Chapter 214: The Saintess Chasing the Evil Dragon in Her Heart
"Hmm… I can still drink, Adjutant. Come dance with me… hmm hmm hmm?!"
A muddled voice echoed through the long night.
Inside the jolting carriage, Rowe looked down with quiet resignation at the drunken female Emperor curled in his arms. Nero Claudius clung to him like an octopus, refusing to let go even in sleep.
After arriving at the final provincial city, the first order of business was, as always, a grand banquet. Nero's favorite.
She had always loved extravagance. Fortunately, Rome's national strength was solid, and with Rowe managing the machinery of governance, the foundations only grew steadier. The ruler's indulgence did not squeeze the common people, otherwise it would have been a symptom of a nation nearing collapse.
For now, it harmed no one. Rowe had no intention of forcing a correction.
If Nero's excesses bled anywhere, they bled upward. Into the nobles.
Of course, every banquet ended the same way.
Nero's drinking habits were terrible.
Once she was drunk, nobody could approach her except Rowe. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that when she was drunk, she only wanted Rowe. She always searched for chances to get close, to be intimate, to prove something she could not quite articulate.
"Why is Adjutant not speaking, umu?"
Red faced and tipsy, the girl in his arms lifted her head and leaned in. She wriggled, twisting her slender waist until her body faced him fully.
Soft weight pressed against him.
Her bent legs settled on either side of Rowe where he sat, as if claiming territory by instinct. Her face hovered slightly higher than his. Golden hair swayed close enough to tickle his breath.
Nero tilted her head. Her emerald eyes were hazy with intoxication.
She lowered herself as if searching for something.
Then she collapsed onto his shoulder.
A soft snore escaped her. Her eyes closed fully. Long lashes fluttered once, twice, and then she slipped into deep sleep with the shameless ease of a ruler who believed the world existed to catch her.
Rowe had barely begun to exhale when a voice, smiling but sharp, drifted from the other side of the carriage.
"Hmm? You look quite comfortable."
Athena, now manifesting as Minerva Einzbern, had not attended the banquet. She had been waiting inside the carriage the entire time, calm and composed.
She tilted her head.
A book rested in her hand. Silver hair fell over vermilion eyes, and a pair of glasses made her look almost scholarly. Her classical robe was gone, replaced by an elegant gown. The black skirt swayed lightly, and beneath it her legs were wrapped in black stockings that sharpened her already refined presence.
The Third Magician looked elegant and intellectual.
Her gaze toward Rowe carried a knowing half smile.
"You saw it," Rowe said, nodding toward Nero's sleeping form. "There is nothing I can do, is there?"
"What do you mean, nothing you can do?" Einzbern raised a delicate eyebrow. "You just planned to wait for me to help you, did you not?"
"You do not have to help."
"How could I not?"
She closed the book with a soft motion, then stood and reached down to lift Nero out of Rowe's arms with casual competence.
"Even if I understand it is unavoidable, I still truly do not want other women touching you."
Her lips curved.
"Do not forget, I can be very jealous."
"I cannot tell."
"That is because you have too many women around you, and I cannot beat them."
The human manifestation of the Goddess of Wisdom was remarkably frank. The logic was brutally simple.
Unable to win, so unable to indulge jealousy.
Rowe could not help a small laugh.
"Do not laugh," Einzbern huffed. "I will become strong very soon. The Third Magic represents the future. As long as I master it completely, I can become infinitely and eternally stronger!"
The silver haired, red eyed girl looked genuinely offended.
Petite though she was, compared to Nero's small stature she still felt taller in presence and in posture. She settled Nero onto the seat.
Nero stirred once, then fell silent again, soothed deeper into sleep.
"The power of the goddess Minerva, symbolism of the moon," Rowe murmured, eyebrow lifting.
The moon was night, and night was dream.
Rowe did not press further. He did not enjoy probing the secrets of those close to him.
He only watched.
Einzbern reached out and plucked something from Nero with two fingers.
A single strand of black hair.
She held it up between her fingertips.
"No," she said simply. "I used this. Your hair."
Rowe paused.
"She only feels safe when she senses your presence," Einzbern added, voice softening just slightly. "If she is not anchored by you, even sleep becomes a kind of vigilance."
"Is that so…"
Rowe looked down at Nero's peaceful sleeping face. A small, unguarded smile appeared before he could stop it.
Then he realized Einzbern had already settled into his lap, as if the seat had been designed for her.
"This position suits me," she said, looking up as though it were natural law. "Do you agree?"
Rowe's gaze slid past her.
"She is asleep too."
On the other side, Melusine, the first Apostle and Rowe's personal guard, slept with eyes gently closed.
