Lucius Longinus—the centurion who, atop the hills of Jerusalem, came to understand his fate.
Novia knew full well that in the Type-Moon world, Lucius had made an appearance in one of Sancourt's lesser-known works, Fate/Requiem. There, he served as the Servant of Chitose Madotsuru, the grandmother of heroine Erice, winning a Holy Grail War and earning the title of one of Akihabara's top-tier Heroic Spirits, standing alongside legends like Galahad and Hannibal.
"You know who I am?"
Lucius' tone was calm, yet the front of the oar in his hand shot toward Novia with blinding speed.
The silver-haired boy narrowly dodged the strike, positioning himself on the other side of the fishing boat to gain distance for a potential counterattack.
Thus began an inexplicable battle. Novia barely had time to draw his sword and could only grab a wooden stick lying on the boat. But compared to the oar that Lucius wielded like a spear, his weapon was woefully short. Yet on the battlefield, no one waits for you to find a proper weapon.
"Your reflexes aren't bad."
Lucius advanced with ease, casually swinging the oar like a well-balanced weapon.
Novia locked eyes with him, parrying the next thrust of the oar. In that brief window, his hand slipped to the hilt of the sword hanging at his waist—
Lucius, mistaking the motion for Novia attempting to draw his weapon, missed his opportunity to retreat.
But Novia had no intention of drawing his sword. Instead, borrowing the blessing of the wind, he closed the distance in the blink of an eye.
"Oh?"
Lucius reached for his great shield to defend, but Novia seized the moment, thrusting the stick straight toward his neck, leaving him no room to resist.
"What now? Not planning to kill me?"
"Killing isn't my mission."
Novia lazily tossed the stick aside, meeting the man's gaze with unflinching calm.
"Besides, getting thrown in prison alongside you? No thanks."
After mocking Lucius, Novia dispelled the magical concealment surrounding the boat, restoring it to normalcy.
Though the Age of Gods had long since faded, remnants of the old mysteries still lingered in this era. They wouldn't become scarce for another two thousand years. In this Europe, practitioners of magecraft were everywhere.
Take the Roman Sword Emperor Lucius from five centuries later, for instance. According to the old lady in Fate/Prototype: Fragments of Blue and Silver, his army boasted tens of thousands of magi, sorcerers, giants, and other supernatural beings.
Let alone now, in these times teeming with mystery. At least hundreds of thousands, surely. Any proper Roman city likely had magi stationed within.
Even in Lucius' days as a soldier, the enemies on the battlefield had Druids backing them.
Sadly, this wasn't the Age of Gods anymore, and Novia wasn't some figure like the Sword Emperor or Proto-Arthur—capable of single-handedly destroying a nation.
"You're young, but shrewd enough. No wonder John holds you in such regard—he's the one who sent me."
Lucius slowly lowered his oar, resuming his rowing.
In truth, Lucius understood Novia's intent perfectly. He had known all along. Had Novia not concealed himself with magecraft at the start, the Roman magi patrolling the Bosporus would've already arrested and interrogated him.
Still, caution was necessary when traveling alone, so Lucius had kept the boy under observation.
"Old man John, huh? I figured as much."
Novia replied as if it was only natural.
No wonder the old geezer had just casually asked where he was going and left it at that. He'd already arranged for a roadblock.
"How'd you guess?"
"How'd I guess?" Novia let out a sigh. "Even if I offered a fortune, they still refused to ferry me across, all jumpy with nerves. Around the Mediterranean, only a handful have that kind of pull. Pretty obvious."
Before certain societal advancements, religious belief was the most powerful unifying force.
"And besides, keeping your distance from strangers is normal. Friendly faces out of nowhere tend to raise suspicion."
"Haha, true enough. I'll keep that in mind."
The twisted, cross-shaped scar on the left side of Lucius' face made it impossible for Novia to look away.
But Novia's mind wasn't on the scar—he was entirely focused on the earlier skirmish. He could tell Lucius had held back considerably. If they'd gone all out, with both fully prepared, at best he could've forced a draw.
Terrifying combat skills and physical strength—and that was without bringing out the legendary Holy Lance, stained with the blood of Christ. That spear was no joke...
