In full view of all, the Spear of Nation-Building in Romulus's hand, the symbol of Rome's continuation, passed right over Nero and was entrusted to Samael for safekeeping.
The meaning was obvious.
Crack...
In that instant, the Divine Ancestor, his duty fulfilled, lost the last trace of divine power sustaining him. After casting one final, meaningful glance at Samael, he could no longer hold on. His body shattered apart like crystal, fragment by fragment, and golden streams of light burst from the cracks and poured into the Great Altar.
Hum!
In the next moment, the Latin inscriptions engraved into the Great Altar lit up one after another under the infusion of Romulus's divine power. Twelve intertwined golden-red pillars of light trembled and roared, rising like a pillar of fire erupting from Mount Vesuvius.
The phantom of a burly lame smith gazed down at Nero at the center of the altar, then raised his hammer and bent over a piece of golden-red divine iron on the forge platform slowly rising within the flames, hammering away with full concentration.
When the rough sword blank had taken shape, the smith lifted his creation high in satisfaction.
At once, lightning flashed across the sky and thunder rolled. Bolts of lightning struck the blade one after another. Ripples spread across earth like the surface of the sea, and surging seawater rose up to cool the burning red metal.
At the same time, the radiance of sun and moon shone together. Grass and trees around the Great Altar sprang to life. Vines crept from the cracks in the stone and bore grapes fragrant with wine. Crimson bloodlight and drifting pink flower petals were poured directly into the greatsword as well.
The blessings of the Twelve Olympian Gods manifested one after another, each taking its turn in the forging, together shaping that strangely beautiful crimson greatsword, its curved blade marked by an asymmetrical elegance.
At last, as the golden-red divine radiance faded away, the crimson greatsword, gently borne aloft by rose petals, fell into Nero's hands. A vast surge of Mana poured into the young body of the Rose Emperor, and all kinds of "talents" surfaced in the little girl's mind one after another.
On both sides of the curved blade were inscribed the Latin words "regnum caelorum et gehenna," which in Latin meant [Heaven] and [Hell].
Where humanity stands is the axis linking life and death, the bridge connecting past and future, and above all, the battlefield between Heaven and Hell!
Aestus estus...
Witnessing the birth of that divine artifact with his own eyes, Samael silently recited its name in his heart. Even as he marveled at it, he could not help feeling a little helpless.
Unfortunately, these were only remnants of the inheritance mechanism left behind in the Great Altar. He still had no way to use those lingering images to establish contact with the old Greek gods.
However, the Romans, who had grown pessimistic and lost after the fall of their Divine Ancestor, seemed to receive a shot in the arm after witnessing this miracle of succession. They all dropped to their knees in worship and burst into cheers like landslides and tidal waves, shouting the Rose Emperor's name at the top of their lungs.
Rome, still shrouded in smoke, faced the setting sun looking desolate yet unyielding, as though it had been reborn from the flames in the last glow of dusk.
With morale temporarily stabilized, what came next was naturally cleaning up the aftermath and restoring order as quickly as possible.
Tch. Damn it. More work again...
Standing before the Great Altar, Samael looked back once at the half-collapsed Pantheon behind him, then turned and gazed darkly at Rome, shattered and waiting to be rebuilt. His head began to throb, and he could not help rubbing his temples with a miserable sigh.
As night fell, the dead, their eyes covered with coins, dressed in clean clothes, and with their features tidied, were carried one after another from the ruins to places such as the Roman Forum where piles of firewood had been stacked, and the fallen were bid farewell together.
Amid the priests' prayers and the cries of grieving family members, the soldiers in charge of keeping order lit the pyres, and blazing flames rose all across Rome.
Though gods did not deliberately target ordinary people, war was not some child's game between nations. Once it began, casualties were inevitable.
Even with the top-tier forces on every side showing a degree of restraint, Rome still lost more than a thousand people.
Only ten to twenty percent were civilians caught in the disaster. The greatest number were Roman soldiers who had rushed to reinforce the Pantheon at any cost, along with young reserve troops who had organized themselves to resist.
Still, what allowed the bereaved some small measure of comfort was that those who had died for the nation would have their ashes placed in the Roman cemetery, while their names would be engraved on a newly built stone wall of the Pantheon, to rest beneath the protection of the gods and be remembered by future generations.
Rome had a tradition in which heroic rulers became gods after death. In the legends of emperors and great officials, there was rarely any place for commoners or ordinary soldiers.
Now that honor had fallen to them, so much so that even many of the living felt envy and even jealousy, and that alone was enough to soothe Rome's unstable public sentiment and military morale for the time being.
Not only that, but in order to restore order and normal life as quickly as possible, the noble priests and Magi of the Pantheon were dispatched throughout the city to treat the wounded, help civilians rebuild their homes, and register the families of those who had died for the nation, providing them with regular allotments of food and money so that the state could care for them to a certain degree.
Under these many measures, the Rose Emperor's reputation became exceptionally favorable, and she was deeply admired by the Romans.
And at this very moment, the widely praised Rose Emperor was in the Roman palace, secretly swallowing her saliva while staring at a plate of grapes, while a certain regent prince who had deliberately downplayed his own role was buried in endless work, bent over his desk handling urgent reports and affairs of state in miserable fashion, while Boudica and Brynhildr at either side had been reduced to utterly emotionless reading machines.
"The Pantheon reports that the large-scale relief over the past two days has already caused shortages in grain, medicine, and other stored supplies."
"Transfer them from the First, Second, and Third Provinces!"
"They say the supplies they currently have are strategic reserves and cannot be used lightly."
"This is the Roman heartland. The outer provinces haven't fallen, so where exactly is this external enemy they're saving them for? Besides, they don't need that much strategic stockpile. Those three consuls chosen by the Pantheon are rich as hell. If they won't cut off a piece of themselves, I'll do it for them. My hand just happens to shake, so who knows where I might cut."
Samael's gaze darkened, killing intent gathering in his eyes, and the newly appointed High Priest of the Pantheon waiting below immediately fell silent in fear.
The three nearby provinces existed solely to shield the city of Rome and were under the Pantheon's direct control. Even if they wanted to defect, they had no way to secretly align themselves with the Persian Empire or the Hun Empire. And now that Nero had just taken the throne, she could not afford to show nothing but leniency. They needed a few unruly chickens sacrificed to the heavens. Samael was not afraid of them making trouble.
Back in the days when the Ancient Serpent governed Uruk, he had already seen plenty of entrenched interests in each city-state clutching their goods and wealth with both hands. He knew exactly how to deal with people like that.
"The emperor of the Cornelius clan, Old Scipio, died in battle. His descendants hope Your Majesty will support the Cornelius clan in reclaiming their inheritance."
The Cornelius clan's territory is in... the Fifth Province... and the threat they face is... Carthaginian harassment?
Samael cleared aside the documents, unfolded a map, and studied it carefully for a moment. The frown on his face slowly eased as a decision grew firm in his mind.
"According to procedure, if the father dies, the son succeeds. Let his son in the army, Scipio the Younger, temporarily act as consul of the Fifth Province and take over its defenses. If he performs well, tell him that I... ahem, His Majesty the Emperor, think highly of him. As long as he can keep the Fifth Province from falling and proves himself, the position of emperor of the Cornelius clan will be his sooner or later."