"Colonial World Serial No. II–202149 (Attack on Titan), Planetary Governor—Governor Kiana Kaslana, are your military and administrative policies perhaps too conservative... too timid?"
Bang!
In the solemn hall, the gavel struck the block with a resounding crack.
"According to the latest military intelligence reports from the Inquisition and the Seventh Bureau of Internal Affairs, on the very night you returned for your report, multiple premeditated and organized riots, protests, and even terrorist attacks broke out across your governorship."
The presiding inquisitorial censor—an elderly man impeccably dressed—slowly lowered the gavel and spoke in a low, harsh tone. His crane-like features and frosted beard radiated the cold severity of a man born for discipline.
"As of now, in Liberio—one of the containment districts alone—over three thousand native citizens granted Imperial honorific status have perished in the riots. Several residential blocks have sustained heavy damage."
He clenched his fist, tapping the edge of the table as his expression twisted into grim fury.
"Worse still—they dared to defile the sacred image of the Divine Empress with paint!"
"Blasphemy!" he shouted, pounding the table again. This particular inquisitor, known for his hardline stance, was visibly losing control of his temper.
"This proves beyond doubt that Governor Kaslana's so-called 'appeasement policy' has failed! If bread, butter, and red wine cannot tame these native ingrates—whether they call themselves Marleyans or Eldians—then let the whip, the saber, and the cannon teach them what iron and blood truly mean!"
Sigh...
Wearing her peaked military cap, her snow-white hair neatly tied back into a ponytail, Kiana sat at the central report seat of the chamber in her ceremonial governor's uniform, patiently enduring the spittle-filled barrage.
She had never truly understood what "bureaucratic torture" meant—until today.
Once, she had been a soldier and a cadet, thriving in an environment where clarity and efficiency reigned. But now she was a governor—an imperial viceroy. Even at the lowest tier of planetary administration, she wielded both civil and military authority—an emperor within her own territory.
Endless bureaucratic meetings, inter-departmental coordination, and layer upon layer of political procedure... all of it was exhausting in ways that even the fiercest battlefield could not compare to.
Especially this breed of inquisitorial censors—Kiana had never imagined that anyone could harp on a single issue for two and a half hours straight, twisting facts, hurling venom, and weaving tangents out of thin air with such masterful stubbornness.
Fortunately, she was stationed far from the capital. If she had to endure this daily, her eardrums would have calloused over by now.
When the first censor finally ran out of breath, another took his place—his tone softer, his demeanor more diplomatic, but equally persistent.
Kiana unscrewed her large water flask and downed half of it in one go.
As Senti had warned her earlier, "Next comes the rotation—black face, white face, red face—they'll all play their parts." And indeed, they were.
All she could do was sit there, parched, forcing herself to wear that same neutral, vaguely attentive expression she'd once mastered in Saint Freya Academy's classrooms whenever she'd fallen asleep during lectures.
"Hmm... yes..."
"Indeed..."
"I will punish the offenders severely."
Her thin red lips pressed together as she nodded politely, again and again. Beneath the shadow of her cap, her clear eyes shimmered like still spring water—cool, steady, yet cold.
This wasn't mere compliance; Kiana knew she couldn't charm or appease everyone.
The bigger the empire, the more diverse its dissenters. Some spoke honeyed words in public and sharpened daggers in private. Some simply wanted more—more power, more privilege. And others despised the Sacred Selene Empire itself, seeking only to undermine or provoke chaos wherever they could.
Riots, protests—what colony world hadn't seen such things before? Fleas on the hide of an empire. Routine disturbances, nothing more. Today was merely the last day of her scheduled report.
Once it ended, she would finally return home—with new technical guidance, policy adjustments, and resource allocations secured.
But just as the hearing and review session was about to conclude, the latest military report arrived—those fools had done the unthinkable.
They had vandalized Selene's monument.
Those worthless, brainless, wretched bastards!
Even someone as composed as Kiana couldn't stop herself from cursing inwardly.
