Type-Moon, Is a Small Opening Also an Opening?

Lore, hurry up, okay?

47 AD, Ancient Roman Empire.

At the crossroads of Europe and Asia, Anatolia Province, Archdiocese of Antioch.

"Novia, I don't approve of this."

The church's torches gave off a faint glow. There was no heating inside, and the cold made the space feel all the more solemn.

Bishop Paul looked steadily at the boy before him, his gaze seeming capable of exposing all darkness and sin.

"Why do you want to preach in Rome? You're only fourteen, still wet behind the ears. Stay here, and you'll be happy."

Though it was not an accusation, it was indeed a denunciation—a belated yet entirely natural question.

"Isn't it because I want to spread God's glory for my teacher, Jesus the Son of God, whom I've never met?"

The fourteen-year-old boy's handsome features had begun to show. His azure eyes were as clear as the sea.

"Besides, Rome is so far away, and your legs aren't what they used to be, Paul. This is exactly when I should dedicate myself. To restore the Son of God's glory is our unshirkable duty."

The silver-haired boy raised one hand with righteous conviction. He did not seem to be lying; he looked as though he truly bore a lofty sense of mission.

"You certainly know how to talk. And now you're even using our teacher to pressure me." An invisible oppressive weight instantly filled the church, and the bishop's voice bound the boy in place. "But I'm here now, so don't you little brat even think about running off."

Leaving behind a Novia cowed by his "intimidation," Paul opened the door and left the church alone.

"Brat, putting on an act for me, are you? Last year, when I asked you to go to Jerusalem with me, you refused no matter what." Paul sat alone at one end of the steps, muttering to himself. "Forget it. If he really wants this so badly, I'll take him to Damascus in a few days so he can give it a try. It's his first time going so far away, and alone at that. How could I possibly be at ease—"

"Paul?"

The sudden voice made Paul look up. Before him stood the apostle John, who had just returned from Tarsus.

"It's so late. What are you doing here?"

"It's because of that brat Novia. He actually wanted to go preach in Rome by himself—he practically doesn't value his own life. Luckily, he listened and I talked him out of it. I've got him inside reflecting on his actions right now. I'll take him to Damascus another day."

Like a fish returning to water, Paul clapped his hands sharply.

"Inside?" John glanced at the church and let out a breath. "Novia should be at the Bosphorus Strait in Second Rome by now. I saw him at noon. Looks like his abilities have improved by leaps and bounds—he even managed to fool you."

"...That little brat sure ran fast. Using this trick on me too. He's really grown up."

Paul did not fly into a rage. He merely sighed heavily, as if pondering something, before every thought scattered into ashes.

Soon, beneath the starry sky as night fell, he raised his hand—not to reach for all that had long since faded, but to wave it goodbye.

"In the end, I'm old."

At the same time, at the Bosphorus Strait, as the date changed, the night grew ever more silent.

Countless torches, brighter than starlight, illuminated Second Rome—later known as Constantinople—as well as the dark waters filled with fishermen still working tirelessly at this hour.

"John should have met Paul by now. I hope he isn't too angry."

Sitting on a fishing boat, Novia took a relaxed deep breath. He gazed up at the stars as though looking at Paul, whom he had just left behind, an apologetic expression appearing on his composed face.

After all, when Novia had arrived in this world, if Paul had not kindly taken him in, he would have long since died somewhere unknown.

So, in order to prevent Paul and the others from being beheaded in 67 AD, as well as fulfill the purpose of his transmigration, fourteen-year-old Novia resolutely decided—

Three hundred years ahead of time, within the Ancient Roman Empire, he would have Christianity completely replace Roman polytheism!

There was no helping it. Though he was not religious, in an era like this, clinging to the dove's thigh was the best option!

If possible, he could even unite the sects in various regions early on, hold an "Ecumenical Council," and establish the Holy Church in advance!

Then, although he was not in the Age of Gods, based on such achievements and the countless rumors that might arise, he would naturally have some ability to protect himself in the possible Human Order crisis to come.

In truth, Novia was a transmigrator. He did not belong to this world or this era. More precisely, Ancient Rome was not even the first place he had transmigrated to.

He had truly transmigrated into one of Type-Moon's worlds. One day, as a magecraft mercenary moved across a battlefield, he recalled everything from his past life just before falling asleep—and immediately understood just how dangerous his circumstances were.

Why wasn't I some ordinary disciple of Lord El-Melloi II? Even lying low isn't easy!

Who knew when Guda might show up and say this place was actually a Lostbelt that had to be cut away?

