"So, the Witch Cult is the target you selected, Minister Leiva."
"A united front. A grand banquet for heroes. A feast at Hong Gate. Public execution. Invite them, behead them, accept the rest as dogs... You remind me of certain rather interesting historical anecdotes."
As the music gradually faded and murmured conversations lingered in the air, one purple-and-gold shuttle after another—belonging to the Third Legion, the Black Templars command—rested quietly upon the vast harbor platform.
In contrast to the massive docking structures, thousands of Imperial soldiers stood in perfectly ordered ranks along the newly constructed passageways flanking the landing zone—
Vassal troops clad in various styles of uniforms and differing standardized armor.
Officers in uniform iron-gray attire.
Auxiliary soldiers fully armed in Type-III universal power armor.
And the veteran Honor Guard of the Black Templars, draped in exquisitely crafted purple-and-gold heavy armor.
They were towering figures. Every inch of their three-meter composite plates—of aurichalcum, soulsteel, and adamantine—was engraved with intricate patterns and heraldry that inspired awe. Deep crimson velvet half-cloaks trimmed with fur fluttered fiercely in the cool wind.
On every face was solemn devotion and fervor. The entire harbor platform was silent—save for that voice drifting closer from afar, faintly husky yet cool and clear, light and melodious.
"It is merely the fulfillment of my duty. This heretical cult has committed pure evil for centuries without rest. Heaven and people alike resent them. To the Empire, are they not the finest scapegoat—and the most convenient 'cleansing agent' in the process of conquest?"
And following closely behind, a deep and exceedingly humble voice—the one they had heard for many years. Their Legion Commander.
Step. Step. Step—
When Selene, having cast aside her disguise and revealed her true appearance, descended under the escort of the Lord of the Third Legion, Leiva, the entire formation—xenos soldiers, mortals, even Astartes—dropped to one knee.
"Rise."
Selene waved away the accompanying Honor Guard and Black Templars command officers. Holding a cup of fragrant red tea, she strolled calmly through the ranks. With her free hand, she made a gentle lifting gesture.
An invisible, soft force immediately raised her subjects—whether prostrate or kneeling—to their feet.
She had almost developed a reflex for it by now.
They knelt first. She lifted them after.
See? She had always said it—going out with this face made it nearly impossible to enjoy oneself properly. Aside from a mere handful of individuals, even regional governors who commanded vast territories knelt instantly before Selene.
This was both the accumulated might of her authority—the tyrant who truly possessed the power to erase your entire bloodline—and the growing maturity and perfection of the organizational structure she had forged for the Sacred Selene Empire.
Perhaps many ordinary people would live their entire lives without ever seeing Selene, never witnessing with their own eyes her world-shattering, reality-overturning power. Yet it did not prevent them from fearing and believing in the Empress through the deeply rooted reach of Imperial governance—through officials and preachers alike.
At the Empire's founding, Selene herself had endowed the Imperial government with its authority, power, and legitimacy.
Now, the situation had reversed. She scarcely needed to act personally. The imperial title alone could accomplish ninety-eight percent of what intelligent beings in this world could conceive.
Indeed, the identity of an Inspector-General or a Major General of the Imperial Guard was far more convenient. Much easier for leisure.
Within a single second, her internal deliberation concluded.
She had already decided on her future vacation strategy.
"Your tribute—your decision. Dispose of it as you please. I am merely the one who enjoys it. You are the one who serves. I'll stay for now. If I'm dissatisfied later, I'll decide how to deal with you."
With a broad wave of her hand, Selene adopted the air of a carefree, indulgent sovereign—one interested only in watching performances, listening to music, and feasting.
"Ahem... As Your Majesty wills. However, the Palace World is still far from completion..." Leiva's voice was subdued, tinged with bitterness—but this outcome had been within his expectations.
"It matters not. I do not care. I am no true phoenix who 'rests only on parasol trees, eats only bamboo fruit, drinks only from sweet springs.' Minister Leiva, begin your performance."
Selene's eyes sparkled with interest.
"..."
Leiva found himself speechless.
So she had come merely to scold him a few times, kick him twice, then indulge in food and entertainment? She had already taken one of his treasured tea canisters and now had him acting as chef, attendant, servant, and performer.
