I Rule Rome with a God-Tier AI-Chapter 148: The Ministry of Health

The Imperial Institute, once a place of secret projects and quiet study, had been transformed into the de facto war room for Alex's new crusade. He had convened his core council, the architects of his New Rome. General Gaius Maximus stood near the window, a silent, granite pillar of military authority, his eyes filled with the resolute fire of a new convert. Across the room, Aurelia Sabina, the Empress of his Economy, studied a series of ledgers with a focused intensity, her mind already calculating the costs of this new war. And beside the central map table, Celer, the Master Engineer, was practically vibrating with anticipation, his grimy hands twitching with the desire to build. Perennis, the spymaster, had been pointedly excluded. This was not a meeting for shadows and whispers; it was a council for builders. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Alex stood before a vast, meticulously detailed map of the city of Rome, a sprawling beast of winding streets, grand temples, and squalid, crowded insulae. He had already briefed them on the broad strokes of the "divine mandate" he had shared with Maximus, carefully framing it as a holy war against the abstract forces of "decay and chaos" that threatened the Empire from within.

"The gods have commanded us to purify Rome," Alex began, his voice resonating with a calm, prophetic authority. "To make our capital, the very heart of the world, impervious to the forces of decay that our enemies wield. The first battle in this war will not be fought with swords and shields, but with water and stone."

He swept his hand across the map, indicating the densely packed neighborhoods of the Subura and the Transtiberim. "Our city is a marvel, a testament to the gods and the genius of our people. But it is also a cesspool. In these districts, thousands of our citizens drink from the Tiber, the very same river that carries away the city's waste. They live surrounded by filth, their children weakened by diseases that fester in the summer heat. This," he said, his voice dropping to a grave tone, "is the 'decay' our divine enemies feast upon. This is the weakness they exploit. To fight them, we must first heal ourselves."

He was, of course, translating. In the privacy of his chamber, he and Lyra had spent a sleepless night poring over what little historical data existed on Roman mortality rates. Lyra's analytical power, even firewalled, had cross-referenced records of plagues, summer fevers, and intestinal ailments with population density maps and the known paths of Rome's sewers and aqueducts. The correlation was undeniable, a stark, data-driven indictment of Roman sanitation. The AI had pointed to waterborne pathogens as a primary, persistent killer, a constant drain on the city's health and vitality. Now, Alex laundered that scientific conclusion through the language of divine revelation.

"I have had a vision," he said, his gaze distant, as if seeing something beyond the room. "A vision of a city where every citizen, rich or poor, has access to clean, flowing water. Not just for the private baths and ornamental fountains of the senatorial class, but public fountains on every street corner, for the tenements of the plebs. And a city where every street has a channel, a hidden river of stone beneath the cobblestones, to carry away the filth and waste before it can poison our people."

He stepped back from the map, turning to his council. He did not present them with a finished plan. He presented them with a problem, a divine challenge. He needed their minds, their human ingenuity, to build the solution with him.

Celer was the first to speak, his eyes alight with a builder's passion. He saw not the filth, but the glorious engineering challenge. "Caesar, what you describe... it is a project to rival the works of Augustus himself! It would require a new aqueduct, one larger and longer than any that currently exists, to carry enough water for the entire populace. We could call it the Aqua Alexiana! Or the Aqua Invicta! And a subterranean network of sewers... a second Cloaca Maxima, but for the entire city! The scale... it is monumental!"

Sabina, ever the pragmatist, immediately followed, her sharp mind cutting through the grandeur to the grim reality. "Monumental means expensive, Celer," she said, not unkindly. "The treasury is already strained by Vulcania's... slowdown, and by the funds we are diverting to my new coinage initiative. Where does the money come from? How do we pay the thousands of laborers and masons this will require without minting worthless coin and bankrupting the state before the first stone is laid?"

The two represented the classic dilemma of ambition versus resources. It was Maximus, the soldier, who provided the third piece of the puzzle. He stepped forward from the window, his gaze fixed on Alex, his belief in the holy cause absolute.

"My legions," he said, his voice a low rumble. "The Artisan Legions are occupied, yes. But the regular legions in their winter camps across Italy are idle. An idle legionary is a pot boiling with discontent. We can put them to work. They can be tasked with quarrying the stone, digging the channels, and providing the heavy labor. It is hard work, but it is work in service to the divine cause. It will keep them disciplined, it will keep them strong, and it will transform a military expenditure into a public works investment."

Alex felt a surge of triumph. This was the synergy he needed. It was happening. His subordinates were not just taking orders; they were co-creating the solution, each bringing their unique expertise to bear.

"Excellent, Gaius," Alex said, nodding in approval. "The legions will provide the muscle. But that still leaves the cost of materials and the wages for the skilled artisans Celer will need. Sabina's point stands."

It was Sabina who answered, a sly, calculating smile touching her lips. She had found a way. "We will not call it a tax," she said. "Taxes are for financing wars and paying for grain. This is a holy work. We will institute a new 'Pious Donation for the Divine Purification of Rome.' It will be levied upon the senatorial and equestrian classes. We will publish the lists of donors, praising the most generous for their piety and devotion to the health of the city. No senator who values his public reputation will dare to refuse, or to be seen as less pious than his rivals. We will fund our project not with taxes, but with their ambition and their fear of public shame."

Alex grinned. It was brilliant. A perfect, bloodless form of political extortion.

"And I have an idea to speed the work," Celer added, caught up in the momentum. "The sewers. Instead of building them stone by stone underground, we can use my new concrete formula. We can pre-cast large, cylindrical sections of the sewer lines above ground, here in the city. Then, we dig the trenches and simply lower the finished sections into place. It will be faster, stronger, and more efficient."

Alex looked around at his council. The plan had materialized from the ether, forged by their combined wills. Lyra's hidden data had identified the problem. His divine vision had provided the mission. Maximus had offered the labor, Sabina the funding, and Celer the engineering innovation.

Now, it was time for him to add the final, crucial layer, the one that would transform this project from a mere public work into a cornerstone of his new Rome.

"This will not be a secular project," Alex announced, his voice taking on the official tone of an Emperor making a proclamation. "This will be a holy endeavor, and the people must see it as such. We will establish a new imperial office, the Curatores Sanitatis—the Curators of Health—to oversee the work. They will be priests as much as they are engineers. Every new fountain we build will be a public shrine, dedicated to the health of the people and the divine will of the gods who protect us. Every sewer grate, every manhole cover, will be cast in bronze and bear the mark of Aesculapius, the god of medicine, intertwined with my own sigil. The people will see, every single day, that their Emperor and their gods are actively working to protect them from the forces of decay. We are not just building infrastructure; we are building faith."

His council members stared at him, their expressions a mixture of awe and dawning understanding. They were not just digging ditches and laying stone. They were forging the shield of their new Emperor's power, building a new Rome from the ground up, a city purified by water, stone, and an unshakeable, state-sponsored faith. The first stone was about to be laid.