But only afterward did Novia realize that the problem might not be so serious. His memories included Fiore, his landlord who pretended to be an ordinary person. If his past-life memories had not suddenly returned, he never would have guessed that his landlord was a magus. No wonder she never questioned him whenever he returned to Romania, only gave him instructions.

And since Fiore was pretending to be ordinary, she had probably let her younger brother become the family head. That meant this was not the FA world, but likely the world of The Case Files of Lord El-Melloi II. It was relatively safe. He could survive here.

As long as it wasn't the FGO timeline. Otherwise, if those great beings so much as sneezed, people like him would turn to ash...

He wasn't Guda, that Chosen One. Was it still too late to go to Japan and become his underling?

No, there would also be an extra year of breathing room because of the Human Order Incineration, followed by that whole bleaching of the Earth business. What a disaster-ridden existence.

Forget it. The commission was over anyway. He would immediately return to Romania, his hometown in this life, and live an ordinary life honestly!

Magecraft? Only a lunatic would keep messing with that!

Just as Novia breathed a sigh of relief, what his partner Sigma said made him suck in a cold breath.

What, Sigma? So this was the FSF world. No big deal—I wasn't going to America to fight in the Grail War anyway—

"I've already agreed to join Françoise in the Holy Grail War. What about you? Are you going to agree to become Gordolf Musik's bodyguard?"

The fat director? Could it be that he was actually just a cannon fodder who got slaughtered by the killing vanguard of the Russian Lostbelt...?

The moment Novia wondered whether Chaldeas existed, he searched for it—and then began screaming internally like a prairie dog.jpg

It had already been established in Antarctica, but it was not too urgent yet. As long as Lev did not go to Chaldeas to witness the experiment and have a mental breakdown—

Looking at the cheerful smile of the green-hatted man on Chaldeas's promotional website cover, Novia's last shred of hope was extinguished.

Laure, promise me this: for the sake of the world, hurry up and elbow yourself, okay? Meaning, hurry up and kill yourself.

Putting all the information together, Novia believed this Type-Moon world was most likely a mashup: Case Files of Lord El-Melloi II, Chaldeas's FGO, Sigma's FSF, plus the French Incident and Tsukihime he had heard of earlier... Mixing worldlines together this recklessly—had anyone asked Miss Kinoko about it?

Would there still be hope if he went straight to Japan, got himself adopted by Guda's parents, and stuck by Guda's side the whole time?

He would not get killed by Chaldeas, that yandere Guda-con, the moment he entered Chaldeas, right? Please, anything but that...

Still, fortunately, as a transmigrator who had just awakened from a great dream, things were different now! Before, he had been a stinking poor bastard who could not even afford to attend the Clock Tower, but now—

He was a man holding a Golden Finger!

Novia's Golden Finger was very simple in function. It allowed him to travel into past history and accomplish deeds like those of heroes celebrated in song, thereby gaining power.

By the finest traditions, since the Golden Finger had arrived, he might as well get started right away!

But why were all the places it sent him guaranteed death traps?!

Including, but not limited to—

"By His Majesty's order, the Lord Father is to remain within Anju Shagong Palace!"

"Qiu Duo Bu Cheng—what method should be used?"

"General, we have pursued them to Mumen."

"My father and I have been loyal to the state. Why is Your Majesty rebelling?"

"Crown Prince! We have reached Xuanwu Gate!"

"My lord, we have reached Tumu Fortress!"

"You cannot bring weapons inside. Not even you, Admiral, are exempt. Those are the Marshal's orders. I am very sorry."

No, he could endure the others, but what kind of history was this?

Besides those subjective death traps, there were objective ones too. For example, while working as a gate guard, he saw a beautiful young girl rush in in panic, shouting, "Sir! Lord Hyuga no Kami has rebelled!"

That nearly made Novia faint from rage. So it could work like that, huh? Why not throw in, "Report, Commander! We've arrived at Huanggu Tun!"

As he continued exploring, Novia discovered that this Golden Finger seemed to be the only one where starting from scratch might not result in a death trap.

Thus, after being tortured for an entire week, he chose the ancient Roman Empire. His starting point was a certain high school toilet... no, a remote wilderness.

There was no way around it. Since the available destinations did not include Age of Gods Greece, Norse lands, Japan, or anywhere like that, he could only see whether he could cling to the Crown Prince Pigeon's thigh.

After all, that pigeon father of his was unquestionably a Cosmic Evil God. Earth's gods probably could not match him.jpg

His luck was not bad either. Novia had not expected to be adopted by Paul. Now, from the very beginning, he stood just one step away from heaven in the literal sense.

