Demeter knew all three of Lucas's Magic spells inside and out.
They were extraordinary—each one an impossibly rare, unheard-of phenomenon—but unfortunately, all of them were support types. In other words, powerful, yes, but not the kind that let him blow up monsters on command.
First Magic: Myriad Phenomena: Primal Origin — the embodiment of his System itself.
Second Magic: Heaven and Earth: Blessed Bestowal — a mortal-tier imitation of a deity's Grace, capable of granting Falna-like blessings.
Third Magic: Lucas's Magic Notes — essentially, a living spellbook.
So when Lucas asked about commissioning a staff, Demeter instantly understood what that meant.
Her amber eyes shimmered knowingly as she twirled a lock of her honey-gold hair around one finger.
"Oh… I see. You've finally managed to record a new Magic—a combat spell, right?"
Her lips curved in genuine delight. "Congratulations, little Lucas. You finally did it."
Then, with a teasing smile: "With a battle spell and that ridiculous well of mind power you've got, a proper staff would definitely boost your power tenfold."
Her tone softened, but a sly glint crept into her gaze.
"As for getting one made… I can help you there."
She leaned in slightly, voice lilting with mock warning.
"But~ before we start, let me give you a little heads-up: custom mage gear costs an obscene amount of Valis. Like, 'pray to your wallet's soul' levels of obscene. You sure you're ready for that?"
Even though he'd prepared himself mentally, the word price hit like a trigger. Lucas's face twitched.
He exhaled, resigned. "It can't be helped. Some things you just don't compromise on."
He met her eyes, steady but pleading. "I'd be grateful if you could help me negotiate, though. I already have the design blueprint and main material. That should save us a chunk of the cost."
Demeter blinked, surprise flickering across her flawless face.
"Oh?"
She leaned forward, curiosity sparkling.
"Well, well, Lucas~ When did you secretly get rich? Making piles of Valis and not telling me? That's so selfish—we're supposed to share our happiness, remember?"
Her breath brushed his ear as she spoke, soft and sweet as honey.
"..."
Lucas's composure wavered. Badly.
He cleared his throat, flustered. "I—I just earned it today! Like, literally today!"
"Really now?" she purred, eyes narrowing with faux suspicion. "Are you sure this isn't just you running into trouble and finally coming to me for help?"
He froze. No defense. None.
Demeter laughed softly, satisfaction flashing in her eyes. Then, with feline grace, she leaned into his chest and nuzzled his shirt like a content cat.
"Well~ since this is the first time you've come to me so earnestly…" she drawled, voice velvet-smooth, "…I'll grant your request."
Business concluded, the teasing spark in her gaze melted into something warm and wicked.
Her slender fingers traced his jawline, the motion feather-light, her smile breathtakingly dangerous.
"Now that we're done with the serious talk," she whispered, "why don't we discuss something… more interesting?"
Lucas's lips curved faintly. His voice dropped, low and rough.
"As you wish, my goddess."
Under Persephone's frosty glare from across the room, Lucas swept Demeter into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world—and carried her up the stairs.
--
Hours later, when night draped Orario in silver and shadow, Lucas finally stepped out of the Wheat Manor, freshly changed and very much refreshed.
A small, elegant bag hung from his hand—inside, a bottle of Demeter Familia's newest prototype: Frozen White Grape Juice.
"Experimental product," she'd said. But Lucas knew better. Something made by her was priceless.
"The goddess really does have good taste," he murmured with a grin, stealing a glance back at the manor.
The golden light spilling from the balcony blended with the moonlight, illuminating the figure of a goddess in a silk nightgown, leaning lazily against the railing.
Demeter smiled faintly, her amber eyes soft and luminous as she watched him disappear into the distance—only turning away when he was completely gone.
---
Morning came.
Lucas stretched as sunlight poured through the window. The stiffness in his arm had vanished completely.
He carefully unwrapped the last of his bandages. Thanks to Airmid's healing, the skin beneath was flawless—no scars, no pain.
"Perfect," he said, flexing experimentally. "Good as new."
He paused, recalling her advice.
"No intense training for a day or two… yeah, better not push it."
Breakfast was a feast: two bowls of steaming congee with pork and preserved egg, crispy bacon-cheese toast, and pickled vegetables on the side.
Lucas ate with the kind of bliss only someone who'd survived near poverty could truly appreciate.
Between his new wealth, boosted Stats, and an upcoming custom staff, life had finally—finally—turned a corner.
"Two and a half years since I got dumped into this world," he mused with a contented sigh. "Guess I'm finally doing okay."
After cleaning up, he spent the morning scrubbing his little house top to bottom, then rewarded himself with a long, luxurious bath.
By noon, he was outside again, tea in hand, lounging under the old tree in his courtyard like a retired noble enjoying his golden years.
Sunlight streamed through the leaves, warm and dappled across his face.
For the first time in weeks, his nerves weren't wound tight. Everything was quiet. Peaceful.
"Is this what they call a breakthrough in mental cultivation?" he joked to himself, chuckling softly.
He sipped his tea, fully content—until the world flashed.
A sudden blaze of magical light burst from the corner of the yard, making him squint.
"...Huh?"
His head snapped toward it.
A magic circle—massive, intricate, glowing—had appeared beside the garden.
"What the hell—?"
The air rippled. magic surged in waves, rustling the trees.
He felt the pulse of it—ancient, divine, summoning.
"Wait… no way. That energy—"
Before he could move, the light flared blindingly bright.
"Shit—!"
He threw up an arm to shield his eyes.
When the glow finally faded, someone stood in the center of the circle.
A girl.
Tall, slender, calm—wearing a deep blue linen dress cinched at the waist with a simple belt. Her long golden hair was braided neatly down her back, resting at her hips.
Radiance gathered around her like a halo—pure, unwavering, holy.
It wasn't just beauty; it was conviction made flesh. The kind of presence that made you think of saints and paladins.
Her eyes met his, clear and unwavering.
"So you're my Master?" she asked, voice soft but commanding.
Lucas just stared.
Recognition hit like a lightning bolt.
His brain flooded with names, titles, and memories from another life—the Saint of Orleans, they Holy Maiden Savior… Jeanne d'Arc.
He inhaled sharply. Oh, shit.
His entire back went cold.
He already knew—knew—that his luck had just bottomed out for the year. Maybe for the decade.
He swallowed hard, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace.
"...Jeanne d'Arc?"
Her head tilted slightly, puzzled but polite.
"Lucas," he introduced himself, regaining his footing. "Lucas."
He extended a hand toward her, smile softening.
"Welcome to the new world, Jeanne."
She blinked, clearly still disoriented, but hesitantly reached out and took his hand.
The moment their palms touched—
A golden light bloomed.
It spread outward in a pulse, gentle but absolute, a sacred bond tying their souls together.
"The contract is sealed," Lucas said quietly. "Welcome to the Lucas Familia."
"From now on… we're family."
---
For Jeanne, everything was a blur.
Her last memory was the pyre—the crackle of fire, the roar of the crowd, the pain, the light.
Then darkness. Silence.
And a letter—black as midnight—appearing out of nowhere, whispering something she couldn't quite recall.
When she opened her eyes again, she was here.
A quiet courtyard. A strange young man. And a bond she didn't understand.
Now, sitting dazed on a soft couch, fragments of her past life flooded back like a storm tide.
"I… I'm alive?" she whispered.
Her gaze dropped to her hands—whole, unburned, trembling.
"This is… a miracle."