its timeworn buildings, though restored many times, still bear the indelible marks of the centuries.

Rows of spire-topped structures stretch into the sky. On stone-paved roads walk clergy in purple robes, heads bowed in pious calm. The solemn tolling of Reims Cathedral's bells echoes from the city's highest and most central point, painting a sense of divine peace across its streets.

In France's war-torn and often-occupied northern lands, this tranquility is rare.

Even Paris has long since lost its former glory beneath the roar of cannon fire.

Yet Reims remains unchanged.

Now, Lucan too walks these city streets, side by side with a gallant young maiden who had shed her armor for a fluttering battle skirt.

The army is camped outside the city walls.

Only the two of them have entered.

"This place feels strangely familiar to me," Jeanne suddenly said, gazing earnestly at the city around her.

Lucan glanced toward her—the girl who had revealed her heart to him not long ago. Her slender form stood proud beneath the tight violet uniform, curves boldly outlined, golden hair braided loosely and swaying with each step.

She turned to meet his eyes.

"It feels just like when I went looking for Vic... the atmosphere reminds me of his hometown."

Lucan paused mid-step, blinking. For a moment, he had thought Jeanne had once visited Reims.

But thinking more carefully—of course that wasn't possible.

Born in a rural village in central France, Jeanne had never left until she raised the banner of the Fleur-de-lis. And by then, northern France was already under English occupation. She could never have traveled here alone.

After hearing her explanation, Lucan couldn't help feeling a bit speechless.

Could this millennia-old city, Reims—far more ancient than even the French state—really be compared to his humble village?

"Of course I mean Reims is being exaggerated," Jeanne added, unusually playful.

"After all, it never produced a 'Vic'—how could it compare to your place?"

Around Lucan, she always felt at ease.

Since expressing her feelings, she had relaxed even further.

She no longer resembled the straight-backed Holy Maiden before her officers—

Nor the young girl burdened with the salvation of France.

Now, she simply acted her age.

"Though you rarely fight on the front lines, those noble officers and even the common soldiers say—every time you return, a miracle follows."

"Almost sounds like you're trying to get rid of me," Lucan joked.

Jeanne tilted her head thoughtfully. "If that's the case... then I'd better go with you."

"After all—"

"I said it before. We're absolute comrades and dear friends. We'll always fight side by side, won't we?"

She reached out and took his hand.

No gloves this time—only soft, bare skin.

The sensation reached Lucan's brain in an instant, making him freeze.

This girl... was truly aggressive.

It felt like he was the one being pursued.

But he wasn't the type to take such things passively!

"Jeanne," Lucan said, grasping her hand in return. His palm was much larger, easily enclosing hers.

Feeling his warmth, Jeanne blushed slightly and looked up at him with curious eyes.

"Do you know the origin of Reims Cathedral?"

They had unknowingly arrived before its towering structure. The bells now rang louder, echoing beneath the noonday sun.

"Of course," Jeanne said, cheeks redder still as she looked between the cathedral and Lucan. "It began as a Roman chapel, and rose to prominence with France's founding—when Clovis I was crowned king."

"Not bad for someone who can barely read," Lucan teased.

Jeanne's smile wilted. Even now, despite Lucan's tutoring, her literacy was only passable at best.

"But there's something you don't know," Lucan continued.

"Do you know what the cathedral was used for before Clovis's coronation?"

She shook her head.

"It was where the townsfolk wed and pledged their eternal vows. Under the cathedral's witness, every word became a sacred covenant."

...

With that, Lucan tightened his grip on her hand.

He wouldn't let her run away.

He wouldn't let her hide behind words like 'comrade' or 'friend'.

And so he watched her face flush deeper and deeper—until it bloomed like the noonday sun.

...

[You've successfully countered Jeanne's aggressive move with one of your own.]

[You think to yourself—you must be the one to take the lead.]

[Under the cathedral's bells, at this life-defining moment, you both stood unmoving.]

[Until—]

[A deep, gravelly voice broke the silence between you.]

"Forgive my intrusion at such a vital moment... but I bring a proverb for the two of you, Your Excellencies."

Lucan and Jeanne broke eye contact and turned together toward the speaker.

The man faltered under their simultaneous stares.

His elderly face remained calm, but his eyes showed a hint of awkwardness.

"Archbishop Chartres of Reims Cathedral?"

Jeanne recognized the man instantly—or more precisely, the purple robes only an archbishop could wear.

There was only one such figure in Reims.

The archbishop, Chartres.

"Chartres de Charlier, at your service."

The old man stepped down from the stairs and bowed low.

Jeanne quickly tried to stop him. "Please, Archbishop, there's no need..."

"It must be done," the old man replied as he straightened. "You have saved France. As a Frenchman, this is my duty."

"Moreover—"

"One who bears the Lord's revelation... stands far above someone like me."

Jeanne opened her mouth but found no words.

Since becoming bonded to her—

Lucan had shared in both her glory and her fate.

Their status was now equal.

He accepted the archbishop's deference without surprise.

After all, Jeanne was destined to become the church's acknowledged saint. Receiving such respect was only natural.

Lucan cut straight to the point:

"Archbishop Chartres, you mentioned a proverb just now?"

"If it's not something truly important... I'm afraid I'll have to hold you accountable for interrupting us."

"It is important."

The old man nodded.

He met Lucan's serious gaze and Jeanne's increasingly blushing yet determined face.

With a tug of his beard, he said:

"This proverb comes from a thousand years ago, left by the holy king Clovis I at the founding of Gaul."

"He was baptized and crowned here."

"And he left behind a prophecy."

"A thousand years from now, another holy king shall be crowned in this place."

"And now—one thousand years have passed."

...

They are saints of the mortal world—kings of faith.

—"The Development of the French National Church"