"Ow hey… is this supposed to be your planet's idea of a welcoming ceremony? Nearly scared this immortal out of her wits…"
Dressed in her black-and-white Taixuan robes, Senti placed one hand on her hip and exaggeratedly patted her slightly curved chest.
Her words might have sounded flustered, but the mischievous grin tugging at the corner of her mouth only grew bolder.
Especially when the unrest spread through the other group of prisoners—followed by a haunting, blood-chilling cry that tore through the sky like a cuckoo's lament.
Eren, was it?
Most of the captives' eyes turned toward the disheveled man with shoulder-length black hair.
Senti's gaze flicked briefly toward him, her smile stretching almost to her ears.
Clearly, she was intrigued.
As the Herrscher of Sentience, she needed no translator or linguistic implant like the standard-issue devices of the Imperial military. She could understand the language and meaning of these conquered souls with perfect clarity.
"Am I that charming? I haven't even said a word, and this high-ranked fellow's already bowing his head and howling like a beast… Are you begging me to spare your life? Heh, fine then, let's see what's got you so worked up…"
Senti walked forward without hesitation, waving off the Sangheili elites who instinctively stepped between her and the prisoner. Without a hint of concern for dirt or dignity, she reached toward Eren Yeager's hair, ready to grab a handful.
"That's enough."
Her wrist—wreathed in faint red luminescence from the Divine Feather—was gently but firmly caught by a gloved hand. Behind her came Kiana's voice, now cold and commanding:
"Just as you said, Senti—they're pitiful wretches. There's no need to concern yourself with them."
Senti clicked her tongue, raising a brow, her tone casual and dismissive.
"Oh, come on. They're prisoners. Without being registered citizens, taxpayers, or conscripts, they're not even proper Imperial subjects—just a bunch of numbered cattle. It's not like I'm going to kill them. Why so serious?"
…This isn't trivial.
Kiana sighed softly, shaking her head.
Without drawing attention, her eyes swept over the expressions of the Imperial officers surrounding her.
The Auxiliary Forces were predictable enough.
As the unified military under the direct command of the Imperial Central War Office, they were the Empire's vanguard—its spearhead in conquest and expansion, and the primary source of new recruits for the Astartes Legions.
The officers and soldiers of the Servant Armies—hailing from the colonies under the Second Astartes Legion—were little different. Shaped by the Punishers Legion's iron-blooded, feudal martial culture, their faces showed only amusement and curiosity. Even if these prisoners were executed before their eyes, not one of them would flinch.
The alien troops, led by the Sangheili warriors, showed neither cruelty nor compassion—merely cold indifference.
The intelligent Titans' human vessels knelt in agony, regret, fury, or quiet despair.
The common captives forced to serve as part of the ceremonial spectacle bore only sorrow, humiliation, and defeat.
The Sacred Selene Empire's internal policies regarding the distinction between citizens and outsiders had clearly succeeded.
Aside from certain local variations depending on each Legion, department, or governor's personal approach, the general requirements for Imperial citizenship could be summarized into three core principles:
Swear loyalty and faith to the Divine Empress.
Pay taxes and perform service.
Possess a registered Imperial identity.
These prisoners, however, didn't even know who Selene was, much less could they swear faith or allegiance.
The bureaucrats, peacekeepers, and tax officials appointed by the Ministry of Internal Affairs to form Kiana's planetary administration had yet to arrive. Postwar reconstruction was only beginning; production recovery was still a distant dream.
Even if these captives wanted to pay taxes or serve, there was nowhere for them to do so.
Ah… those who had previously helped clear rubble, move the wounded, or handle corpses had been granted merit. Once Kiana's Planetary Governor's Office was officially established, they would be given priority in naturalization—unless, of course, they committed crimes while in the prison camps.
In reality, Kiana was now a governor with no staff to speak of.
Her entourage consisted only of a few Valkyrie secretaries and adjutants—and her personal guard, composed of the Sisters of Battle.
These people were the foundation of those who truly shared her ideals.
Perhaps I should ask Aunt Theresa for more personnel—
Especially Valkyries from St. Freya Academy.
