Chapter 208: Einzbern
Nero's declaration still hung over Rome like heat shimmer.
The crowd only snapped out of their shock when they realized the tall carriage had already passed through the palace gates, leaving nothing behind but dust and the lingering echo of applause.
Rowe and Nero returned to the carriage.
Sunlight slanted through the window, catching on something that should not have existed inside a sealed cabin. A faint, hazy silhouette. Ethereal, like mist shaped into a woman.
Merlin's illusion.
Only Rowe could see her. Only Rowe could feel the weight of her gaze as it drifted over the countless people outside.
Her slender fingers pressed against her lips as if testing the texture of a new thought.
"Human spirits," she murmured, voice threading directly into Rowe's ears. "That does sound interesting."
Rowe smiled.
"Interested?"
"Of course." Merlin's tone brightened, eager in the way a predator might become eager at the scent of blood, though hers was the scent of entertainment. "If it sounds fun, then I want to watch it."
She reclined in the air beside him as if the carriage were her personal theater, crossing one black stocking clad leg over the other.
"I love unusual developments. The tragic songs of heroes, the joyful future of monsters. The more spectacular and bizarre, the more worth watching."
Her smile sharpened.
"And if a story is not twisted enough, it is even more enjoyable to make it twisted."
Rowe did not argue. He only asked, calmly, almost politely.
"Then what do you think I am?"
Merlin blinked, as if the answer were obvious.
"You are the comical sight of an elephant living in an ant's nest, carefully trying not to crush the ants."
Her words held no malice. From her perspective, it was simply an accurate description.
Rowe's actions did not make sense to her. That was precisely why she enjoyed them.
He leaned back slightly.
"Then do you know what kind of pleasure I enjoy the most?"
Merlin tilted her head, curiosity bright in those vermilion eyes.
"What?"
A heavy impact answered for her.
A fist struck Merlin's illusion so cleanly that even her mist like body reacted as if it were flesh.
"Pfft."
The silver haired nightmare flew out of the carriage, tumbling through the air like a doll tossed from a window.
In her last glimpse before the illusion shattered into distance, she saw Melusine.
A beautiful face half hidden beneath a mask and eyepatch, only her delicate chin and moist red lips visible. Her posture was perfectly composed, as if she had merely corrected an inconvenience.
"This is my seat," Melusine said.
Rowe clapped his hands once, like someone finishing a small chore.
"My pleasure is watching the pleasure obsessed get hammered."
Melusine sat down beside him with quiet satisfaction.
"I am also very happy."
Then, obediently, as if testing a new habit that still felt strange on her tongue, she added softly.
"My Lord."
Rowe ruffled her hair.
On any scale that mattered, Melusine was older than him. A fragment of the Primordial Dragon, the embodiment of the island itself. Yet the spiritual foundation carrying that power had been reshaped by Rowe's hand.
Affinity was inevitable.
The simple gesture made something like comfort flicker across Melusine's expression, subtle and unfamiliar.
Ahead of them, the carriage swayed over stone.
Martha sat straight and dignified as ever, hands folded, presence calm and devotional.
Nero, meanwhile, was praising herself with the seriousness of someone describing a world changing achievement.
"I am indeed the most perfect performer."
She turned to Rowe, humming with self satisfaction.
"However, your performance was not bad either. As a special reward, I have decided to call you Player."
She nodded as if granting a title of state.
"It means the most perfect musician who cooperates with a perfect performing artist like me."
"Be happy. This is the Emperor's reward."
Rowe leaned forward slightly. The distance was small. The movement brought him closer to Nero without effort.
Nero did not retreat. She met his gaze with bright emerald eyes, lips parting just a little. Her breath was warm, carrying the faint scent of perfume and heat.
"Umu?" Nero's voice softened. "Is Player so happy he wants to be close to me?"
"If you want further rewards, I would not mind."
Martha looked over, momentarily dazed.
"Holy Son?"
Boudica also glanced over. She did not speak. Her expression did not show surprise.
It was obvious, even to her, that these two had a relationship complicated enough to qualify as a political disaster.
