Chapter 210: Send Einzbern to Kill Rowe? Only a Fool Would!
The elders of the Senate had no road left behind them.
But they still did not dare to lay a hand on Augustus.
At most, they dared to test the Adjutant who held Augustus's absolute trust, or to express protest through indirect means, cloaked in piety and delivered upward to the gods.
"That Adjutant is dangerous. He wields mysteries far beyond ordinary magi. Even if the Clock Tower and the Fairy Eye are hidden, I assume you have heard whispers."
"If we move against him, we need comparable power."
"I have a candidate. A magus from Greece. Some call her a sorceress, a woman who can produce miracles that surpass magecraft."
"Her name is Einzbern."
"She has recently crossed into Roman territory. Perhaps we can contact her."
Another voice followed, impatient and harsh.
"A single magus is not enough. In the name of the Senate, we still command one third of the Empire's legions. Use them all."
"Also, that Adjutant has been reaching toward the army. And that barbarian princess from Britannia entered the military after she failed to secure her commission."
"Our window is narrow."
Someone asked the simplest question, the one no one wanted to answer.
"How confident are you?"
The reply came flatly.
"None."
A pause. Then the same man spoke again, slower, as if each word cost him.
"But we can only try."
If they failed, they would not merely lose an argument.
They would vanish along with the collapse of the old Roman order.
The leader lifted a hand. Ash, black as cooled lava, scattered into the brazier. The fire flared brighter, and its light carved every wrinkle and hollow in the senators' faces.
"This is our final struggle," he said.
"A positional battle we must fight."
"For our Rome."
He drew a breath and forced the next line out like a vow.
"Remember. Our goal is not regicide. It is to purge the monarch's corrupt advisors."
The room answered together, loud enough to drown doubt.
"We are for Rome."
"For our Rome alone."
---
"My Rome is as prosperous and beautiful as ever today."
The next morning, a lively voice echoed inside a swaying carriage.
Rowe drew his gaze away from the mountains rolling past the window, bathed in early sunlight. He adjusted the clothes he wore, a tailored classical suit that made him look tall and cleanly cut.
The Adjutant's uniform.
They were no longer in the palace.
They were outside the capital.
With the twelve Apostles in place, the reforms no longer relied on a single hand pushing every lever. The framework had been built. With resistance temporarily muted, most tasks could advance by procedure alone.
Three months.
That was all it took for the shape of Rome to begin changing.
The fairies spread across the Empire. Merlin, seated at the heart of the Fairy Eye, drove the reduction of redundant officials with the enthusiasm of someone pruning a garden for fun. Martha oversaw the schools, moving from district to district with the persistence of a missionary. Boudica, still unable to secure the investiture that would make her Britannia's governor, entered the army.
Everything moved.
Orderly.
Measured.
But reports, no matter how detailed, could not replace seeing the changes with one's own eyes.
If Rowe intended to grasp the pulse of human order, then touring the provinces as a reformer was not optional.
It was necessary.
And he was not traveling alone.
Rowe looked to his side.
The Emperor of Rome lounged like she owned the sky itself.
Nero Claudius lay across the carriage seat, golden hair bright, fiery red dress spilling around her like a banner. She stretched her arms toward the domed ceiling, and with shameless ease, rested her legs on Rowe's lap.
She did not care that the thin veil of her skirt hinted at pale beauty beneath.
"So," Rowe said, calm as ever, "you are using me as a cushion."
"Umu? Why not, my Player?" Nero sat up, still angled sideways, legs unapologetically planted on him. "Or does Player want to try the other way around?"
"I would not mind, you know."
She swayed her thighs with theatrical confidence. Petite and slender, yet undeniably proud in her figure, she carried herself as if the world had been designed to admire her.
Rowe answered with a single bent finger.
Nero snapped her legs back and sat upright in an instant, hands on her hips, hair bobbing beneath the red ribbon that restrained it.
"Umu umu?"
"Acting cute does not work."
Rowe's finger still landed on her forehead with a soft thud.
Nero's complaint turned into a small, pained noise.
"I am the Emperor," she muttered.
