"Sigh… I got hard CC'd…"
Eden looked into Saint Celestine's pure, flawless eyes, and the fire in his heart dampened quite a bit.
He couldn't bring himself to act out.
This was the first time since arriving in this world that he had encountered such untainted emotion.
It nearly made him collapse on the spot.
Simply put, this woman wasn't lusting after his body or chasing political gain—she just genuinely liked him.
Perhaps this holy angel didn't even realize it herself—merely following her heart as she drew closer to him.
Saint Celestine was a Sister of Battle, trained and raised by the Ecclesiarchy, and had devoted her entire life to fighting for the Emperor.
More than that, she was purer than any of the others.
Aside from combat and official appearances, she spent nearly all her time alone in her sanctuary, away from political schemes or social engagements.
That only enhanced her image as a saint in the hearts of the people.
Such purity made her the Empire's ultimate idol—an untouchable dream to countless nobles and bureaucrats.
"But seriously, what does she even like about me?"
Eden, fully aware of his status as a supposed Champion of Slaanesh, found it all the more baffling.
This holy angel wasn't after his body, nor power or influence… just genuinely fond of him?
In a power center like this, filled with scheming interests and manipulation, someone as pure as Saint Celestine was as rare as a mythical creature.
If she weren't a Living Saint, protected by the Ecclesiarchy, she probably wouldn't have made it past the second episode without meeting a tragic end.
She'd have been lured into a trap and taken advantage of.
If Eden was a real Champion of Slaanesh, facing this kind of pure emotion…
He'd be ecstatic.
Then he'd begin his corruption and toying in earnest.
After all, the combination of a divine angel, a pure maiden, a galactic idol, and untainted love—that's a combo nobody could resist.
Unfortunately, he wasn't that kind of man.
More importantly, this Holy Angel's combat prowess wasn't far behind a Primarch, and she was too pure.
If he made the wrong move and she reacted badly…
That'd be a real headache.
If this kind of news leaked out…
The opposition would scream that "the Savior bombarded Holy Terra and tried to defile the Holy Angel"—it'd be heresy of the highest order.
Then the wrath of Imperial citizens and the faithful would drown him in spit, utterly destroying the Savior's reputation.
Better to play it safe.
Saint Celestine tilted her head up, her expression more bashful than ever. "Savior, sir… you don't hate me, do you?"
"Of course not."
Eden replied righteously, raising a hand to gently ruffle the Holy Angel's silver hair before pulling her a little closer.
In his arms, he could feel her softness tremble ever so slightly from nervousness.
Still, this was a good thing.
If he could build emotional ties with the Holy Angel, a Living Saint, their bond would be far stronger than a mere alliance.
And it would tie him even more closely to the Ecclesiarchy.
In short—he had to "win her over!"
Eden kept himself in check, only holding her for a little while before starting to let go.
But the Holy Angel, caught in the moment, let out a soft whimper and instinctively tightened her embrace.
He had no choice but to hold her a bit longer—and took the opportunity to gently stroke her snowy white wings.
He'd wanted to do that for a long time.
After a few moments…
The Holy Angel suddenly realized what she was doing, hurriedly released him, and fled back into her bedroom in a flustered panic.
She practically dove into a pile of oversized plush bears.
But then… she regretted not saying goodbye to the Savior—it felt so impolite.
When she peeked out into the lounge again, the Savior had already left.
She felt a little disappointed. Maybe she should have said a few more words to him…
"By the Emperor… Savior sir really is a gentle man…"
The Holy Angel hugged her plush bear tightly and thought longingly.
Already, she began to look forward to their next meeting… to their next embrace.
…
Hallways of the Living Saint's Sanctuary
Eden was being escorted by the twin Seraphim attendants, but he kept feeling like they were acting a bit… odd.
They seemed to be brewing something.
Suddenly, the twin Seraphim turned around simultaneously, their gazes filled with a glimmer of hope:
"Lord Savior, may we… may we have a hug too?"
Under the influence of the Holy Angel, their curiosity and affection toward the Savior had grown.
Especially after witnessing the earlier scene with their own eyes.
Moreover, while investigating the Savior's forbidden records, the twin Seraphim had witnessed his blasphemous "Crucified Savior" image and had been unknowingly touched by a sliver of Slaanesh's dark pleasure.
They now wanted to get closer to him.
