Triumphant Star Gate Spaceport.
A multicolored temporal vortex slowly rippled in the void. With the guidance of the spaceport control tower, violet light surged around it, radiating dazzling brilliance.
The cluster of light responded and moved—like a comet, trailing a long tail of violet flame. Accompanied by waves of spatial distortion, the majestic prow of a warship pierced through the shimmering curtain of the Honkai super-spacetime corridor like a blade.
Soon, one light after another followed the lead battleship. A returning detachment fleet emerged in succession, with numerous warships gliding out from the void like a school of fish. Their shrinking plasma tails operated at low power, guided by the lights of the distant Star Gate Spaceport.
Within the fleet, a battlecruiser specifically designated to carry certain "special personnel."
In one of the inner corridors within the belly of the ship...
Much like the Third Legion of Asterta's Black Templars, the opulent decorative style served as a signature. From the ceiling of the corridor hung banners of the double-headed Imperial Aquila and military flags. The corridor's oil paintings and reliefs vividly depicted the legion's many insignias and emblems.
Hand-carved by master artisans, these engravings brimmed with an air of nobility and honor. This flag represented both Leiva and the entire Black Templars Legion's creed:
Glory and Splendor!
Click-clack~
The sharp sound of metal heels striking marble echoed crisply. Leaning lazily against the automatic doorframe, Cú Chulainn slowly opened his crimson eyes. At the far end of the corridor, a hazy silhouette appeared. He playfully closed one eye, then broke into a cheerful grin, revealing pristine white teeth.
"Yo, my dear master. Out on a special errand? Learn anything new?"
The woman approaching wore a tight-fitting battle outfit resembling sheer purple-black gauze. Her figure was graceful and alluring. Though her face was veiled in black mesh, the exposed features were flawless: pale, immaculate skin, a high nose bridge, large eyes, and moist red lips. Her fiery red eyes, like burning embers, were framed by long, eerie violet-red hair cascading to her waist. Several strands brushed against her jade-like cheeks and rested on her full chest, gently swaying with her movement.
Fair skin, stunning beauty, and shapely legs—she radiated irresistible charm and lethal allure. One could hardly help the primal urge to pounce on her, hold her tightly, and tame her.
Even passing Imperial Navy members—disciplined and hardened in combat, many with families—couldn't help but be drawn to this seductive enchantress. It was a biological response, rooted in instinct.
After all, they weren't on high-alert combat status. No bloodlust clouded their minds. And now that she was a subject under the Divine Empress' rule, there was even less reason to treat her with hostility or imagine her as a skeletal pink-headed foe.
They were Imperial Navy sailors, not monks or eunuchs, nor machines. Young, vigorous men—how could they not be stirred by such beauty?
Even if the Judge Advocate showed up, they'd still say the same: they're men, it's natural!
Ahem... of course, they wouldn't dare act on it. Military law was strict and unforgiving. At most, they might try to pursue her through proper channels. But based on those who had already tried:
"This woman is fierce—a thorny rose. If you're thinking of chasing her, better take a long, hard look at your qualifications."
"Brothers, I tried and got wrecked. I'm out."
"She's way out of my league..."
Thanks to the well-developed internal communication channels, within a minute, everyone aboard the battlecruiser knew there was a thorned rose onboard—and that many comrades had already crashed and burned trying to court her.
...
Slowly straightening up, Cú Chulainn conjured a steaming cup of tea with a flick of the wrist. He could sense the faint magical aura surrounding his master and couldn't help but break into a cold sweat. His expression turned subtly strange.
"Master, did you get into a fight with someone?"
"No way... then how come they didn't make a move? With their level of tactical discipline, that doesn't make sense. Back on the battlefield, they gave you absolutely no room to resist."
With a touch of indifference on her cold and alluring face, Scáthach glanced at her speechless disciple a few times. Reaching out to take the offered tea, she spoke candidly without the slightest attempt to hide anything:
"It wasn't a real fight—just a spar. Although they tried to conceal it, those searing, intense gazes that seemed to strip me bare..."
"I don't dislike straightforward people. They are undoubtedly qualified warriors. No... they don't need my recognition. Still, in response to their invitation, following Celtic tradition: defeat me, and I'll accept their dinner invite."
