At this moment, outside the outer wall of Academy City, by the riverbank.
Thud!!
Bang! Bang bang! Bang bang bang!
Sky and earth erupted in brilliant light almost simultaneously, as if the darkness of night was wiped away in a single instant.
In the sky—an overwhelming display of fireworks.
On the ground—Academy City's endless decorative lights: bulbs, neon, laser beams, spotlights, all kinds of lighting lit up. Rows of lights, reminiscent of Christmas decorations, began flashing in sync.
Overlaying all this was a symphony of electronic tones. The radiance of humanity in that instant eclipsed the starlight.
Reflected in the multicolored glow on the shimmering shallows stood a pure silver-white, sword-shaped marble cross.
It was none other than the Roman Orthodox Church's highest-class spiritual artifact—the "Croce of Pietro."
"What is that... why...."
The activation of the Croce of Pietro was abruptly interrupted. Lidvia Lorenzetti stared blankly at the dazzling sky, overcome with emotion. She could no longer maintain her devout prayer posture and murmured in disbelief.
Countless fireworks lit up the sky, completely obscuring the distant constellations. Lidvia knew, the chance was lost.
The Croce of Pietro's activation conditions were already stringent. In addition to requiring a specific date (Saint Peter's Feast Day), as a constellation-based spell, it relied on the visible constellations of the night sky.
Only by bathing the artifact in starlight after sunset, collecting the falling rays from those stars, could the Croce of Pietro be activated.
But now, the optimal window had vanished in a flash. Such a moment would not come again until the following September 19.
Even if she wanted to relocate and reassemble the ritual, it was too late. Lidvia didn't believe Academy City would give her another chance. Moreover, she was severely injured to begin with. Holding out until now was pure willpower, and with that gone, her vision turned dizzy and dark.
Lidvia collapsed to her knees in front of the Croce of Pietro, her hastily bandaged torso erupting in searing pain. The spasm caused her stomach to churn with bile.
"Ahahahaha—!"
"Hey, hey, did you see that? Acqua of the Back? That was hilarious! The Roman Orthodox Church's so-called ultimate artifact was disrupted so easily! Ahahaha—! No defensive units deployed, not even a magician or esper to guard it. Just some fireworks! Hahaha—"
On the shallows, Vento of the Front laughed maniacally, her tongue flicking like a serpent's. Ting! A thin metal chain bearing a cross slid slowly from between her lips. With her exaggerated expressions and numerous facial piercings, her laughter looked especially twisted and grotesque.
"Just a few fireworks—what a joke! I've said it all along: real power comes from direct confrontation!"
As she laughed, she couldn't help but slam her barbed mace into the riverbank like a cannonball, sending water and sand flying and blasting out a series of craters.
"Those old fossils in the Vatican are nothing but bugs. Their methods are completely outdated!"
Beside her, Acqua of the Back paid no mind to his fellow Roman Orthodox member's defeat or her ranting. He sat quietly on a rock by the river, hands clasped and raised above his head—as if in prayer, in repentance, perhaps seeking forgiveness for his actions.
"Lord, please forgive me. If I have sinned, I will bear the consequences alone. But she should not be implicated..."
For once, the resolute face of Acqua of the Back revealed a rare trace of gentleness.
He knew well—on the day he joined the God's Right Seat, he had already committed an unforgivable act.
From that moment, the British Royal Family and the Anglican Church had become enemies to him, a conflict that could never be undone.
No matter how it was justified, no matter how many reasons were given, converting to Roman Catholicism on the eve of his knighthood ceremony was a clear-cut act—William Orwell had committed the crimes of breaking his knightly oath and betraying his country.
All of it, Acqua of the Back was prepared to bear alone. He was ready to die, to sacrifice everything. But there was one thing he couldn't accept—that earnest and kind girl being dragged into it because of him.
That was his only selfish desire, the one thing he couldn't let go of.
The reason?
Before becoming a member of God's Right Seat, he was William Orwell.
Splash—!
Seeing Acqua rise, Vento of the Front, bored and resting her spiked mace on her shoulder, finished her complaints and asked disinterestedly, "News from the Vatican. Those old geezers actually had the guts. Janis' unit, the Knights, the 'Queen of the Adriatic Sea'... they deployed everything at once."
"Acqua of the Back, what's your next move? Wait here, or..."
Rip!
The sudden sound of tearing cloth interrupted Vento's words. She widened her eyes. "What are you doing?!"
He tore off his white short-sleeved shirt emblazoned with a blue cross. The man, tall and statuesque like a stone carving, walked steadily toward her.
"Apologies. Please deliver my regrets to His Holiness the Pope. William Orwell has something he must do."