Vacation? This was plainly just her looking for amusement.
Lord Sebas truly has it hard... And she dares accuse me of slacking? My dear Majesty, your mastery of slacking rivals mine.
Of course, when he lifted his head and met Selene's chin-propped, faintly smiling expression—those eerily calm eyes—he swallowed every word.
Those complaints were not things he dared voice aloud.
A few kicks were enough. He was not a masochist.
In any case, he was accustomed to it.
Ever since Selene had appointed him head of the Empire's Strategic Support Forces, he had been perpetually working overtime. Though, admittedly, with sufficient skill he still found opportunities to slack off when necessary.
This playful, half-teasing relationship between sovereign and minister—Leiva privately described it that way. He did not dislike it.
Ah, to be so outstanding that one remains constantly in Her Majesty's thoughts—what a burden.
Yes, next time he dined with Alex, General Budo, and Robert, he would phrase it just like that.
With that thought, standing three paces behind Selene at her side, Leiva turned and issued further instructions, signaling his adjutants to accelerate their tasks.
"Ah... As expected, the tea of your legion is peerless, Leiva."
Selene leisurely made her way to the edge of the central tower overlooking the harbor platform, ascending to the highest observation deck. She took a light sip of the red tea she had appropriated from Leiva's desk, closing her eyes briefly to savor its aroma and lingering aftertaste.
She had made him brew it.
As a Legion Commander who, whenever afforded free time, brewed a pot of tea and read the paper on a sofa like a retired veteran cadre, his habits had influenced his entire legion.
Beyond the flourishing aristocratic elegance that characterized the Black Templars, tea ceremony, coffee culture, medicinal cuisine, and various health-preserving practices were especially prominent within the Third Legion—truly second to none.
Other Imperial units who had visited the Third Legion universally praised it.
"Many have complimented it before, so I shall spare the repetitive praise."
After voicing her admiration, Selene laughed heartily. Hands clasped behind her back, she turned to survey the city below—Watergate City.
It was also the Palace World Leiva had dedicated to her, the chosen site of its main hall.
The city's overall structure was circular. Disregarding scale, it resembled an open-air coliseum built for grand spectacles. Looking down toward the center revealed descending tiers, each level lined with orderly stone-built architecture.
Along the cableways threading through the building clusters ran waterways, and especially large channels—no, true grand canals—cut the city into four distinct districts at its center. A city of water in every sense, ferries could be seen everywhere along the canals.
Though at present, few were setting sail.
After all, the smoke of the Watergate City campaign—the encirclement and annihilation of the Witch Cult's main forces—had not yet fully dissipated. Across the urban districts lay canal ports reduced to ruins, collapsed overpasses, precariously tilting high-rises shaken by the aftermath of battle, and streets littered with broken walls and debris...
One could see Witch Cultists' corpses not yet fully cleared—stacked and preserved under cooling measures. Captured members of the Witch Cult were held in concentrated detention, awaiting collective execution. Engineering machinery and transport craft roared throughout the city, while workers in construction suits and rocket packs busied themselves with rebuilding outer structures and surface facilities.
Reviewing the military-collected dossiers on Watergate City, Selene nodded. Though incomplete, she was satisfied with the chosen site.
"Pristella Palace... Though its structure is peculiar, considering that the city itself once functioned as a trap, a design that concentrates water toward the center is only logical."
Besides, as a palace world, it need not adhere rigidly to convention. The more unrestrained, the more ethereal and artistic, the better.
That said—a Witch drowned? The thought drew a quiet laugh from Selene.
Beneath the city lay sealed the remains of the Witch of Pride, Typhon, who had perished here.
Watergate City Pristella had originally been constructed as a fortress to defend against Witches. At its inception, it was designed as a trap to kill one—once activated, the surrounding lake would flood and submerge the entire city. As the Witches gradually vanished, the city's function as a trap faded into obscurity.
Selene could sense it—the residual Witch Factor buried deep beneath the city trembling in fear, wailing.
As for why it wailed—because it was about to vanish entirely. The tide of Honkai energy particles was eroding and engulfing it at an unprecedented speed.
