"Heroic Spirits... Master..."
Beneath the specially designed fully enclosed helmet, Master Chief John—117 kept his eyes shut tightly, his face filled with contemplation. He murmured softly, "Her Majesty's will... it's so vague."
As the Boundary Crystal activated, super-energy particle patterns resembling a magic array began to take shape, converge, and synchronize, drawing upon the shipborne Honkai Cube aboard this tens-of-kilometers-long battlecruiser.
Faint yet incomparably vivid, John received instructions from the Empress of the Empire.
"Unable to directly contact the upper military command system and the Inquisition's central authority for the time being..."
John slowly opened his eyes, concealing the crimson, shield-shaped Command Seal glowing on the back of his right hand.
"No tactical directives. No airborne decree. In other words, I act at my own discretion? The reinforcements being sent continuously are Heroic Spirits, and I am the so-called Master—serving as the anchoring intermediary through which Her Majesty stabilizes and materializes their bodies in this world..."
Though his tone remained calm, the undercurrent of emotion within him was undeniable as he spoke to himself.
This was the first time since the end of his service in the Second Punishers Legion UNSC Spartan combat forces that he had once again directly received the Emperor's—no, the Empress'—personal instruction.
Her meaning was clear. It could be summarized in a single sentence—take good care of my fleet.
That was all.
One thing was certain: Selene did not want them to charge in recklessly with a mindless "Tenno Heika Banzai." As for how to endure, how to develop and maintain strength, how to command and even expand—those decisions were now entirely up to John's own judgment and initiative.
For John, this aligned perfectly with the steady strategy he was already executing.
"General Esdeath, does Her Majesty have any further instructions?"
Rising to his feet, John felt the "hunger" in his body momentarily sated by the radiance of the Divine Empress. Silently shutting off the flow of nutrient solution, he walked toward the tall figure wreathed in icy blue light and spoke neither humbly nor arrogantly.
"No further instructions."
Esdeath smiled faintly in response. Turning around, her ice-blue eyes gleamed with sharp brilliance as she studied this "masked man" who held a certain reputation within Inquisition circles.
"Protect yourself. Lead your Inquisition 117th Strike Cruiser Fleet well. I won't fight you for command, and you don't need to report to me. I am not the main body. Inform me of your operations, share intelligence. If there are troublesome or suicidal missions, assign them to me. Treat me as your combat Servant."
"Remember—don't die. The anchoring point for the Servants is on you. We're only the first wave of reinforcements."
Esdeath waved her hand casually, her tone light.
"The first wave? Wow, this Master really does seem impressive. John, that's an order from above. You can't keep personally charging into the front lines anymore."
Cortana enunciated deliberately, her gaze sliding across the Master Chief.
"..."
John did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the Heroic Spirits who, nominally, were under his command.
More than a dozen of them stood there, each with different expressions—some resting with eyes closed, some calm and composed, others eager for action.
The authority of a Master allowed him to effortlessly perceive their True Names and status panels.
Perhaps John himself did not fully grasp the magnitude of it, but in a Holy Grail War, in the correction of human history, in the salvation of Singularities—what stood before him would be the trump card long dreamed of by Chaldea's Masters, human magi, and even witches and demons alike.
All had descended under the same Class—
Class: Foreigner
True Names: Scáthach, Merlin, Gilgamesh, the Old Man of the Mountain, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne...
Their parameters—without exception—
Strength: EX
Endurance: EX
Agility: EX
Mana: EX
Aside from attributes like Luck, which Selene had no interest in quantifying, A++ was merely the threshold. EX rank was beyond question.
Having dragged this group of kings, generals, heroes, assassins, and mischief-makers from the Throne of Heroes, Selene was not the sort to crack the whip without offering a carrot.
Energy was provided without limit. Those "underdeveloped" were injected and filled before being sent out. When she said maxed out—she meant maxed out.
In terms of Class Skills and Personal Skills, each retained the ranks they had in life.
However, an additional blessing skill had been added.
"Primordial Essence of the Multiverse" — Rank: EX
The Supreme Gods know your name. Bathed in the primal light born at the dawn of the multiverse, you have felt the universe's first stirrings, heard the first cry of celestial bodies and life, witnessed the birth of light, fate, eternal history and fleeting change.
