[Nicolas Flamel is dead.]
[When you saw this news, you thought for a moment that you had misread it.]
[Although the greatest alchemist of the era had shown signs of unnatural aging beforehand—a state of withering that was not just superficial but touched the very essence of his life—you did not believe such a master of the mystic side would die so swiftly, so suddenly.]
[But it was a fact.]
[You suddenly recalled that the historical Nicolas Flamel had also died around this current point in time. There were some discrepancies, but the gap was not large.]
[You understood that Flamel's death would have an absolutely massive impact on the mystic side of France.]
[It would be no less significant than the death of a king to the mundane world.]
[You decided to shelve your assassination mission against Edmond Tremblay and return to France.]
[You needed to return at your absolute peak.]
[In truth, the Tremblay family's forces had already suffered a massive blow. It would be difficult for them to launch another operation against France's mystic side in the short term.]
[Your mission was complete, and you had completed it exceptionally well.]
[In the mystic world of England, your name was now enough to make children stop crying.]
[You boarded a sailboat and returned to France.]
...
[In front of an ancient shop deep within the streets of Paris, you saw your teacher, whom you hadn't seen for over half a year—François Prelati.]
Although they had started out together, only Lucain's group of five had actually crossed the English Channel. Prelati had not gone with them. In her own words, her profile was too high, and going would only make it harder to hide. Lucain deeply agreed with this.
From December of last year to the present August, more than half a year had passed.
Compared to last year, the streets of Paris seemed even more desolate. Although the war had not officially started, on his way back, Lucain had already seen the dense fleets arrayed in the five English-controlled ports and the endless streams of Englishmen disembarking from the ships.
It was said that even King Charles VI had already fled south. It was only a matter of time before Paris fell again.
In stark contrast to this was Nicolas Flamel's ancient, unchanging shop, and the unchanging figure of Prelati standing before it.
She still had the appearance of a young girl, her long silver hair falling gently against her lovely face. Her slender figure was wrapped in a black-and-white puffy dress, the curve of her hips under the cinched waist causing the skirt to sway gently. Her long legs, encased in white silk stockings, had a slight, fleshy softness to them.
She saw him, the one who had grown so much in the past half-year. The little youth, 'Victoire', who was gradually taking on the air of a small adult, still wore that same morbid smile.
"My, my, our 'Atavistic Tuvalu,' the great Sir Victoire, has finally graced his loyal city of Paris with his presence!"
Prelati's face was unchanged, her voice the same. Her personality hadn't improved in the slightest!
She looked at Lucain, who was now not much shorter than her, and couldn't resist reaching out... only to have her hand immediately slapped away.
"Teacher, stop fooling around," Lucain said with a serious face. "Three years minimum, death penalty maximum." This was a law from the future world he had once mentioned to Prelati.
"Three years is a bargain, the death penalty is worth it," Prelati retorted, but she stopped her hand nonetheless. She didn't continue to tease her student. The main reason was that, in all likelihood, she was no longer Lucain's match.
"This rich, mellow mana... how delicious!" she said, sniffing the fingers that had just touched Lucain, an intoxicated look on her face.
So perverse. Lucain thought to himself that if his current body wasn't only nine years old, it would be hard to say if he could fend off her teasing. Still being in his 'newbie protection period,' he skipped over the topic.
"So, Teacher, did you know I was coming back and wait here for me?"
"Of course... not!" Prelati lowered her hand and tilted her head with a foolish grin. "Although little Vic has become more and more 'beautiful,' don't get your hopes up—"
"I was just about to run away."
"By the way, most of the magi in this city have already fled south!"
Waving the white flag before the battle even starts. As expected of old French tradition. Lucain wasn't surprised. With English troops massed at the ports and the nobility fleeing south en masse—even the king had vanished—how could those selfish magi possibly remain on the front lines after Nicolas Flamel's death? Not that they were needed for now.
"Then you'll probably have to wait a bit before you flee, Teacher Prelati," Lucain said. "You need to tell me what has happened in France over the past six months, and how Nicolas Flamel died."
...
[In the past six months, France was as it always was—even calmer than usual.]
[Although there were constant riots in the mundane world, at least no real war had broken out. The chaos from multiple factions still maintained a general balance.]
[The invasion from the mystic side was intercepted by you at the ports, and you even pushed the fight back to the English mainland. They were too busy dealing with their own problems to send more forces to this side.]
[And Nicolas Flamel's death was equally calm, without any surprises.]
[He died of old age.]
[That is what your teacher, François Prelati, told you.]
[But you didn't quite believe it, for the same reason as before. You believed that such a powerful magus would never die so easily—unless it was like your own death in the first simulation, during the era of the Tsar.]
[It wasn't death that came for him, but him who actively embraced death.]
[Prelati confirmed your suspicions.]
['Nicolas Flamel' actively embraced death.]
[She said,]
[Life is a great journey, death is a greater one.]
