The cold wind howled through the city—on this day, Rome had never felt so bleak, so bitter.
"Lord Novia, Her Majesty the Empress has issued an order—"
"Brutus, who gave you permission to lead the Praetorian Guard into the palace on your own authority?"
Novia's gaze settled on the Roman Praetorians stationed at the palace gates. His voice was calm but firm as he addressed their commander, Brutus.
Ordinarily, the Praetorian Guard was quartered outside the city walls and answered to the emperor alone. But with Claudius gravely ill, it was impossible for him to give such a command. And everyone knew what had happened to the last emperor, Caligula—stabbed to death by his own guards.
But Novia understood perfectly well who had truly ordered Brutus to act. It could only be the current empress, Agrippina, who had long ago sealed a physical pact with the man, lying in wait for Claudius's death so she could appoint her chosen heir.
At the end of the day, she would tolerate no one on the throne except her own son—Nero. Just as Novia had anticipated. And so, all he needed to do was obey that plan... and wait.
Still, Novia saw no reason to retreat, nor any need to show mercy.
"Brutus," he said coldly, "I'm already well aware of your arrangement with Agrippina."
Without giving the man a second glance, Novia strode past him and toward the emperor's chamber. Not a single Praetorian stepped forward to block his way. In their eyes, Novia was no mere man—he was the emissary of the divine. And though they were soldiers sworn to coin and command, they had no desire to wager their lives on crossing such a being.
It was a tragic irony. Augustus had created the Praetorian Guard and paid them triple the standard soldier's wage to protect the emperor—to prevent another assassination like Julius Caesar's. Yet centuries of indulgence had turned the Praetorians into imperial executioners.
In the original timeline, this was clearly evident. In 69 AD, Galba, one of the Year of the Four Emperors, was murdered by the Guard within six months of his reign after trying to enforce discipline. And in 193 AD, the most shameful moment in imperial history occurred—the infamous auction of the imperial throne.
Once again, the Guard murdered their emperor for daring to "cut their bonuses," then sold the throne to the highest bidder.
"Novia..."
The voice of Emperor Claudius, aged sixty-four, cracked like brittle parchment as he stirred from a daze, eyes fluttering open.
The room was deathly still, like a funeral held in hushed reverence. But with Novia's entry, the silence was broken—natural sounds slipped in with the breeze: the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves.
Claudius gazed at the young man beside his bed, as if seeing a long-lost friend. His worn, wrinkled face showed a grave, somber expression.
Eyes the color of deep sea, hair like fallen snow—Novia fit every image of a divine emissary. He was only twenty-one, yet his presence radiated calm and weight, making people instinctively want to draw close and speak.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I'm here. Please—speak freely."
Novia gently held the emperor's hand, patient and composed.
This old man, crippled since birth by polio, had suffered scorn all his life. Even as emperor, he was ridiculed. Yet no one could deny that he had done much to stabilize the Roman Empire.
And more importantly—he had always treated Novia with kindness. Though self-interest had surely played a part, without Claudius's early support, Novia might never have reached this point.
"...Octavia... Britannicus..."
Claudius whispered the names of his children, his eyes filled with worry.
"Do not fear, Your Majesty. I am still here. I am their teacher."
Novia softened his tone. He understood what the emperor meant. But Claudius's next words gave him pause.
"Baptize me... please..."
Claudius met Novia's gaze with quiet resolve. His voice was a faint whisper, like falling snowflakes. "Help me up... I must go and announce... that thing... you've always wanted..."
The message was clear: in exchange for baptism, Claudius would use the last of his strength to publicly declare Christianity as the state religion of Rome. His plea—please—was a confession of desperation. Claudius knew full well that even if he didn't do it, Nero, his inevitable successor, probably would.
But still, as someone raised within the ruthless Roman court, Claudius couldn't bring himself to trust verbal promises. Novia's vow to protect his children after his death was appreciated—but too intangible. He needed to trade something real.
In this, Claudius and Nero shared the same instinct: trust must be bought.
"Your Majesty," Novia said, a soft smile touching his lips, "do you remember what you told me the first time we met? 'Don't look at the moon—it is not a kind thing.' I've never forgotten. I'm still grateful."
Claudius had always hated the moon—for it was while gazing at it that his nephew Caligula descended into madness.
But Novia knew better. In the world of Type-Moon, Caligula's insanity had been triggered by glimpsing the moon goddess Diana—Artemis, to the Greeks. Or more precisely, what remained of her: the decaying main cannon of her divine mechanical body, still drifting in orbit above Earth in this era.
In Type-Moon lore, the Greek gods were alien divine beings—foreign machines whose true bodies were mostly destroyed during the invasion of Earth by the Velber star-fleet. What remained were avatars powered by human faith. They had tried to rebuild themselves, but the Age of Gods ended before they succeeded.
That's why pieces of Ares's mechanical remains ended up drifting to the Far East... and why fragments of the lunar goddess had also fallen there.
Even if Claudius had been healthy, he wouldn't have grasped all this. But from Novia's solemn nod, the emperor sensed that his concerns had been understood.
"Then... help me up..."
On October 12th, 54 AD, Emperor Claudius I of the Roman Empire issued a historic declaration—
He relinquished the title of Pontifex Maximus, severing the emperor's official ties to the old Roman temples. He outlawed sacrifices to the traditional Roman pantheon.
He went further, banning all religious practices in the empire except Christianity. Every citizen of Rome was now required to "follow the faith entrusted to the Romans by Novia" and to "shut down all places of pagan worship."
Thus, Christianity became the sole legal religion of the Roman Empire—the official state faith.
The following day, October 13th, Claudius was baptized by Novia, becoming the first Roman emperor to convert to Christianity.
That very evening, after returning to the palace, Emperor Claudius passed away.
With no opposition, seventeen-year-old Nero ascended as the fifth emperor of the Julio-Claudian dynasty.