(Plain explanation: Your Empress dunked you once in the secondary omnipotent universal sea within her cradle. As a result, you now possess residency in the Marvel Universe. The Marvel Universe will accept you. Honkai magical factors are converted into Honkai universal energy particles. You may sustain yourself, unleash mana, and release Noble Phantasms by drawing upon cosmic energy within the Marvel Universe.)
Apostle of "Eternity" — Rank: A
A rough symbolic identity. Optional. Due to its supreme transcendence, it has lost its medium of contact with the masses. Most lifeforms may not perceive it. Those who perceive it may not understand it.
"Limiter" — Rank: ???
Selene's gift (experiment).
"Stronger than I was in life... this body... as expected of the Divine Empress."
With black hair and golden eyes, clad in light dark-green armor that revealed a lean, streamlined physique, the handsome man laughed boldly. A tear mole beneath his right eye lent him not softness but an even more striking elegance.
As though familiarizing himself with this unprecedentedly powerful Spirit body, mana particles gathered in his palm, shifting into blades. Two red and two yellow—two long, two short. Two demonic spears and two demonic swords transformed, switched forms, altered stances seamlessly, without the slightest pause.
There was no division of weapon preference. No restriction that choosing blade meant forfeiting sorcery. No constraint between physical or magical inclination.
In some respects, certain Heroic Spirits would now surpass even their prime in life.
"'Radiant Beauty' Diarmuid Ua Duibhne..." John silently spoke the knight's name within his heart.
"Master."
Noticing the gaze of the Master who was also the fleet commander, Diarmuid addressed him courteously yet brightly.
He could sense that this Master was a pure warrior. This time, perhaps he would finally be able to fulfill his duty as a knight without incident.
Under this Spirit Origin, he could perfectly control the skill "Love Spot." Besides, this was the military—who was he going to charm? His superior's spouse? Or charm an AI? His tragic fate would not repeat itself this time.
John returned the courtesy with a nod. He did not dwell further on the matter. After briefly acknowledging each of them, he began contacting the Guardians of the Galaxy while instructing diplomatic personnel to reach out to Earth.
Beep beep beep.
Just as the fleet neared Earth, naval diplomatic personnel had already issued formal notices to the major powers' governments. Out of caution, the fleet's weapons modules began to activate. Combat personnel took their positions. Shuttle fighters were launched.
Amid the stern, metallic cadence of military order—
Tap tap~
"Bald Caped Hero, are you ready?"
"Please, General—could you not call me that embarrassing hero name? Just call me Saitama."
Under a lightbulb-like bald head, as he looked at the ice-blue woman slowly approaching, the Bald Caped Hero's lifeless, drooping eyes were filled with helplessness. Sitting on the reception area sofa, he cradled a cup of tea in both hands, leaning back as his gaze drifted lazily around him.
Lean and capable Imperial Navy crew. Officers in immaculate uniforms. Tall, imposing silver-helmed daemon inquisitors. And led by Esdeath—transferred here alongside the two of them—Servants dressed in wildly different styles, unruly and fiercely individualistic.
Compared to the soldiers of the Sacred Selene Empire's military, in Saitama's eyes, these people felt more like heroes from the Hero Association.
And that was technically true. Heroic Spirits—were they not heroes?
John, too, had noticed Esdeath's movement and once again shifted his gaze to the unremarkable, utterly ordinary, plain bald man.
Forgive his limited experience. This short and slender (by military standards, Saitama's height of 175 cm counted as such) bald man in a yellow superhero suit with a cape—lacking any spiritual aura or special function—possessed no obvious traits or visible strength that John could discern.
Arriving together with Esdeath, he had been overshadowed almost instantly. And just as John prepared to question him, successive multi-Servant summonings had occurred—the beautiful dual-spear crone, the inhuman nightmare, the King of Heroes, the Old Man of the Mountain...
Each far more eye-catching than this man.
Yet as the only "pseudo-Servant," whose parameters could not be viewed, who had descended in flesh rather than as a body composed of Honkai particles and primordial universal energy like Esdeath and the others—John did not believe he was merely ordinary.
"Let's move. The people of this planet have already taken countermeasures..."
Esdeath paid no mind to his informal address. She had never been one for rigid etiquette—unless standing before Selene herself, under the watchful eyes of countless censors. Basic respect was sufficient.
After speaking, she gave John and the blue-hued cyber beauty projected on the table a slight nod before stepping into the corridor leading directly to the warship's combat deck.
"As the only reinforcement who came here in the flesh, young man, I look forward to your performance."