Rowe answered with a flick.
Bang.
His finger struck Nero's forehead, right where her hair failed to protect her pride.
"Ow. Umu!" Nero recoiled instantly, clutching her head and collapsing back into the seat.
Rowe shook his finger at her, voice flat.
"You recover and forget pain fast. Three days without a beating and you try to climb onto the roof."
Boudica froze.
Martha, on the other hand, exhaled in relief, as if a sacred law had been reaffirmed.
Rowe sat back down beside Melusine and looked out the carriage window.
Inside the palace grounds, the world changed. Lush gardens replaced crowded streets. The air felt cleaner, quieter, controlled. Guards stood like iron, stern and silent.
Ahead was the Emperor's bedchamber.
Once they reached it, this journey would be complete. Successful. Almost too successful.
Nero was no longer merely an Emperor appointed by Mars. She had gained prestige among the populace.
Legitimacy and foundation.
Name and weight.
But Nero, at this exact moment, wanted only one thing.
Sleep.
She was exhausted.
When they arrived, she collapsed onto the soft bed beneath curtains that filtered light into a gentle haze. The moment her head touched the pillow, her body loosened as if the palace itself had become a sanctuary.
Still, she turned her gaze to Rowe, who had accompanied her to the threshold.
"Player. Why not rest here too?"
"I do not mind."
Rowe cupped his hands in a formal gesture and turned to leave.
"No, no. My family is poor, so I bid you farewell."
Nero sank deeper into the bedding, eyes following his retreating figure.
She let out a satisfied little umu.
Reliable.
She remembered meeting him in that deep alley, how she had trusted him without knowing why.
Then she smiled lazily into the pillow, convincing herself with the natural arrogance of an Emperor.
"I am indeed wise and brilliant and perfect. That is why I gained his support."
Her cowlick bobbed. Her lips curved.
And the young Emperor drifted into sleep.
Rowe stepped out of the bedchamber. Outside, Melusine, Martha, and Boudica were waiting.
"My Lord," Melusine said at once, faithful in her new role as an Apostle.
Boudica cleared her throat.
"Ahem. Esteemed Lord, when will you bestow a title upon me?"
Her urgency was naked, barely disguised by her attempt at formality.
"Britannia needs me. My people need me to lead them."
"So, Lord, could you be quicker?"
Britannia had only just stabilized. It needed its blade.
Rowe waved a hand, calm.
"Do not worry. I already sent word to the Senate. They should prepare an investiture ceremony to confirm you as governor of Britannia province."
As he spoke, a palace attendant entered with careful steps. An imperial messenger.
She lowered her head.
"Assistant Rowe. The Lords of the Senate asked me to deliver this letter to you."
Rowe took the sealed parchment, paused, then opened it.
Inside was a blank page.
Boudica saw it too.
"What does this mean?"
No agreement.
No refusal.
Just absence.
Rowe crushed the parchment in his palm until it wrinkled into a tight ball.
"They are protesting through nonviolent noncooperation," he said, voice even. "Those old men are very dissatisfied with us."
He was not surprised.
He had governed before, in an older age, under a different sky. The structure had been primitive, but power groups existed even then. Within any large framework, smaller factions inevitably formed, and a strong supreme ruler was never good news for them.
If not for the tangible presence of gods in Rome, these men would already be sharpening darker methods.
But even with divine protection surrounding an Augustus, protest could still be expressed.
Silent refusal.
No resistance, but no action.
Martha's emerald eyes held concern.
"My Lord, is there trouble? Do you need our help?"
"It is not trouble," Rowe replied. "It is friction."
Then he looked at Boudica.
"Your investiture will likely be delayed."
Boudica's face slipped for an instant, then she forced it back into the calm mask of a warrior.
"Will it take long?"
"Not too long."
Rowe flicked his fingers lightly, as if turning a page.
"If they do not act, we will find a substitute."
A substitute.
Humans were tangled in interests. Grievances. Compromise. That was the price of living in the present.
If escape was impossible, then leverage was necessary.
