Type-Moon: Does even a sneak peek make it official?

Across the sea from the English Channel lay that ancient land, where pale snowflakes drifted softly from the sky. What began as sparse, scattered flakes soon gathered into a dense flurry, blanketing the entire island.

The year was now officially 49 AD.

On the conquered isle of Britannia, the Roman settlement of Londinium, founded by the Empire, continued to grow, serving as a "bridge over the Thames." In time, this settlement would surely become the very "heart" of the island.

In the frigid, pre-dawn wind, the Governor of Britannia, Lucius, stood at the edge of the excavation site. The icy gusts brushed against his cheeks, forcing a sneeze from him as he paused within the tunnel he had carved out.

"There sure are a lot of these damn things down here."

The man pointed his weapon into the depths of the tunnel, where countless glimmers of green light dotted the walls. They clung to the damp, earthen surfaces like frost scattered across the underground passage.

But these weren't some strange mineral deposits—these were corpses. Yet Lucius felt no sadness.

They? Them?

It was impossible to clearly distinguish their gender. Their insectoid bodies had slightly oversized, human-like eyes. Their slender limbs carried the fragile beauty of a young girl, and their long, soft hair drifted as if caught in an unseen breeze. But if one looked closely at their faces, they would notice a hidden seam—when that seam split open, the entire head would peel apart vertically, transforming into a gaping maw filled with razor-sharp fangs that lunged at their prey.

Utterly revolting, yet clearly not of the "Phantasmal Species"—they resembled worms birthed from some long-dead, ancient mystery rather than creatures of proper legend.

Lucius had been appointed Governor of Britannia one year ago. Ever since then, he had diligently followed Novia's instructions, excavating the underground of Londinium. Though he wasn't entirely sure what Novia sought, for caution's sake, Lucius had chosen to dig alone. Fortunately, he was no ordinary man—sleeping only three hours a day was more than enough for him. His tireless work ethic quickly won the trust of both the Roman soldiers stationed on the island and the local inhabitants.

It was only natural. Lucius had no interest in wealth. He didn't exploit the natives, led the military by example, and was personally formidable in combat. The garrisoned soldiers of Britannia respected him unreservedly.

After a brief pause, Lucius pulled his gaze away from the eerie green lights and focused on the tunnel ahead, continuing to dig. But suddenly, a wave of dull pain coursed through his lower back. He furrowed his brow slightly but, as always, endured the gnawing agony that had plagued him for years.

However, ever since Novia had given him a single drop of that water, the pain had significantly lessened. If the suffering had once been a "ten," it was now barely a "one."

Naturally, Lucius harbored deep gratitude toward Novia. At one point, he had even considered gifting Novia his own spear, once stained with the blood of the Holy Son, believing the young man far more important than himself. Yet Novia had refused, insisting Lucius keep it for his own protection.

Given that, all Lucius could do was fulfill Novia's orders as best he could. Only that could properly express his thanks. Besides, for someone so young to have achieved so much already… Though Lucius himself was aging, he refused to drag behind as dead weight.

With that resolve, Lucius had no interest in admiring the island of Britannia. He only wanted to find what Novia had instructed him to uncover.

After two more hours of digging, the man retrieved a sweat-soaked waterskin from his belt and drank deeply.

But just as he prepared to resume digging—

The moment his tool touched the earth ahead, he froze.

On the other side of the thin barrier of soil… lurked something immense, powerful… and thoroughly corrupt.

Whatever it was, its sheer size was monstrous.

Lucius had no doubt—this was what Novia had sent him to find. A creature that had once ruled this land, perhaps dominating the very peak of its ecosystem.

After carefully marking the location, Lucius wasted no time. He retraced his steps and sealed the tunnel, planting the Lance of Longinus as a ward over the site. Beneath its power, even Mystic Eyes would be unable to perceive what lay hidden here. To any observer, the area would appear as nothing more than wild, overgrown wasteland littered with weeds and dead branches.

A breeze swept through, rustling the leaves and masking any remaining sounds. When the wind fell silent, the forest returned to stillness.

Lucius reappeared as if materializing from thin air, standing as immovable as a statue of Mars himself. His sharp eyes, restored by the Holy Blood, scanned the surroundings with unerring vigilance.

Only after half an hour had passed, satisfied that all was clear, did he turn and leave the desolate wilderness.

He wasted no time sending word to Novia in Rome.

"…Cautious, isn't he, that 'brother in faith'… Lucius Longinus. But those eyes… and that spear…"

A voice, resonating as though it were the space itself speaking, drifted faintly, then faded into silence.

"If the one in Jerusalem sixteen years ago was truly real… then perhaps it's time I found a way to slip out of Alcatraz. To meet this young 'brother of the new faith'… Novia."

Beneath the starry night sky, that thing—its body fallen to vampirism, unable to face its old friends—murmured quietly.

---

When the news reached Novia in Rome, it was morning.

At that moment, the silver-haired youth was with Domitius, preaching his newly revised Christian doctrine in the outskirts of the Eternal City.

The morning mist across the fields was slowly dispersing. Sunlight filtered through the sparse birch branches, casting dappled light across Novia's shoulders as he stood at the center of the gathering crowd. The scene resembled a painting of a woodland bathed in nature's tranquility.

"The Holy Son, Christ Jesus—though He was born among men, incarnated, suffered, and resurrected—the Holy Father was present alongside Him all the while. The only difference is that the Son alone was made manifest. The Father and the Son are entirely equal—there is no hierarchy, no before or after. The Son is wholly the Lord, eternally begotten of the Father."

"Among the faithful, though there are differences in faith, hope, and love, all equally enjoy the blessings of this world—and endure its evils."

"The best life is a life of goodness. And the pursuit of such a life… whether you are in Rome, Gaul, or Anatolia… as long as you believe, believe with piety, relieve the suffering of the poor, love one another, and care for the weak—your soul will be redeemed."

"All things, by their nature, are good—for their Creator is the supreme good. But unlike the Lord, that goodness is not supreme, nor eternal…"

The blonde girl, Domitius, watched the distant horizon gradually sharpen in the morning light. Birdsong echoed through the woods, weaving between the cadence of her teacher's voice. A faint sense of enchantment settled over her as she gently leaned into the sun's warm embrace.

But next—though Novia's hesitation lasted only a fleeting instant—Domitius noticed it immediately.

Before she could react, her teacher entrusted the remainder of the sermon to her, slipped away, and vanished—clearly with urgent business to attend to.

By dusk, Domitius had returned to Rome, only to learn that her teacher, Novia, had been dispatched by the Emperor to Britannia.

His mission: to deal with the local religious order—the Druids.