48 AD, the Roman Empire, by the Adriatic Sea.
After a year-long journey, they were finally approaching the Eternal City—Rome!
It was high noon. Lucius leaned against a tree a short distance from Novia, his steady gaze fixed on the silver-haired youth.
In the pastoral scenery, the shadows of the villagers queuing up stretched across the fields like rows of dark ribbons.
"Your God has seen your faith. You and your family will surely be saved."
"R-Really?"
"Of course. But remember, all believers are brothers and sisters. The strong must care for the weak."
With cheerful conversation for the wealthy and gentle words for the poor, Novia distributed the donated food among the villagers waiting in line.
Over the past year, Lucius had witnessed Novia's personal charisma many times. What truly left him speechless was how this boy could convince people to willingly hand over their food.
When Lucius was young, he once encountered bandits outside Rome. Though he barely fought them off, one of the bandits was left crippled by Lucius' blow, unable to walk ever again, reduced to a beggar.
Every time Lucius walked the streets, he would see that beggar and feel a pang of guilt.
That same man later fell ill, but thanks to the care he received, he abandoned his faith in the Roman pantheon and converted to a rising monotheistic religion—long before Lucius himself did.
But back then, it was mostly the poor who flocked to such beliefs. Now? Even the wealthy were joining.
But of course. Though the Age of Gods had only ended a few decades ago, humanity, ever fickle, had already begun to shift. The Roman pantheon never dictated how humans should live—it simply aided those who strove for themselves. The gods were never flawless.
But in the monotheistic faith, the relationship was inverted entirely. God was no longer humanity's helper, but its supreme authority—the source of law, morality, and order. An unquestionable existence. Humans lived by divine decree—a system perfect for governing.
In times like these, as long as you dared to believe, there was an unspoken rule etched into your heart. After all, the gods hadn't vanished from the earth that long ago.
That was precisely why Novia dared to preach along the way. The Age of Gods had passed—what, were the Greek and Roman gods going to come smack him down?
Besides, compared to the Roman pantheon, Novia was actually doing things. His strategy followed the classic "encircle the cities from the countryside" model—the lower classes surrounding the nobility.
In actual history, Christianity didn't triumph over polytheism because every believer had a silver tongue and a divine glow. No—it was because centralized authority could send people to collect money, and that money could buy food for the poor.
Sure, the priests at the Temple of Athena could learn from that—but they couldn't control what Apollo's district high priests did with their holy virgins. Even if you held your ground, you'd look over your shoulder to find the Apollo district had already fallen.
Things were still unstable. For now, the only requirement for joining was that wealthy believers donate to the Church, and the Church would use that money to support the poor believers.
If everyone was poor and there was no money? Then the believers were expected to help each other. If someone was sick, others would care for them. If someone was starving, those with food would share.
Theology? Philosophy? Religious rituals? Sorry, when Jesus was alive, there was none of that. Those things naturally evolved later, as educated believers interpreted doctrine for themselves.
But no matter how prosperous the times, the poor would always be the majority. They didn't care about grand theological systems or lofty philosophical ideals. They only cared about this:
"I give you wheat, olive oil, and wine every month. When I'm old, you'll give me wheat, olive oil, and wine every month. So I won't starve. That's enough."
That was why, no matter how fiercely the Roman Empire had persecuted Christians, they could never stamp them out completely. You crush one group today, another sprouts up tomorrow. Over and over, until—
Christians entered Rome.
The emperor himself believed in God.
So as long as the foundation was laid, even if they failed now, the future would be easier.
"Th-thank you, sir. God's grace upon you."
"Mhm. Take a little extra, then."
At that moment, Novia's arms gently held a child.
A child of true poverty. Novia could tell at a glance—malnourished, skin and bones, face smeared with dirt, eyes dull and lifeless. Their frail frame and ragged clothes starkly contrasted with the rosy-cheeked, plump children of wealthy families.
The mighty Roman Empire had been basking in peace and prosperity for decades. From the crowded amphitheaters of Alberican to the bustling colonnades of Antioch; from the crowded ports of Gaul to the bustling pilgrimage roads of Ephesus—prosperity was everywhere. Marble apartment blocks filled with laughing citizens. Broad, cobbled roads teeming with merchants.
