Chapter 217: Everyone's Growth
In Rowe's eyes, this expedition was never aimed at people alone.
Its true targets were the phantasmal species, demons, and fairies left behind from ancient times, the things that had crawled into the empty seats once called divine and dared to call themselves gods.
Only by uprooting those primitive beliefs, only by sweeping away those ox headed and snake bodied idols, could the wild stench clinging to this land be purged at its root.
It resembled what Rowe once did in the Divine Land, when he swept away the Six Heavens Ancient Ghosts.
And yet it was different.
The similarity lay in cutting away corrupted faith, in tearing out the rot that used worship as a leash.
The difference was simple.
Back then, Rowe carried the Qin sword and did it with his own hands.
Now, at this moment, he carried a different sword.
He was the Empire's sword bearer.
According to legends still circulating among the world's scattered tongues, up until the beginning of the Common Era, Europa still held countless primitive beliefs. Blood worship was common. Slaughter and self mutilation were offered as prayer. People tore their own flesh to win a glance from the sky.
But when the Common Era began, when Rowe led Rome's conquest, everything vanished beneath the tread of the legion.
No gods remained in the heavens.
No demons remained on the earth.
The world renewed itself and stepped into a new age.
The Beginning of the Common Era.
Vultures landed on the wasteland and stepped across corpses, sharp beaks tearing at rotten flesh. The north wind on the battlefield was bleak enough to strip warmth from bone.
Footsteps rustled through mud and blood.
Roman soldiers in armor moved carefully, clearing the field with practiced hands.
"Go check over there!"
Barghest waved the greatsword in her hand. Golden hair streamed in the midday wind, dazzling beneath hard light. Her exquisite face wore an easy smile, and her tall armored body sang with the sound of steel rubbing steel whenever she shifted.
The fairy who drove hounds loved battlefields.
So she was naturally pleased.
Yet the fairy who followed her was not pleased at all.
"What enviable strength, Barghest…"
Baobhan Sith's red dress fluttered as she hid in the tall fairy's shadow. She brushed her crimson hair back and stared at the huge fallen body not far away.
That corpse had been the god worshipped by this barbarian tribe.
A sub dragon species comparable to a god.
But it had not died to the combined efforts of the Roman legions.
It had not died to Rowe.
It had not died to Einzbern.
It had not even died to Melusine.
It had been defeated by Barghest.
The tall fairy Apostle had displayed the body Rowe gave her.
A combat focused vanguard machine.
Something akin to the crimson machina god state of Mars, a form designed for direct violence, refined into overwhelming physical output.
Barghest used it to display top tier divinity in motion, and she crushed the god level sub dragon with it.
What Baobhan Sith envied was obvious.
"Why is my machine armor a communication transmission machine?"
In other words, a signal tower.
Baobhan Sith's responsibility was to speak for Rowe, to carry commands and information through the scattered fairy network, and to relay their responses back to the machina god Rowe.
Barghest chuckled and lowered her heavy sword.
"It suits you very well. Leave charging into battle to me."
"But does that not make me sound useless?" Baobhan Sith's voice turned sour despite herself.
She sighed.
"I could clearly do so much more."
"You do not need to do so much. Just do your part well."
Barghest turned and ruffled Baobhan Sith's head with casual affection.
"My Lord will praise you."
"Really…?"
Praise.
For Baobhan Sith, that was happiness.
In the present world, the fairy named Baobhan Sith had finally found something that made her feel real.
Born in Paradise, her essence had been that of a good fairy, but she did not understand what happiness was supposed to be. She came to this era to seek it.
And while serving as Rowe's messenger, she found it.
It was not indulgence.
It was not violence.
It was affirmation.
Whenever she completed a task, whenever she handled an assignment flawlessly, Rowe praised her without reserve.
Those words became warmth in her chest.
Happiness, to her, was Rowe saying she mattered.
So she wanted to do more.
To gain more affirmation.
Not because she was greedy for pleasure, but because she was afraid of losing the only pleasure she understood.
Barghest looked down at her.
Baobhan Sith tried to sound calm, but her crimson eyes carried a thin tremor, the kind that comes from a fear someone is trying to hide from themselves.
Barghest grinned.
"You and I are fairies of the same generation. We grew up together in Paradise. Do you think I cannot guess what you are thinking?"
"But on this one point, you do not need to worry."
"His Excellency will not abandon us."
"Why are you so confident?" Baobhan Sith asked, unable to stop herself.
Barghest tapped her heavy armor with a blunt clank.
"Because this is the greatest affirmation from My Lord to us."
Baobhan Sith froze.
She lifted a hand to her dress.
Unlike Barghest's armor, which was openly displayed, hers was hidden beneath cloth and guarded like something fragile.
This armor was a gift from Rowe.
An anchor.
A mark that said she had a place.
Using that as reassurance felt irrational, and yet, looking at Barghest's unshakable confidence, Baobhan Sith's breathing eased.
Fairies feared homelessness more than death.
She muttered, trying to cover the shift with attitude.
"Such a loud fellow…"
Then she smiled, strange and bright.
"This time, I will believe you."
"I cannot guarantee everything, but my intuition has always been accurate. Even the Queen said my intuition is comparable to future sight."
Their voices carried across the wilderness.
Among ruins and debris, the final cleanup continued.
Barghest directed the soldiers forward.
And the main body of the Roman legions arrived at the tribe where the god had been slain, not merely to occupy it, but to reorganize those left behind and establish new regulations.
The victor is king.
And the king writes the rules.
"Take the able bodied men. Replenish the army. Leave the old men, women, and children. If any soldier is willing to stay…"
Taking the able bodied men prevented rebellion once the army moved on.