The Queen of the Land of Shadows, bathed in deep violet hues, followed behind Esdeath, casting a cold yet curious glance at Saitama, who seemed far too relaxed.
"Young man...? You don't look much older than me. And I'm already twenty-five."
Setting down his tea, Saitama straightened his cape and patted out a few wrinkles in his superhero outfit as he walked. Unaware of the purple crone's true age, he muttered under his breath.
Then, along with the departing Heroic Spirits, he headed toward the warship's combat deck.
"Whoa... metal rings... so many iron guys and drones. Kind of like Genos..."
Peering through the viewport at the dense swarm of metallic constructs released by Earth's orbital satellites, Saitama let out a soft exclamation.
"Can you fly?"
Refusing the flying Imperial armament offered by deck personnel, Scáthach paused. In her palm, the crimson thorned spear danced like a dragon, its tip gleaming coldly as she looked toward the blank-faced bald man.
"Nope," Saitama answered honestly.
"ᛏᛗᛝ·Níwe (Fly)."
"No need to thank me."
With a casual stroke of her spear through the air, a simple rune inscribed itself onto Saitama's body. The Queen of the Land of Shadows bent her knees and leapt, transforming into a streak of violet-red light that shot beyond the deck's airtight barrier.
Rumble—
...
Meanwhile, on Earth.
"This is NBC News. Viewers, I'm currently in downtown Manhattan, New York. Stark Tower is directly behind me. It has been some time since the alien fleet arrived near Earth. According to the latest information, national space forces have already initiated countermeasu—ahh—!"
At the live broadcast site, a young female reporter was delivering her report amid the noisy, chaotic crowd. Suddenly, blinding streaks of light tore across the gray sky.
They were the wreckage of destroyed orbital defense satellites—along with armed drones and industrial satellites bearing the Stark Industries logo. Trailing orange-red streaks, they carved brilliant lines across the sky. Countless burning arcs interwove like a rain of death pouring down from the heavens.
As debris fell, thunderous explosions rolled through the city. Windows shattered in high-rises, cascading downward like mercury. Larger chunks of satellite wreckage flipped street pavement, ruptured underground pipes, and sent foul water spraying into the air.
"Oh my God!"
"Run!"
"The aliens are attacking again!"
New York's citizens screamed. Cries and shouts overlapped as people scattered in all directions. Chaos reigned.
The Sacred Selene Empire's warships were simply too massive.
Their baseline size was measured in kilometers. Even with camouflage stealth active, the tidal disturbances caused by approaching the atmosphere were impossible to conceal. They were nothing like the petty raider aliens who had once slipped quietly onto Earth, nor comparable to the hundred-meter, thousand-meter, or even two-thousand-meter Kree punitive fleets destroyed by Captain Marvel.
As an Inquisition strike cruiser fleet, John's 117th Fleet might not possess the archetypal line battleships of heavy artillery dominance—but high-speed battlecruisers were by no means small.
Over twenty kilometers at minimum. The flagship exceeded fifty kilometers.
Such colossal steel behemoths hung between the Earth–Moon orbital space. Anyone with even modest astronomical observation equipment could see them clearly.
Zheng—!
Inside a secret chamber filled with vast quantities of pale-blue holographic data projections, a man in a black leather trench coat—bald, wearing a black eyepatch over his left eye, dark-skinned from head to toe—snapped explosively:
"Motherfucker!"
Watching the sparks produced by blades scraping against near-Earth atmosphere, and a group of superhumans blasting through space in the flesh, Nick Fury felt the skin on the back of his head tingle as a cold chill spread across his scalp.
He knew this scene too well. He had experienced such shock firsthand before—the shock of being dominated by superhumans.
The only difference was that last time, the superhumans had been his allies.
This time, they were hostile guests.
"Motherfucking Iron Man! Tony Stark, you son of a bitch! Acting on his own again. Those so-called industrial satellites? Industrial my ass—they're all armed satellites! And the defense protocols opened fire automatically? Fuck!"
"The Secretary of State's decision? What?! They received a communication signal from the other side? Why the hell didn't you say that earlier?! The fleet's hull paint scheme..."
"Tell Tony Stark to pull back his damn toys! Does he think he can protect Earth all by himself?!"
After venting his anger, Nick Fury stared at the monitor for a moment—its signal already lost after a streak of crimson light destroyed the surveillance satellite.
Slowly, he pulled out an old-fashioned pager.
"Please still work."
—
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