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

"The age of gods has ended."

"Use magecraft? But don't forget, there are over ten thousand Roman magi participating in the Britannian expedition. Even the slightest fluctuation of magical energy would be detected."

"Who told you I was going to use magecraft? This will be a genuine miracle."

In central Britain lay an oak forest shrouded in dense mist, a kingdom of birds and beasts that rejected humanity even into the twentieth century.

In one corner of this island, much mystery still endured—ancient lives whose lineages had continued for countless generations.

At that moment, Novia stood atop one of the mountains there. Below him in the distance was the Britannian expeditionary army led by the current Roman emperor, Claudius I.

The silver-haired youth looked somewhat nervously at the hastily made hot-air balloon, the silver powder that had been prepared for so long, and the many other items.

Novia's idea came from Constantine's legend. The reason Constantine, the Roman emperor three hundred years later, embraced the faith was that, on the night before a certain battle, he saw four enormous fiery-red crosses suddenly appear in the vast sky, accompanied by these words:

By this, you shall win a great victory.

Thus, Christianity formally began its journey toward becoming the state religion of the Roman Empire.

"Success or failure hinges on this."

Though he said that, Novia's expression remained calm. Naturally.

Because it was merely a common question: would people regret what they had done, or regret what they had failed to do?

In the end, even Novia himself could hardly say whether this would succeed. In Type-Moon, the more ancient the era, the stronger the mystical side; the further into the future, the stronger the scientific side. The "present" of the first century AD happened to fall at a point where the former had only just begun to decline. And Type-Moon's Age of Gods was a civilization more advanced than one two thousand years later, which was pretty absurd.

Still, Novia had a backup plan. If this failed, he would immediately dig up the corpse of the Dragon of Albion and see whether he could find some useful treasure to save his life.

"Go!"

And so, in the twilight of that evening, the Roman expeditionary army and the allied forces of the Twelve Kings of Britain jointly witnessed—

004: The Advent of a New God!

As the last ray of sunset slowly vanished beyond the horizon, a crescent moon hung high in the dim, yellowed sky.

The Roman expeditionary army that had crossed the sea would engage the Britannian allied forces in a decisive battle the following day.

The Roman expeditionary army numbered fifty thousand men, divided into five major legions, with an additional supply corps of equal size.

"This is what you call an excellent situation? These barbarians have practically reached our faces! What kind of commander are you, letting yourself get lured so deep into enemy territory?!"

At that moment, in the Roman camp, Emperor Claudius I was cursing out the commander before him, who stood with his head lowered in silence.

Judging from his appearance, Claudius I, who had unexpectedly become emperor at the age of fifty, clearly suffered from serious illnesses. He had to support himself with his hands on his legs in order to walk, because one of his legs was bent and deformed.

By the medical knowledge of later generations, it was most likely a poorly treated case of polio that had left lasting complications. But in the first century AD, most people would only think that the man had been cursed by Heaven.

"Your Majesty, in tomorrow's decisive battle, I hope you can step forward and invoke the name of Ares to raise morale..."

As Roman commander Plautius watched the expressionless Emperor Claudius, his voice gradually lost confidence. After all, their emperor could barely walk properly—were they really supposed to expect him to fight on the battlefield? It would already be good enough if he could shout a few words.

But Plautius had troubles he could not voice. A year and a half ago, he had followed the emperor's orders to launch an expedition against Britain. At first, the situation truly had been excellent. It had not taken long to occupy most of the coastal regions, after which they rapidly pushed inland, sweeping through most of Britain's plains and forests in a short time.

Logically, such smooth progress should have gone like this—

Monsters from the south land on Britain's coast.

An unspeakable murderous demon king approaches Colchester.

Despicable Roman barbarians enter Southampton.

Roman commander Plautius occupies southern Britain.

With the situation overwhelmingly favorable, only the final step remained—

The supreme Emperor arrived today upon his loyal island of Britain.

Unfortunately, it was in that final step that the Roman expeditionary army encountered enormous trouble and was surrounded in turn by its opponents.

Though Emperor Claudius indeed intended to reap the rewards, that was only natural. It was for the sake of consolidating his rule. But he also understood that he lacked the ability to command a battlefield, so he had not stripped Plautius of command. He had merely waited for the supreme military glory to fall into his lap.

However, if nothing unexpected happened, then something unexpected was bound to happen.

According to reports from the scouts today, the Britannian allied forces, who had previously been beaten into a rout, had somehow brought in the Picts, who possessed powerful physiques and were sometimes even called giants, along with several enormous magical beasts that retained strong traces of mystery.

Now, fifty thousand Roman expeditionary soldiers had been driven into a desperate situation by roughly ninety thousand troops of the Twelve Kings of Britain's alliance. The Roman army could neither advance nor retreat; retreating would easily turn into a rout. It was highly likely that every one of them would perish.

"Plautius, if we lose tomorrow's decisive battle, you should understand better than I what consequences await the two of us."