[This was Nicolas Flamel's last testament.]
[But you still couldn't understand. You could face death calmly because for you, it was merely the end of a simulation, a false death. Nicolas Flamel was clearly different.]
[But this time, Prelati just smiled without a word, a look of happy satisfaction on her face.]
[She was satisfied with your current expression of confusion, finding it deeply delicious.]
[She did not answer you, only saying,]
['The moment you die, you will understand too, little Vic.']
['Oh, and when that time comes, I will also tell you my real age—and my true identity.']
['Look forward to it, and wait.']
[Prelati left with a laugh, saying she had found something more interesting than you. She left you standing alone on the streets of Paris, gazing at the shop before you.]
[You had thought that upon your return, you would need to display sufficient ability, to replace Nicolas Flamel's original position among the French magi.]
[But as it turned out, that wasn't necessary.]
[The magi didn't care.]
[And you didn't care either, simply letting nature take its course.]
[You also left Paris, but you did not head south, nor did you return to your hometown.]
[You traveled throughout the north, witnessing one citizen riot after another, more fiery than the last, and seeing one noble head after another, those who failed to flee south in time, fall.]
[The contradictions in society intensified.]
[You remained calmly within it, traveling and researching magecraft.]
[Your mind-based magecraft grew more and more refined.]
[You began to weave a new 'Magic'.]
[Whatever you think, becomes your law.]
[This was the foundation of your mind-based magecraft.]
[And now, you wanted to build upon this foundation, to summarize a further concept.]
[Whatever you witness, also becomes your law.]
[From thought, to witnessing.]
[From ideation, to action.]
[Mind, Will, and Body, forging a three-fold cycle.]
[You grasped this direction.]
[This would be your greatest goal for this simulation.]
...
[You traveled the north of France for a year. In this year, you witnessed forty-six citizen riots and over a hundred nobles sent to the guillotine. You met a bard who sang to you the tales of ancient saints.]
[In this year, your body grew more mature. You wove what you had witnessed this year into the foundation of your mind magic, and its foundation grew stronger.]
[In this year, you turned ten.]
...
[At age eleven, you finally decided to head south. But before you did, you discovered a group of magi from England.]
[You crushed them and learned from them of the Tremblay family's resurgence. You also learned that many magi were searching for you, as a rumor was spreading on the mystic side that you had obtained the Philosopher's Stone left behind by Nicolas Flamel after his death—they had searched his grave but found nothing.]
[But this time, you ignored him, and you ignored them.]
[You didn't care about some Philosopher's Stone. That was Nicolas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone—it belonged to no one else.]
[Because in this year, the war in the mundane world erupted with a roar.]
[King Henry V of England, citing France's internal social turmoil and numerous riots as a pretext, denounced the tyranny of King Charles VI of France and resolutely declared war.]
[This year was one thousand four hundred and fifteen years after the birth of Christ.]
...
[At age twelve, you traveled through central France, witnessing the suffering of the people under the chaos of war and the rekindling of the flames of war on the mystic side. You heard that Edmond Tremblay was looking for you, but you paid him no mind.]
[At age thirteen, the development of your magic foundation hit a bottleneck.]
[You needed more knowledge related to the era—both overt and covert.]
[In this year, Paris fell in the north. The Dauphin Charles, who had been designated as the heir and left in Paris by the southward-fleeing king, escaped Paris and fled south to Bourges in the Kingdom of Bourbon, where he established a new court.]
[Under the guise of a renowned secular scholar, you received an invitation and entered the court.]
[At age fourteen, you read books and wrote books in the new court.]
[At age fifteen, you left the court and returned to your hometown—an unknown village in central France.]
[You continued to read and write books.]
`[You vanished from the mystic side, but your fame grew in the mundane world. The books you wrote were immensely popular.]``
[At age sixteen, you heard that all the territory in northern France had fallen.]
[You continued as usual.]
[At age eighteen, you heard that both King Henry V of England and King Charles VI of France had passed away one after another. Their heirs, vying for the throne, plunged the war into an even more ferocious state.]
[...]
[At age twenty.]
[France retreated again and again. Most of the central territories had fallen.]
[In this year, you heard from outsiders that a young maiden from a village near Orléans claimed to have met the Archangel Michael, Saint Margaret, and Saint Catherine. She had received a divine revelation from God, prophesying the imminent defeat of the English army—and her prophecy was soon proven true.]
[In this year, you knew that the protagonist of the Hundred Years' War, the Maiden of Orléans—the young woman known as Saint Jeanne d'Arc, or perhaps Jeanne d'Arc—was about to step onto the stage of history.]
[You continued to read and write books.]
[At age twenty-four.]
[In May of this year, a carrier pigeon brought news again. The fortress of Orléans, the last barrier and passage to the south in central France, was under siege by the English army.]
[And in September of this same year.]
[Autumn.]
[Two strangers arrived in your hometown.]