Scáthach's voice was like a thousand-year-old fine wine—intoxicating and unforgettable. But Cú Chulainn was who he was: raised and beaten into shape by this very woman. His heart was iron; he remained completely unaffected.
He nodded. "I see. Well, that's very much your style, Master. And also..."
Grinning, Cú Chulainn flashed his teeth. "Since you're back so quickly, that means none of them succeeded, huh?" It was a statement, not a question.
"Obviously."
Holding the teacup, Scáthach looked toward the reliefs along the corridor and continued in her graceful, light tone:
"Though they are the highest in average individual capability and the most strictly disciplined soldiers I've seen in my life, one-on-one duels are not the battlefield. They still lack experience."
A humble remark.
Not just Imperial Navy crew—even Asterta warriors would be no threat to Scáthach. As she said, duels and battlefields are two different things entirely.
"Sertanta, sometimes you really should learn from their discipline and self-restraint. Even as a third-tier legion labeled 'auxiliary' with a hint of condescension, their comprehensive abilities far surpass you and your Red Branch Knights."
"Yeah, yeah." Cú Chulainn shrugged helplessly, his tone lazy. "I graduated long ago. Master, give me some face, will you? Stop calling me by my childhood name."
"And by your account, if there's a training ground or dueling arena on this big ship, how could Cú Chulainn possibly miss out?"
"This genuine, flesh-and-blood body of mine—not taking it for a spin would be a shame." With that, he flicked his heel, and his crimson magic spear landed in his hand. Cú Chulainn was about to head to the training ground to stretch his muscles.
Just then—Clap! Clap! Clap!
The sound of clapping and a series of heavy, dense footsteps echoed from around the corridor's bend. A towering Asterta warrior in purple armor stepped out, his stride steady and weighty.
"A warrior's spirit, Lord Cú Chulainn—I quite admire that mentality. Unfortunately, the training facilities on this ship are temporarily unavailable to you. But no rush. I hope your enthusiasm for training remains just as strong once we reach the Imperial Capital."
Surrounded by a squad of Asterta warriors, a Black Templars officer clad in ornate armor—purple base trimmed with gold—strode up to Cú Chulainn.
Cradling a crested ceremonial helmet under one arm, the officer had silver hair and violet eyes. A golden halo radiating a void shield shimmered behind his head. The twin-headed Imperial Aquila gleamed on his chest, intricately adorned with golden embossing. A pristine white cloak flowed behind him, and between his pauldrons and chest hung a purple-gold ribbon with medals.
Judging by presence and appearance alone, he was unmistakably a handsome, dignified officer of noble bearing and impeccable manners.
"We've arrived at the Imperial Capital, everyone." As he spoke, his gaze landed briefly on Scáthach, who stood calmly with her teacup, completely unbothered. He smiled faintly and glanced to either side. "No wonder those young men trained so hard on the return trip."
Without lingering, the Black Templars officer stepped past Cú Chulainn. Without turning back, he waved his hand and said:
"I'll be waiting for you on the landing pad. You have ten minutes to prepare."
"Oh, oh, thank you very much..." At that moment, a white-haired nightmare poked his head out of the cabin and quickly called out.
Behind Merlin, Artoria, Waver, and a host of Knights of the Round Table emerged in succession. Among them, the appearance of Jeanne d'Arc, Chiron, and Avicebron made Scáthach raise an eyebrow slightly. She hadn't seen them earlier—had they joined after she returned from scouting?
But a moment later, Scáthach understood. "Also summoned and revived as chosen Heroic Spirits."
There was no time for idle chatter. With brief nods exchanged, the selected "lucky ones" followed their Imperial Navy escorts through the long corridor into a combat deck located deep within the ship's hull.
Finally, upon arrival, the lavish decorations seen along the way noticeably diminished. Waver felt his liver ache at the Imperial military's gold-is-dirt extravagance.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The view opened up. Nearly a thousand drop pods were suspended in one corner of the massive hall, the armored plating below clearly designed to open. Scáthach and the others were very familiar with this.
When planetary assaults commence, these doors open, and thousands of drop pods are deployed from strike cruisers or battleships, falling like a fiery meteor storm.
On one side of the drop pod deck-turned-training ground, over a hundred fully armed auxiliary troops in light power armor were undergoing training. They carried standard-issue infantry weapons and practiced both melee and ranged combat. These were coordinated unit-level assault drills, focused on refining precision and cohesion.