"I am your ancestor," Rowe replied.
Nero glared, emerald eyes wide.
But the truth was written in her posture. She was enjoying herself.
Not only because she had been trapped in the palace long enough to crave open roads and new scenery, but because she had wanted a journey like this with Rowe for a long time.
Across from them, Melusine sat in silence.
Mask and eyepatch concealed most of her face. Her armored arm lifted slightly.
"My Lord," she said, voice steady. "Do you wish her expelled?"
Nero's glare sharpened.
Rowe waved a hand.
"It is fine. No need."
"Yes."
Only then did Melusine withdraw her hostility, though the irritation did not leave.
It was not only the three of them, either.
A legion accompanied the imperial carriage as escort, with palace guards layered through the formation. Even so, Nero was traveling with what could be called restraint by imperial standards.
Six thousand men.
Frugal, for a Roman Emperor.
That frugality was not Nero's idea.
"I am Rome," she protested, voice bouncing in the carriage. "How can Rome travel with so few people?"
"The appearance of a perfect artist requires a perfect and solemn ceremony."
Rowe looked at her without mercy.
"That is not a reason to arrange ten legions as your personal stage."
"You are the Emperor, and you are the First Consul. Do you understand the idea of those above setting an example for those below?"
Before they departed, Nero had drafted a procession so extravagant it bordered on parody.
She was not a saint. She was not even trying to be.
As a self centered Emperor, she rarely hesitated when it came to pleasing herself. She understood the suffering of commoners and intended to change Rome for them, but she still loved splendor, spectacle, and the taste of applause.
Rowe had kept the procession to one legion and a limited guard.
Nero could not refute him, but she still tried.
"With so few, what if assassins appear?"
"Then I protect you," Rowe said, as if stating the most natural fact in the world.
Thousands of soldiers were not equal to him.
Nero fell silent for half a breath, then her eyes narrowed as if she had discovered some hidden meaning.
"Player," she said slowly, "you are confessing, are you not?"
Rowe blinked once.
"Huh?"
"So even someone who has lived so long gets shy and confesses like that." Nero lifted her chin, confidence returning in full force. "But it is fine. Player is the source of Rome's spirit, and I am Rome."
She spread her arms again, smiling brilliantly.
"I and Player are a match made in heaven."
"You are the one confessing," Rowe said.
"Exactly, my Player." Nero admitted it without the slightest shame. "This is Player's confession, and also my expression of love."
"This is the perfect emotion held by my perfect self."
Melusine looked over at the same time, visible half of her face blank.
Rowe's expression did not change.
It was happening again. Nero's usual episode.
She never concealed her feelings. She had declared she liked him long ago. There was no timid hesitation in her, only the fire of an Emperor who treated emotion as something to be performed loudly and proudly.
And she was narcissistic enough to interpret any casual promise as romance.
Rowe's eye twitched. He raised a finger, preparing a familiar punishment.
Then the carriage jolted.
Hard.
The steady ride cracked into a violent lurch. Nero, arms outstretched, pitched forward and fell straight into Rowe's chest, knocking him backward onto the seat.
For a heartbeat, she was pressed fully against him, posture braced, knees planted, body tight and warm with startled breath.
"Umu?" Nero froze, slow to react.
A voice came from outside the carriage door.
"Your Majesty Nero. Your Eminence Adjutant."
It was the legion commander.
"Your Majesty, Your Eminence. The road ahead collapsed during the earthquake three months ago. We cannot pass. We must stop and reroute."
"Please give instructions. Which way should we go?"
Rowe went still.
The earthquake three months ago.
The timing matched their journey to Britannia.
He did not need anyone to explain what that meant.
The so called earthquake was likely the aftershock of his battle with Melusine when she was still the Albion Dragon. A collision at the scale of primordial existence, pressed down as much as possible, and still powerful enough to scar the land.
Nero also recovered, but instead of moving away, she leaned closer, slyness returning like a flame finding oil.
"The road does not matter."
She pressed down slightly, face near his, eyes half lidded with deliberate charm.
"Ancestor seems to be reacting too?"
Her lips curved. Her voice lowered.
