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

The blood rain continued to fall between heaven and earth.

The once stilled Seine surged anew, now dyed in crimson.

The rivers, the land, the skies of France—all soaked in blood.

It was as if all of France mourned a single man's death.

But Roa knew that wasn't the case.

He saw what hid behind the blood rain—not a natural phenomenon, nor a backlash from the World's magical foundation, but something forged entirely by human hands. Power created by one man alone.

"But how is that even possible!?"

Even having completed a nearly unprecedented infinite reincarnation ritual and stolen the power of the True Ancestor King, Roa still found the scene before him unbelievable.

Before him was a grand cathedral formed of pure Mystery, stretching across all of France.

What he sensed was no mere magecraft.

It was a miracle.

And yet, such a miracle—on such a scale—should be impossible in this era, on this land where mythology had been severed for a thousand years!

The serpent-like man widened his eyes, standing amidst the blood rain, yet not touched by a single drop. The blood ignored him—falling from sky to ground, bypassing him completely.

He was genuinely shaken.

But then—

When the voice of the man who should've perished rang out, Roa felt a full-body shiver.

"There is no such thing as the truly impossible in this world."

That voice.

Carried on the wind that followed the blood rain.

Resonating across the changed land and skies of France.

The voice continued:

[You borrow the Mystery you inscribed into the very fabric of France to speak your truth]

"I have lived on this land for nearly twenty-seven years."

"I know every blade of grass, every stone. I know every person."

"I know their greed, their fickleness, their lies and sins—but I also know their sincerity toward all things. I know their loyalty to friends, their deep love for their beloved."

"I once enlightened them—with words, striking their souls."

"I once guided them—with the soul, gifting them peace."

"I taught them to believe in themselves—not in the external."

Over nearly three decades, Lucan had spent almost ten years in travel and retreat, writing and publishing books.

Countless people across France could be called his students.

Countless lives survived the war thanks to his guidance.

They weren't just the lofty nobles.

They were also the farmers buried in the soil, the city folk struggling to live.

They were the overlooked earth.

But—

The tree of the soul must root in the earth to grow.

Lucan's soul-based magecraft had already taken root in their hearts, operating constantly across France, burrowing into the world's deeper layers.

This echoed what he once did during the Russian Tsar's era—engraving his foundation into the world.

Back then, it was a foundation of magecraft.

Now, it was a tree called miracle.

The result of his decade in seclusion and study.

A miracle operating through magecraft—a reversal ritual!

A miracle of the heart, born of the future.

A miracle impossible in any era, forward or back!

A sacred hall of soul-born miracles, woven wherever human hearts exist.

"You plan to monopolize all of France's faith—split from the Church, create your own religion, become a new 'god'!?"

Roa recognized Lucan's voice and the essence behind his acts.

It was precisely to prevent the Church of France from breaking away that the Roman Church had sought Jeanne and Lucan's deaths—why they'd failed multiple times and finally sent Roa himself.

But Roa hadn't believed they could succeed.

Until now.

Now, he understood why Lucan had imprisoned all French magi before facing him—not to avoid betrayal, but to prevent their Mystery from interfering with his miracle.

"—'God'?

"In a sense, yes."

[But what you aim to become is not the Church's formless god of faith and miracles]

[Though still young, not deeply rooted, not yet eternal—you already are a god of the soul]

[What you aim for now is a physical god—a god in the flesh]

[Your words fall]

[You activate the miracle cathedral etched into France itself]

[Though your body has perished briefly, your soul remains]

[And the soul needs a vessel]

[You have one—your cathedral of miracles]

[France itself]

A low hum filled the air.

Light flowed.

The crimson rain melded into the soil, as if it had never fallen.

But Roa knew.

Lucan's true blood had seeped into every inch of France.

It gathered the Mystery of this land.

It used the people's hearts as root, channeling their mana through the soil.

It circulated, simulated, and formed.

And what it became—

Was—

"A complete simulated Mystic Core. A full divine era environment."

In that instant, peasants once again wounded by noble rebellion felt relief.

Pain ceased. Wounds healed. Strength returned greater than before.

An invisible flood of mana erupted from the earth.

It was the Mystic Core that Lucan could not construct alone—not even with all available leyline mana.

But now, using miracles, he spread it across all of France.

Even if only for a moment—

Even in that fleeting heartbeat—

What it produced was unmistakable: the highest-grade magic of the divine era—True Ether.

It coursed through the land.

And through Lucan.

For now, he was France.

He had forged a true divine body from France itself.

Now, only the final miracle remained—

Resurrection.

[And you've long prepared for this]

[In the girl bound to you—]

[Jeanne d'Arc]

[If she could turn the tide—if she could stand tall and lead a miracle across France again]

[You believed she could]

[You believed in her]

[As she believed in you]

...

The fleur-de-lis banner rode before 300 Temple Knights, looking upon the mighty walls of the fortress of Normandy—long since fortified by the English across a decade of war.

Soldiers patrolled. Cannons loomed. Flags flew like forests.

Before, Jeanne would've used cannons to assault such a wall.

But now, she had only 300 knights. No artillery.

Even though they once conquered the formidable Château d'Auxerre, Normandy's walls dwarfed it.

And yet—

Jeanne did not falter.

Even without divine voices—

She would finish what she began.

She took a deep breath and raised her banner high.

Looking to the blood-cleared French sky, her gaze blazed bright.

She would win.

Not by the Lord's glory.

But because—

"Victoire is with us!"

BOOM!

Steel clashed. Knights roared.

On the walls, an English officer saw the banner that haunted them—and laughed.

Capture Jeanne? What glory!

"Bring her down with cannon fire!"

He shouted, but before orders could carry, a blast erupted before him—

Fireworks? No—shells! Explosions shook the wall.

"Where—where did they get cannons!?"

"My Lord—look! Look!"

A trembling aide pointed.

Behind Jeanne's 300—

Came thousands.

Infantry, cavalry, archers, cannons.

The flags of those who had left.

The gleaming armor of those once withdrawn.

Returned.

"Ah, it's only when charging behind Lady Jeanne and Lord Victoire that things feel right!"

A young noble laughed.

A knight of common birth, knighted by Jeanne herself, grinned: "Only Jeanne and Victoire can lead us to victory!"

They had left.

But now—they returned.

For the Saint who once led them to glory.

For the Victor who gave them miracles.

For themselves.

For France!

"Cut the chatter—move!"

Gilles de Rais charged ahead, clearly arriving from Paris.

Jeanne heard him, but didn't turn.

And then—

A voice stirred inside.

Like divine revelation.

"Victoire is watching!"

"Victory to the people of France!"

From start to finish—

She was never alone.

Never, ever.

...

Gone, then returned. Lost, then regained.

A rebellion plotted by Roa and corrupt nobles seemed poised to plunge France into chaos—

Only to collapse in moments.

Miracles returned.

The army returned to Jeanne's side.

And the traitorous nobles—

Were all skewered on the spears of the people they once scorned.

—The Hundred Years' War: Epilogue

...

Yes.

The rebellion Roa designed crumbled.

And in its place—

Came the return of a new god.

The resurrection of Victoire.

[Resurrection—that is the true 'miracle']

—The Triple Greatness

This was the ultimate miracle Lucan sought to forge!