On the other side—
This was the heavy weapons training zone. Amid deafening booms, explosive bolts, high-yield grenades, incendiary weapons, melta guns, plasma charge rifles, and energy cannons all erupted within shielded training enclosures, creating bursts of dazzling light.
No one cared about waste. Ask anyone—the Sacred Selene Empire was filthy rich. The consumables used in these regular drills amounted to only a fraction of a routine supply shipment.
As one of the founding three legions, the Black Templars Legion lacked nothing. They weren't some neglected, parentless regiment out of grimdark 40K.
Throughout their walk across these zones, Merlin and the others all picked up on one thing: that Asterta officer earlier had been flexing.
Heavy armored vehicles, large-caliber auto-cannons, rocket launchers, heavy tanks, massive war platforms, heavy plasma artillery, melta tanks, light lance tanks—every kind of war machine imaginable. Mountains of material and equipment were piled everywhere.
Most notably, the colossal Titan mechs docked in the engine bays. Suspended in stasis fields were Cyclone Torpedoes, bipolar warheads, atmospheric incineration missiles, Honkai fission bombs, "?" virus bombs, "?" radiation bombs... a lineup of large-scale weapons of mass destruction. It was a warning: abandon all thoughts of betrayal.
Just the arsenal visible on this single ship was enough to plow the entire solar system multiple times over.
With such an organized and scalable war machine, even a child granted proper clearance and applying five pounds of pressure could cause devastation far beyond even Scáthach's full strength.
She grew curious. Why had the Empire summoned them to the capital specifically? What tasks awaited them?
Don't tell me this was all because of some woman her idiot disciple met—a "good woman" who revived them just to settle a duel promise?
Scáthach shook her head to dispel the absurd notion and discreetly swept her gaze over her companions.
Chiron—a famed sage from Greek myth, mentor of heroes... Merlin—the guide of King Arthur... Hm? A normal human? Waver Velvet, lecturer of the Clock Tower, Dean and Lord of the Modern Magecraft Department (Lord El-Melloi II)...
Teachers. Instructors. Scáthach immediately picked up on this common thread. Recalling the Imperial soldiers' training scenes earlier, a certain speculation surfaced in her mind.
"To teach... whom?"
...
Swirl of Honkai.
Countless planets, universes, and dimensions spun and intertwined like mechanical gears, revolving together in a cosmic cycle of motion.
At the center of that boundless domain lay a vortex of void, drawing innumerable stars into perpetual rotation. Above that central void, rooted upon the swirling flow, stood a "tree"—from which hung sweeping nebulous garments of star clouds, breathtaking and ever-changing in their beauty.
Selene's true body silently observed the operation of these countless universes.
The newborn universes were like bubbles freshly blown through a wand—fragile and delicate. But under Selene's stabilization and acceleration, they gradually grew more stable.
Then came the Big Bang, cosmic expansion, the stabilization of space-time, planetary formation, the birth of life, the eruption of life....
Crack!
The evolutionary process halted abruptly. The "bubble" popped. The collapsing universe dissolved, and its remnants flowed back into the vortex as a stream of liquid matter.
"Haa... another failure."
Selene opened her brilliant crimson eyes and pinched the remains of a half-destroyed fragment. A flicker of regret passed through her gaze.
"This one was the closest to success yet."
Drawing upon the divine authority of creation she had stolen from the Swirl of the Root, Selene had conducted multiple experiments—true acts of genesis. But without exception, each one had failed.
If it were only about crafting empty shells—desolate, broken cosmic spaces—she had succeeded countless times. But to create living beings? No matter what she did, it always ended in failure.
"Well... it makes sense. I am the End—the symbol of finality and destruction. No matter how vast my power in quantity or quality, even if I can wipe out universes with a flick, the essence of my power is fundamentally opposed to the hope of creation."
The rise and prosperity of the Sacred Selene Empire had nothing to do with the true nature of Selene's power. The Empire's existence was the result of a path she carved out through alternative means.
Behind all that prosperity was still endless conquest and plunder.
"Transcendence... is difficult."
Realizing this wasn't something she could overcome in a short time, Selene deliberately shifted her attention elsewhere.
"For now, I should deal with the matters at hand."
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