Yet poverty remained the silent majority of this grand era.
"I-Is it true? Even if I die... it's fine... My sister... my mother... my father... they're still waiting for me..."
"If they're waiting, you'd better hurry back. Don't keep them waiting too long."
Novia gently stroked the child's face. For the first time, the dull expression softened ever so slightly.
"Thank you..."
It wasn't a prayer that escaped the child's lips, only simple, heartfelt gratitude.
When all was done, politely declining the believers' invitations, Novia walked toward Lucius.
Lucius had stood silently nearby the entire time. With the air of a soldier, his very presence radiated a forbidding aura that kept idle chatter at bay.
"You've done well this past year," Lucius finally spoke, cold as ice. "But in the end, when danger strikes, you'll face it alone. That moment is inevitable. Everything you've done—ultimately meaningless. You're walking a dangerous path. I suggest you turn back."
Novia understood perfectly. This era of peace was only surface-deep. When things truly went bad, to survive, you'd have to kill those who threatened you—even if they were fellow believers.
Novia's fame had grown over the past year. Though the Roman pantheon was tolerant of other faiths, that tolerance vanished when their dominance was challenged. Some polytheist nobles in Rome were probably just waiting for Emperor Claudius to return from Britannia—to demand Novia's execution.
"You're right. But if turning a blind eye to something easily fixed only leaves you filled with regret... I'd rather act. That's all."
No anger. No denial. Just a calm smile from Novia, dressed simply, his white cloak folded neatly over his arm.
"Hmph. Cocky brat. Once you're inside Rome, those nobles won't be so easy to talk down."
Lucius sighed. He hoped this boy would live a long life, not end up tortured and executed as a heretic.
"Exactly why I need you to linger outside Rome for a while. I'm heading to Britannia."
Without hesitation, Novia deflected Lucius' scolding with a grin.
"You..."
Lucius was momentarily stunned. Yet Novia's expression was firm, unwavering.
"Fourteen days ago. If all went to plan, I should already be in Britannia by now."
Lucius sucked in a sharp breath. Even the ancient Druids never wielded illusion magic so advanced—not enough to fool eyes stained with the blood of Christ.
But his face quickly settled into calm. He turned away, pretending he'd heard nothing.
"You're trying to convert Emperor Claudius? That's impossible. The Roman gods are still reigning over us."
"The Age of Gods is over."
"Using magecraft? Don't forget, over ten thousand Roman magi joined the Britannia campaign. A mere flicker of magical energy and they'll notice."
"Who said I was using magecraft? I'm creating a real, tangible miracle."
…
In the misty heart of Britannia, deep within ancient oak forests that even in the twentieth century rejected human dominion—a kingdom for beasts and birds.
In one hidden corner of the island, mysteries older than memory still clung to life.
There, atop a mountain, stood Novia.
Below him sprawled the Roman invasion force, led by none other than Emperor Claudius.
The silver-haired youth eyed the makeshift hot air balloon beside him—the carefully prepared silver powder and various materials lined up and ready.
The idea came from the legend of Constantine the Great. Three centuries from now, that Roman emperor would claim to have seen, on the eve of battle, four enormous crimson crosses blazing across the sky, accompanied by the words:
"In this sign, you shall conquer."
Thus, Christianity's path to becoming the state religion of Rome began.
"It all comes down to this."
Despite his words, Novia's expression remained calm.
Of course.
The real question wasn't whether success or failure would bring regret—but whether one regretted action or inaction.
Whether his plan succeeded was anyone's guess. In the Type-Moon world, the older the era, the stronger the mystery; the farther into the future, the stronger the science. And the first century AD sat awkwardly between them—a time when the Age of Gods had only just receded, yet Type-Moon's ancient mysteries still surpassed civilizations two millennia ahead.
It was absurd.
But Novia had backup plans. If he failed, he'd dig up Albion's dragon corpse and see if any relics could help him survive.
"Go!"
Thus, as twilight fell, the Roman invasion force and the allied kings of Britannia together witnessed—
The Mirace.