Though Paul was not one of the Twelve Apostles, he was generally considered the most important figure in all Christian history besides Jesus Christ.

Without what he had done, it was anyone's guess whether Christianity could have survived Judaism's suppression.

As his adopted son, the safest plan seemed to be waiting until Paul was beheaded, then inheriting everything he had and making up some legend about becoming an archangel...

But how could he possibly just stand by and do nothing? No matter what, without Paul, he would have died somewhere long ago!

The current emperor of ancient Rome, Claudius I, had only unexpectedly become emperor in middle age. As a result, his family had become the core of state administration. Coupled with the physical defects caused by childhood polio, perhaps he could become a Christian even before Constantine the Great did.

And there was Type-Moon's Nero too, huh? Just wait, you innately evil Takeuchi Face brat. I'll personally teach you a proper lesson in respecting one's teachers and elders.

"Little brother, crossing here in the middle of the night—do you have somewhere you need to be?"

Just as Novia was considering how to reach Rome smoothly and meet Claudius I, a voice came from beside him.

The sea breeze, heavy with salt, drifted past. Around the fishing boat, the space twisted like a mirage. Under the control of magecraft, the density of the air had changed unevenly, becoming thicker and more viscous.

The speaker was a fisherman with what looked like a cross-shaped scar on his face. He was rowing with a wooden oar roughly two meters long.

"That's what I should be asking you. Every other boat refused to give me a lift, yet you were the only one who agreed."

Sitting at the bow, Novia tilted his head back toward the sky. Though it was faintly illuminated by moonlight, there was not a single star in sight, leaving it looking terribly empty.

"So, what exactly are you planning to do to me?"

Novia turned around. He straightened slightly and smiled gently, wholly at odds with the atmosphere, while his azure eyes fixed on the fisherman as if piercing straight through to the man's essence.

"Lucius Longinus."

The author is purely winging it and knows nothing about Type-Moon settings, mythology, history, and so on. This is just a fanfic written on a whim after seeing that well-reviewed series of works related to Type-Moon's Aunt Sakurai Hikaru and shamelessly riding the IP for a meal.

Longinus, Help Me!

Lucius Longinus—the centurion who had realized his own fate upon the hill of Jerusalem.

Novia knew perfectly well that, in the Type-Moon world, Lucius had appeared in FR, a work by the creator who spent all day gazing at the stars. As the Servant of Manazuru Chitose, the grandmother of the heroine Erice, he had won a Holy Grail War. He was praised as one of the finest Servants and ranked alongside Galahad and Hannibal as one of the highest-class Heroic Spirits in Akihabara.

"You know me?"

Lucius's tone was calm, but the tip of the oar in his hand had already shot toward Novia.

The silver-haired youth dodged his thrust at the very last instant, taking a stance at the other end of the fishing boat and putting enough distance between them to counterattack.

Thus began an inexplicable battle. Novia had no time to draw his sword and could only grab a wooden stick from the boat, but it was still far too short compared to an oar used like a spear. Still, no one on the battlefield would wait for their opponent to find a suitable weapon.

"Not bad reflexes."

Lucius said as he stepped lightly, swinging the oar he was using as a weapon.

Novia stared straight ahead and blocked the oar thrusting at him again. Taking advantage of the opening, he immediately placed his hand on the hilt of a longsword hanging from the sword belt at his waist—

Lucius mistook Novia's motion of touching his sword for an attempt to draw a weapon, missing his chance to widen the distance between them.

Yet Novia did not act as Lucius expected. Instead, with the Blessing of Wind, he closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye.

"Oh?"

Lucius wanted to pull out his greatshield to defend himself, but Novia seized the opportunity and swung his stick straight at his neck, leaving him no chance to resist.

"What? You're not planning to kill me?"

"My mission isn't to kill people."

Novia lazily tossed aside the stick and stared at the man.

"Besides, I'd rather not end up in prison with you."

After mocking Lucius, Novia dispelled the magecraft around the fishing boat, and calm returned.

Although this was an era after the decline of the Age of Gods, the Mysteries left behind had not yet become as scarce as they would be two thousand years later. At this time, people who used Mysteries could be found everywhere across Europe.

Five hundred years later, according to Aunt Cangyin, the Roman Sword Emperor Lucius alone commanded tens of thousands of mages, curse users, Giants, and other nonhuman races.

Not to mention the present, when Mysteries were still flourishing. There had to be at least a hundred thousand, and likely quite a few mages stationed in every sizable city within the ancient Roman Empire.

And when Lucius had been a soldier, Druids had always supported the enemy during battles.