Huff...
The Roswaal mansion lay in ruins, engulfed in flames. The neat dignity and quiet serenity it once possessed had been replaced by devastation—and malicious intruders.
"Subaru..."
"It's fine. Let me talk to them. It'll be okay."
After saying that, the black-haired boy gently lowered the utterly exhausted Beatrice from his arms. His sharp-featured, almost villainous face was filled with resolve as he stepped beyond the effective range of EMM's absolute defensive magic barrier.
His hair was dulled gray with soot, some strands singed by fire. His once-white undershirt was stained with ash and grime, torn and ragged. Looking no different from a refugee, the boy raised both hands high and walked toward the fully armed soldiers of the interstellar colonial Empire standing just a few steps away, their weapons gleaming coldly.
Closer.
Very close.
In silence, Subaru Natsuki stared at the sci-fi warrior clad in full-coverage exoskeleton armor less than half a meter from him.
The terrifying blood-red glow of the visor. The intricate structure of the rifle raised in the soldier's hands. The dark barrel shimmering faintly with blue fluidic rifling. The muzzle aimed squarely at him. The faint particle halo along the edge of the energy sword.
Subaru could almost feel the nerves beneath his skin screaming in anticipation of pain.
Thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump.
His heartbeat amplified. His pulse raced. Even he didn't know where he found the courage to step out, nor what words he could possibly use to explain himself to these vicious "colonial troops."
I might die.
But at least Emilia-tan, Ram, Beatrice-chan, Rem... and Otto, Petra, Frederica, Garfiel—they might live.
"Who are you?"
The voice came through the helmet's external speaker—authentic Lugunican royal capital dialect, though briefly distorted by garbled transmission noise.
"Subaru Natsuki. A fortunate participant in the subjugation of one of the Three Great Mabeasts created by the Witch of Gluttony—the White Whale. An ordinary man who killed the Witch Cult's [Sloth] Sin Archbishop—Petelgeuse Romanée-Conti. And the knight of Royal Selection candidate Emilia of Lugunica."
His tone was solemn and precise. Gone was the impulsiveness and arrogance he had shown in the capital half a year ago.
"After killing the [Sloth] Archbishop, I obtained an ability similar to his. At the same time, though it may have lost its effect now, I was once likely 'favored' by certain Witches and forcibly granted some kind of factor. Whenever I use my ability, it carries a strong Witch's miasma. Because of that, I've suffered plenty—attacked by Mabeasts multiple times."
"That may be why your instruments detected Witch miasma on me," Subaru explained rapidly.
He swore he had never thought this fast in his life. He concisely summarized his experiences, carefully distancing himself from the Witch Cult pitfall, terrified that even one extra second might irritate them.
"Oh? So you're the suspected 'source of infection' our scans detected. You've killed a Sin Archbishop?"
Raising a tactical tablet toward the utterly ordinary-looking boy, the auxiliary lieutenant paused, then stepped forward slowly, examining him from head to toe.
"Putting aside how you explain such dense Witch miasma on your body, I need to confirm something..."
The words had barely fallen when—
Whoosh!
"Too weak. Compared to the simultaneous Water Gate City campaign—where the Astartes eradicated the Witch Cult's [Gluttony], [Greed], [Lust], and [Wrath] Archbishops—this is nothing."
A flash of dark light. Subaru's vision went black for a moment. Then suffocation seized him as the auxiliary lieutenant grabbed him by the throat.
"Subaru!" ×2
"Reinhard! Beatrice! Don't move! Even if I'm strangled to death, you must not move!!"
His lips turned pale. The muscles in his cheeks twitched. Gritting his teeth, Subaru forced the words out.
"But—!" The Dragon Sword roared. The scorching air seemed to wail under the terrifying pressure of that power. Reinhard's anger surged uncontrollably.
"Subaru..." The twin-tailed fairy girl, utterly drained, was already in tears.
"Listen to me! Otherwise, we—everyone in the Kingdom of Lugunica—will all die in the end!!" Subaru rasped hoarsely with all his strength.
"Oh? You seem to know quite a bit about us." As if savoring the deeper implications of Subaru's words like a spectator, the lieutenant spoke with interest, lifting Subaru slightly so his toes barely touched the ground.
"I'm curious. Judging from the current situation, your red-haired friend clearly has the upper hand. It's humiliating, but my squad can't defeat him. The analyst's rating was accurate—top-tier in this world. He could probably kill me and my squad. So why stop him?"
"Sir... don't joke..." Subaru coughed, struggling to breathe. "This is just a misunderstanding."
A desperate will to survive filled his eyes. On his pale, ash-streaked face, he forced out a bitter smile.
Was it slick? Was it fawning?