The Witch was dead, yet the extraordinary terrain created by the super trap that buried her remained. With sufficient rainfall, vast quantities of lake water frequently flowed into the city.
To prevent inundation, the city was encircled by towering walls. Along those walls were multiple water gates used to regulate water levels. It was those magnificent water gates that gave the city its name—Watergate City—not a City Upon Water.
Coupled with the fact that a Witch had been water-buried here, and that this was the birthplace of the Kararagi City-State Republic's founder, Hoshin of the Wastes, layers of commemorative symbolism overlapped. Combined with its favorable environment, scenic beauty, and abundant production of ultra-high-purity colorless magic ore, the city developed a uniquely rich cultural heritage.
Its commerce was prosperous, merchant guilds numerous.
Though once Watergate City Pristella transformed into Pristella Palace, those guilds were destined to be expelled beyond the palace walls.
Yet Leiva, ever the most refined of the Astartes Legion Commanders, had arranged matters meticulously. As the main palace structures were restored and constructed, Imperial engineering corps units were simultaneously building new residential districts, commercial zones, and civilian sightseeing areas beyond the walls.
The original residents of Watergate City were undergoing review by Leiva's subordinate vassal forces. The conditions were not harsh. Essentially, so long as one was not a Witch Cultist and was willing to settle here under Imperial rule, that sufficed.
As Selene leaned lazily against the high tower's edge, crimson eyes watching with interest the captured Sin Archbishop of the Witch Cult—bound in shackles—footsteps sounded behind her.
Knowing who approached, she naturally extended her teacup for a refill and asked, "What is it?"
"Your Majesty. The core leadership of the Kingdom of Lugunica, the Sacred Vollachian Empire, the Kararagi City-States, and the Holy Kingdom of Gusteko have been 'invited.' Would you grant them an audience..."
"No." Selene did not hesitate. "During my vacation, I am not attending to state affairs. Unless it interests me, I will involve myself in nothing else. That is your responsibility."
"Intimidating a group of weak mortals devoid of interesting souls is dreadfully tedious."
Arbitrary.
...
"..."
Faced with the peculiar exchange between the Divine Empress and their Legion Commander, the auxiliary generals, Black Templars company captains, champions, and lieutenants standing thirty meters away collectively adopted expressions of disciplined neutrality.
We heard nothing. We saw nothing. We were never here.
"Your Majesty, Legion Commander—the Royal Selection candidates of Lugunica, along with elders and the chairman of the Sage Council, are about to arrive at Pristella Palace."
The speaker was a young Black Templars commander who had removed his helmet. Kneeling respectfully on one knee, he did not dare raise his eyes toward Selene leaning against the railing.
Her Majesty appeared in excellent spirits—approachable, even relaxed—but that did not grant license for impropriety.
"Oh? The Royal Selection of Lugunica? Provide the list. Submit all relevant mission briefings."
At last hearing a keyword of interest, Selene straightened and turned, gazing down from above.
"Yes!"
...
Meanwhile, aboard a cruiser transport flying from the eastern heartlands of the Kingdom of Lugunica toward the continent's center—Watergate City—on the lower deck.
A soft hum. A tremor.
"Reinhard... I'm sorry. You've done so much for me, yet I only asked you to surrender without resistance. Reconciliation is our only chance to survive. I..."
"Say no more. Subaru, I am not some bloodthirsty fool. I am simply unwilling to accept that Lugunica should fall like this..."
"..."
A heavy silence fell between the black-haired boy and the red-haired youth.
"Sigh... Perhaps this is unpleasant to hear, but Reinhard, I hope you won't mind. Since it cannot be avoided, perhaps consider its advantages. If Lugunica falls, it might spare the majority of its people from the recurring great disasters and famines that plagued the Kingdom."
"Perhaps... given the material power of the Sacred Selene Empire. But how can we ensure the Empire will not discard us once we are no longer useful—draining Lugunica dry like a colonial power? The kind you described... Subaru? Are you listening?"
"...Reinhard, I do have a method. But I lack your talent, and I am nowhere near as important as you. Only you can do it—and it will require you to commit many acts against your heart."
"What method?" the red-haired youth asked urgently.
"Join them."
Subaru lifted his gaze.
"Climb. Step by step."
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