"What do you say, Ancestor?"
Rowe nodded as if agreeing with her logic.
"Indeed," he said. "It is hard."
Nero blinked.
So honest?
Then Rowe finished the sentence.
"My fist is hard."
His finger flicked her forehead again with a clean, practiced motion.
Nero yelped, clutching her head and dropping into a defensive crouch.
Rowe sat up and exhaled.
She really did heal and forget the pain.
Across from them, Melusine tilted her head, genuine confusion in the angle of her posture. She did not understand the exchange between Rowe and Nero. She only knew she wanted the annoying woman gone.
And she would do it, if ordered.
For now, she only muttered, almost inaudible.
"Annoying."
"Umu," Nero hissed back, still rubbing her forehead.
Rowe ignored their feud and looked out.
"Is the road truly impossible to clear?" he asked the commander.
"Yes, Your Eminence. Clearing it would take at least half a year. If we reroute, we must pass through Antium."
Rowe paused.
Antium.
Nero answered first.
"Reroute."
"Yes." The commander withdrew to relay the order.
Nero lowered her hand from her forehead and smiled as if she had won something.
"As expected of my Player. You still remember Antium is my hometown."
"I do not have such a poor memory," Rowe said.
He did know.
Antium was Nero's birthplace, the place she spent her childhood.
Her family began with an unblessed marriage. Her parents were exiled from Rome under Tiberius. Nero's childhood had nothing to do with the capital. She returned to Rome only after Caligula rose.
Antium had not been kind to her. She was discriminated against for the stain of her birth.
And yet.
"My childhood is precious to me," Nero said, shaking her head with a small laugh. "It showed me Rome's true, imperfect side."
"But I still love Rome."
"Because this land nurtured the perfect me."
She looked out through the window, not at the mountains, but at something farther, as if she could see the shape of her own myth waiting ahead.
"When I was in Antium, I believed my birth existed to make imperfect Rome perfect. I believed I could change everything, even if I never became Emperor."
The girl rose, red skirt swaying, and spread her hands toward the world beyond the carriage.
"I am fated Rome."
"And meeting you made me believe it even more."
Rowe had pulled her from the alley. Rowe had placed her on the throne. That was the foundation of her belief, as solid as marble.
So the conclusion followed naturally in her mind.
"You, My Adjutant, is my fated person."
Nero's affection was not a gradual accumulation. It was a decision formed from conviction, from recognition, from her worldview.
A perfect dancer required a perfect Player.
The Emperor had chosen, and in her mind that choice did not change.
"My Adjutant," Nero said, turning back with bright certainty, "you will accompany me until we achieve this."
Rowe smiled.
"Of course. I did not place you there so you could become Rome's joke."
"Then, Adjutant." Nero extended her hand, confidence returning in full. "Accompany me to my hometown."
Rowe placed his hand on hers, then turned his grip and clasped her properly.
"No, Your Majesty Nero," he said. "I should be the one inviting."
He would invite her to witness a cleansing.
A ritual that would clear the path for Augustus's future.
Because Rowe had never been ignorant of the Senate's covert movements.
His information did not only come through the Fairy Eye.
It came through something more direct.
A voice like wind slipped into his awareness.
"Oh, long time no see, Master Sage."
Rowe tilted his head slightly, gaze narrowing.
"Hermes. No, Mercury now."
"I appreciate your efforts."
The messenger of the gods answered with laughter, light and slippery as air.
"This is my duty, and my reward. Do not mind it."
"And the information I bring you," Mercury continued, amused, "is rather interesting."
Rowe listened.
His expression shifted into something rare.
Peculiar.
"The Goddess of Wisdom has descended," Mercury said. "She has manifested in human form."
"And those Senate men approached her."
"They hope to use her to kill you."
Rowe's silence turned sharp.
What kind of lunacy was that?
Send Athena to kill Rowe?
Only a fool would think that ends well.
Nero watched his face change and blinked.
"Hmm? What is wrong, Adjutant?"
Rowe did not answer immediately.
Outside, the escorting legion continued the detour.
And as the carriage rolled on, Antium finally drew near.
.....
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