As he spoke, the torn shirt—still bearing the intact blue cross emblem—was handed to Vento of the Front.
"What are you planning?"
She didn't scold him for potential betrayal. Instead, she glanced toward Lidvia Lorenzetti, already collapsed and unconscious.
In the entirety of God's Right Seat, Vento of the Front was relatively the most amicable with Acqua of the Back.
She knew Acqua's character and his devout faith in Christianity.
"Do you need my help..."
"No. You have your responsibilities as Vento of the Front. But I am different. I go not as Acqua of the Back, but as the unknighted warrior William Orwell. I must go."
William Orwell looked toward that dazzling, resplendent city that never slept.
Selene, I have come to fulfill our promise.
...
Meanwhile, in District 7, near the School Garden.
Watching the fireworks rise, seated gracefully at a round table by the second-floor window, Selene simply smiled.
After all, the Croce of Pietro's weakness was far too easy to exploit.
Academy City was Aleister's domain. Once he understood the artifact's function and activation conditions, how could the greatest magician since the last century allow Lidvia Lorenzetti to so brazenly offer Academy City to the Roman Orthodox Church?
It just so happened that the fireworks festival held during the evening parade on September 19 served perfectly as a preventive measure. Perhaps Aleister had prepared it in advance for exactly this contingency.
Spending some fireworks money to neutralize the Roman Orthodox Church's highest-tier spiritual artifact? From any angle, it wasn't a loss. In fact, it was a small gain. Wasn't boosted consumption just money well spent?
"Thus, the little tricks of those Roman Church bugs have failed."
Selene, wearing black gloves, delicately propped up her chin with her slender hand.
In her other hand was a gilded card encrusted with precious gems, which she idly tapped against the table. The rhythmic tap tap was, to Villian, like a dull rasp scraping across her throat—an oppressive sound that made it hard to breathe.
"Why? Why must you and my sister choose military action? Couldn't you just sit down and talk..."
"Cowardice!"
Carissa's tone turned impatient.
"He is a traitor. And the Roman Orthodox Church has come right to our doorstep. Talk? What a joke!"
Her crimson attire only enhanced her imposing presence. If anyone else wore that color scheme, it would seem gaudy. But on this princess, it exuded a fitting, glamorous beauty.
Thanks to the agreement signed between the Anglican Church and Academy City, the isolated British Isles were technically considered an ally of Academy City—both parties were to stand together against the Roman Orthodox Church, the ultimate "big boss."
"Compared to being used as a political marriage pawn—married off to someone you don't know, maybe even dislike—if you could instead grow old together, support each other with the nameless knight you love, William Orwell... which would you choose?"
With a faint smile, Selene didn't wait for a reply and continued.
"..." Villian lowered her head even further, hiding her expression from Selene.
Yet even without seeing her face, Selene could hear the tremble in her voice.
Rising to look out at the fireworks, Selene paused briefly before turning her head. Her calm, scarlet eyes narrowed into a thin line.
"Villian, my appointment with William Orwell is tonight. Time is short. This isn't a negotiation. What's your answer?"
Villian had unconsciously bitten her lip. She spoke in a low voice: "Announce renunciation of my claim to the throne, and publicly support Sister Carissa's succession—is that all?"
"Indeed."
Selene showed an approving smile, her lips curving slightly. "I trust you're aware of your awkward position in the royal family. My proposal is likely the optimal outcome for you."
Queen Eliza of Britain had three daughters, each known for a particular trait:
The eldest, Riméa, was known for her wisdom.
The second, Carissa, had a keen military mind.
The youngest, Villian, was praised for kindness and virtue.
But in reality, the Third Princess Villian held no power. Nobles and parliament members might praise her with words like "Your Highness, you are truly benevolent," but few would ever swear lifelong loyalty or service.
People were pragmatic. They looked to the future and spoke from self-interest. Reality was no fairy tale—no matter how much sympathy Villian garnered, pledging allegiance was another matter.
Especially since Villian didn't appear to have the ability to "grow the pie," to lead everyone to greater benefits.
That wasn't a gamble many were willing to take.
"Have a good talk with your sister. She doesn't actually dislike you. What she despises are your overly naive and benevolent ideals."
Seeing that the staff on the ground floor were preparing the banquet and setting up the stage, Selene realized she'd gotten the answer she needed. She had no intention of exchanging more family talk with the royal sisters.
Using Villian as bait to lure Acqua of the Back, and then exploiting the information gap to force Villian into compliance using Acqua's life—Selene had played this gambit perfectly.
Descending the stairs, Selene quickly noticed a stunning sight that caught her eye.