Time passed in peaceful silence. Lost in thought, Novia barely noticed the boat arriving at the opposite shore.
"We're here, kid. You can get off. Be careful out there—don't get yourself killed."
Novia snapped out of his thoughts. In front of him stretched a vast, shallow bay. Under the moonlight, the water glittered like gemstones.
"Aren't you curious how I knew your name?"
As the boat docked, Novia stepped off, posing the question.
"It's just a name. Makes no difference."
Lucius cracked a grin. After a brief silence, as if bidding farewell to an old friend met by chance on the roadside, he picked up his hat, lowered his head, and prepared to return.
But Novia had already decided—he had to recruit Lucius for his future plans with the Roman Praetorian Guard.
"I can cure your gnawing torment."
"How... do you know about that?"
Before Novia even finished speaking, Lucius was standing in front of him, face grim, all warmth gone from his expression.
Knowing his name was one thing—John or others could've mentioned it. But the pain… he'd never spoken of it to anyone, nor did he expect a cure!
Seeing Lucius' reaction, Novia exhaled in relief. His guess had been correct.
According to the apocryphal Letter from King Herod to Pontius Pilate, Lucius Longinus, for piercing Christ's side, had been cursed by divine punishment. He was condemned to dwell in a cave, tormented nightly by gnawing pain, until the end of time.
Granted, Type-Moon history didn't always stick to biblical canon, but during their fight, Novia had noticed tension in Lucius' neck muscles, as if something ached.
Combined with subtle eyebrow shifts and slight clenching of the jaw, Novia boldly deduced—
Lucius was suppressing pain!
And now, that deduction was confirmed.
"I don't know how you learned that… but honestly, I don't care about the pain."
Lucius chuckled again, running a hand over the twisted cross-shaped scar on his cheek.
"Why do you think I've never healed this scar? I left it there, deliberately. A reminder never to forget the pain. It's part of me now. The gnawing pain is, too."
Damn, you're really committed to suffering, huh? Masochist confirmed.
Still, while Lucius seemed unyielding, Novia wasn't out of options.
"That pain is proof you disgraced the righteous."
Novia cut straight to the heart of the matter. After all, no matter how cynical Lucius acted, he was still revered as a saint in later generations. The man whose sight was miraculously restored by Christ's blood—his faith ran deep.
"You're bold, kid. But words like that… I'd watch my mouth."
Lucius' voice was calm, yet brimming with restrained anger.
"But you're trembling. That proves you fear it. That's why I'm here, Lucius Longinus."
Novia placed a hand on Lucius' tense shoulder. The centurion didn't move, eyes fixed firmly on him.
To Lucius, pain was "the answer."
All his life, he believed his suffering was penance for salvation.
Others had countless answers, like stars in the sky—but for Lucius, enduring pain was the only one.
No new gods had descended to offer grace. The old gods had vanished long ago.
The earth remained steeped in death and suffering. The people were weary. The children cried. To live was to suffer.
Speaking of hope for the future was easy—teaching it, near impossible.
Some called it a curse. Others sighed in despair. The Age of Man was a hell in its own right.
And so, Lucius could only bear the pain, and pray.
But the silver-haired boy before him—those pale blue eyes, like shining stars—offered another possibility.
"Of course, life's purpose is to be fulfilled. No matter how we spend our days, they will end—yours, mine. But—" Novia's voice grew resolute, "Is the way you live now truly the 'beautiful pattern' of a completed life?"
Hearing this, Lucius seemed like a warrior doused with cold water mid-battle. His entire body slackened slightly.
"All I can offer you is one promise."
No magecraft. Yet Novia's voice echoed clearly in the night air.
"Follow me, Lucius Longinus. Walk in my light—and I swear, your sins shall be washed clean… That is all."
His suffering, named aloud by someone he'd just met… Yet from those words, Lucius could feel the weight of sincere, heartfelt prayer.
Thus, against his own instincts, Lucius Longinus nodded.
"...Very well. I am Lucius Longinus. Your name… was it Nov—"
"Novia. That's my name."