"Durandal—oh, you're here too."
As the hatch slid open and they stepped out of the training chamber, Li Sushang happened to spot the pure-white knight descending slowly from the spectator stands. She waved and called out.
"Mm." Durandal responded, then nodded toward the two people beside Li Sushang.
"And these two are...?"
Cornelia and Wave both wore iron-gray uniforms, clearly distinct from Schicksal. The finely crafted double-headed aquila insignia on their chests was not something Servitor Army or Imperial Auxilia soldiers were qualified to wear. It spoke of identities far from ordinary.
The Servitor Army and the Imperial Auxilia followed different uniform systems.
The Auxilia used a unified standard—organization, rank structure, and equipment were all issued centrally by the Imperial Logistics Department.
The Servitor Army, however, was different. Generally speaking, recruits from each recruitment world were organized into regiments named after that planet's serial designation.
Each Servitor regiment varied in size. Their uniform styles differed. Their internal organization differed. Their rank systems differed. Their equipment was supplied by the specific Astartes Legion to which they were attached.
For example, both might be considered regiment-level units—yet one regiment might number only around 6,000 personnel, while another might contain nearly a million.
If the proportion of personnel selected from a recruitment world into the Imperial Auxilia reached a certain threshold, that world would automatically be upgraded in status. In addition to continuing to supply Servitor regiments, it would also gain a centrally administered special formation equal in standing to the Auxilia.
A special unit not recorded in the texts... It must be that my current clearance level is insufficient, Durandal thought.
The arm patches worn by Cornelia and Wave differed not only from the Servitor regiment insignias Durandal had seen in books, but also from the Imperial Auxilia officers she had encountered aboard the flagship.
Within a blood-red diamond shield border stood the image of a hunter—one hand holding a firearm, the other a blade.
Since being brought aboard the flagship by Selene, Durandal had remained mostly in the courtyard reception hall arranged for her, continuously reviewing the Imperial records she had been authorized to access.
Though she had only glimpsed the tip of the iceberg of this vast empire in such a short time, the shock it delivered was anything but small.
Blatant survival of the fittest. A naked law of the jungle.
An ancient military maxim said that a general should cherish his soldiers as his own sons, sharing hardships and comforts alike.
But within the Holy Selene Empire, aside from a small number of commanders—such as Alex of the First Legion, Sanguinius of the Ninth Legion, and Vulkan of the Eighteenth Legion—most generals regarded that saying as little more than empty words.
Their view was simple: a commander did not need to share the same living standards as the troops. As long as merit was rewarded and faults punished, as long as victory brought tangible benefits, that was enough. Why cling to formality?
The same logic applied to talent.
In their eyes, the lives of Servitor soldiers were exchangeable numbers. If the conditions were appropriate and the exchange ratio acceptable, even Auxilia troops—or Astartes warriors—could be treated as expendable.
Of course, there was a prerequisite.
Life was the Empress' currency—use it well.
If anyone dared squander lives without results, Selene would not even need to intervene. Sebas and the Inquisition would deal with them first.
From what Durandal had observed so far, Imperial personnel leaned toward the latter mindset.
Whether a superior treated subordinates kindly mattered little. What Imperial soldiers cared about was whether their commander was competent—whether he could lead them to victory, whether they could earn military merit, whether rewards were distributed fairly, whether punishments were clear and just.
If a commander was incompetent, then no matter how much he "shared hardships" with the troops, gratitude would be rare.
Though strict Imperial hierarchy discouraged open defiance, transfers could still be requested. And elite new recruits each year would simply avoid such units altogether.
Take this flagship as an example. Aside from the internal spaceport, landing platforms, fortress zones, and certain storage and residential areas, Servitor soldiers had no authority to walk freely through the rest of the vessel.
"Wave."
"Cornelia."
"Imperial Assassination Unit," the two said in unison after exchanging a glance.
They had already received word that these so-called elite Valkyries from Schicksal would remain under the boss' training until they were reorganized and forged into a cohesive combat formation in their home world.
They would be comrades for a long time. There was no need for concealment.
"Assassination Unit?" Not only Durandal, but even Li Sushang looked at them with suspicion.
"Don't we look the part?" Walking along the wide, polished corridor, Wave gave an awkward chuckle.
Though nominally under the Imperial Assassination Unit, the Jaegers Unit did not resemble typical assassins. Each of them had a highly identifiable combat style.
Take Wave himself—once he shouted "Carnage Incarnate · Grand Chariot" and activated his Teigu, everyone knew he had arrived.
