Chapter 216: The Lord Calls for Swords and Soldiers Among Humans
The Fairy Eye was founded by Rowe with Merlin's existence as its core, but it was built as a secret official organization of the Roman Empire.
And since it was an organization, it was never going to survive on Merlin alone.
After its establishment, Rowe leveraged the Roman Empire's overwhelming influence on the tree of Human Order and used that authority to recruit countless magi.
Otherwise, there would have been no need to raise a massive Clock Tower as its base in Rome, planted near the palace like a second spine of the capital.
The young woman like magus named Brisisan was, without question, one of the recruits.
But Brisisan was different from the usual sort.
Most magi who came to the Fairy Eye did so because they craved resources, patrons, and a place to refine their craft under the shadow of an empire.
Brisisan had already finished everything that could be finished through accumulation and funding.
She entered the Fairy Eye for a single reason.
To confirm one thing.
To confirm whether the person named Rowe was the person she once knew.
"Eh eh, no matter how many times I hear it, it still feels incredible. Did that person really live through all that?"
Merlin sat on the window frame at the top floor of the Clock Tower. Legs wrapped in black silk rested lightly against the huge pendulum clock face below. She could feel the steady whir of gears and the patient turning of hands through the stone.
Her smile was bright, almost wickedly entertained.
Brisisan nodded.
She knew the girl in front of her was not purely human. But as Solomon's disciple, she had met far too many non human existences to be surprised by a half nightmare fairy sitting on a clock like it was a swing.
"Lord Rowe is the Lord's incarnation among humans," Brisisan said calmly. "He once guided Teacher Solomon to emerge from his disguised divinity."
"Guided?" Merlin blinked her crimson eyes. "Given that person's temperament, I suspect it was scolding. Direct scolding."
Brisisan's expression turned a little awkward.
That was her teacher, after all.
"It was scolding," she admitted. Then, after the embarrassment passed, she could not help smiling.
"Yes. Teacher was even scolded to tears."
"Eh eh eh? King Solomon was scolded to tears?"
"Yes. I did not expect it either, but perhaps Lord Rowe was right. The real Teacher Solomon might truly be a timid coward."
Merlin's smile widened as if she had just been handed a fine piece of candy.
"And after that, they still became friends?"
"They did."
Sunlight spilled across Rome, washing marble buildings and palaces in gold. It also fell on the top of the Fairy Eye's Clock Tower, tracing Merlin's figure like a stage light.
Merlin loved enjoyable things.
And Brisisan's stories were enjoyable.
The timid Magic King Solomon.
The reckless, fearless incarnation of the Lord among humans, Rowe.
A legend known by few.
But for Brisisan, it had been reality.
"Humans really are not only capable of shallow pleasure, just as Rowe said," Merlin murmured.
Her gaze drifted inward, into the Clock Tower itself.
Magi moved through corridors with measured steps. Magic circles glimmered with flowing mercury. A dense aura of mystery saturated the air, layered like invisible fog.
The Fairy Eye.
"The Clock Tower, huh," Merlin said softly. "This place might become another ledger that records his legend."
Her upturned lips grew even brighter.
Brisisan paused, then smiled.
"It will."
"Since this is an organization founded by Lord Rowe, I will make it fulfill its duties."
"The duty of observing the present world, and inscribing mystery."
"Then I will look forward to it, disciple of the Magic King," Merlin replied.
Then she added, tone turning lightly thoughtful.
"Speaking of which, the Roman Emperor, Nero Claudius, will soon return to Rome."
"The King returns with glory."
"The Saint marches far with swords and soldiers."
A line drifted across the edge of thought, like a blade's reflection.
The Lord said in heaven: I have come not to bring peace to the earth, but to bring a sword.
The Gospel.
No matter the era, region, or race, war had never been pleasant.
Especially in these early centuries of the Common Era.
The Roman Empire stood like a pillar on the eastern shore of Europe, radiating its presence to the surrounding world. Yet beyond Rome's borders, many regions remained barbaric.
They worshipped evil gods.
They revered demons left behind from older ages as saints.
Gods could no longer manifest as they once had. The Age of Gods had already receded.
But monstrous beasts, phantasmal species, and twisted creatures woven from evil, desire, and natural disaster could still appear.
And they forced people who should have been walking toward civilization back into blood sacrifice and raw meat.
They oppressed the helpless, demanded worship, and set themselves upon stolen thrones, calling themselves the new gods.
In truth, this beginning of the Common Era was a vacuum period for an age.
Not every land carried what Rome carried.
Not every nation had the special attributes that still clung to the Roman gods. Across the entire world, there was only one Mars, the crimson machina god, even now.
So once the Roman soldiers crossed the border, what they saw was no longer prosperity.
