"This is not making do, milady. Between two evils, choose the lesser… In a situation where there is no need at all to consider the will of the subjects, you still manage to maintain such patience…"
In the study, beneath rows of carved and gilded bookcases filled with brown, red, and blue leather-bound volumes, Sebas stepped forth from the shadows, his face still spirited and dignified as if carved from marble.
"This old servant truly admires you."
He glanced toward the slowly closing study doors, catching a fleeting glimpse of the retreating backs of Dr. Stylish and Mobius at the far end of the corridor.
Bang—
Selene forcefully closed the catalog of Flügel tomes from Avant Heim in her hands and set it heavily upon the finely carved wooden desk beside her. She rubbed her forehead.
"…Hah, what is there to admire? Clumsy, third-rate acting. It is only because I happen to possess the overwhelming strength and authority to crush them, holding in my hands the lifeblood of everything they need. Intimidated by this, they have no choice but to retract their claws before me, fawning and laboring in submission."
"Sebas, do you believe that within the central imperial departments, in the hearts of quite a few high officials, there lies a grand wish they do not even dare imagine, let alone dream?"
Selene gave a self-mocking smile. "Perhaps, in their eyes, the greatest and most sacred version of me would be one who sits in the Imperial Capital's Grand Palace for life."
"Maintaining the stability of the Empire, binding this 'damned' Honkai energy forever to its optimized, upward course. Acting as guarantor of their authority. Ruling with hands folded."
Selene murmured to herself. She realized that in facing such matters—or rather, in discovering them—she was surprisingly calm, even twisted.
Back when she was still a general of the Empire, her temperament would have been to show those who dared harbor wicked thoughts what true cruelty meant. Not a single one would escape!
Now, Selene had come to understand.
In gentler terms: patching flaws, using others as a mirror to reflect one's own gains and losses—it was not so bad.
The Mental Seal.
This was Selene's wedge of control over the Empire's subjects.
If conditions permitted, Selene had the ability to turn the entire Empire into her echoing puppets—puppets in the truest sense, without a single dissenting thought.
But she did not. While ensuring her supporters and loyalists held absolute dominance and majority, she allowed some dissent to exist. For such people, Selene would partly accept their memorials and remonstrations.
Then, she would instruct the Ministry of Internal Affairs to deliberately assign them the very tasks and goals they detested and criticized.
For those who had their own opinions yet still exerted their utmost to fulfill imperial assignments, Selene appreciated them. Such officials would be given more opportunities to prove themselves.
But those who merely paid lip service, opposing in secret while slacking in their duties… Selene would not deal with them directly, but their careers were finished. Dismissal and loss of title were certain.
At the same time, she would ensure their descendants and kin became the most fanatically loyal of the Empire.
You lament that "the whole world is filthy while I alone am pure, all others drunk while I alone am sober"? Very well, your wish shall be granted.
Complete isolation and rejection, reproach from family and children, curses from one's own blood—being branded as a corrupt official, an incompetent man.
Moreover, in order to prove their loyalty to the Empire, their descendants would willingly devote themselves to the very professions their ancestor disdained, taking pride in performing the very acts he once denounced, leaving behind his surname as testimony.
From time to time, Selene would take leisure, without informing anyone—not even Sebas or Alyssa—to scatter her thoughts and watch a play of filial loyalty against parental rebellion (the father defiant, the son loyal), as a way of relaxing.
The forms varied, endless in variety.
Though not as satisfying and thrilling as physical annihilation, it had a peculiar flavor of its own.
Selene often thought the amusements she found for herself were too perverse, unfit to be shared with others.
"That is why this old servant admires you."
Meeting Alyssa's wide-eyed stare, Sebas smiled and naturally took the cumbersome tea set from her hands. With practiced, almost artistic motions, he prepared a pot of hot tea for Selene—simple yet elegant.
"No sovereign delights in having their vassals oppose them."
The elegant butler bowed slightly, gently placing the bone china teacup with floral patterns upon Selene's desk.
"Especially when the sovereign possesses the absolute strength to decide the fate of their vassals, such details, such magnanimity, become all the more precious."
These were Sebas' sincere words.
Amid the throngs of loyal followers, regardless of what truly lay within their hearts, in the presence of Selene there was no longer a single voice of opposition. In a sense, she and the Empire had fused into one. Her will was the Empire's will. Her strategy was the Empire's strategy.
Should Selene one day fall into madness, Sebas could not even imagine what would become of the vast and prosperous interstellar Empire.
Fortunately.
Though Selene was far from perfect, she was rational enough. She knew where the limits lay, and within her heart she had her own red lines.
"So, is this flattery from you, Sebas?"
With a soft chuckle, Selene lifted the teacup and took a small sip. The rich fragrance of the tea spread instantly across her mouth.
Ahem—could she say this was merely a learned reflex from bitter experience?
That golden giant of a man, with his tens of thousands of years crippled upon the throne, stood as a stark warning to Selene. Even if one held limitless power, one should not act in a way too devoid of humanity.
