Chapter 207: Creating a Myth for Humanity
The Roman Empire of today was, in practice, an imperial system.
Its supreme ruler bore the title of First Consul, but everyone understood what that truly meant. Emperor. Augustus. Sacred, great, blessed by the gods.
Yet a nation was never a single will.
Even if an Emperor held immense authority, no throne could truly grip an empire that spanned continents with nothing but a crown and a signature.
Beneath the Emperor sat the Senate, a body that had once openly resisted rulers like Tiberius and Caligula, and still retained real weight. The Assembly of Citizens, dominant in the Republic, had become largely symbolic, yet symbols could still turn into leverage when enough people believed in them.
And for those forces, a strong Emperor was far less desirable than a mediocre one.
A strong Emperor cut away privileges. A strong Emperor reduced the space where old blood could breathe.
Tiberius had proven that.
So had the early years of Caligula, before the Moon Cell turned its gaze and broke something inside him.
Those two periods had been suffocating for the old nobles.
Caligula's madness, then his death, had been salvation in their eyes.
But now, the new Emperor Rome had welcomed carried the same sharp edge, and perhaps an even more dangerous one.
She was young.
And she was capable.
"She pacified Britannia, and now that the news has spread, her prestige among the common people is immense."
"But she decided the fate of that island without consulting the Senate. She ignored the Senate. That is a bad sign."
"Augustus is sacred and protected. Favored by the gods, sheltered beneath Mars."
"We cannot move against her."
"That assistant, Rowe, is suspected to be descended from the sage who stands at Rome's origin. He cannot be touched either."
Silence followed. Not hesitation, but calculation.
Then someone spoke, voice dry as ash.
"Then there is only one method."
"Whatever she intends, we neither resist nor cooperate."
"Just like with Tiberius."
"We give this new Emperor a warning."
"A new Emperor with no power cannot cast us aside and rule alone, can she? Not like Tiberius, who lasted decades."
The old men of the Senate reached their decision.
Not a rebellion.
Not an assassination.
Just the quiet cruelty of refusal.
At the same time, Rowe and Melusine returned from Avalon.
And the party began their journey back to Rome.
A few days later, the capital of the Roman Empire stood beneath fierce sunlight.
Domes shone like polished gold. Marble radiated heat. The streets, formed by interlocking buildings, were swept clean and flat, and the city's usual roar had become something louder, more feverish.
Even with the Praetorian Guard dividing the roads and clearing a wide lane through the middle, even with armored soldiers standing like iron posts, nothing could restrain the people pressing toward the streets.
Because on this day, Rome's new Emperor, Nero Claudius, and her First Adjutant, Rowe, returned from the northern expedition.
They were newly appointed. Yet their first act was something countless predecessors had failed to accomplish.
They had truly pacified Britannia and brought it under Roman rule.
Ever since the first Augustus, Octavian, had sent troops across the sea a hundred years ago, Rome had tried and failed. The Celts had used terrain and stubborn blood to repel them.
Even Caligula, before Nero, had only gained Britannia in name. He exploited the Celts' desperation to borrow Roman power against Albion. But Britannia itself remained a land occupied by the Evil Dragon. Rome could not truly govern it. Rome could only extract from it, taxing trade routes and squeezing coin from suffering.
Britannia had been a medal emperors liked to show off.
But none had ever truly earned it.
Only Nero, the current Emperor, had done it.
She and her Adjutant had seized actual rule and pushed Rome's border to the far island itself.
An honor.
Not Nero's alone.
The honor of Rome.
So the city poured into the streets.
"They are here."
"The procession is here."
"That is the Roman legion. It must be His Majesty Nero and Sage Rowe."
Voices rose above the clamor. Heads turned.
Beyond the city walls, dust rolled. Banners snapped. Horses and chariots streamed forward.
The legions advanced in synchronized steps.
And within their protective ring moved a massive carriage the color of fire. A black eagle spread its wings across its side, suspended in gold and shadow.
The symbol of the Imperial Palace.
There was no doubt.
The Emperor had returned.
The city erupted.
Even the soldiers on guard could not stop themselves from looking.
In the procession, every legionary held his head high. They were participants, not merely witnesses, and their pride was sharper than any spear.
