Compared to Rome's far older tradition of gladiatorial combat, beast fights were a relatively recent phenomenon, only truly accepted by the Romans around the 2nd century BC.
Moreover, gladiators rarely, if ever, fought wild beasts themselves—it was seen as beneath their status. Beast fights were the domain of professional venatores, and in ancient Rome, venatores and gladiators were entirely separate professions.
Without proper training, beast fights lacked both spectacle and prestige compared to gladiatorial games—they were regarded more as ordinary "sport." Still, Romans didn't just pit humans against beasts; they delighted in forcing wild animals to fight each other. The carnage was bloody, brutal… and utterly adored by the Roman public.
Typically, Roman politicians and emperors would spare no expense to please the people, staging ever-larger, ever-grander beast fights. For Nero to stage such a spectacle for a single person was practically unheard of.
"Raaawr!"
The starved lion, having been deprived of food for days, lunged forward the instant its restraints were removed. Its gaping maw revealed razor-sharp fangs that gleamed coldly in the sunlight. With a deafening roar, it charged straight at the golden-haired girl.
Nero inhaled lightly, clenched her fists, and readied herself.
After all, she had no intention of using magecraft—the fight would rely purely on the strength of her body.
As the lion leapt, the girl swiftly sidestepped with agile grace, narrowly evading the beast's initial strike. In the same motion, she swung her fist with brutal force, aiming squarely at the lion's head. Her punch sliced through its golden mane, producing a sharp whoosh in the air.
The lion roared in pain but did not retreat. Nero pressed the advantage, fists flying like iron hammers, striking the beast from left and right until it staggered under the relentless assault.
The lion, though reeling, refused to yield. It lashed out with claws and fangs, desperate to retaliate—but it was too late.
Nero's left arm hooked beneath the lion's jaw, forming a sharp V-shape as she locked it in place. Her right arm looped behind its head, her left hand gripping her right elbow from underneath. With her right palm braced against the lion's skull, she began to squeeze, her body arched like a drawn bow.
Her arms, infused with her full strength, pressed mercilessly against the lion's throat, cutting off blood flow to its brain. The beast's body trembled, its struggles weakening by the second.
A muffled crack echoed through the arena—the unmistakable sound of bones shattering, crisp and unsettling. The mighty lion's body convulsed… and then collapsed, utterly defeated.
With casual indifference, Nero tossed the beast aside like discarded refuse.
In that moment, she was flooded with a visceral sense of reality. Danger, control, the thrill of proving her worth—all of it stirred her heart. She loved this feeling—the clarity of life and death, the stage upon which she could demonstrate her value.
The lion traced a short arc through the air before its body began its slow descent, golden mane shimmering in the sunlight, every strand seemingly whispering its unwillingness to die.
Its limbs twitched weakly, a final, futile grasp at life. But in the end, its body slackened, limp and lifeless.
The lion struck the ground, sending a puff of dust skyward. Its chest heaved rapidly… then gradually fell still.
Its eyes remained open, but the fierce light within them had faded, replaced only by a hollow, bewildered emptiness.
"How was that?" Nero's eyes curved into delighted crescents, wild with exhilaration. Beast blood splattered across her face, lending her an almost frenzied air. "Master… I did well, didn't I?"
"Very well."
"Truly?"
"Truly."
"Truly, truly?"
"Yes, without question." Novia's voice remained serene. "Your technique strangling the lion was graceful— and performed for me alone. That brings me great joy."
The playful exchange only deepened the girl's brilliant smile.
"That's wonderful!"
Nero nodded slightly, her golden hair swaying. She could feel her expression growing lighter, her entire body buoyant, as if she might float upward with each word exchanged.
Novia, too, offered a faint smile—a simple, sincere gesture devoid of any falsehood.
Indeed, the way this golden-haired girl carried herself now matched perfectly with the Nero of Novia's fragmented Type-Moon memories: extroverted, eloquent, enamored with grandeur and self-expression, a ruler who cherished the people yet disdained the Senate's authority.
As for whether the girl's current affections stemmed from a pure student's admiration or the budding confusion of adolescent love… Novia did not care to dwell on it. So long as she could be kept in check, that was enough.
Novia wasn't interested in overanalyzing her motives, feelings, or reasoning.
He simply accepted the most genuine part—the young girl before him, proud of her accomplishments, speaking with the self-assuredness of her age— and returned it with a simple, quiet smile.
The next moment, Novia stepped onto the platform and handed Nero a carefully prepared object.
"What's this…?"
Nero examined the item curiously—a sword-shaped weapon, painted in bold red and black tones.
"It's a weapon I crafted specifically for you." Novia's smile was steady, unwavering. "A few months ago, fragments fell from the sky—what Rome's magi call Tears of the Stars. Foreign to this world, they are known as shards of hope from the Traveler's Star. I've forged them into this weapon. I hope you'll like it."
"So… because I've accomplished deeds you can be proud of… because I've proven my worth to you… that's why I've earned this gift?"
The golden-haired girl's eyes shone brightly as she raised one hand, speaking solemnly.
"There's no need for self-deprecation." Novia smiled brilliantly, his voice warm. "From the moment I baptized you, this was my duty. I'm not merely indulging you."
"Nero."
He gently called her name.
If a few smiles and words could put Nero's heart at ease, Novia would never hesitate.
"…And its name?"
Pouting, Nero puffed out her cheeks, sulking like a child. "This sword… what's its name?"
"You could always name it yourself."
"I want you to name it."
The girl's gaze locked onto him, brimming with expectation, her eyes fixed upon his face.
"In that case… The Primordial Flame."
"The Primordial Flame…"
Nero held the sword to her chest, her slender fingertips tracing its surface with delicate reverence.
"This… is our bond… isn't it, Master?"
She whispered softly.
—
In the days that followed, no grand upheavals occurred. Nero continued to host grand public games under her name, gathering the people's admiration and solidifying their support.
On the surface, Novia busied himself with political duties and public appearances… yet secretly, he awaited word from Shiali, stationed in Britannia.
Finally, after a full year had passed—just as promised—the violet-haired girl sent word from Britannia.
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