Displaying mercy—trite, but useful. Everlasting.
Besides, it cost her nothing. Selene only needed to move her lips.
After closing her eyes and savoring the tea for a while, Selene rose from the matching chair behind the desk.
"It seems I truly have too much leisure, if even you have come to flatter me."
Selene tapped upon the grand encyclopedia compiled by the Flügel, a vast tome summarizing six thousand years of plunder from the world of Disboard—magic, customs, history, geography, flora, fauna, and more.
"Are those thirteen Ex-Machina units settled?"
"They have already been reset and refreshed. They are undergoing preliminary calibration and maintenance. Soon, they will be ready for data input. Offensive Bias will guide them properly."
"However, Your Majesty, how do you intend to arrange those thirteen units?" Sebas voiced his doubt.
Thirteen units—what use were they?
Another addition to the collection?
"No arrangement. Once their functions are restored, let them quickly begin reproducing." Selene shook her head, sliding the encyclopedia of the Flügel toward Sebas. Her words shocked him.
"Reproduce?"
Sebas frowned. Six thousand years without war—if reproduction were possible, why had the Ex-Machina come so close to extinction?
"Once the 'virus' is cleared, reproduction will be natural."
Indeed—"virus," Selene called it.
By this she meant the traces of Schwi Dola.
The Ex-Machina were a race that analyzed and mimicked the elements needed to break concepts, capable of replicating the armaments of other races—and thus capable of replicating all organs required for reproduction.
However, due to the data of the "heart" uploaded by the remnant Schwi Dola in the ancient war, the surviving Ex-Machina had all fallen in love with Riku Dola. None were willing to reproduce with anyone else. This ethical barrier had become a hardware lock. For over six thousand years, no new Ex-Machina had been born, and the remaining units had long surpassed their limits, teetering on the edge of extinction.
Set aside the applause for the love story that transcended race.
In reality, only thirteen units remained. Why should Selene preserve the "heart" data left by Schwi Dola, bringing trouble upon herself?
The Imperial Guard and the Sisters of Silence already required Selene's personal crafting and blessings. Now with the addition of the Flügel, her already limited leisure time for idling was being stretched even thinner.
Should the Ex-Machina—a race capable of self-reproduction—also require Selene to craft them personally? Ridiculous. At most, she would restore their foundation so they would not die out. The rest, let them reproduce themselves.
Selene admitted Schwi Dola's fate was pitiable, but she did not believe her actions had been right.
In truth, Selene had not yet formed a definite judgment of her, as she herself continually shifted the definition of good and evil.
But based on present interests, Schwi Dola was a "virus." An existence to be strictly eliminated.
Even Riku Dola, his deeds, his so-called "success," once again served as a reminder to Selene.
That was—before war, the battlefield must be cleared in advance.
"Let me introduce her—this is Azril, commander of the Flügel, Third Sequence of the Imperial Guard."
Not lingering further on the topic of the Ex-Machina, Selene gestured toward the elder sister of the Flügel standing properly in the corner of the study.
With emerald hair that refracted the crystal chandelier's light like a prism into rainbow hues, a single horn atop her head, dazzling heterochromatic eyes of blue and gold, wings woven of pure light extending from her waist, and a radiant halo composed of intricate magic circles and geometric patterns, she was a striking sight.
Even Sebas had to admit her appearance was impressive.
"Lord Sebas."
Azril bowed gracefully.
Stare!
As he looked upon her, Sebas suddenly narrowed his crimson vertical pupils. Only then did he realize—what was this? This attire, to serve as part of the Imperial Guard, the Empire's very face?!
Good heavens—an outfit akin to a swimsuit, vast expanses of bare skin, pendant undergarments, asymmetrical stockings… utterly disgraceful!
Corrupting fashions, like a flood beast, endangering the youth of the Empire—such things must be suppressed! Absolutely suppressed!
"T-That… my lord… did I do something wrong…?"
Under Sebas' inexplicable gaze, Azril shivered, her wings of light curling around her body. It was as if she could see, behind this white-haired elder, a colossal black dragon roaring and blotting out the sky.
At that moment, Selene's calm voice drifted in: "Sebas, design a proper uniform for the Flügel. This appearance is indeed improper."
Hearing this, Sebas was overjoyed.
The soul of the artist within him was ignited.
"Your will, milady."
"Next matter. Sebas, regarding the site Alyssa accidentally discovered—the hollowed-out planet infested by insects—what reports have your Inquisitorial patrol fleets submitted?"
Before Sebas could pull out tailoring tools on the spot to take measurements, Selene swiftly shifted the subject.
Alyssa, too, had gained some experience.
Though she had been in haste, she deliberately submitted the coordinates she discovered to the Imperial Inquisition, one of the central authorities directly under the Empire.
This was their specialty, and in coordinating collaboration between imperial departments, the Inquisition held special privileges. With Alyssa's name attached, her Sisters of Battle and Valkyrie units would not have to worry about being excluded from the spoils.