Inside the carriage, a delighted voice hummed.
"Umu. It is lively outside, as expected of my Rome."
A golden haired girl peered through the narrow gap in the curtain, eyes bright with satisfaction.
Rowe sat behind her, watching the small shape that somehow carried an empire.
Nero's back faced him. Her long red dress spilled down like flame. The hem was slightly translucent, showing the outline of full, shapely legs beneath when the light struck at the right angle.
She quickly withdrew from the window and sat properly again, as if the act of being seen had suddenly reminded her she was an Emperor.
"My Adjutant, did you see that?" Nero's voice rang with genuine joy. "These are Rome's cheers for me."
"And for you. Rome welcomes us together."
On the other side of the carriage, another voice spoke. Clear, mature, calm.
"This is my first time in Rome," Martha said, seated upright in her white robes. "It truly is prosperous."
"This place is more prosperous than any city I have ever seen."
"That is natural," Nero said instantly, chin lifting with pride. "This is my Rome."
Her green eyes then drifted toward the figure seated near Rowe, clad in dark armor.
Melusine wore the same fitted machina armor as before, but her upper face was covered by a mask that hid her eyebrows and eyes. She kept her eyes closed, refusing to look at Nero at all.
She rejected the rose scented heat of the Roman Emperor on instinct.
"Umu?" Nero tilted her head, then dismissed it with the effortless arrogance of someone who believed the world should adjust to her, not the other way around.
A fourth voice joined, irritated and reluctant.
"So, Your Majesty Nero, honored Rowe, why do I have to be here too?"
Boudica sat stiffly, red hair tied back, posture athletic and tense. She looked like a blade forced into a ceremonial sheath.
Rowe answered without amusement.
"Although Nero appointed you governor of the Britannia province, Roman law requires formal investiture by the Senate for legitimacy."
He glanced at her.
"Or do you want your homeland handed to someone else?"
Boudica's jaw tightened.
"I do not want that. I have pledged my life to Britannia. I cannot surrender it."
She hesitated, then spoke the part she hated admitting.
"And I do not trust outsiders. Not after what Rome did before."
The rift was real.
It would not heal in days just because Nero promised kindness.
Boudica exhaled slowly, eyes hard.
"I understand."
She had been dragged into Rome.
Yet as the carriage rolled deeper into the city, even she could not deny a flicker of awe at its scale and wealth. The shouting crowds felt like a living tide.
The legions passed through the gates.
The carriage wheels turned.
And under tens of thousands of gazes, they entered the heart of the empire.
The carriage finally stopped before the Roman Palace.
The crowd surged against the lines, hungry for sight.
Nero looked at Rowe.
"Are you ready?" Rowe asked.
"Umu? Naturally." Nero smiled as if the question itself were unnecessary. "I am the most perfect Emperor. I do not need preparation. Anytime, anywhere, I am perfect."
"Then shall we go?" Rowe extended his hand.
"Your Majesty, the Roman Emperor."
Nero placed her hand in his with theatrical delight.
"Certainly, my Adjutant."
Martha straightened.
Boudica sat up.
Melusine remained still, but the air around her sharpened slightly, as if she disliked this place and was tolerating it only because Rowe wished it.
They had prepared on the road.
They would not simply return. They would declare a future.
Nero Claudius was not an Emperor who followed precedent. She loved Rome, but she knew its rot.
She wanted Rome to bloom like a perfect rose, not with shallow beauty, but with roots that would not snap.
For Rowe, the proclamation was also necessary.
He wanted Nero to become a true Emperor in fact and in concept, to expand her Authority and deepen her connection to the Moon Cell. That had been his initial goal.
Now, to seize the crown of UO, he needed something more.
He needed a myth.
A presence carved into the present World.
A weight that would not be pruned.
With a creak, the carriage door opened.
Nero stepped out first, draped in a long red dress that caught the sun like flame. She spread her arms toward the crowd as if embracing them all.
The city answered with a roar.
Rowe followed, wearing his long robe, far less striking than the Emperor beside him.
Yet his presence pulled eyes anyway.
A different kind of gravity.
"He resembles the portraits."
