Chapter 4: The Emperor’s Envoy
Chapter 4: The Emperor’s Envoy
A bizarre melody—pipes, drums, and bronze gongs intertwined—filled the temple. It sounded like dissonance, somehow…and that was exactly why it felt avant-garde in a way the twenty-first century could never replicate.
Sunlight poured through an opening in the ceiling, struck the black meteorite, and scattered red light.
In that instant, priests and believers erupted into cheers.
“Son of the Sun! High Priest—!”
The drums and chanting suddenly surged like an explosion, and the incense-thick air made my head swim.
Damn it—was I actually getting swept into ecstasy?
Red light spiraled before my eyes, and within the flames, I saw a vision of the sun taking human form.
“So you’re the High Priest… This isn’t on the level of kids playing religion.”
[Be careful. This isn’t a simple rite. If you make a mistake before the god… absolutely not. Remember Grandmother’s words.]
Inside that light, another voice of self-awareness echoed again.
“The sun is beginning and end. The god is bound to us by blood.”
This kid…Was he really that sincere about his native faith? Was that why he dragged it all the way to Rome?
[The black stone is a sacred fragment fallen from the heavens… a gate to the sky and the heart of the sun. Through this stone, the High Priest speaks with the god and gains the power to change the empire’s fate.]
At that moment, countless doctrines flooded into my head.…The sun drives away darkness, and it cannot rise without blood and sacrifice.
An offering is not mere dedication—it is a contract between god and man. The High Priest is the only bridge connecting Rome and the god. Never forget it…
Priests led goats and sheep to the altar in order.
A blade flashed. Their throats were cut, and blood flowed down the grooves of the altar.
That blood mixed with perfumed oil and was sprinkled around the black stone. The air grew thicker and heavier.
The drums quickened, and the priests drew a circle, dancing in frenzy.
It was still stepping onto the boundary between life and death—but it felt completely different from slow, rhythmic “dark dance.” Closer to a Dionysian rite.
People sang like they were wailing, and the blood-soaked altar beneath my feet gleamed slickly.
Before I knew it… I raised both hands.
In my hands was a golden bowl. A mixture of red wine and animal blood sloshed inside.
“Great Elagabal, flame of the sun, heart of heaven sleeping within the black stone!”
…Huh? Was that my voice? It wasn’t the young boy’s voice. It was deeper than expected, with a resonant weight…
People dropped to their knees all at once.
In the feast of blood, the ecstasy intensified.
As the drums reached their peak, I knelt on the altar and pressed my forehead to the stone.
In that instant, my vision warped red—and a vision surged in, as if the incarnation of the sun were appearing.
Within the burning sun, a black silhouette whispered to me.
“You are my son. You are my High Priest. Your blood and the empire’s blood will be bound as one.”
Cold sweat ran down my spine. But my lips continued the god’s hymn by instinct.
“Rome’s fate is bound to the heart of the sun. Believe my words!”
Right then, the crowd roared again, shaking the temple with their cheers.
And in that sound, something like a chilling realization…
Flames leapt up, and an ominous shadow appeared.
“The sun calls your name. Before you lie a throne and a blade at the same time.”
It rang out like a gloomy prophecy.
My hands trembled. Because it didn’t feel like mere theater—it felt like it was truly reflecting fragments of the future.
[…This is what I learned as High Priest. Dance, music, offerings, and oracles. All of it was a path to hear the sun’s voice in ecstasy. You’ll soon realize you can’t survive by avoiding the god’s eyes.]
I didn’t know if that was true…but in that moment, it sounded real.
Incense, blood, and music twisted together and rushed toward madness.
When the black stone poured out red light, the crowd inside the temple dropped to their knees as one.
As the child High Priest… I—again without meaning to—raised both hands and roared the god’s name.
“Elagabal, heart of the sun! Illuminate Rome’s fate!”
The crowd burst into a howl—and the altar was drenched in blood, wine, and perfumed oil.
Even the priests swayed in ecstasy, and the drums and gongs rang faster and faster.
Then—in the darkness at the rear of the temple stood a small group of people.
They were the envoy delegation sent by Emperor Caracalla from Rome.
A general wearing a black cloak over silver armor. And noble envoys from the Senate traded glances.
“That boy is Julia Maesa’s grandson—the High Priest of Emesa’s sun god?”
“They say he’s only twelve. Look at that force. The crowd is completely entranced.”
But a senator beside them snorted.
“Hmph! That’s nothing but grotesque superstition. You’d compare it to mighty Jupiter of Rome?”
At that, the general frowned and shook his head.
“Did you not see the crowd’s eyes? If the Syrian legions believe that child is the god’s son, then this is not merely a rite. From that point on… it becomes politics.” The youngest in the delegation, a knight-bred officer, muttered in a low voice.
“That may be exactly why His Majesty Caracalla is paying attention to that boy. If the legions lose their hearts… even Rome’s throne could shake.” The general continued. “It’s not the boy alone. It’s the formidable woman called Julia Maesa. A true political giant.”
At that moment, on the altar—when the boy pressed his forehead to the stone, red flame rippled and an oracle-vision spread.
The crowd erupted in cheers bordering on madness, and the temple trembled like it might collapse.
