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

At the same time—

In another corner of the world.

Beneath a deep night sky scattered with stars, a red moon hung high, casting crimson light over towering marble palaces carved with majestic detail. The structures clustered and layered, resembling a forest of swords encircling a colossal throne.

Inside the palace complex, all was silent. Though pristine, the atmosphere carried the stillness of a century untouched by human presence.

At the deepest, most remote grand hall—

A half-suspended coffin hovered beneath the red moon. It was wrapped in countless massive chains, each etched with the wear of time—unchanged for a hundred years.

Until the next moment.

Suddenly, a clattering echoed, the surrounding chains quivering.

The coffin trembled.

Something stirred within.

Between the slightly parted lid, a pair of crimson eyes slowly opened.

Gleaming with bloodlust.

Someone...

"...is calling."

"The deceiver—the sinner."

"Michael Roa Valdamjong!"

This was Brunestud—the Millennium Castle, the tomb of the True Ancestors and the haven of the undying who once stood against the Church.

Silent for a hundred years.

Now, it stirred once more.

...

BOOM!

[Provoked by your words, you feel the terror and fury within your enemy—Roa] [You've revealed his secret, shaking his core] [The man named Roa fears the name you invoked] [And rightfully so—for though he has never died nor relinquished his flesh, he is fated to tread that path. This body is doomed to be destroyed] [Only one can destroy him—she whom he deceived, she who surpasses him and nearly all others on Earth—the Moon Princess, Arcueid Brunestud]

Roa's rage, his terror, his dread exploded.

And with it, so did his power—a mystic force vast and spiraling like the abyss.

The blast that followed dwarfed all that had come before, greater than even the destruction wrought from Paris to this place.

Infernos collided with torrential winds. Mist churned as water and fire met, birthing arcs of searing white lightning above the field—massive serpents of storm writhing above Roa's head.

His eyes glowed crimson. Cold. Bloodthirsty.

Lucan held his breath.

He knew: this was the real battle. The true crisis. And his true opportunity.

"Again and again... Victoire, you continue to surprise me."

Long hair billowing like a sorcerer at the heart of a storm, Roa slowly raised his hand.

"You seem to know me very well." "You know secrets none should." "If that's so—" "Are you ready to face true 'death'?"

Lucan scoffed. This guy, for all his Church roots, had clearly studied magi too long—he'd picked up their habit of speechifying before a fight.

Still, Lucan was ready.

After all, this was just a simulation.

He wouldn't truly die—not here.

"As Niccolò said: 'Life is a grand journey—death, a greater one still.'"

He raised his head.

"And I agree."

Roa smiled. The air rippled.

Then—

Like a serpent dropping from the sky, shadow struck.

Roa appeared before Lucan as if teleporting—no, as if frames had been cut from the world's film.

He raised a clawed hand.

The winds he'd stored, the fires they'd kindled, the waters that steamed, the thunder birthed from it all—wrapped around his palm, surged forward.

A tidal wave of elemental force rose.

Behind him, the Seine halted. Earth and riverbed silently shattered.

Roa was powerful—undeniably.

Even without his stolen strength from the Princess of the Moon, even without his death-defying ritual—his base abilities were terrifying.

His specialty: "Event Storage."

A high-tier system of converting events or concepts into spells, storing them for later use.

He had stored wind—thus summoned storms.

Stored fire—thus ruled flames.

Stored water, and lightning.

No chant required. No external source needed.

With a flick of his hand, he commanded elemental forces akin to nature itself.

This was beyond even Edmond Trambellio.

This was the highest miracle Lucan had witnessed in simulation.

Yes.

A miracle—not mere magecraft.

The ability to cast magecraft as a miracle.

"Fitting, then, that I can do the same."

Lucan's pseudo-divine origin flared.

Heartline magecraft shimmered.

He raised his hand—mimicking the fire, wind, steam, lightning. His Divine-like Hand mirrored it all.

A battle of mirrored elements.

Strike for strike.

It seemed even—

Until—

BOOM!

The mystic force around Roa ballooned tenfold. A surge of magic drowned Lucan's miracle-born spellcraft.

Roa advanced.

Lucan stepped back.

"A Reality Marble?"

Lucan saw it—the distortion at Roa's feet.

A space divorced from the world, a projection of inner world over outer.

A true Reality Marble.

Roa had manifested his heart's domain—and gained a multiplier on his already vast power.

Multiples stronger than Lucan's double Grand-tier baseline.

Overwhelming.

But it wasn't just the numbers.

That wasn't why Lucan was losing.

The real reason was—

"France has fallen to rebellion!"

The land trembled.

The sky howled.

Lucan could feel it—faith shifting across France.

"You feel it, don't you?"

Roa advanced, expression cold.

"France's sword—you. Her shield—Jeanne d'Arc. The country you saved was never united."

"Some support you. But many resent you—nobles who back England, clergy who serve Rome."

"You saved France. But you endangered their power."

"You thought you could unite them all? You forgot—human greed knows no bounds."