Kiana made a quiet mental note. At the same time, she decided it was about time she asserted her authority as planetary governor.
For someone like Senti—strong-willed, impulsive, and ever eager to show off—reasoning never worked. Especially after she had inherited Fu Hua's fifty thousand years of experience. Try to lecture her, and she'd always come back with an equally convincing counterpoint, no matter how twisted.
So, Kiana chose a different approach.
She swatted Senti's hand aside, straightened her expression, adjusted her uniform slightly, and said calmly:
"Mm-hmm. Everything you said makes sense. But I don't care. I don't want what you think—I want what I think."
"Huh? What? Say that again?!" Senti's red eyes widened, her mouth twitching. "Oh, I see how it is! You ungrateful little paramecium—you dare defy your teacher now?!"
That nickname… Kiana's eye twitched slightly.
A flicker of murderous intent.
That damn Bronya—retired or not, her bad habits clearly lived on. How on earth had Senti picked up that nickname from her?
Fine then. When we get back, I swear I'll take a post in the Ministry of Internal Affairs. I'll shut down her game studio so hard it'll make history.
Grinding her teeth inwardly, Kiana's expression remained unchanged. With calm authority, she slightly narrowed her eyes. Faint Honkai Energy wavelengths rippled subtly in the air as she pointed at the ground beneath her feet and said evenly:
"I am the planetary governor."
"You—!"
That temper of hers.
Senti was, after all, a creature of pure emotion.
Before Kiana could even blink, Senti's eyes flared crimson. Invisible pressure burst outward, freezing the entire field in an instant.
The murmuring officers fell silent, frozen like statues.
For a brief moment, even the air itself seemed to stop flowing. Time felt… still.
"Uh-oh, Alvitr, you don't think Lady Kiana and Lady Fu Senti are actually going to fight over the prisoners, do you?"
Peeking out from behind a gray-haired, red-eyed Valkyrie officer, a blonde-haired, golden-eyed girl—Susannah—timidly poked her head forward, her innocent face filled with worry.
"With how strict the Imperial laws are, if something happens, won't Her Majesty have us all executed for dereliction of duty…?"
Mumbling to herself, Susannah's little head began spinning in panic, her eyes swirling like spirals.
"Susannah, what are you imagining now? You should be writing romance novels with that kind of wild imagination."
Alvitr knew Susannah's airheaded nature all too well. Without hesitation, she delivered a swift chop to the girl's forehead.
As Susannah clutched her head with a squeal like a startled kitten, Alvitr sighed. "Relax. This is just how S-rank Valkyries 'communicate their emotions.'"
Before she even finished, Kiana moved.
She stepped forward again, closing the distance until she stood directly before Senti. Meeting the crimson glare with her own determined gaze, she said steadily:
"I am the one in charge of this…" She arched a brow and glanced aside to ask.
"Governor, this is the Punishers Legion–registered Conquered World No. 202149," a Sangheili officer answered quietly.
Nodding in thanks, Kiana placed her hand on Senti's shoulder with a sly smile. "I am the supreme military and administrative authority over Colony World II–202149. Senti, you wouldn't want to return to the capital empty-handed, would you?"
"I know you came out here to make a name for yourself. Just imagine what Captain Fu Hua would say if she saw you this… disheveled."
It was almost impossible to picture the impulsive, hot-headed "battle idiot" Kiana wearing a sly, foxlike grin.
"Ahhh! You thick-browed traitor, when did you learn to talk like a bureaucrat?!"
"Not needing to doesn't mean I can't learn, right?" Kiana shrugged. "Heroes don't hold back, remember?"
"Pfft! Don't imitate my lines! So now I'm just your little test subject, huh?"
"Heh… I knew you wouldn't take it to heart, Senti."
"Hmph!"
Brushing Kiana's hand aside, Senti snorted and folded her arms behind her head. "Ugh, rebellious disciple defying her master—so annoying!"
Childish didn't mean stupid; Senti instantly understood Kiana's intentions.