After being beaten and killed so many times, the sharp edges he had when he first arrived in this other world had long since been worn down. He had matured.
Moreover, they were an interstellar colonial Empire that surpassed modern civilization. The last trace of pride he had once held—seeing others in this world as NPCs—had been utterly shattered.
Thankfully, they came after everything I've been through. If this had happened half a year ago... I would have made a complete fool of myself.
"Good phrasing, kid. Keep convincing me."
Though the grip on his neck did not loosen, Subaru felt as if the heart lodged in his throat finally dropped back into his chest.
As long as they were willing to listen.
He feared nothing more than stubborn fools who trusted only their detection data.
In a hoarse voice, after a few careful breaths, he continued, focusing on the essentials:
"As for my ability, it's basically a 'trophy of war.' I passively inherited the [Sloth] Archbishop's 'Unseen Hand.' But compared to Petelgeuse's near hundred invisible hands, I can only extend one—and its range is extremely short. Unlike those lunatics, I'm just a normal person. Using it causes severe backlash, both physically and mentally. I endure immense pain. So I've never used it."
At that, Subaru bared his teeth in a strained grin.
"If possible, I'd like to ask the Empire to help remove that thing from my body. Even without this misunderstanding caused by my negligence, I would have come to you sooner or later—once word spread that the Empire had wiped out the Witch Cult."
"Possessing it was never my wish. I don't know why it chose me—maybe because I killed its previous host. Maybe it hates me..."
An extremely high emotional-intelligence response.
He gave them face. Gave them an out. Framed himself as a victim.
He was only one step away from saying outright—eradicating the Witch Cult puts us on the same side.
"Is that so... So the Witch Cult has such a hidden mechanism. When mortals who have not bathed in the God-Emperor's radiance kill a Sin Archbishop, the 'Witch Factor' actively seeks out a new host. It seems the operations manual will need an update—a patch."
"A flawless explanation."
Now inclined to believe the black-haired youth—who appeared to be around eighteen—the auxiliary lieutenant's internal AI analysis also indicated high credibility. He tapped the communicator built into his helmet and released his steel grip from Subaru's throat.
Thud.
Subaru dropped backward onto the uneven rubble with a gasp, rubbing the red-purple bruises blooming across his neck.
But he knew that surviving for the moment did not mean he was safe. They could change their minds and kill him at any time for any external reason.
And he absolutely could not allow Reinhard to continue rampaging. If resentment and hatred truly took root—if they killed these soldiers—it would be the gravest provocation against the Sacred Selene Empire.
There would be no explaining it away as a misunderstanding.
"Neither I nor anyone present here belongs to the Witch Cult. We are willing to cooperate with any investigation by the Empire. As for Reinhard's impulsiveness—I am willing to apologize on his behalf. Let us resolve this misunderstanding."
With that thought, Subaru staggered to his feet, trying to add weight and sincerity to his words.
"Enough talk. Whether you are or not—we will determine that ourselves. After a soul search, the truth will be clear."
Casting a sidelong glance at the quick-witted and smooth-tongued boy before him, then at his subordinates emerging from the ruins—injured but with no permanent casualties—the auxiliary lieutenant let out a short laugh. He turned, flourishing his twin-bladed energy sword in several dazzling arcs before deactivating it.
"Count yourself fortunate, kid. You've encountered the Third Legion."
They were the army of refined nobles—powerful yet elegant, and broad-minded enough for self-reflection.
Vrrrrr—
The vast Roswaal estate trembled as more gunships and close air-support craft roared overhead. Subaru looked up, wind lashing painfully against his face. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he watched heavily armored warships streak across the sky.
They were Imperial patrol units rushing in from other regions of the Mezas territory within the Lugunica war zone.
The dull impacts of continuous troop deployments shook the ground. More auxiliary soldiers descended, along with non-humanoid intelligent war machines and tactical Titan mechs. Each impact struck the earth like a hammer—and struck Subaru's heart just as heavily.
When a kilometer-class atmospheric cruiser blotted out the sky above him and a blinding searchlight from its belly locked onto his figure, Subaru felt even more relieved.
At least they hadn't completely torn apart diplomatic ties.
He shot Reinhard—who had sheathed the Dragon Sword and now stood with a heavy expression—a look that clearly said: Listen to me. Don't move. Even if it means death, do not move.
Clatter.
Mixed reinforcement units of Imperial auxiliary and vassal troops disembarked briskly from transport craft under their officers' direction. The auxiliary lieutenant responsible for this sector immediately stepped forward to meet them.
"What situation required calling reinforcements? Casualties...? Hm? No losses?"
Several auxiliary officers exchanged information. The lieutenant who had spoken with Subaru earlier saluted and uploaded all event records—video logs and AI text transcripts—to the war zone's shared server.