Unbeknownst to Eden, his clash with Slaanesh—and the fact that he had devoured its power—had left him with a trace of the Prince of Pleasure's divine authority.
The founding of the Cult of Redemptive Ecstasy had further nurtured that power.
But right now, having just dealt with the Holy Angel's overwhelming purity, he was mostly immune to these requests.
Maybe this entire "Holy Angel branch" just… really liked hugging?
"Though it's a bit forward, I shall grant your request."
Eden responded calmly.
He didn't hesitate at all, spreading his arms wide and pulling one into each side.
But before long…
The twin Seraphim gasped in unison, as if mentally synchronized.
They both stood there frozen, staring blankly, as though they couldn't believe what had just happened.
After the Savior walked away…
The two exchanged flustered glances, faces burning red.
They both knew exactly what had just occurred.
"The Savior, he…"
"Sis, should we… should we report this to the mistress?"
The twin Seraphim were clearly panicking.
They watched the Savior's departing figure in silence for a moment… then turned and returned to their mistress's quarters.
But between them, they had already reached a silent agreement—
They'd keep this a secret.
"Haaah… damn this behavioral conditioning…"
Eden wiped his hands, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.
He had acted a bit too instinctively just now. That was close.
He maintained a righteous expression but subconsciously quickened his pace.
Once out of the Living Saint's sanctuary…
Eden, under the escort of the Thunder Warriors, headed straight for the private palace-ship of the Queen of the Merchant Guilds.
It wasn't just for a "round two."
Well… that was part of the plan. But the real purpose was to throw off the opposition.
This throne world, the very center of galactic power, had far too many eyes watching his every move.
——
The Terran Court
This massive hive-structure served as the administrative heart of the Imperium, composed of countless agencies and departments.
It was the beating heart that sustained the Empire's vast domain spanning the stars.
The population of these agencies made up the majority of Terra's residents, working day and night to handle innumerable affairs by sheer manpower.
At the very core was the Departmento Munitorum—the Department of Internal Affairs.
The Munitorum alone boasted tens of billions of clerks, scribes, and administrators—and that was just the documented number.
In reality, the number was likely far higher. Too many bureaucrats had long since fallen off the records.
Yet they still kept the gears turning.
The Department was responsible for managing the Imperium at every level—from document filings to fleet deployments to the Eleventh Tithe's collection and reporting.
All of it fell under their purview.
Of course, jurisdiction between Imperial departments was never clearly defined. The blurry lines of authority gave rise to countless power vacuums.
How those vacuums were filled depended entirely on one's methods.
That was one of the core reasons for constant power struggles on Terra.
Even the tiniest approval authority for a single material, once expanded across the galaxy, could yield unimaginable profit.
And without a doubt, the Departmento Munitorum had claimed the most succulent piece of the pie.
At the highest levels of the Terran Court…
"What do you see?"
The Director of the Munitorum, Violetta, looked down from her high vantage, eyes scanning the steel-and-shadow sprawl below, then asked the man beside her—her deputy, and her son.
Burdened by endless administrative stress…
Violetta's hair had turned completely white, and her body was outfitted with various life-support systems. The respirator in her mouth hissed steadily.
The deputy responded eagerly, "Father, I see power."
Imperial authority was hereditary. Barring the unexpected, he would succeed his father as Director—one of the Empire's true rulers.
Violetta shook his head. "No. What you see are rules and needs. The Empire's vast administrative demands birthed the Munitorum. And those demands created the rules… rules that we operate within."
"And through those rules, we obtain everything."
Given the enormity of the Imperium's needs, the Munitorum was forced to make decisions daily that affected the fate of countless worlds.
And all of it… came down to people.
As long as one controls the rules, there is endless room to maneuver power within.
Violetta's cybernetic eyes flickered faintly. "Now the Savior wishes to change those very rules—to replace human labor with cold algorithms. That will alter everyone's fate…"
Violetta had studied the Savior's management model in his dominion. It was radical. Heretical. Emotionless. Ruthlessly efficient.
And—terrifyingly—there was almost no room left for political manipulation.
If such a system were implemented across the Imperium, people like him—the ruling elite—would see their power shrink drastically.
The Primarch of Hope, the Savior, wanted to sit above everyone else. That… was utterly unacceptable.
No one, absolutely no one, was allowed to touch his kingdom.