Claudius spoke quietly. If the expedition against Britain failed, not only Plautius but even he himself would be unable to escape blame. Never mind the throne—whether he could even survive was unknown. The casualties of fifty thousand men would be enough to severely weaken the ancient Roman Empire, which had only recently endured Caligula's madness. The unrest lurking throughout the provinces would rise up one after another, while magecraft, curses, and mysteries beyond human comprehension would bare their fangs of destruction at the ancient empire that had endured until now.

Therefore, although Claudius could now flee with the aid of the magi, such news would ultimately be difficult to conceal. After all, the Britannian allied forces also had magi. The Roman army might still believe that, with the emperor remaining, there was hope of victory. But once they learned that even the emperor had fled, their morale would likely collapse in an instant.

"...I understand..."

After that, Claudius ignored Plautius and returned to his residence.

"O Roman Gods, may you bless your children and lead them to victory. Ares, god of war, please let your radiance shine upon Rome once more."

Claudius closed his eyes and prayed. Although he did not particularly like the gods, at that moment he desperately wished that they could truly appear.

For some reason, mystery had begun vanishing rapidly from all lands over the past forty years. The gods who had walked the earth a century ago had also ceased appearing one after another, as though all their past deeds had been illusions. It was as though, in an instant, the planet had passed from the age of gods into the age of man.

"Report, Your Majesty. A message has arrived from Rome saying that the foreigner from Anatolia Province—"

"Enough. Stop bringing me these rotten tales of their petty scheming."

Claudius waved a hand, dismissing the messenger mage and making it clear that he no longer wished to hear such tedious reports.

Claudius practically knew what the reports would say by heart. It was nothing more than that Christianity being spread everywhere—donating grain here today, building a church there tomorrow, and all sorts of other trivial matters. He had no desire to hear any more of it. The urgent matter at hand was the ninety thousand British troops glaring at them from across the field...

"What was that sound? Don't tell me those barbarians have come to launch a night raid?"

Resting his chin on his hand, Claudius suddenly heard a noise rise from outside the camp, only for it to quickly fall silent again.

The emperor was deeply curious about what had happened. Without even questioning the mage delivering intelligence, he walked out on his own. Then, following the crowd's gazes, Claudius instinctively looked up at the sky. In truth, because of his nephew Caligula, he had always disliked Diana, the moon goddess, and thus rarely looked at the moon at night.

Yet the moment he looked up with the others, the emperor understood why, despite the sea of people, the tightly packed supply wagons, and the sounds of an unknown phenomenon all mingling together—circumstances that should have made the scene deafeningly loud and lively—not a single person said a word. They merely watched in silence—

A sliver of sunset was slowly sinking beyond the horizon, while a crescent moon hung high in the dim, yellowing sky. Beneath the meeting of sunset and moonlight, an enormous, clearly visible crimson object appeared in the heavens.

"Hmph. Is this the barbarians' magic? They actually think they can use this to influence us."

Quickly regaining his composure, Emperor Claudius questioned the mage beside him. As the Roman emperor, he naturally understood that only magic could create such a scene in this day and age.

However, the trembling voice of the Court Mage told Claudius an unbelievable truth.

"N-No, Y-Your Majesty, there are no fluctuations of magical power there at all. It is like a purely natural phenomenon..."

"What!? Look again carefully. Could there be some magical beast you don't recognize in the sky?"

"Your Majesty, no. There truly is nothing there—only the same scenery as always. It is like something purely..."

For the first time in a long while, the mage swallowed, unable to say the final words.

But Claudius knew perfectly well that the words left unsaid were "divine miracle." Thus, he fell silent. Presumably, the Roman army and the British allied army were silent for the same reason—

Was this a reappearance of the glory of Romulus, supreme god of Rome?

Or did it come from the great power of the ancient island of Britain itself?

Both sides remained silent, silently praying that this "divine miracle," absent for so many years, belonged to their own side.

The evening breeze of dusk carried a trace of chill as it brushed Emperor Claudius's face. He could not help but shiver, yet he continued staring at the strange object slowly taking shape in the sky. In truth, he already felt that it could not possibly be a miracle of the Roman Gods. Though it had not fully revealed itself yet, it bore no resemblance whatsoever to any symbol of the Roman Gods he knew... Then it could only belong to the other side.

Claudius's heart sank to rock bottom, and so did the Roman soldiers'. At the very least, it was not the symbol of Ares, the god of war they worshipped. If this continued, the Roman army looked as though it might collapse on the spot.

Just as Plautius prepared to make one final attempt, the enormous object in the sky finally revealed itself completely—

A power born beyond all reason shone brilliantly, yet it possessed no world-destroying might. It was merely blindingly bright.

"What... is that?"

Claudius murmured, for five crimson cross-shaped ornaments faced the Roman army, accompanied by these words:

By this sign, you shall win a great victory.

"Your Majesty, within Roman territory, the only faith that uses the cross as its symbol is Christianity."

The Court Mage at his side explained it to his emperor.