Seriously, she thought. She had made a dramatic entrance only to end up playing the villain, while Kiana, appearing later amid ceremony and reverence, got to play the benevolent one.
Senti's crimson eyes flicked over Kiana. "How boring. Can't even take a joke. And you got me to play along too—if I'd known, I wouldn't have shown up."
The look in her eyes, however, carried a different message—one Kiana understood perfectly: Not bad. You've finally learned that mercy alone doesn't win loyalty.
It was Kiana's impromptu performance.
When Senti had struck that domineering pose, ready to seize Eren by the head, Kiana realized she could use it.
Of course, she knew Senti was merely reading consciousness, not actually harming anyone—but the Eldian prisoners didn't know that.
All they saw was that wherever Senti stood, their people collapsed in agony, screaming in torment. Who could blame them? Senti's wicked grin and regal arrogance were the perfect illusion.
This was the ideal moment.
One person would play the stern and ruthless role, while the other took the compassionate and understanding stance. A balance of fear and favor—this dual approach often resolved tension far better than one-sided kindness ever could.
It was a lesson Kiana had learned from experience.
After all, she'd led countless diplomatic missions to worlds targeted by the Imperial Conquest Fleets, trying to negotiate peaceful transitions of power.
Each time, she faced endless political bickering and exhausting resistance.
Once, the Punishers Legion detachment assigned to support her was commanded by a particularly irritable fleet officer. When negotiations dragged on, he stormed in and demanded to know which individuals, families, or factions were stalling the peace process.
Kiana reluctantly gave him a list.
That very day—that same day—everyone on that list, whether individual, family, or faction, was wiped out. Entire lineages erased. Mountains of corpses, walls built from skulls… sights that burned into her memory.
Some governments, refusing to compromise, were annihilated under precise orbital bombardment from the fleet's heavy plasma lances. Half their nations turned to ash.
By the next morning, when Kiana resumed negotiations, those who survived practically fell to their knees. Gone was their earlier pride and stubbornness. They agreed to everything, begging for mercy, desperate for the Empire's forgiveness.
The fleet had remained visible in low orbit—looming above their skies like a divine threat. And yet, even with such power hovering overhead, some still clung to delusions of resistance.
Later, when rebellion inevitably broke out again, Kiana blamed herself for not being firm enough.
But Imperial Auxiliary General Sakazuki had merely patted her shoulder and told her calmly, "Don't worry. We've seen this many times before."
The Empire's credibility was tied to Her Majesty. It was absolute. For those who surrendered under treaty, the Empire held its word. No mass reprisals, no arbitrary slaughter. Their privileges remained—governments reestablished as vassal states under Imperial oversight. Taxes were collected; peace was maintained.
Only once the Empire deemed a world stable would it transition into a standard colonial model.
And during that interim, any rebellion or treason was crushed—relentlessly—until not a single dissenter remained.
Even if it meant wiping the planet clean of life.
Kiana had always rejected such brutality, but she couldn't deny the results. The Empire always kept its promises, and never punished beyond the law. Every execution was written in ink, justified by decree.
That was when she began to rethink her ideals.
The Punishers Legion's extremism was unacceptable, but so was her own excessive gentleness.
This Colony World II–202149 would be her testing ground for a new balance between the two.
And since Senti had already played the villain, Kiana decided to let her continue the act—while she herself would play the benevolent one.
"Alright, Senti," Kiana finally said, "on this planet, as my military adjutant and the Imperial Army's hawkish officer, Captain Fu Senti, I expect you to keep being exactly who you are."
"What the—? You make it sound like I'm some sort of bad guy!"
"Relax. I'll make it up to you later."
"You said it!"
"Of course. Now, about those two…"
Before Kiana could finish, Senti crossed her arms and tilted her chin up, speaking lazily:
"They're dead."
Kiana's brows furrowed. "When? Did you—?"
"You think I'd lose my temper that easily? Don't dump everything on me." Senti's voice sharpened. "Their souls have been burned away—no god could bring them back. Well… maybe the Empress could, but the problem is—"
Her voice dropped as she leaned close to Kiana's ear, whispering almost sheepishly:
"It was her who did it…"
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