No longer streets where people wore robes and spoke with politeness.
They saw places where people fought with blades for survival.
They saw customs so primitive that they felt like nightmares.
A hundred infants placed together after birth.
Only one permitted to live.
"It is simply a human tragedy."
The setting sun bled across the wasteland. Boudica, long red hair catching the last light, stared ahead with a hard expression.
A field of rocks.
Countless bones.
Vultures circled overhead, crying hoarsely through thin clouds. Withered grass scraped the wind.
And among that grass were the remains.
What the Princess of Britannia saw were not the skeletons of grown men.
The skulls were large. The torsos were small.
Even broken and scattered, it was obvious.
They were the bones of children.
"The most primitive nomadic tribes place children together," Barghest said, walking up beside her. Tall, robust, sealed in heavy armor, she spoke with blunt disgust. "They make the newborns fight and bite until only the strongest remains."
"They believe children born that way are stronger. That they are protected by heaven."
Barghest's eyes narrowed.
"And it also pleases that evil god."
Evil god.
The evil beast that usurped a divine throne after the gods departed.
Boudica exhaled slowly.
Even though only white bones remained, the thought that these were newborns, innocent and unknowing, made bile rise in her throat.
"No wonder Lord Rowe chose an expedition," she said, voice low, carried by the wilderness wind. "Before, I thought…"
"You thought our Lord was simply satisfying selfish desires," Barghest cut in.
Boudica's cheeks flushed, but she still admitted it.
"Yes."
"But now I know I was wrong."
"I once thought Britannia, after the dragon's cleansing, was the most tragic place."
"But now I understand."
"I am not the most troubled."
"At least we had the will to resist. We had a goal."
Boudica lifted her hand and pointed at the bones.
"But they had nothing."
Her expression shifted, anger to helplessness, helplessness to determination.
A clear metallic sound rang out as she drew the sword at her waist.
Her white robe wrapped her body. She bent slightly, thighs folding together, posture like prayer.
Barghest stared, momentarily caught off guard. It looked like confession.
Boudica lowered her head. Red hair rose like flame.
Her voice, generous and unwavering, echoed into the wind.
"Before, I thought only of myself, only of my homeland. That may not have been wrong."
"But since I have come here, I will no longer hold doubts."
"I swear in the name of Britannia."
"In this battle, I will be the vanguard."
"I will sweep away calamity. I will sweep away darkness, and chaos."
"I will fight to the death to liberate those ignorant people."
Barghest smiled, pleased.
"Hmph. Humans."
"That is it. Uphold your ideals, and move forward."
The fairies of Paradise had seen countless humans during this time.
Fairies survived by leaning on human selfhood. They maintained themselves by absorbing human emotion.
And among all humans, Barghest loved warriors like this most.
Generous.
Loyal.
Unwilling to kneel.
Because she herself was a warrior of Paradise.
The fairy who tamed black hounds.
She loved galloping.
And she loved people who were not afraid of what waited ahead.
The wind blew, scattering fragments of grass and dry wood.
Under thinning sunset and swaying shadows, a crimson presence condensed.
"Barghest. What are you doing here?"
"Nothing. Why are you here, Baobhan Sith?"
"Lord Rowe called me," Baobhan Sith said, face tightening. "He said they found the source of this infant graveyard."
She paused, then spoke the rest with cold clarity.
"That tribe's evil god took the first step."
"It attacked the central camp where Lord Rowe and Lady Einzbern are."
Boudica opened her eyes.
Barghest grinned, teeth sharp with anticipation.
"Seeking death."
They had come ahead to scout. Now there was no need.
The evil god had sensed the threat of Rome's army, lost its reason, and chose to strike first.
Roar.
The wasteland remained the same.
The setting sun remained the same.
Banners whipped across mountains and plains.
Roman soldiers raised spears and javelins. The earth trembled beneath synchronized steps as they faced a charging barbarian tribe.
They were called barbarians, but their equipment was not crude. Their armor was woven from snake scales.
Each warrior was tall.
And thick black mist seeped from their bodies.
They numbered only about a thousand.
Yet their charge carried the momentum of a blade meant to split the earth.
They surged down from high ground toward the Roman formation.
"Thirty paces. Throw javelins!"
A commander's shout cut through the air.
Roman soldiers tightened their bodies and hurled their javelins with full force.
They fell like rain.
Like needles meant to pierce the world.
In an instant, hundreds of barbarians dropped.
But most endured the impact and kept coming, bodies shaking off the pain as if the javelins were mere inconvenience.
Javelin lines pulled back.
Shield bearers advanced.
Spears thrust through gaps between shields.
Cavalry moved forward on both wings, curving like outstretched arms to encircle.