"Ancestral records say Romulus built Rome by upholding the will of Sage Rowe, aided by Mars."
"That is why it is called Rome."
"Rowe's name comes even before Mars."
The crowd spoke in fragments, rumor and faith mixing into something that felt uncomfortably close to worship.
Rowe did not react.
The Praetorians stood with shields and spears like statues. The Emperor's personal army guarded every angle, every shadow, every possible betrayal.
Rowe and Nero stood before the palace gates on elevated ground.
The gates were behind them.
The entire city was before them.
Nero did not enter.
Instead, she turned at the threshold and faced the tens of thousands of eyes fixed on her.
Her red skirt fluttered in the heat.
Her smile was noble, bright, and dangerously sincere.
"My Rome. My people."
"I am Nero Claudius, the Roman Emperor. I am Rome."
"I know you are curious about me. You have heard my name."
She paused and let the city breathe with her.
"I am the niece of the deceased Emperor Caligula."
At the name, expressions shifted through the crowd.
Fear. Hatred. Regret.
Caligula had been wise and strong in his youth. Then something had cracked and he had fallen into madness after only a few years. Terrible. Hateful. Tragic.
But Nero did not speak to mourn him.
She lifted her chin.
"The madness of my uncle, you have lived through it."
"But in my view, that alone is not enough."
The crowd stiffened.
Not enough?
"My Rome should be free."
"And those who live on this land should be passionate."
"Therefore, starting today, I will implement new laws. Not as before."
Her voice grew sharper, more decisive.
"I will clarify the selection of officials, so talent can rise regardless of birth."
"I will build free schools in the name of the Empire, so all can receive education."
"I will popularize the science and philosophy of the ancient Greek era."
Administration.
Education.
The true arteries of empire.
Nero knew where Rome's weakness lay. A vast imperial system bred bloated institutions. A layered hierarchy created an educational void.
Fill that void, and Rome's future changed.
Leave it empty, and Rome rotted from within.
Then Nero spoke the most dangerous part.
"I will appoint my First Adjutant, Rowe, to lead this transformation."
At his name, Rowe smiled at the appropriate moment.
But below, silence spread like spilled ink.
The conquest of Britannia had seemed unbelievable.
Yet these words were heavier.
Reform was never just speech.
It meant touching interests, tearing old privileges, creating enemies who would never strike openly but would poison the ground beneath your feet.
Even an Augustus protected by Mars could not avoid resistance.
Nero did not fear it.
From the moment she became Emperor, she had decided to build the Rome she carried in her heart.
Rowe would not stop her.
Because this was also his path.
A sigh sounded near Rowe's ear.
An illusory figure appeared beside him, visible only to him.
Silver robes. Wind caught in her hair. A staff held lightly, as if magic were merely a toy she twirled when bored.
Merlin.
Still carrying the aftertaste of being beaten into submission by Melusine.
Despite the beating, she had developed interest in Rowe.
So she followed him as an illusion all the way to Rome.
Now she tilted her head, vermilion eyes half amused.
"Is it truly necessary to spend so much effort?"
"Humans are more illusory than nightmares like me. Their short lives are, at most, material for entertainment."
Nightmares did not care about meaning.
They watched. They consumed. They smiled.
Rowe glanced sideways, gaze calm, voice sharp.
"So you would not understand. You do not understand the true meaning of humanity."
Merlin blinked.
Rowe continued, unhurried.
"Human life is short, but the marks they carve into the world do not fade."
"Their spirit can be passed down within their kind."
Merlin's lips parted slightly, curiosity rising.
"Is that what you want to do?"
"Yes." Rowe smiled.
He did not want to be a god in the way gods were.
He did not want to be a Lord that ruled by blind devotion.
He wanted to be a king of spirit.
A source of inheritance.
A foundation that endured.
"Being a god, being a Lord, that is not as worthwhile as being a reformer."
"An educator."
"Someone who spreads thought."
"Someone remembered by the world."
That was what suited the title King of Kings, Lord of Lords.
Even if the path eventually forced the name Yahweh onto his shoulders, even if it led to a faith wider than any empire could conquer, Rowe would still walk with his own will.
He would not be a puppet.
The road he walked would only be the road he chose.
.....
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