Albion, the Original Dragon, did not need rest.
But Melusine now carried a human Spirit foundation. Human bodies grew tired. Human minds drifted. Even if she could suppress it, she did not bother resisting an instinct that made her feel more alive.
Rowe leaned in and did not refuse.
He kissed Einzbern's moist vermilion lips.
His hand supported her slender waist. His other arm shifted, hooking her legs in an easy, practiced motion that matched his restraint with undeniable intimacy.
The carriage jolted and swayed as it rolled forward.
After the banquet, they would return to the palace prepared in advance by the provincial governor for the Emperor.
Evening wind slipped through the window. Hooves beat a steady rhythm into the night.
Melusine, half dozing, opened her eyes. She looked at the swaying interior with faint confusion, then at the closeness between Rowe and Einzbern.
She did not speak. She only watched, quiet as a blade in its sheath.
As they neared the palace, a report came from outside the carriage.
"Your Eminence, Lady Martha wishes to see you."
Rowe stopped. He pulled back from Einzbern, breath steadying into its usual rhythm, then turned his gaze and nodded.
Martha had been dispatched to establish schools and spread doctrine.
Rowe knew, of course, that the girl who had received revelation from the core of chaos was in this city.
"Martha?" Einzbern's tone rose slightly. "That sounds like another woman."
"Do not worry," Rowe said. "This one cannot beat you."
"Oh? What is there to be relieved about…"
Einzbern sighed, then waved a hand as if dismissing the thought.
"Never mind. Go. I will wait here."
The words sounded unsettlingly like an old married couple.
Rowe stepped out of the carriage, still tasting the residue of the Third Magician's teasing and the quiet sweetness of their intimacy.
The night city was silent.
Only the Imperial Guard stood watch around the carriage, armor catching faint torchlight.
Rowe followed the direction indicated by the guards. Before he reached the place, he heard a low, resonant voice reciting words with the cadence of scripture.
"The Lord in heaven said that the people must know His true intent."
"The Lord wishes the people to become masters of their own spirits."
"They must respect themselves with the same reverence they show the Lord."
"The Lord once suffered betrayal. One third of the angels turned away, yet the Lord forgave them. He said that all things contain good and evil, and only by seeing black and white clearly can one know where to walk toward the light."
"The Holy Son also suffered betrayal. The nobles of Rome, for their own benefit, led one third of the soldiers to defy the saint who brought reform for the people."
At the end of the street, Martha opened her eyes.
The voice had undoubtedly come from her mouth.
She smiled.
"Your Eminence. Long time no see."
Rowe stared at her for a moment.
Then he spoke with honest disbelief.
"What is all this?"
"It was just a reclamation of central authority. I would not even call it suppressing a rebellion."
"But it already demonstrated your wisdom," Martha said, blinking.
"To subdue the enemy without fighting."
She smiled as if proud to quote him.
"You said that yourself, did you not?"
"That is a line I borrowed from a philosopher," Rowe said flatly. He had no desire to steal another mind's words.
Martha only smiled.
"Others say it. You did it."
Rowe's gaze moved over her.
"You did not call me here only to recite this."
"You have not changed much."
It was true.
Her appearance remained nearly the same. Long purple hair tied with a white ribbon fell loosely around her pretty face. White fabric wrapped her waist but left the center bare, flat and smooth. Draped cloth covered her thighs, while her calves were wrapped in red silk above boots that tapped lightly against stone.
Her arms were now protected by cold grey armor, and her hands gripped a cross shaped spear with quiet familiarity.
The Saintess remained sacred and pure.
But now there was a hint of heroic spirit in the way she stood, like someone who had accepted that salvation could require force.
Seeing Rowe study her, Martha blinked, then looked herself up and down as if genuinely confused.
"What changes could there be?"
"During this time, following your decree, I have traveled everywhere, conveying the Lord's will…"
She was about to continue when a clear, crisp voice cut in from nearby.
"Sister Martha."
Martha froze.
Rowe turned.
A girl skipped toward them, energetic and careless, completely ignoring Martha's frantic signals to be quiet.
"Sister Martha, those guys in the underground district are being very unruly. Should we go beat them up?"
The girl puffed her cheeks.
"Hmph. How dare they question what my sister says? I told them to ask around. Who does not know the prestige of Big Sister Martha?"
Rowe's lips twitched.
Why did that sound like a gang leader.
Martha coughed quickly, face flushing despite her effort to remain composed.
"With those people, this is the only way," she said, voice steadying. "When dealing with low level ruffians who refuse to let their children receive education, fists are often more effective than preaching."