The general murmured to himself. ‘Julia Maesa isn’t the only danger. That boy is dangerous too. In Syria, he carries more mystery and fervor than Emperor Caracalla himself.’
“Those people… they’re definitely observing me.”
[Huh? Who—ah… the emperor’s envoys were in the back.]
So they weren’t mere spectators. They were imperial envoys.
This single rite—had turned into politics, a stage for Rome’s power struggle.
As the crowd’s fervor peaked, the envoys’ gazes converged.
A small boy’s body—yet a High Priest who held the crowd like an incarnation of the god.
Each of them harbored different thoughts.
“Either way, the boy is imperial blood. We must draw this fervor into the empire’s power.”
“This kind of madness feels ominous. He must be eliminated.”
But one fact was clear.
Caracalla’s envoys instinctively sensed that the child was a seed that could change the empire’s future fate.
**
“You did very well, my child. Truly. Well done.” Grandmother Julia Maesa praised me.
Judging by her smile, I must have carried the High Priest role to her satisfaction.
Julia Maesa—sister of Julia Domna, Empress to Emperor Severus.
After Severus died, his nephews Caracalla and Geta ruled as co-emperors.
But the brothers’ hostility ran deep, and in the end, Caracalla stabbed his own younger brother Geta to death in front of their mother.
In the middle of that bloodbath…Maesa, politically seasoned, actively supported Caracalla.
Backing the one who looked like he’d make it.
After that, Caracalla helped his aunt Maesa intervene in politics more freely.
He granted Maesa’s two daughters authority equivalent to the equestrian rank, along with status and privileges senators enjoyed.
Their husbands also received major benefits. They too were granted equestrian status and Senate seats by Caracalla.
Because of Maesa’s political judgment…the entire clan had already established itself as Severan imperial relatives under Caracalla’s reign and began wielding power.
[Grandmother seems very pleased. Since you carried the role well, I should thank you too.]
“I didn’t think I’d do this well. My body and mouth just moved on their own…”
[Maybe you were born with a natural temperament for the High Priesthood. I mean, you possessed my body without permission…]
“Possessed? You even know that word? But it’s not like that. I entered your body by accident, not by choice.”
[Put that aside. Right now, a general and senators from the emperor’s envoy delegation are here. Shouldn’t we tell them the emperor will be assassinated?]
“What? How would we tell them? If we step forward rashly, not only Grandmother… even we could be branded as traitors.”
[Huh? True. If we claim Macrinus is planning an assassination when nothing has happened yet… a snake like Macrinus would go berserk and frame us first, trying to kill us.]
“Exactly the kind of man he is.”
Macrinus…Born into a lowly Moorish family, rising through the Praetorian prefecture all the way to the imperial throne.
Because he was Moorish, the records described him as nearly black, even with a pierced ear.
“Snake” fit a fifty-year-old like him perfectly.
Right now, he was our strongest enemy—practically our direct counterpart.
He wasn’t a soldier by background, so it wasn’t brute strength…He was a lawyer type, sharp with accounting and property disputes.
A political serpent who ran endless schemes.
He first stood out as the property manager for Plautianus, who had served as Praetorian Prefect.
Emperor Severus recognized Macrinus’s talent, gave him bureaucratic posts requiring law and accounting, and kept him on imperial administrative work.
Caracalla…without recognizing Macrinus’s black intent, continued to favor him and let him rise.
From the time he clashed with his brother Geta, he treated Macrinus as part of his closest inner circle.
Then, after seizing sole power in 212, he appointed Macrinus as Praetorian Prefect.
Macrinus followed all of Caracalla’s travels, and in the East, personally attended him while Caracalla mixed campaigns with journeys.
To be betrayed by that kind of man…If, after assassinating Caracalla, Macrinus felt uneasy—
and decided to wipe out Julia Maesa and all of us?
That would be game over. We had to prevent that at all costs.
[But from what Grandmother said, there are rumors these days—prophecies—that Macrinus will rise to the throne.]
“What? A prophecy is circulating? That’s real?”
[That’s why what you told me gave me chills. Lately Caracalla has been too cruel and impulsive, and he’s made mistakes during the Parthian war… so his popularity is crashing. That’s probably why prophecies like that are spreading.]
“Hm… then Macrinus will be even more careful to avoid suspicion.”
[Careful? Shaking in fear that he might provoke Caracalla’s wrath?]
“Wouldn’t he? Doesn’t Caracalla have especially severe paranoia?”
[Probably. He even killed his own brother, the co-emperor Geta… his suspicion only got worse.]
“Then it makes sense. For the sake of his own life and safety, Macrinus decides to kill Caracalla—because Caracalla would sentence him as guilty on prophecy alone and execute him brutally.”
[Oh… so that’s how it goes. Yeah. That’s it…]
“You don’t tell me to get out anymore. Looks like you’ve adapted, at least a little?”
[You say it’s not your fault, so what can I do? I have to adapt. Just knowing I’m going to die in a few years makes you important to me.]
“Yeah. Since it’s come to this… let’s do this right.”
With politics about to turn more complex and more urgent, two households under one roof.
If nothing else, we had to unite and respond wisely…