Violetta could tolerate the Regent of the Imperium, Roboute Guilliman.
Because that Primarch could never fully seize the Departmento Munitorum—he still relied on Violetta to manage everything.
All Guilliman needed was surface-level loyalty.
But the Savior? He was different.
He intended to rebuild everything from the top down.
"During the Victory Celebration, tell the people—they're about to lose everything…"
Violetta gave the order with a calm tone.
In the Savior's system, the Imperium simply didn't need so many administrative positions. The Departmento Munitorum alone would see billions of staff lose their jobs.
These were people who had lived and died by their posts for generations. Their food, their shelter—everything depended on that identity.
And no one knew if they would be the next to be dismissed.
Under such circumstances, no one would sit quietly and wait for death. They would resist the Savior's heretical reform.
And it wouldn't be just the Munitorum—countless other departments would rise with them.
Once this sense of existential threat spread…
Everyone—faced with losing their jobs, their authority—would unite.
From the highest peaks to the lowest depths, Holy Terra would be engulfed by a tidal wave of rebellion, possibly numbering in the tens of trillions or more.
Even a Primarch would tremble before such resistance.
Violetta did not believe the Primarch of Hope dared to purge all of Holy Terra.
Besides, reform needed time. And if the departments of the Imperium went on strike en masse, the entire Empire would grind to a halt, plunging into chaos.
No one could afford that.
Violetta and his opposition allies hoped to use the threat of Imperial collapse to force the two Primarchs into compromise.
And even if the worst came to pass—
If the Primarch of Hope truly ignored it all and pressed on with his reforms through blood and fire, then the Regent of the Imperium and other powers would have no choice but to stop him.
"This is… a brilliant plan."
Violetta's lips curled into a cold smile.
The Primarch of Hope had no chance of changing Holy Terra. Everything was going exactly as planned!
According to his network of spies—
That licentious Primarch was currently spending such a critical moment tangled in the sheets of yet another woman.
How foolish could he be?
Perhaps… they had all overestimated him.
The Primarchs were indeed beings of immense power—
But they had weaknesses. They had things they cared about. And their minds were far from flawless.
Which made them vulnerable to manipulation and deceit.
Even the Regent of the Imperium had been the same.
When Guilliman had first returned, carrying the hopes of the Imperium and bringing with him the strength of a Primarch, he tried to reform Holy Terra.
He thought that by replacing a few High Lords, he could seize control.
He had no idea the rest of them had already banded together in secret.
Even those High Lords who had sworn loyalty—
In the half-century since Guilliman's departure from Terra, everything had gone back to the old ways.
And they had taken advantage of the many powers granted by the Indomitus Crusade to further enrich themselves and expand their personal domains and influence.
Whrrr~
A sudden gust of wind.
A shuttle slowly descended.
Violetta stepped aboard and headed toward a certain ancient structure—
...
The Imperial Senate.
A structure modeled after the Colosseum of Ancient Rome, it had stood here on Holy Terra for countless centuries.
Of course, after hundreds of rounds of repairs, little of the original structure remained.
Surrounding the Senate were densely packed defensive arrays. Inside, however, there were no machines—just cold stone platforms, speaking podiums, and chamber after chamber of stone rooms.
Yet it was this seemingly primitive place that served as the nexus of supreme power in the Imperium.
Violetta had come here precisely because it provided the High Lords with a sufficiently secure and secretive space to confer.
He entered the Senate alone, stepping into a randomly assigned stone chamber.
Soon after—
More High Lords began to arrive.
Including the Navigator Envoy Kardak, the Minister of Law Avelisa, and the Imperial Navy Admiral Mereda, among others.
They were the core of the anti-Savior faction, comprising nearly half of the High Lords Council.
These individuals had formed a temporary alliance—reviving the name of a rebellious organization from the Imperium's past:
The Light League.
They swore to resist the authoritarian rule of the Primarch of Hope and the Savior—to oppose this new tyrant, this second Vandire.
And when the time came, more would surely join the Light League—
Turning it into a truly formidable force.
After a brief silence—
The Navigator Envoy and "Husband of the Nova," Kardak, projected his thoughts via psy-voice:
"Everyone… if the Primarch of Hope suddenly launches a purge, can we truly resist it?"
His people had suffered such purges before. Guilliman's previous coup had left scars that still haunted him.