Misaka Mikoto, in a pale blue evening gown, stood with her slender frame accentuated by the dress. White floral accessories complemented her smooth chestnut hair. She held a violin case in her hand. However, her elegant face clearly blushed with embarrassment.
"She's a mother now, and yet she's still so childish... The moment she heard this was a student talent performance stage, she insisted I perform too. Damn it! Why is that Shokuhou girl just sitting in the audience?!"
Misaka Mikoto muttered under her breath.
They were chatting normally just moments ago, then her mother had suddenly dragged her backstage to change outfits, insisting she participate in the talent show.
"Mikoto, it's your mother's wish. Do your best~"
Wearing a dark blue long-sleeved maid outfit, with her bangs circled by a lace-edged maid headdress, Tsuchimikado Maika gently smoothed out the ruffles on Mikoto's sleeve as she offered her support.
"What is this? You came to laugh at me, didn't you? And wait, Maika, why are you here?!"
"This is one of the reception zones managed by Ryouran Maid School. As an intern maid, isn't it normal for me to be here?" Maika blinked playfully.
"Mikoto, what's with this look?"
A calm voice interrupted their conversation.
After learning the situation, Selene couldn't help but secretly give a thumbs-up to Auntie Misaka Misuzu. Misuzu, proud and grinning, returned the gesture right back at Selene.
Mm, no surprise there—a childish young mother indeed.
Watching the flustered and embarrassed Misaka Mikoto, Selene glanced at the violin case in her hand. "Perhaps this is a way to convey feelings."
"Misaka, let's perform together."
Misaka Mikoto blinked. Slowly, she looked up at the elegant, radiant white-haired woman before her—brilliant as starlight.
"You were upstairs drinking with the two princesses?" she asked. "Aren't you the one who hates formal events? You even turned down invitations to the Open Campus and Summer Festival."
Selene chuckled softly.
"Yes, it is a formality—but the participants matter."
Following Selene's gaze, Mikoto spotted Katie and nodded in understanding. "Ah, I see."
"So, how do we do this?"
...
"Misaka Auntie actually made Misaka-senpai perform on stage. I wonder what kind of performance it'll be?" Uiharu Kazari said excitedly to Saten Ruiko beside her.
"Onee-sama's performance will surely be extraordinary," Shirai Kuroko said proudly, pulling a camera from her uniform. The way her hand clenched it tightly betrayed her excitement.
"I'm somewhat looking forward to Misaka-san's performance," said Shokuhou Misaki, resting her chin on one hand, her starry eyes narrowed in a dreamy expression.
"Whoa—! Misaka-senpai is coming out!" Saten Ruiko suddenly exclaimed.
On stage, the music academy students who had been providing background music withdrew. As the spotlight lit up the now-empty stage, every eye in the hall turned toward the approaching figure.
"Huh? A harp? Who's performing with Misaka-senpai?" Saten Ruiko wondered aloud.
In the next moment, accompanied by clear footsteps, a refined voice rang out behind Misaka Mikoto.
"Selene-senpai?!"
The white-haired woman's features were striking, like a sculpture carved by a master artisan. Under the spotlight, the already stunning girl appeared even more breathtaking, exuding a queen-like grace and dazzling presence.
"Selene?"
Katie, too, was surprised.
As she looked over, Selene smiled and nodded to her before seating herself before the harp.
Resting the violin on her shoulder, Misaka Mikoto closed her eyes slowly. Then, the performance began.
From the harp and violin flowed a duet like a crystal-clear stream.
The faint notes echoed through the grand hall beneath the luxurious chandeliers, like celestial music descending from the heavens.
Selene: Signet of Gold, loading.
"What a beautiful piece! Instrumental?"
As the melody played, each person in the audience experienced their own emotions.
But there was one thing they all agreed on.
"This piece..."
Why did it stir an inexplicable sense of comfort and reflection?
Katie felt a unique flavor in it. More accurately, it seemed the piece was composed by Selene specifically for her.
The growth of a child... a soaring eagle... a protagonist taking the stage...
These images poured into Katie's mind alongside the music. She closed her eyes with a soft sigh, then opened them and nodded with a complex expression.
This was her daughter conveying her thoughts and feelings.
Not through words, but through music.
Was Selene trying not to hurt her feelings by avoiding direct words?
Selene's caution and her precious regard for family—both moved and pained Katie. She wanted to say: if you've grown up, just tell me directly. There's no need to be so roundabout. I'm not some stiff, authoritarian parent.
You've truly grown up, little Selene.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
40 Advanced Chapters Available on Patreon:
Patreon.com/DaoOfHeaven