Superior equipment.
Superior coordination.
The charging barbarians were trapped in a net almost immediately.
Yet they fought more fiercely with every heartbeat.
"The evil god's power is protecting them."
At the rear, Rowe watched in silence.
He still wore the sharp, fitted Adjutant uniform that looked almost absurdly clean against a battlefield. His gaze was steady.
Beside him, Einzbern sat with legs crossed, holding book and pen like a scholar attending a lecture. Elegant, beautiful, infuriatingly calm.
"It is useless," she said.
"The era is no longer the same."
As the Third Magician and as Athena, her dual identity gave her a clear sense of the world's tilt.
Myth was no longer the main stage.
The stage was turning toward humanity.
Sure enough, though the barbarians were ferocious under borrowed power, they were still beasts caught in a net.
They struggled.
They could not escape.
They exhausted themselves.
Then they were cut down.
Rumble.
The sky seemed to rupture.
Sunset twisted, clouds boiling into shape as if reality itself was being kneaded.
A colossal figure formed.
A giant snake.
A divine class phantasmal species aligned to chaos, an usurper that had taken a divine throne in the absence of true gods.
Its massive head revealed itself with savage arrogance.
The pressure it released was terrifying.
But its gaze did not fall upon the Roman soldiers.
It fell upon its own followers.
"Snake God above!"
"Oh Snake God, we have already fought bravely!"
The snake's eyes turned cold.
Space cracked.
The tall barbarian warriors exploded into bloody mist.
"You are too weak," a voice like frost said across heaven and earth. "Better to become my blood sacrifice, so I can defeat my opponent."
Behind Rowe, Melusine opened her eyes and tilted her head.
"Should I act?"
Einzbern smiled, silent.
"No need."
Rowe lifted a hand, casual.
He looked up at the huge snake head lowering from the clouds. Its gaze glinted with malice.
"My followers have no conflict with you," The giant snake said. "Why do you attack my people?"
The giant snake's attention sharpened.
It was clearly looking at him.
So Rowe smiled faintly.
"To liberate Europa."
"For this era that belongs to humanity."
"Liberate Europa?"
The snake roared, rage cracking the clouds.
"Absurd. Arrogant. Mere humans, presuming to control the world?"
Rowe's hand moved as if dismissing an argument.
"You do not believe it."
"Then try."
"I will not act. None of us will act."
"Try and see whether these mortals under my command can kill you."
The snake coiled, body twisting like a mountain range moving under a skin of cloud.
It was wary of the three on the chariot.
But if none of them acted…
Roar.
The Snake Evil God gambled.
It lowered its colossal body like a falling mountain.
"Mere humans. Mere humans."
"Become my blood sacrifice."
A fierce wind slammed down.
A natural disaster descended.
The legion wavered.
For a brief moment, chaos rippled through disciplined ranks.
The Roman legions had defeated countless human enemies. They had beaten back invaders. They had crushed rebellions.
But they had never faced a god, face to face.
Humans and gods were not meant to stand on the same plane.
So this was the first time.
Fear rose.
Panic flickered.
The instinct to retreat.
To escape.
But what would retreat become?
A shame that could never be washed away.
The disgrace of being branded deserters.
On the chariot, Rowe's voice cut through the moment like a blade through cloth.
"Tell me. Who are you?"
Who are they.
We are…
"Rome."
"That is right. Rome."
"Do not be afraid. Rome is behind you."
"Do not worry. Rome is within you."
Rome. Rome. Rome.
We are Rome.
Rome is the strongest.
"Spears up!"
"Shields forward!"
"Charge!"
Boudica galloped in from afar, riding across wild grass. Red hair streamed behind her like a banner.
Her voice rang out, calm in the face of disaster.
The soldiers lifted weapons as one.
There was only one way.
Forward.
The snake pressed down heavier, confident.
In its eyes, these mortals would splatter.
They would die.
They would break.
But the expected roar did not come.
Death did not spread.
The snake did not crash into earth.
It was stopped.
It was propped up by spears.
One hundred thousand banners.
A million blades and points.
The snake froze.
Startled.
Then furious.
Then panic seized it, and it tried to pull away.
But the spears were a forest, pinning the wild evil dragon in place.
Its blood spilled.
Red.
So gods bled too.
Their blood was red too.
They were nothing more than this.
"Rome, victory!" someone shouted, voice breaking with disbelief and triumph.
Victory to Rome.
Victory for humanity.
And in the background, like a scripture rewritten by steel, the thought returned.
The Lord came to earth to bring sword and war among men.
To cut the shackles within hearts.
To separate man from god.
To make people autonomous.
To let reverence remain, but never again become blindness.
.....
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