It also meant those men would be immersed in the legion's discipline and language, shaped by Rome's system until it became instinct.
A portion of soldiers was left behind as garrison.
Those soldiers would then gradually assimilate the women, old men, and children.
Customs could not be changed by force alone.
If it was rushed, it would only leave ashes.
Rowe did not want ashes.
He wanted embers.
A spark of civilization, not a fire that burned the world.
Primitive tribes learned civilization's weight through him.
Wild people who believed only in the law of the jungle embraced the spark of order because of him.
Those who stayed and those who were taken formed a cycle.
Before him, conquest meant oppression. It meant rule, plunder, and blunt impact, like Alexander of Macedon trampling every land he passed through.
Rowe showed a different truth.
The most terrifying strength of civilization in war was not slaughter.
It was assimilation.
Civilization and Conquest.
Use the dense Human Order of a strong civilization to cover the thin, sparse culture of a weak tribe.
It was like using ancient mystery to overwrite scattered fragments of mystery.
Different surface.
Same rule.
This was a principle Rowe had long understood, a rule that sat above the visible layer of mystery.
"My Lord has done something incredible again."
Melusine, clad in armor with prominent shoulder guards and half her face covered by a dark blue mask, watched the changes ripple through the captured tribe.
Her voice carried a strange admiration, as if she had not expected to feel it.
"A conquest that does not rely primarily on slaughter."
"Even in the Age of Gods, that was rare."
"It is," Boudica agreed quietly.
"His Excellency Rowe is truly extraordinary."
In the sunlit tribe, Roman soldiers counted heads.
They did not swagger.
They did not sneer.
Even when facing people who seemed weaker and more primitive than Rome, they showed no needless arrogance.
Because before they set out, Rowe gave them an order.
"All land stepped upon is Rome."
They would not, and could not, bully the people of Rome.
It was law.
It was also pride.
The dignity of Rome's soldiers.
The dignity of god slayers.
Yes.
After the earlier act of slaying a god, the legion possessed a new honor that sat heavy in their bones.
They represented Human Order.
They represented humanity's struggle against what remained of the Age of Gods.
That was why Boudica's admiration for Rowe only deepened.
That was why her resolve sharpened.
She wanted to witness more people breaking free of ignorance.
She wanted to see more primitive darkness burned away by the spark of civilization.
Then she turned her gaze to Melusine.
Her voice was steady.
"Do not misunderstand. I have not forgiven you."
"Evil Dragon of Britannia."
Boudica had not forgotten her homeland. She had not forgotten the cleansing. She had not forgotten what was taken.
Yet there was no blind hatred in her eyes.
Only determination.
"One day, I will take revenge on you. But not out of hatred."
"Out of responsibility."
"And I want to see people gain spiritual liberation."
"This too is my responsibility."
Her self will shone like a star in her eyes.
Melusine turned her face slightly.
Behind the mask, her gaze tightened. Her hands hung at her sides, hidden by large arm guards, and her fingers curled a little.
They all seemed to know what they wanted.
They all seemed to know what they were chasing.
So what about her?
Melusine followed Rowe because she did not want to die.
As a being made from one hand of Albion's remains, she did not want to be erased like the original body.
Driven by that instinct, she signed a contract with Rowe.
She became his first attempt.
And she survived.
But after survival, what remained?
She stayed at Rowe's side, but most of the time she simply obeyed.
Why follow?
After following, what did she want to do?
She had never cared enough to ask.
Not until she saw the fairies begin to find their happiness.
Not until she felt the Britannia girl beside her become more resolute with each step.
Rowe always knew what he was doing, and why he was doing it.
That was beyond doubt.
Since leaving Britannia, only Melusine had been drifting.
So she wanted to know.
Why.
She was alive now, so what next?
How should she live?
What did she live for?
Boudica smiled, gentle in a way that made Melusine feel oddly young.
She had no love for Albion, but she could still speak to this fragment like a person.
"Perhaps you should ask yourself. Or ask His Excellency Rowe."
"But whether you understand it now or not, as long as you keep living, you will find it eventually."
Melusine nodded, half understanding.
Her gaze drifted toward the high ground beyond the tribe.
On the mountain, Rome's eagle standard fluttered.
That was where the commander stood.
Ask Rowe, or ask myself.
Melusine did not know.
But she felt like she had touched the edge of an answer.
On that mountain, a young girl in an elegant robe sat beside Rowe.
She brushed silver hair aside and narrowed crimson eyes, smiling.
"I have already recorded your journey."
She was the accompanying record keeper. That was her duty.
And yet, Rowe felt an ominous premonition anyway.
"Let me see," he said, then paused.
"Never mind. I will not look."
"Hm?" Einzbern froze, caught off guard.
She had written plenty of teasing lines on the papyrus, the kind meant to provoke him.
Words about Rowe refusing with righteous composure in daylight, only for the two of them to be intimate in the tent at night.
The Third Magician had been waiting for his reaction.
And he simply refused to give her one.
"I will not look," Rowe repeated, smiling. "I trust you."
"No matter what you wrote, I will accept it gladly."
"Because it is you."
"So nothing else matters."
For some reason, Einzbern's face warmed.
They had been intimate countless times.
Yet at this moment, her heart still stumbled as if it had forgotten the rhythm.
Perhaps it was because, as a human manifestation, she was closer to human emotions.
Einzbern tightened her grip on the paper and smiled despite herself.
She knew her attempt to tease Rowe had failed again.
She had lost again.
As Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom, as the one who once commanded victory in the human world, she had failed countless times when it came to this man.
But it did not matter.
Because she lost willingly.
Because in this contest, she was content to lose.
.....
[Check Out My Patreon For Advance Chapters On All My Fanfics!]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03]