Compared to a covert assassination force, the Jaegers were more akin to a specialized executioner corps.
"Not at all," Li Sushang said bluntly.
In the martial tales she loved as a child, assassins were shadowy figures—clad in black, leaping across rooftops, coming and going without a trace. They wielded hidden blades, concealed weapons, and poison.
Cornelia, however, had just fought her head-on. Her wide, aggressive physical techniques and direct, force-against-force combat style had left a deep impression.
An assassin? What kind of joke is that?
"You'll find out soon enough," Cornelia said with a faint smile. "There will be no shortage of opportunities to carry out missions together."
"Then I look forward to working with you both," Durandal said with a nod before quickening her pace to follow Wave.
Along the way, they passed beneath vaulted ceilings and golden gates, stepping upon red carpets embroidered with golden thread.
The extravagant atmosphere was astonishing.
Everything had been cleaned to immaculate perfection. The polished walls even reflected the trio as they walked.
Is this truly a fortress warship?
Durandal increasingly felt a strange sense of déjà vu. This seemed less like a battleship and more like a colossal palace outfitted with engines and fortress weaponry.
The internal space of the flagship was staggering in scale. Even Servitor troops temporarily transferred aboard were assigned spacious living quarters.
In theory, a fully sealed vessel should induce a strong sense of confinement and oppression among those living within it.
But this flagship did nothing of the sort.
Not only did it possess numerous observation windows, it was also equipped with fortress-grade defensive arrays. At the landing platforms and spaceport, panoramic chambers allowed one to gaze into the depths of the starry void—or admire the scenery of the webway—as if standing directly within the cosmos itself.
Find the scenery monotonous? No need to worry. Surrounding the golden palace at the flagship's core, vast stretches of greenery had been constructed throughout the hull. While they could not compare to the diverse ecosystem of the central courtyard, being able to stroll through something resembling a park while sailing among the stars was more than sufficient.
Passing through corridors, turning around arcades, and glimpsing through an open arched hatchway, the three of them spotted Esdeath's striking ice-blue hair from afar.
They also heard her voice.
"Miss Rita, according to the records, you are an S-rank Valkyrie of Schicksal, are you not? By those standards, shouldn't an S-rank Valkyrie represent top-tier combat power?"
After a brief pause, Esdeath leaned forward, chin resting on her hand, curiosity evident in her eyes.
"Then why do you usually dress yourself as a maid?"
"General, you flatter me. This is merely Rita's personal choice..."
At that moment—
Knock, knock, knock!
Standing at the entrance, Wave lightly tapped the doorframe.
"Boss. They're here."
"Oh?" Esdeath looked up.
The entire chamber fell silent at once.
All movement ceased. Conversations stopped. Every gaze turned toward the three figures at the entrance.
"Lady Durandal! You said you would only watch for a moment—how could you..." It was Rita who broke the silence first. The loyal little maid hurried over like a gust of wind, gently reproachful.
"Ah—sorry, Rita. I'll be more careful next time."
"Next time?"
She looked like a young wife awaiting her husband's return.
"Uh..."
I see now.
Esdeath's expression shifted to one of sudden understanding.
Judging by Durandal's demeanor and bearing—wasn't this remarkably similar to what Selene had been like during her days as a general?
Beautiful, composed, elegant, powerful—giving the impression of flawless reliability outside.
Yet perhaps at home, careless and broad-minded, requiring someone close to manage daily matters and prepare small comforts...
A female version of old Master Sebas?
So that was it.
After soothing Rita with a somewhat apologetic air, Durandal covered her face briefly. Seeing an evenly matched, high-level battle, she had simply been unable to tear herself away.
She glanced toward Esdeath for permission. Receiving a slight nod, she stepped inside, selected an empty seat, and sat down properly. Lifting her chin, neither humble nor overbearing, she asked,
"General Esdeath, you mentioned that we are nearly at the Imperial Capital. How much longer?"
Waving her fingers lazily, Esdeath turned to look out the window. The vibrant purple-red brilliance of the webway was already fading. The void churned like boiling water.
"We're here."
In the next instant—
Vmmmmm—!
The hull trembled. The view shifted. The eternal glow of the webway vanished, replaced by the silent vastness of open space. In the distance, stars shimmered brilliantly.
Without atmospheric refraction, the countless stars scattered throughout the Honkai Dimension did not flicker as they would in a natural sky. Yet here, one could more deeply appreciate the beauty of the star sea.