"Indeed," Rowe said, eyes drifting to her armored arm. "After all, those are the fists that once beat an Evil Dragon."
Martha had tamed Tarasque.
A physical taming.
An honest one.
"Eh?" The little girl tilted her head, not understanding.
Martha exhaled and turned toward her.
"This is…"
Rowe spoke first.
"I am Martha's friend. I am only here to visit."
"A friend?" The girl's eyes lit up. "Sister Martha's friend is indeed very beautiful…"
Rowe touched his own face, mildly offended on behalf of his dignity.
Martha waved a hand, clearly relieved Rowe had not wanted his identity revealed.
"Alright. I will talk with my friend. You go on ahead."
"Yes. Oh, Sister Martha, can I keep that book you lent me a bit longer?"
"Of course you can."
"That is great, thank you, Sister Martha!"
The girl bounced on her heels, voice bright.
"Reading and writing are so much fun. From now on, I will follow what the book says and work hard to become a Roman official who governs a region and protects the safety of its people!"
Her excited voice faded as she skipped away into the night.
Rowe watched her go.
"It seems your school is doing well."
He could see it. There was no confusion in that child's eyes, the kind of emptiness that often haunted children from the lower districts.
Rowe nodded once, sincere.
"You have worked hard, Martha."
"This is what I should do," Martha said, smiling from the heart.
"To spread the Lord's words, to free people from the suffering of ignorance, this is what I hope for."
"Your Eminence must not know what they were like before."
"When I first arrived, the children here understood nothing. They could not read or write. They did not know what the world was."
"They were trapped by survival. Trapped by the present. Unable to know the shape of their future."
"Perhaps they would die tomorrow, or the day after. People in the lower districts lived day to day, not knowing why they lived, nor what they lived for."
"But now, they know."
"They have learned to read and write."
"They have learned the vastness of the world."
"They have learned their goals."
This was the difference.
Not the weight of accumulated knowledge, but the birth of direction.
A goal.
And it was not only the children.
Martha, too, had found a goal.
"This may be the journey I have been seeking," she said quietly, smile genuine and unguarded.
"I was once trapped as well. I came to know myself through your revelation."
"I once wished everyone could be like me, but I did not know how."
"I once drove away the Evil Dragon Tarasque. You know this."
"People hailed me as the Saintess who tamed the Evil Dragon. But only I knew I had not truly changed anything."
"The dragon was driven away, yet the people's lives did not improve. They remained trapped. They remained confused."
"I did not understand what I had done. I felt as if I had done nothing."
"Now, I understand why."
Martha's fingers tightened on the cross shaped spear.
"Because I only drove away the Evil Dragon of reality."
"I did not drive away the Evil Dragon in their hearts."
"The dragon in their hearts occupied their consciousness. It prevented them from recognizing themselves, from finding goals, from becoming masters of their own spirits as the Lord said."
"And this is what I will do from now on."
Martha knelt before Rowe.
Her posture was reverent, but not submissive. Like a knight kneeling to swear an oath, not a servant begging for permission.
She gripped the spear tightly.
"Please witness my vow, my Lord."
This was her realization born from walking among the people.
Her true, heartfelt thought.
She had matured. She had become firmer.
She preached for salvation.
Not salvation for preaching.
She was the Saintess who drove away Evil Dragons.
From now on, she would walk that path without wavering.
"This is the Lord's will," Martha said.
"The Lord's glory will shine eternally upon the earth from here."
Gospel
Martha, who once served the saint, vowed before the Lord, saying to the Lord:
You are the Holy One in the hearts of the people.
You are the righteousness in the hearts of the people.
I will forever follow Your will.
The Lord said:
The path you firmly believe in will surely be illuminated by light in the future.
The people will receive the Lord's words because of you.
Gospel
The next day, as the sun rose, Rowe closed the Gospel in his hand with a crisp snap and rubbed his temple.
After the exchange came the parting.
Martha had spoken her philosophy to the Lord, and then she left.
This Gospel was a book compiled by Martha herself, consisting of Rowe's words, given to him after their discussion.
But the content was truly…
A mess.
Or rather, a filter had been applied so aggressively that Rowe barely recognized his own sentences.
Refined until they became something else.
Still, it was not useless.
Rowe slipped the book away.
At the very least, the doctrine Martha established pointed people toward mastery of their own spirits.
It was closer to philosophy than faith.
Since you have chosen it, then go forth without hesitation.
"Lord," Martha answered from a distance, as if hearing the words even with her back turned.
"I will pursue the Evil Dragon all my life. Until one day, I hope I can stand beside You."
"Most pure and holy."
"Most high and true."
"Almighty and righteous…"
"My Lord."
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