And if present powers refused to move, then he would borrow hands that were not bound to the present at all.
Rowe's eyes shifted slightly.
"What do you say, Merlin?"
A voice replied from elsewhere.
"Oh? You beat me up, and now you want my help?"
"You can choose not to help."
Merlin's tone grew amused, then resigned, as if the conclusion had always been inevitable.
"You know I cannot resist. In some ways, you are worse than me."
Rowe's reply was mild.
"So you admit you are unpleasant."
"Of course. I learned the concept from humans." Merlin's voice carried a lazy laugh. "Creatures that die and are born as briefly as birds, and yet insist on calling themselves meaningful."
The conversation did not occur in the palace air.
It echoed within Avalon.
The space between the present world and the Sea of Stars.
Merlin opened her eyes there, silver hair spilling over her shoulders. She rose slowly, swaying those black stocking clad legs as if nothing had happened.
After Melusine struck her out of the carriage, she had been returned directly to Avalon.
Not because Melusine was capable of forcing entry.
Because Rowe allowed it.
Because Rowe needed her.
He needed her presence to find assistance.
Merlin's lips curved.
"Within the Sea of Stars, there is a realm where fairies reside."
She spoke like someone revealing the location of a hidden wine cellar.
"It is Paradise. A world only pure fairies can reach."
"I can help you find enough helpers."
Her eyes narrowed with hunger that was not hunger for flesh, but hunger for spectacle.
"And in return, I want to witness an interesting story."
"This story will be splendid enough."
In the Roman Palace, Rowe remained expressionless, sending his words through consciousness alone.
"This story will show you the shining part of humanity."
Rowe believed it.
And he was confident.
Merlin chuckled softly, then turned toward the deepest part of Avalon.
Toward that Paradise nested within the Sea of Stars.
---
In Rome, the Senate did not stop at silent refusal.
After Nero's public proclamation, their resolve hardened.
So they came to the Pantheon to pray.
Or rather, to complain.
A strong Augustus could only be shaken by the will of gods.
So they sought the gods.
"The new Emperor is a furious ruler."
"Her actions may destroy great Rome."
"Great Mars. Noble Jupiter. Most sacred and highest. Our ancestor Quirinus."
"We beg you, save Rome. Make that Emperor restrain her flames."
They did not notice that their words were heard.
Not in the way they imagined.
Above the Pantheon, the gods truly watched.
Mars, the God of War, stood in a crimson machina body. Beside him stood Jupiter, the King of the Gods, appearing like a pale lion shaped old man, gaze heavy with authority.
Mars sounded faintly pleased.
"I did not expect them to do so much."
Then, more cautiously, he added.
"Is that northern heresy actually a cult worshiping my father?"
Jupiter's eyes narrowed.
"Mars. Why do I feel you are pleased?"
Mars coughed lightly.
"Of course. If it is my father, I can claim a position."
He coughed again, as if trying to erase the words from reality.
"Knowing when to advance and when to retreat is also strategy. Do not mind it."
"I do mind it," Jupiter said with a weary sigh.
Then his gaze returned to the mortals below.
"But what they have done is indeed too unrestrained."
Mars's posture stiffened.
"So?"
"So we let her go find him."
"Who?"
"Athena," Jupiter replied.
He stroked his pale beard, eyes distant.
"Athena formed her own faction. She has a place among the Roman gods, though she never cared to acknowledge it."
"Her own power is enough to rival the entire Roman Pantheon."
Only someone like that could be sent.
Only someone like that could negotiate.
Mars fell silent.
Ares and Athena had once been mortal enemies. Now he was Mars, but old grudges did not vanish simply because the name changed.
Even so, he understood.
If anyone could speak to Rowe without being crushed, it was her.
Jupiter's voice lowered, precise.
"Athena has taken the name Minerva Einzbern."
"She appears in the ancient city."
"Past, present, and future belong to her. The city of Athens is eternally hers."
Wind whistled.
In a plain white robe, amid countless buildings, a figure with silver hair and red eyes slowly opened her eyes.
.....
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