Year 1993, London, United Kingdom.
Clock Tower — Department of Spirit Evocation.
The lecture hall was laid out in a quarter-circle design, ascending in tiered steps like a miniature amphitheater. Rows of students surrounded a raised platform where a young, refined lecturer stood, his voice resonating crisply through the room as he gestured with his teaching stick.
The bright lights illuminated every corner of the room with no shadows to speak of. Any outsider witnessing this would likely marvel at the setting — this was the Clock Tower, after all, the headquarters of the Mage's Association in Western Europe, the pinnacle of ancient arcane knowledge and mystery.
Yet stepping closer, one would notice that behind the elegant cadence of the lecturer's voice lay a harsh and almost venomous tone of criticism.
"Mystery is ancient. Magecraft is inherited. The more ancient the lineage, the denser the mystery sealed within their Magic Crests. The more refined the magecraft passed down through generations, the more gifted their descendants become — with more numerous and higher quality magic circuits. This is the only proven method of preserving the diminishing mystery since the end of the Age of Gods."
"I'm sure this is common knowledge to all magus. Most of you performed quite well on the last assignment — the papers submitted confirmed this basic principle."
The lecturer's praise stopped abruptly as he plucked a paper from the thick stack before him, narrowing his eyes.
"However, it seems even here — in the most prestigious institution of mysticism — we still suffer from utter fools!"
"Fools who deny the importance of bloodline and heritage, who believe that hard work alone can overcome the innate advantages of noble magi families—"
"Mr. Waver Velvet!"
"Present!" came a startled reply.
In the far corner of the lecture hall, a student sat bolt upright. The young English boy with shoulder-length black hair clenched his fists beneath the desk, steeling himself not only for the glare of the lecturer but also for the subtle, mocking glances from fellow students.
He opened his mouth, perhaps to defend his thesis — to speak up for the ideal that hard work could stand equal to inherited talent — but the lecturer gave him no chance.
"Shut your mouth and try using that brain of yours — assuming it's developed enough to even match a newborn bird!"
"Mystery is inheritance. If you can't grasp even that — then perhaps you should return to your three-generation countryside household and keep dreaming."
"Or better yet, take a page from your neighbor, Mr. Lucan. Also a rural magus with limited heritage — but unlike you, he produced a brilliant thesis arguing 'The Older, the Mightier'. Even I was impressed."
"That is all. Class dismissed."
———
Waver Velvet remained frozen in place. His fists clenched, then relaxed, again and again, as the other students slowly filtered out of the classroom.
Damn that lemon-headed bastard! he cursed, pounding the desk like it was the lecturer's smug face.
A lazy voice chimed in beside him.
"If I were you, I wouldn't take it out on the furniture."
"Doesn't that hurt?"
Waver flinched. "Of course it hurts," he snapped. "Not like you'd understand, Mr. Perfect Top Student."
"Are you sulking?" the other boy asked, stretching. "That's pretty gross coming from a guy."
Waver took a deep breath and looked to his side. The speaker was a young man with messy dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a faint pillow mark still on his cheek. His handsome face and tailored uniform made him look like a young noble — if you ignored the sleepy energy radiating off him.
"You were sleeping again during class?" Waver asked, incredulous.
"If I hadn't been, I'd be long gone by now," Lucan replied, yawning. "And you didn't even wake me up. Now I've missed the cafeteria again."
"One skipped meal won't kill you," Waver muttered, shaking his head. This guy... he's a freak of nature.
Lucan — also from a no-name family with barely a few generations of magical heritage — was a natural genius. He barely attended lectures, handed in late assignments, and still received top marks. The professor had just praised his paper.
"Still," Waver said as he packed his books, "I don't get it. You always said lineage doesn't define us."
"So how could you write something like that?"
Lucan leaned back in his chair, gaze sharpening beneath the drowsiness.
"You still need to mature, Waver. As a person and as a magus."
"That man is Kenneth El-Melloi Archibald. He's a Lord, a first-class lecturer, and one of the Clock Tower's Twelve Lords. Offending someone like that is a terrible idea."
Not that it matters — he'll be dead soon anyway, Lucan thought, remembering the events to come.
Yes, he knew the future — because he wasn't from this world.
He was a transmigrator.
No background. No powerful heritage. Just a small-town magus with two or three generations of mystical lineage. But now, after awakening his past life's memories, he had something else.
A cheat. A power hidden deep in his soul, now stirring.
"So what — you lied just to survive?" Waver asked, half-bitter.
Lucan sat upright. For once, serious.
"No. I meant what I wrote."
"But you got the order wrong."
"It's not: 'The older, the mightier.'"
"It's: 'The mightier, the older.'"
"Because once you're strong enough... you become the oldest."
Waver blinked.
Lucan smiled.
Yes. The mightier you are, the more ancient your legacy becomes. And with my awakening cheat... I'll create the oldest, most powerful magus family in all of history.
———
📘 [Translator's Note]
Original Title: "人在型月,创造魔术家族世系"
Author: 三分秋色 | Translator: Evol Cronus
This is an unofficial fan translation of a Chinese web novel. I do not own the rights to this work. If the original author or publisher wishes for this to be taken down, I will comply immediately.
Japanese honorifics and Type-Moon-specific terms (e.g., magus, Mystic Code) are intentionally retained to preserve setting authenticity.
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