Before their discussion progressed far, a sharp whistling sound echoed from above, growing louder by the second.
The officers instinctively straightened and looked skyward.
Dozens of black silhouettes reflecting dazzling light launched from the cruiser's teleportation deck. Accompanied by the distinctive hum of transmission beams, they descended vertically—over twenty of them.
Jetpacks on their backs roared, spewing violet-red flames. Their armor gleamed, trimmed in gold with marks of honor. Over regal purple tabards were engraved skulls of the Angels of Death and the exquisite double-headed aquila.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
One after another, they landed along the collapsed breach of the manor. The ground cracked beneath their boots. Dust billowed as they strode through the smoke and stood proudly, receiving the collective salute of every Imperial military unit present.
Bolt pistols hung at their magnetic clamps, the brutal weapons openly displayed—the thick 1.25 caliber unmistakably proclaiming their identity.
"Who are they...?" Reinhard murmured beside Subaru, visibly exhausted.
He knew in broad terms that the Sacred Selene Empire divided its forces into auxiliary and vassal armies. The highest-ranking Imperial officer he had encountered in the royal capital had been an auxiliary major general from the diplomatic delegation.
Warriors nearly three meters tall in purple-and-gold heavy armor—this was his first time seeing such beings.
Compared to Old Man Rom—the giant who had raised Lady Felt and stood over two meters tall—they were the true giants.
"Trust me," Subaru whispered, placing a hand on the red-haired youth's shoulder.
Thud.
A purple-and-gold giant stopped less than ten meters directly before Subaru. In his hand was a finely crafted power longsword with a dragon-carved guard. His ornate faceplate, engraved with laurel wreaths and an eagle motif, glowed faintly dark red—radiating invisible killing intent.
"Has it been eradicated?"
After calmly surveying the battlefield, the leader removed his helmet.
Hiss.
With the crisp release of pressure valves, the Black Templars Centurion tucked the crested helm beneath his arm. Silver hair. Violet eyes. A strikingly handsome face befitting the title of a noble warrior.
"So it's a misunderstanding? Possessing Witch miasma does not necessarily mean one belongs to the Witch Cult?" he muttered—authoritative yet not devoid of approachability.
An Astartes' authority exceeded that of the auxiliary forces. Accessing subordinate communications channels and battlefield servers was entirely routine.
"You are not a native born of this world, are you?"
After briefly confirming details with those involved, the Centurion stepped forward. His towering, broad form loomed like a wall, enveloping Subaru in shadow. His dark violet eyes gleamed with unquestionable certainty.
"I—"
Subaru had expected interrogation regarding the Witch Cult. He never imagined such a question. He froze, mind buzzing in confusion.
"Then that confirms it."
Understanding flashed across the Centurion's face. He waved a large hand.
"Take him."
Another axis composite world, then. They were experienced in such matters by now—seasoned eyes recognized it instantly.
There would be much work ahead.
"Huh? Oh... okay!"
Realizing there was no escape, Subaru offered no resistance as a Black Templars warrior lifted him effortlessly like a chick.
It wasn't over.
The Centurion first pointed at Reinhard, then at the crying twin-tailed girl nearby.
"You. You. Take them as well."
"All members of the so-called Royal Selection and their guardians are to be detained. Any resistance—execute on the spot. The Kingdom of Lugunica has simmered long enough like a frog in warm water. You—accelerate the extermination of the cult remnants."
"Update the intelligence logs. Distinguish between Witch Cult members and these non-affiliated Witch-miasma carriers. Separate capture from eradication. High-value targets of this type are to be detained and protected."
Watching Reinhard lower his head and submit without resistance as he was escorted away, several auxiliary captains and lieutenants nodded respectfully.
"Sir, does that mean we are shifting from infiltration, division, and co-option to fully compelling the natives to change banners?"
"Yes. The time is ripe. Any remaining stubborn fools—any 'soft value' losses incurred during their removal fall within acceptable parameters."
Arms folded across his chest, the Centurion observed the fading sounds of combat on the far side of the estate as he replied. It was no secret. The decision had already been announced.
"Legion Commander Leiva will soon host a grand banquet at the palace of Water Gate City Priestella, inviting the leaders of the four great surface nations and all minor states and tribes. Their change of banners—and their blessings—will serve as the ceremonial tribute for the completion of the Palace World."
"A tribute? Tribute to whom? The Palace World's construction is far from complete... hm? Wait—could it be?!"
Realization struck the auxiliary officers. Their breathing quickened.
"Her Majesty the Divine Empress..."
"Yes," the Centurion replied calmly. "Just as you think. Her Majesty—has arrived."
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