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

"Nothing I desire, yet there is nothing I do not desire."

The silver-haired boy's response sounded utterly sincere to Claudius.

The chill of the night wasn't enough to make Claudius shiver. Under the starless sky, only the moon cast its light. Bathed in that cold moonlight, Novia stood there, his expression calm, his words honest… coupled with that hateful lunar glow, it made for a strangely unsettling scene in the Emperor's eyes.

Claudius I's aversion to the moon goddess Diana wasn't merely because his own illness remained incurable. No, it stemmed from Rome's previous emperor—his nephew—the cruel tyrant… Caligula.

In the beginning, Claudius had thought Caligula an outstanding ruler. But after falling gravely ill one night under the gaze of the moon, Caligula changed completely, ruling Rome with irrational terror.

Thus, the common folk whispered that Rome had lost the favor of the gods.

Claudius's campaign in Britannia was, in part, to restore public confidence.

"I've heard… Christianity originated from Judaism. Yet your leader was killed in Jerusalem. Does your god enjoy seeing his followers slaughter one another?"

Claudius was now at full alert. The appearance of a new god fundamentally different from Rome's pantheon made him cautious—obsessively so. Crowned emperor in middle age, Claudius clung to power with a death grip.

Before meeting Novia, Claudius had deliberately gathered intelligence on this so-called Christianity. He discovered that in 34 A.D., there had been what could only be described as an absurd execution in Jerusalem—the very event Novia had been loudly preaching about: Jesus of Nazareth, supposedly the Son of God, had died at the hands of his own people, the Jews.

It baffled him. How could their god allow such infighting?

"The Jews pride themselves as the apostles of God, yet they betrayed the covenant long ago—they are heretics."

Novia was all too eager to publicly distance his version of Christianity from Judaism. If Christianity was ever to replace Rome's polytheism, it couldn't afford to be tainted by association with Jerusalem's treachery. He'd find an opportunity to 'cleanse' that city soon enough.

After all, those who forced Jesus to his death? In the world of Type-Moon, they'd be branded heretics without question.

Moreover, Christianity and Judaism were fundamentally at odds. The Jews sought to make themselves the chosen elite; Christ preached that all were chosen, all were equal.

For Novia to replace Rome's pantheon with his faith, Judaism had to be dealt with first.

"The Holy Son, Jesus, died willingly—to shoulder humanity's sins and ascend to heaven. Thus, a new covenant between God and mankind was forged—the New Testament."

"But the age of the gods has been over for nearly fifty years now, has it not? What difference is there between your god and our Roman deities? What good can your god do for Rome?"

Claudius's response was flat, his eyes observing Novia carefully. In truth, he didn't care about theological disputes. The miracle that had unfolded was all the proof he needed.

Hearing this, Novia smiled inwardly. Claudius's lengthy questioning boiled down to one simple point: What can your god offer Rome?

But Novia had to admit—Claudius was sharper than the history books gave him credit for. A coward? Hardly. After all, it took guts to personally lead Rome's legions into Britannia.

"Your Majesty, you became Emperor… because the Senate permitted it."

Novia took a step forward, meeting the gloomy emperor's gaze head-on.

"…Surely you jest, Envoy. I became Emperor by the will of the gods. When I die, I too shall become—"

To some extent, Claudius wasn't wrong. After all, Egypt's pharaohs also ascended to the divine realm upon death.

However—

"Your Majesty, the era of the gods is over. But my god is different. He still watches over the earth."

Novia's gentle smile contrasted with the tense atmosphere. His blue eyes met Claudius's expressionless ones, unwavering.

Anyone remotely versed in the occult knew—the Age of Gods had ended. The gods no longer walked among mortals.

Yet now, with divine miracles appearing once more… it begged the question: Was this god greater than the old pantheon?

The Britannian miracle had made everyone too afraid to gamble otherwise.

Novia understood clearly—without tangible benefits, no amount of threats or sermons would sway Claudius. And Novia? He had no power to face the Roman legions head-on.

Thus, the silver-haired boy continued:

"Rome's gods… they serve many functions. Industry, commerce, love, wisdom, war… The Senate's authority itself exists because divine power is fragmented, uncertain, inherited in pieces."

"But to the great Augustus, one god, one emperor, one empire—that was the ultimate vision."

Novia spoke bluntly. He had seen right through Claudius—the emperor cared for nothing but power. Naturally, he despised the Senate's system of shared governance.

"Enough! I'll hear no more of this. The faith of Rome's gods cannot be changed!"

As Novia expected, Claudius was tempted. Those who sit upon thrones almost always wish to make their crown a personal inheritance—to turn royal authority into private property passed down through bloodlines.

For Claudius, succession was nothing short of a political deathmatch. Rome's obsession with bloodlines, its ruthless grasp on power, its cutthroat politics… all were deeply ingrained in him.

But now, Claudius wavered—torn between reverence for Rome's gods and his thirst for absolute authority.

Seeing this, Novia knew it was time to put the emperor's mind at ease. Concrete action was needed—to convince him that Rome's fragmented, polytheistic faith could be replaced by Christianity's divine mandate.

The Senate's authority, once granted by men, would become sanctioned by God.

"I hear that in Alexandria, the Greeks and the Jews frequently spill blood over religious disputes. I am willing to go there myself… to resolve the conflict—and demonstrate the glory of Rome's great Emperor."

"…Ahh, I had hoped to keep you a while longer. To see if my children might be worthy of your god's grace."

Claudius's face showed rare reluctance. He placed both hands on Novia's shoulders, their posture oddly intimate—like old acquaintances.

"But since this is your god's will, as His envoy, I cannot stop you. Very well—young Novia, you shall depart tomorrow. Let's not keep the divine waiting."

You old… Emperor. Can't even offer me a decent meal before shoving me out the door? And what's with that 'young Novia' nonsense?

Novia nearly lost control of his expression but managed to maintain a sincere smile.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

If you want the wolf, you've got to sacrifice the rabbit. All this effort Novia had poured in… was for the day he could achieve his true purpose.

After all, from a religious history perspective, there was no simple "monotheism defeating polytheism."

In the Mediterranean world alone, Christianity had to contend with Manichaeism, the cult of Mithras, the worship of Isis, Judaism, Neoplatonism… all highly organized, philosophically advanced rivals—not primitive polytheists.

Monotheism was never new, nor inherently superior.

The ancient Jewish worship of Yahweh hadn't given them a decisive edge over neighboring Near Eastern faiths or later Hellenistic beliefs.

Likewise, Greek and Roman religions weren't strictly "polytheistic." Even in classical times, Zeus was increasingly seen as the absolute, primordial being.

Claudius likely understood how terrifyingly powerful a unified state religion could be. But lacking firsthand experience, he probably thought, At worst, it's like the Senate—a rival faction. And if it lets me make imperial power hereditary? Worth it.

Yet Novia's reformed Christianity wasn't comparable to Rome's current polytheism.

In Rome, most religious rituals were expensive—reserved for the elite. The common folk, unable to afford them, gradually grew resentful.

But Novia's version of Christianity? Its promise of equality was a new hope—enough to sweep across 1st-century Europe.

Monotheism wasn't about worshiping a god—it was about erasing the barriers between peasants and emperors.

It sold the most precious commodity: equality.

Believe, and your soul stood shoulder to shoulder with the Emperor himself.

Because aside from God, no one was all-knowing, all-powerful.

An organization offering equality always holds immense power.

Moreover, Novia's true reason for choosing Alexandria wasn't merely its history of bloody religious conflict—

It was for…

The Atlas Institute!