If another Primarch went on a rampage, his people might not survive.
"Kardak, you're still such a coward!"
Violetta scoffed. "Do you honestly think the Primarch of Hope could purge all of Holy Terra?"
Since the last time Guilliman staged a coup, the High Lords had learned their lesson—they had formed private armed forces and constructed defenses.
Those defenses could repel even heavy and super-heavy units.
Even Baneblades, Dreadnoughts, Imperial Knights—none could easily breach them.
This was the heart of the Imperium.
Back in Vandire's time, he managed to resist Mechanicus forces and even Astartes chapters with just the Ecclesiarchy.
Their current fortifications were stronger than ever.
They had sealed every secret passage.
What was there to fear?
Besides—Holy Terra was not a place that just any army could enter.
Unless someone was planning a full-blown civil war.
"I know what you're afraid of."
Still, Violetta addressed Kardak's concern directly. "You fear the Primarch might use the Victory Celebration's parade forces to launch a surprise purge, don't you?"
"But that's impossible."
"From what I've gathered, the forces the Primarchs brought to Holy Terra aren't even enough to break one defense line."
What's a Primarch, after all?
Even they couldn't survive melta rays and forbidden weapons.
Weapons that he and his people had in plentiful supply—enough to arm entire elite regiments.
Then Admiral Mereda shared her intel.
According to scans from the various orbital stations, there was no sign of the Primarch's fleet entering the Sol system.
And under the guise of joining the celebration, their own fleets would be arriving in the coming days.
With such layers of preparation—
The Light League would be able to trigger a mass uprising across Holy Terra from top to bottom while ensuring their own safety—forcing the two Primarchs to back down.
They would have to compromise.
That way, Holy Terra could remain stable and "harmonious."
Otherwise, the Imperium's entire core would grind to a halt. Heretics and xenos would hear of the disruption and launch their counterattacks.
The fruits of the Indomitus Crusade would rot away, and the entire Imperium would be thrown into peril once again.
The Victory Celebration would become a colossal joke.
No matter what—
Those two sons of the Emperor would not sit by and watch the Imperium He created fall into ruin because of internal strife.
Of course, ideally… the Primarch of Hope would die in the process.
That being was simply too destructive to the Imperium.
After the secret conference—
The High Lords quietly left via their private channels.
At least for now, they couldn't confront the Primarchs directly—not yet.
That would only make the situation uncontrollable.
Such was politics.
Today you try to assassinate me. Tomorrow I try to assassinate you. But in the end, everyone compromises in the tangled web of conflict and interest.
Only profit is eternal.
Even within the Light League, several members were generations-old blood enemies—sworn to see each other flayed and broken.
And yet here they were… sitting together at the same table.
…
Merchant Queen's Private Palace-Ship
Bedroom.
Eden had long since gone several rounds and was now resting against the bedhead.
Suddenly, his communicator buzzed.
It was the Imperial Regent—old man Guilliman.
Dale saw the call, gently kissed the Savior's cheek, and obediently stepped out of the room.
She even closed the door behind her.
Bzzzt~
"Old man Guilliman, what's the situation on your end?"
Eden raised his hand, weaving several psychic wards before answering the call.
"…Your reform plan may be in serious jeopardy,"
Guilliman's concerned voice came through. "Our intel suggests the opposition is attempting to stir unrest across Holy Terra—to paralyze the system entirely."
"And they might even ally with heretics or xenos."
The Regent sounded deeply worried. Terra was far too vital—any unrest here could shatter the Imperium.
That was why he hadn't acted more forcefully before.
The High Lords had been entrenched for centuries. If they truly went rogue, the damage they could inflict was unimaginable.
Eden frowned deeply at those words, sinking into silence.
He understood what was coming.
This was the purest form of open conspiracy.
Throughout history, every major reform had faced resistance from entrenched interests—often to the point of collapse.
And the cost of those struggles was always staggering.
His own reform plan had become a domino—the whole Imperium might fracture as a result.
That was the true plan of the opposition.
They were playing their best card—politics, manipulating hearts and minds, and using the Imperium itself as leverage.
Unfortunately for them… Eden didn't yield to threats.
Threats only made him angrier.
Eden's eyes darkened, as if making a final decision.
He exhaled softly and asked—
"Old man… if I do purge all of Holy Terra… will you kill me?"
(End of Chapter)
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