Indeed, she had not forwarded it to the nearest Astartes expeditionary fleet.
Clearly, she had grown wiser—or perhaps been advised—knowing to secure benefits for her hungry Sisters of Battle.
That rascal Merlin, after worming his way into her forces as a combat strategist, had certainly thickened the skin of the Sisters of Battle.
Selene cast a sidelong glance at Alyssa, who stood silently at her side. Denied her tea implements, she was instead grinding coffee beans, glaring unhappily at Sebas.
"Your Majesty, this is the current progress of the exploration fleet."
At once Sebas entered work mode. Receiving clearance from the administrative servitor, he began his report in meticulous detail.
"Residual traces of Alyssa's Honkai plasma allowed the Honkai network to locate that world's position in the void. Based on intelligence that an unknown insectoid swarm had hollowed out the planet to make it a nest, the 2107th Exploration Fleet of the Inquisition immediately devised a reconnaissance plan modeled after protocols against the Flood from Halo."
"They have petitioned for the intervention of a Daemon Inquisitor."
"The fleet specifically requested support troops with prior combat experience against insectoid species. Currently, the highest imperial standard for countering insectoid or pseudo-insectoid threats derives from the Astartes' Second Legion, the Punishers, Sequence Conquered World—Universe-117 Flood."
As Selene browsed through the reports, Sebas added:
"Conveniently, the active personnel of the Daemon Inquisitor Chapter are drawn not only from new recruits and Imperial Guard selections on the homeworld, but also from some of the Second Legion Punishers—recruits originating from Universe-117, Conquered World."
"After Your Majesty eradicated the Flood disaster of Universe-117, Grand General Budo followed in your footsteps. While eliminating every last remnant of the Flood across star systems, he also, as precaution, used the Flood as training to cultivate a large number of new recruits experienced in fighting these insectoid-like creatures."
"With their addition, Your Majesty, detailed reports will soon arrive."
Rubbing her chin, Selene murmured: "117… Spartans, hm…"
She thought of a certain man who never removed his helmet.
"In the first batch of candidates selected for the Daemon Inquisitors, not based on entry scores but post-modification and final evaluations after all training—who ranked the highest?" she suddenly asked.
"…John."
After quickly checking with clearance access, Sebas replied a few seconds later.
"He has no surname. John—117."
"As the top candidate of the first batch, he could have claimed the serial number 1, but instead chose 117. According to the records, back during his time with the UNSC Spartan Operations, his designation was 117."
"So it was him."
"Your Majesty, John—117. Does he hold some special significance? While his service with the UNSC was marked by countless battles and victories, and he earned nearly every medal they could grant, could it be… he is the so-called inheritor of Universe-117's creators, the Forerunners' legacy?"
Such a super-soldier was rare indeed. But within the Empire, for Selene to personally single him out still seemed unusual. Even Sebas, familiar with the battle records of the Punishers from Universe-117, could only speculate.
"In a sense."
Selene nodded with a grin, her fingers tracing the porcelain handle of her teacup. "The name Daemon Inquisitors is too repetitive. Let us rename them—Grey Knights. The Inquisition's special detachment shall be the Grey Knights Chapter."
"As for John—117's company, let it retain the designation 'Spartans,' as in his UNSC days."
"…As you command."
...
Honkai Supraspatial Network, unnamed world where the 2107th Exploration Fleet of the Inquisition was deployed.
Bzzz—!
The barrier of realspace was torn apart by rippling blue waves of warp transit. When the Inquisition's fleet followed the traces left by Alyssa's power, what unfolded before them was a vast asteroid belt, floating in the dark abyss of the void like a hideous fungal mat.
Some asteroids were half-melted, their surfaces hardened into sleek black contours. These had once been continental shelves, blasted by high-energy plasma, hurled into space and rapidly cooled, forming such grotesque landscapes.
Far more were like honeycombed wreckage, pockmarked remnants of continental plates.
Perhaps it was because Alyssa, in her dragon form, upon encountering the foul stench of the swarm, had been startled into unleashing excessive power… or perhaps the planet had already been thoroughly hollowed out by the insects. In any case, the destruction had produced an asteroid field unusually fine and dense, every surface riddled with frost-lined cavities.
On the bridge, beneath the resplendent dome's colored embellishments, the golden talons of the double-headed imperial eagle held a silver pillar crest aloft, proclaiming their identity: the Imperial Inquisition.
"We have entered the planetary debris zone."
An officer of the Imperial Navy reported.
Inquisitors clad in ornate black-and-red uniforms, adorned with medals, sashes, and golden tassels, barked commands in ringing tones.
"Increase the composite shipborne void-shield frequency…"
With both hands upon the console, pale eyes reflected the scarred planetary remnants strewn across the void—massive fragments covered in fungal mats and strange membranous structures, clearly visible upon the augur displays.
"I can already smell the stench of those insects!"
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