"Wow! It's incredible!" Rozaliya, Liliya, and Pardofelis rushed forward first, pressing themselves against the thick observation window, eyes sparkling, mouths agape.
Kiana and Raiden Mei followed. Bronya and Seele. Fu Hua and Senti...
Even Mobius rose and approached the window.
In near-planetary orbit, tens of thousands of kilometers above the surface—
The Empress' Pride Star Gate Spaceport, where Selene's flagship docked, was reserved exclusively for the Royal Guard. It was larger in scale, its armor thicker, and its decoration far more magnificent.
In addition to its foundational white jade tone, vast sections had been coated in radiant gold, inlaid with crimson ornamentation.
Beyond the primary passage of the star gate itself, countless apertures of varying size surrounded the structure, forming the core of a celestial ring. Its overall appearance resembled a colossal, orderly multifaceted crystal.
From afar, under the interplay of lights, it looked like a pale violet crystalline wall.
On the expansive docking platform stood rows upon rows of towering columns, each supported by massive red pillars. Upon every pillar was carved a lifelike golden double-headed aquila with wings outstretched.
Layer upon layer of gold-and-red Imperial banners spread like blossoms stirred by wind—thousands upon thousands—an awe-inspiring sight.
"Are you ready?" Esdeath stood as well, looking toward the Schicksal group—especially Kiana and Durandal.
Even she could see it.
Whether in facial features or ability, the two bore striking similarities to Selene of the past. Even if Selene had made no explicit declaration, Esdeath did not believe the Empire's officials were blind. They would certainly speculate.
"Ready?" Kiana echoed.
Durandal exchanged a glance with her, thoughtful.
"Ready to step into the spotlight," Esdeath continued, standing between them and looking out the window.
"To be watched by millions. To have every move influence countless lives."
"Whether you are prepared or not, from the moment you became connected to Her Majesty, from the moment you took office within the Imperial system and stepped onto the stage—this was inevitable."
"Unless you die. Or unless you are useless. Otherwise, this day cannot be avoided."
"And I don't consider either of you useless."
Turning around, she raised her hand and slowly clenched it. A sharp gleam flashed in her eyes.
As the vessel completed docking, the enormous double-headed eagle insignia of the star gate spaceport was projected behind her.
"Power. Wealth. Influence. They will soon come flooding toward you. Are you ready to possess them?"
...
At that moment, the reception platform of the Empress' Pride Star Gate Spaceport was already filled to capacity. Numerous technicians and spaceport staff bustled about, maintaining operational systems.
But even more numerous were Imperial officials of every rank from the homeland—and large contingents of Royal Guard assembled to receive the fleet.
Upon receiving the flagship's return transmission, officials from various departments across the Imperial Capital had departed their offices and arrived punctually at the star gate spaceport.
Like streams flowing into a lake, they gathered silently and smoothly, arranging themselves in orderly ranks according to grade, position, and title—without a single word of coordination.
Among them were planetary governors from various colonial worlds, as well as chief administrators from the Empire's central ministries.
Only Selene possessed the authority to summon them here in such humble anticipation.
Amidst the towering figures and high-ranking dignitaries, the one standing at the forefront was instead an elderly man clad in traditional butler attire. Golden-armored giants surrounded him like stars encircling the moon.
His hair and beard were entirely white. Though aged in appearance and standing at 190 centimeters tall, his back was straight as an unbending pine.
He lifted his head and gazed at the immense fleet slowly entering port. A trace of gentle delight flickered within his sharp crimson vertical pupils.
Behind him stood the Royal Guard commander—face like a wolf, body like a tiger, clad in golden armor, holding a golden halberd, boots and gauntlets gleaming like dragon scales.
He leaned closer.
"Lord Sebas, according to the message conveyed by Her Majesty, Kaslana, Ataegina... these young ladies—Her... no, not princesses... Her Majesty's foster younger sisters? That's not quite right either..."
He looked utterly bewildered. A sudden group of young women requiring Sebas' personal instruction—what exactly did that imply? He could not even find appropriate wording.
"If your tongue is clumsy, then keep it still," Sebas said calmly without turning his head. "I told you to read more. You refused."
"I did read!"
"And what did you read? Either military manuals or frontline journals. Not a single proper work of literature. 'The Golden—'"
"Ahem! My mistake, Lord Sebas. Please, no further. I'll improve!" The Royal Guard commander, Kinshasa, quickly interrupted and changed the subject. "How do you intend to respond?"
"Let nature take its course."