"..." Emperor Claudius fell silent for a moment. Rather than replying to the mage, he swiftly summoned a messenger. "Quick! Tell Plautius to have identical crosses marked onto every large shield! This is the power of a god! The five crosses symbolize our army! Rome shall surely prevail!"

Once Claudius's order reached Plautius, before long, every object in the Roman army that could be marked was covered with crosses. The effect was obvious as well: every soldier of the Roman expeditionary force believed that Rome had gained divine protection and would naturally be invincible in battle!

"Christianity, the cross... A new god?"

He was not seeking an answer. This was merely Emperor Claudius speaking to himself. Beneath the dark night sky, he spoke as if posing a question.

"Your Majesty, then should we inform—"

"...There is no need."

Claudius waved his hand, interrupting the Court Mage.

"I will meet him personally—the Divine Envoy of the new god, Novia of Anatolia Province."

The next day, in the decisive battle between the Roman expeditionary force and the British allied army, the British allied army suffered a crushing defeat. Wales, Cornwall, and other regions fell completely.

Thus, in 48 AD, all of Britain became one of the Roman Empire's forty-five provinces.

Plan Successful √

After nearly a century, from 55 BC to 48 AD, Rome had finally transformed Britain completely into its own territory.

From then on, the ancient Roman Empire's control over northern France and Belgium was thoroughly consolidated. It controlled the English Channel and broke Britain's trade monopoly over continental Europe.

Most importantly, it strengthened the ancient Roman Empire's position in Europe. The ancient empire that had endured since the Age of Gods remained the undisputed hegemon of Europe even after mystery had faded away.

However, although Emperor Claudius deliberately tried to suppress discussion of the "divine miracle" on the eve of the decisive battle, it was to no avail. Starting from central Britain, news that a long-absent "divine miracle" had appeared once more and granted Rome victory was spreading at incredible speed.

Yet aside from the Britons and Roman expeditionary soldiers who had witnessed it firsthand, few knew that the symbol of that "divine miracle" was—the cross.

At that moment, in the countryside not far from Rome.

Novia walked forward along a forest path. At the edge of his vision, he could already see sunlight filtering through gaps in the trees.

He had run all the way back from Britain. There was no helping it; time was too tight. Although the Roman army would take a long time to return, Claudius did not necessarily need to take that long. Novia had to get back before Emperor Claudius did, or else it would look far too coincidental no matter how one viewed it.

The divine miracle was a cross, and for the past year, someone had been spreading a message everywhere under the symbol of the cross. Then, during a war, a divine miracle happened to appear... It gave off the feeling that everything had been planned in advance.

But Novia was helpless too. If he did not use the cross, how would anyone know that the miracle belonged to Christianity? The reason he had used crosses as symbols everywhere over the past year was because first-century Christianity simply had no universal symbol at all!

Early Christianity had not even broken free from Judaism yet. Other than spreading the deeds of Jesus, it had very few visual expressions of faith.

Simply put, in the original course of history, the cross only became the universal symbol of Christianity three hundred years later, after it became Rome's state religion.

In theory, Christianity's only universal symbol was Jesus's words: "I give you a new commandment: love one another. Just as I have loved you, so you must love one another. If you love one another, everyone will know by this that you are my disciples."

In Jesus's eyes, the mark of a Christian was love for one another, not any other tangible object.

But to Novia, who wanted Christianity to replace polytheism, continuing to simply promote Jesus's deeds like this would make it far too difficult to supplant polytheism ahead of time.

The doctrine of salvation, well known to later generations, was of no concern to anyone at present. The focus of discussion among the many sects was still mainly predestination.

Yet this year, Novia had made the doctrine of salvation his focus. He reinforced the image of Christ suffering on the cross, broadly promoting salvation, the Son of God suffering for humanity before ascending to Heaven, and opening discussions on humanity's universal condition, ideal ways of life, and the historical vision of the world—covering depravity, original sin, Christology, ecclesiology, sacraments, the end times, and more—thereby offering universal concern to all people.

That was the theoretical breakthrough in his propaganda, and what drew others in: organization mattered, but ideology mattered as well.

Novia quickly emerged from the forest and finally caught sight of Lucius, whom he had told to wait here for him.

"Novia, you're back."

On the flower-strewn river, petals clustered together and drifted leisurely. Lucius stood atop an overturned boat.

"It's only been a few days. Why are you dressed so formally?"

"Does it look strange? No matter what, I'm a Roman soldier."

The scarlet cloak fluttering behind Lucius was his color, his codename: Scarlet—"the summons of bright red."

That "red" was Rome's "red," the color symbolizing Mars, the color Roman soldiers took the greatest pride in.

"Someone who didn't know better might think you were sent to kill me."

Novia teased as he drew a longsword from the sword belt at his waist.

"Hey, hey, hey, I taught you spear techniques. What are you doing with a sword?"

Lucius sounded as though he were muttering, but the iron spear in his hand had already thrust toward the silver-haired youth.