"And now, as you fight here... as Jeanne marches deep into enemy lines..."

"They raise the banner of revolt!"

...

As Victoire faced a monstrous foe...

As Jeanne neared her final battle in Normandy...

A coordinated rebellion erupted in the supposedly stable French heartlands.

They bore the prince's banner.

Declared Jeanne and Victoire traitors.

Aligned with England.

And Rome.

Sought to judge heroes with secular and divine law alike.

—The Hundred Years' War

...

Since ancient times, the true traitors are always the powerful.

—Deborah A. Fraoli, "Jeanne, Victoire, and the Hundred Years' War"

...

Flags burned. Cities turned.

From the far south in Foix, to the freshly reclaimed Calais in the north.

From Brittany to Burgundy.

Not all, but enough.

Greedy nobles stoked rebellion.

The unity of France began to crumble.

Even the magical leyline—the Great Source—shuddered.

Lucan fell.

Roa rose.

"They now demand your deaths—yours and Jeanne's."

"You threaten them too much."

"And your allies—those nobles who fight beside you—they too must decide."

"Sacrifice you to win peace."

"They won't want a hero's victory. They want a noble's victory."

Lucan said nothing.

But the truth burned.

This was Roa's true preparation—not just battle.

A trap. A political collapse.

It mirrored Jeanne's historic fate.

But maybe—

"Not this time."

Lucan might fall.

But Jeanne would not fight alone.

...

"Forgive us, Lady Jeanne... for our families, we must go."

"Forgive us—"

"Forgive us!"

From Paris to Normandy, carrier pigeons flew.

Thousands of troops dissolved.

Flags lowered.

Orders to withdraw.

Knights, nobles, soldiers—they would not strike Jeanne.

But they could no longer stay.

They desired peace more than victory.

And so Jeanne watched them go.

One day ago, she led ten thousand.

Now—

Three hundred remained.

Three hundred Temple Knights who would never betray her.

Perhaps they had always been chosen for this.

Had Victoire foreseen this?

Should she retreat?

Should she return?

No.

Three hundred or not—

They would continue.

She must not stop.

That day, the maiden chose.

That day, the sage met his end.

—The Triple Greatness (Book of the Hidden)

...

"I am the principle beyond things, the eternal Serpent of Akasha. I record all, and transcend eternity."

"This body is immutable—beyond the mundane."

...

The elements raged. The mystic tide surged.

Roa chanted.

Even though his usual miracles needed no chant—

This one did.

A spell too high to store.

Though he dominated—

He still fought with all his strength.

He would destroy Victoire completely.

[You hear him chant]

[You feel terrifying mystery unfolding]

[He's casting a full-scale Reality Marble]

[You know—your 'end' is near]

Lucan's body screamed.

His pseudo-origin, his circuits, his magic—collapsing.

He could not win.

But he did not fear.

He retreated—but did not yield.

"You aren't afraid to die?"

Roa frowned.

Even among reborn beings, few would dare resist like this.

Lucan laughed.

His laugh ripped the air—and himself.

"Why would I be afraid?"

"I told you."

"Death... is a greater journey."

If one can return after death—

Then what is there to fear?

...

BOOM!

The sky darkened. Clouds gathered.

Then—rain.

It fell on dust and fields.

A rain that covered all of France.

A crimson rain.

"Who died?"

"Was it... Victoire?"

"Victoire—is he dead?"

In the fields, the people wept.

...

The land split. The sky bled.

France cried for its fallen.

Book of Secrets, Volume I: The Death of Victoire

...

Victoire died? No.

"Victoire will not die."

The girl lowered her eyes from the bleeding sky.

She looked at her remaining three hundred.

She should pray.

But no divine voice came.

Instead, she saw Victoire's shadow in the rain.

He lived. He still fought.

Jeanne d'Arc believed, And so—

"Then I must not stop either."

"We move."

"Before sunset—we take Normandy!"

She raised her banner. She advanced. And she was not alone.

...

Dust settled. The Seine calmed.

"Even the heavens mourn you."

Michael Roa Valdamjong let his hands fall.

He admitted—Victoire was a saint. A magus-saint.

But a magus all the same.

And he'd angered the Church.

Roa raised a hand, caught the red raindrops.

It was done. He had finished his mission.

Now he would weave his final concept—become the metaphysical Serpent.

It was over.

He moved to shake the blood from his palm— Then paused.

Something was wrong.

This wasn't rain... This was...

"Blood?"

Victoire's blood. Lucan's blood!

Eyes wide, Roa looked to the sky, to France below.

He poured magic into his eyes.

And he saw—

A cathedral of light manifest across France.

A Reality Marble? No.

A miracle.

Lucan's 'death' had unlocked a world-spanning sanctum.

...

The Bible says—

Three days after the crucifixion, Christ opened his eyes.

He rose.

He returned to the Father.

The Book of the Hidden says:

He died today.

And lived again today.

—The Triple Greatness

[You died]

[Simulation ending... Simulation resuming]

[You died, But your life has not ended]

[Now—you will show the world what true 'miracle' means]