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

To be honest, Martha's words—and the item she handed to Novia—left a visible look of astonishment on the silver-haired boy's face.

The staff once wielded by Jesus Himself—without a doubt, this was a bona fide holy relic. In terms of sheer power, it might not compare to the blood-stained Spear of Longinus or the Holy Grail containing Christ's blood, but in terms of symbolic significance, it was every bit their equal.

All these years, Novia had only ever entertained thoughts of obtaining the Spear or the Grail. He had never considered Martha's staff.

After all, he understood perfectly well how much this staff meant to the "Iron-Fisted Saintess."

"Is that so strange?" Martha smiled softly, covering her mouth with one hand while waving the other. "It's certainly a meaningful thing, but that doesn't mean it has to belong to me forever. I've always thought that way. Ever since the incident with Lazarus, I've carried it for decades now. It's about time I passed it on. You should take it—it's ready to shine anew in your hands. After all, that man once said this to me—"

"Somewhere in this world, there exists another me who will affirm your worth. So please, never forget that."

This wasn't a comforting lie—it was the plain, unvarnished truth. With Martha's gentle explanation, Novia couldn't help but smile, and nodded.

"…I understand."

The night sky stretched vast and high. Under the glow of the moonlight, Novia took a deep breath, feeling relaxed. His fingers instinctively brushed over the staff Martha had placed in his hands.

The incident with Lazarus—it referred to the time when Martha's brother had died, only for Jesus to resurrect him right before her eyes.

After that, Jesus had gifted this staff to Martha, expecting her to live up to her status as a saint.

For Martha, this staff had once been her entire youthful conviction—the symbol of an unwavering faith she believed would never fade.

And now, not only had Martha reforged the staff into the shape of a cross, in memory of the one who had passed, but she had also personally chosen to entrust it to Novia.

This was nothing less than the recognition and entrustment of the Savior Himself!

To think, holding a staff once wielded by Type-Moon's version of Jesus Christ—didn't that make him a certified, bonafide "real deal"?

Could he use it as material for crafting weapons too? …No, better not. That wasn't necessary.

Besides, this staff had been with Martha for so many years. Novia felt it best to treat it with proper respect. Maybe just carry it around as an accessory—besides, it was infused with the aura of the Pigeon Prince (the Savior), which meant there were plenty of ways he could… leverage it.

Once he succeeded in making Christianity the state religion of Rome, he could even use this relic as the foundation to establish a formal organization for relic collection and management—the Eighth Sacrament Bureau.

From what Novia had gathered these years, in the religious landscape of the Mediterranean, before the eventual founding of the Holy Church, most religious organizations consisted of just one thing: monasteries.

As for the Burial Agency, it seemed they were connected to Judaism in Jerusalem, but their sole focus was dealing with beings known as Dead Apostles, who had begun appearing frequently in the magical world since 20 AD. Beyond that, they didn't meddle.

"It's been seventeen years since that man left… and you, little Novia, you're seventeen too. Time really flies. You know, all of us think, for someone so young, you're surprisingly capable."

Gazing up at the starry sky, Martha spoke with a nostalgic tone, as if reminiscing.

"Is that so? Well, that's good to hear."

A genuine smile spread across Novia's face. He smiled often, though most of the time, no one could tell what exactly he was pleased about. But this time, it was unmistakably sincere—free of any pretense.

It had been seventeen years since Christ's crucifixion. And Novia, in this ancient Rome, was now seventeen as well.

The timing of his arrival in this world had been… oddly precise. On a certain day in 33 AD, upon Golgotha Hill in Jerusalem, at precisely 3 PM, the Savior bore the sins of humanity and ascended to heaven.

And it was right after witnessing Christ's execution that Paul, on his way down the mountain, had stumbled across baby Novia—who had crossed over from another world. Paul had taken him in and raised him.

It was, to say the least, extraordinarily fortunate—especially for someone like Novia, determined to achieve his own goals.

In recorded history, Paul had been a zealous follower of the Law, even persecuting Christians early on. But witnessing Jesus' deeds had brought him to repentance. To spread the word of his teacher, Paul had abandoned his Roman privileges and lofty social standing, devoting himself entirely to the Christian mission.

Though not one of the original twelve apostles, Paul's preaching and writings established churches throughout the Mediterranean, ultimately transforming the region's religious landscape. He became known as the Apostle to the Gentiles.

But Martha's casual remark had reminded Novia of one thing—he could absolutely exploit this coincidence to his advantage.

After all, this was the Type-Moon universe. His journey to ancient Rome had been all about securing a future safeguard against the catastrophic threats that might emerge two thousand years later.

Once he dealt with the Senate, Agrippina, Claudius, Jerusalem, Judaism—those primary obstacles—he could begin heavily publicizing his close relationship with the Lord. Maybe call himself His incarnation, or shadow, or… something of the sort?

And then, once that narrative took root, he could roll out an absurdly long, self-aggrandizing title like:

"The True Heir to Christ Jesus, He Who Alone Rightly Comprehends the Will of the Lord, First Among the Servants of Heaven, Leader of the Kingdom on Earth, Mediator of All Strife, Guide of the Mortal Realm, Arbiter of the Divine Count, The One Whose Faith in the Lord Knows No Bounds…"

"Getting late… I should turn in now. Little Novia, you should get some rest too."

Martha's soft voice drifted gently as she turned to leave. Even at fifty, her voice retained its soothing warmth.

In this quiet night, more than the chill of the air, it was that warmth that seeped into Novia's very bones.

He nodded once again at her parting words.

Thanks to this unexpected gift from Martha, Novia had already devised the outline of his next "miracle"—set to take place a year later in Jerusalem.

And with this, even the Burial Agency wouldn't interfere. After all, the label of "heretic" was, in the end, something bestowed by God…