Melusine, Become my Noble Phantasm!

The small holy city of Aslan had been founded by Christians who settled here and built their homes. The fertile soil allowed the settlement to develop rapidly. A magnificent sacred cathedral rose on the very spot where the Holy Lance had once struck, and the scar left by the lance was revered as a holy relic. Alongside it, the dagger once wielded by the Holy Knight Aslan—the Son of the Holy Knight—was also enshrined here.

Of course, Aslan himself was unaware of the city's later history. Yet it was precisely because of this city and the legends passed down through generations that his profile as a paladin was firmly established. Even after his encounter with Attila—the so-called Whip of God—and the temporary halt to his advance, his identity as the Paladin only became more widely known.

Though Aslan had claimed this divine title, who would remember it thousands of years later? So long as Christianity chose to promote it, however, his name was sure to be recorded among the saints.

In truth, Aslan had no illusions about how many Mecha fragments remained scattered across the vast western Roman Empire. After all, the continent was immense—and the eastern reaches of Rome already merged into Asia. The chances of Greek Mecha fragments appearing so far east were slim indeed.

Bearing the holy spear, Aslan ventured eastward. The local customs and dress differed noticeably from the western regions; a unique style prevailed. Yet the people here seemed poorer than those in the west. Still, artifacts from the far east occasionally appeared along his route.

At this time, the eastern Roman Empire was still two centuries away from the rise of Islam, and the so-called holy wars had yet to begin. This was fortunate for Aslan, who walked this land in the name of a paladin.

Aslan followed the southern route eastward, reaching near the borders of India. Along the way, he discovered two Mecha-God fragments. One had been revered as a sacred object by a local tribe, believed to have the power to continuously purify water sources. It took considerable effort for Aslan to obtain the fragment from them.

Perhaps due to his extended time as a paladin, Aslan had unwittingly mastered the art of "may God deceive you." In short, he convinced the entire tribe to migrate to a larger city that embraced Christianity. Compared to tribal life, the city was more prosperous—and the holy object used to purify water was no longer necessary.

He also knew his status as a paladin granted prestige among Christians, so he felt confident the migrating tribesmen would not be mistreated. No one would willingly leave their homeland for worse conditions, after all.

Had it been anyone else who guided these tribes, obtaining their sacred relics might have been far more difficult.

Having settled these matters, Aslan chose not to press into India itself. At that time, India was embroiled in turmoil, with Buddhism flourishing. Since his origins were from Great Britain, stepping into India felt like crossing fully into Eastern lands.

Besides, Mecha fragments were unlikely to be found that far.

Instead, Aslan turned north, toward the northeastern borders of Rome. Looking ahead, he felt a pang of emotion. After meeting the Knights of the Round Table, he had seen the legendary Whip of God.

But Rome's fate was tragic: an emperor capable of restoring the empire had been defeated by King Arthur. Arthur himself had to rush home to suppress rebellion. Rome lost its one rival to the Scourge of God from the east—and soon fell to Attila.

Such was time and destiny.

If Arthur's glorious reign had lasted longer than ten years, and if the East were not in the midst of the Northern and Southern Dynasties, Aslan might have lingered in Rome longer. After all, he existed outside history—free to wander as he pleased.

Lost in thought, Aslan and Melusine moved forward slowly, as if on a honeymoon trip. Throughout their search for the Machine God, their relationship grew ever closer.

Melusine could now transform back to her original form at will, and they had done what lovers should do. Aslan had also begun to take initiative in his free moments.

No need to elaborate—some things are best left unspoken.

Meanwhile, in Rome's capital, Lucius was buried under stacks of documents, rubbing his forehead and itching to overturn the table. Fighting was far more entertaining—why did he have to wade through endless paperwork? Wouldn't it be better to hand it all to those old senators?

He hammered the table in frustration, feeling as if he understood every word, yet the whole batch was like a confusing spell clouding his mind.

His aides were used to this by now. The emperor who seemed so perfect had one serious flaw—he was hopeless with paperwork.

Even with only a few documents at hand, at Lucius' pace, he might miss dinner entirely. But he was probably used to it.

Outside the palace, a soldier arrived breathless with a letter. Lucius looked up eagerly and snatched it.

Licking his lips, he opened the letter and clenched his fist in excitement. This was the news he needed—a chance to escape the sea of paperwork.

Slamming the letter down, Lucius commanded, "Send all these damn documents to the old fools in the Senate. Reorganize the army—I'm heading east myself!"

Finally, a real game to play!

-End Chapter-

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