[You unexpectedly encounter Sesshōin Kiara after leaving the tavern]
[After five years, this is your second meeting—]
The snow and mist seemed frozen midair, forming pale ink smears across the hushed streets. Standing at the alley's edge, Lucan fixed his gaze on the figure emerging before him. Though surprised, he didn't panic. In fact, after the initial shock, what followed was a strange sense of inevitability.
Yes.
Inevitability.
Their meeting five years ago felt like a lifetime past. Since then, he had no contact with anyone from the Church. Yet he hadn't forgotten the irreconcilable conflict between them, nor the battle in the library with the Executors, and especially not the projection that had appeared at the end—Sesshōin Kiara.
He understood why the Church had let him be. An organization that had existed for over two thousand years had little reason to act rashly.
"We meet again... or perhaps this is our first true meeting, face to face?" Lucan smiled, as if greeting an old friend.
The woman halted. Though she had walked through the snow, not a single footprint marked her path.
Now Lucan could see her clearly. Though clad in an ordinary nun's habit, her delicate features beneath the headscarf and her full figure, barely concealed by the thick fabric, were unforgettable at a glance.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Lucan," Sesshōin Kiara said with a faint smile. "As you said, this is indeed our first proper meeting."
"Since it's the first meeting, it wouldn't do not to welcome you properly, right?"
"A welcome? This hardly looks like one." Lucan glanced around. He remained calm, still smiling—though in his eyes, the slow-flowing miracle that had frozen time and space was clearly visible.
Just like last time at the library.
He had been caught in a miracle again.
But this time, the confinement was even more thorough, more decisive!
"A large-scale barrier formed using the faith of nearly all believers in Moscow—freezing time, sealing space—just to trap me here? Quite the show of force," Lucan muttered. "You really think highly of me."
"Well, I couldn't possibly be careless with someone like you," Sesshōin Kiara replied. She made no attempt to hide her intentions. Confident in her overwhelming advantage, she seemed to enjoy watching him struggle.
"This time, you have no chance."
"Three days, and the Empire will collapse. Nicholas II will be forced to abdicate. And once the Empire falls, everything you've gained—including you—will belong to the Church."
"Lucan Luvist."
"So that's your plan." Lucan tilted his head. "Makes sense."
"Of course," said the nun from the Burial Agency with a serene smile. "Though you've strayed from the path, you are still of the Church. We won't abandon you—"
"You mean you'll flood my mind with the faith powering this miracle, turning me into a puppet loyal only to the Church?"
Lucan cut straight to the heart of it.
"Or perhaps... loyal to me personally?" Sesshōin Kiara's smile grew more radiant.
Lucan chuckled. "So, are you a nun or a monk? Your methods smell awfully Eastern."
She didn't respond to the jab. Of course, she wouldn't be shaken so easily. And indeed, her origins were rooted in the East.
She had once been a Buddhist nun from Japan.
Decades ago, she had abandoned that faith and joined the Church.
That was why her codename was 'Nun.' Why her methods resembled Buddhism.
Because she was a nun.
She remained silent, merely admiring the young man before her—a man who had accomplished so much in so little time that the Church was forced to intervene in a world war to stop him.
But just as she was about to speak, she paused.
Her smile widened. It has begun.
Lucan sensed it too.
Though trapped here, years in the Kremlin palace had attuned him to its pulse.
He felt the change.
Yes.
Something had shifted.
"What's going on?!"
"Someone's breached the palace—damn it, rebels?!"
"Their firepower's insane!"
Gunshots echoed outside the Kremlin gates. Smoke burst into clouds. Snow evaporated in waves of steam as rebel forces surged forward.
Their flags bore a familiar insignia: the Menshevik Party—the reformist worker faction.
The uprising planned for February had erupted early.
Caught off guard, the palace guards fell quickly.
Lucan hadn't expected this.
"Your doing?" Lucan stared at Sesshōin Kiara. "You're altering history?"
He knew she too possessed Clairvoyance. She could glimpse the future.
"Just a slight nudge," she replied. "So long as the Empire still falls, human history won't notice a small detour."
"An early strike disrupts all your plans, doesn't it... Lord Lucan."
"So this trap isn't just to keep me here for three days. It's to ensure that when I do leave, it's already too late?" Lucan frowned.
She didn't answer. Her hands formed a cross over her chest. She watched him, smiling. Waiting.
He seemed calm now.
But that wouldn't last.
As the Empire crumbled, he would panic. Surely.
For when the Empire fell, he would lose everything—
Wealth.
Knowledge.
Mystery.
At least, that's what she believed.
Lucan, however, sighed.
Not in despair.
But with resignation.
As if... he had to act sooner than planned.
Even though she was the one who forced the change.
The nun blinked.
Then Lucan spoke quietly:
"Plans have changed."
But thankfully, I prepared ahead.
Prepared... ahead?
Sesshōin Kiara was intrigued. What had he done?
But her curiosity turned to shock.
"You..."
"You feel it too, don't you?" Lucan grinned wildly. "Your intruders certainly do."
And indeed—she felt it.
The rebels had breached the palace—and found something else.
A wave of snow.
A surge of mystery.
Within the palace grounds, arcane energy pulsed.
The entire Kremlin was a massive magic circle.
[It was activating]
Reality twisted.
Colors blurred.
"This isn't magic. Nor miracle," Sesshōin Kiara gasped. "You've fused them—this is heresy against both Magecraft and the Church!"
"So what?" Lucan said coldly. "I was never accepted by this world. One more sin won't matter."
"Aren't you curious what this array is for?"
He looked up—though he saw only snow, he knew what lay within.
At its center sat Nicholas II.
"This array isn't for attack.
Nor defense."
"It's for—summoning."
Heroic Spirit summoning.
She felt the ground shake.
Moscow's leylines converged on the Kremlin.
A colossal ritual.
"That's impossible without magic—or the backing of the World itself!"
"Correct," Lucan admitted. "I'm not summoning a Heroic Spirit."
"I'm shaping a Phantom Spirit with miracles—and then summoning it with magic."
Now she understood.
[Miracle + Magecraft = Phantom Summoning]
Phantom Spirits, unlike Heroic Spirits, didn't require historical truth. They could be fictional—as long as belief supported them.
Like the Church's 'God.'
Lucan couldn't create that.
But with the power of a nation?
He could create something.
Something powerful.
And summon it.
No divine mysteries needed.
Just the right ceremony.
Of course, it wouldn't last long. But it would be enough.
Sesshōin Kiara processed it all.
Then — a whistle of wind. She struck.
"You've earned this reward—sleep for three days."
Her habit flared in the frozen air. A black dagger flashed with miracle light.
She appeared before Lucan.
Struck.
Miracle-laced steel aimed for his chest—
But he only smiled.
"Aren't you curious... which Phantom Spirit I summoned?"
She paused.
Only for a moment.
But it was enough.
With a thunderous crash, the palace shuddered.
A colossal shadow burst forth; visible to all the intruders. It hovered over the Kremlin, vast, mirage-like, yet real.
And in the frozen street—a single snowflake drifted down.
Landing on her blade.
On Lucan's glowing robe.
Time moved again.
A crack appeared in the frozen space.
Light shone from Lucan's cloak, blocking her strike.
Sesshōin Kiara's black eyes widened.
The ritual circle ignited.
Just like five years ago—
He had shaken the miracle-wielder,
Broken the seal,
Cast his spell.
All with a single phrase... One... Forbidden word.
...
"Angel or demon?"
"An angel is a demon."
——The Book of Law
What Lucan summoned was both.
He said in a forceful tone:
"Look." Opening his arms wide,
"It's a God."