Why deface a monument—why hers of all things?! Of every statue in the colony, they had to topple Selene's.
Whether successful or not, the nature of the incident had changed entirely.
This time, Kiana knew she would have to strike hard.
The coming weeks would see yet another wave of blood and iron following the end of military rule. It was inevitable—and necessary.
Had she been too lenient with them?
Perhaps, as Senti had suggested, she should simply use her Authority of Sentience to identify every last conspirator hidden among the populace—and execute them all.
Kiana pondered the thought...
...
"Attention!"
At the far side of the chamber, the ceremonial guards stepped aside as a dignitary entered through the upper gallery's private door.
"Good afternoon."
Nodding slightly, Selene—her presence tightly suppressed—walked soundlessly across the thick carpet. She removed her cap and, holding her command staff lightly, greeted the attending officials and observers in a soft voice.
Her every step was measured with perfect precision—each footfall as if calculated by a machine, capable of pivoting or striking from the optimal position at any instant. She moved toward the front row and quietly sat beside a middle-aged man who looked like one of the Internal Affairs ministers.
"Good afternoon."
The civil officer rose politely and nodded to the elegant woman beside him. Though something about her aura felt eerily familiar—unsettling, even—he dismissed it as imagination.
After all, wasn't the Custodes' ceremonial headgear supposed to include a crested helm or peaked cap? Yet she wore something entirely different.
Still, staring at a lady's face too long was impolite. He chose not to pry, assuming they had crossed paths somewhere before. After all, the Imperial Capital teemed with nobles and bureaucrats.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Selene, finding the atmosphere novel, began to survey her surroundings.
This particular chamber—reserved for internal administrative hearings involving Imperial officials rather than native hereditary governors—was a massive circular hall. The vast dome above was inlaid with mosaic murals, its soaring columns gleaming in reflected starlight, while red and gold banners draped down from on high.
At the dome's center was an aperture through which light from the chamber's luminary arrays poured in, scattering across faint trails of incense smoke.
Bronze statues and marble pillars supported the vaulted ceiling, while the black terrazzo floors shimmered beneath white marble walls. The chamber could seat up to two thousand people, arranged concentrically around the center.
At the core stood an unoccupied seat of polished black marble—suspended, elevated above the assembly.
That was her seat.
The council officials occupied the lower steps beneath the vacant throne. The symbolism was clear: they preside in Heaven's stead. They ruled as her proxies.
Selene tilted her head, smiling faintly, and tapped the armrest twice with her fingers.
"...So this is a disciplinary review?"
A quick glance confirmed it—the inquisitors were roaring accusations, spittle flying, while Kiana sat straight-backed and stoic, nodding mechanically, looking for all the world like a student being scolded for poor homework.
Well, well... how entertaining. Selene's eyes gleamed with quiet amusement.
Behind the disguise of her sky-blue irises, a crystalline glow flickered briefly.
Bzzz—
Accessing the recorded minutes of the session, Selene simultaneously tapped into the Imperial Military Department's secured network, pulling up the situation reports for Colony II–202149 and Kiana's administrative measures.
"Hmm?"
So it was a riot. Unorganized, opportunistic looting, and... paint thrown on my statue?"
Selene frowned instinctively.
According to reports from local garrisons and covert Inquisition agents, the unrest had erupted precisely to exploit Kiana's brief absence from the sector.
Beyond the rabble and petty criminals, there were bereaved families seeking vengeance after losing loved ones during the period of martial law—and, of course, several so-called "restorationist" factions.
Overall assessment: No unified doctrine. No structure. No scale. Undefined objectives.
Their intent was simple—to make noise, cause damage, and show the Empire their unyielding resolve not to accept subjugation. Just as there had been Marleyan Restorationists during the Eldian Empire, and Eldian Restorationists during the Marley Empire, the Sacred Selene Empire now had no shortage of such revivalist movements—the Middle Eastern Coalition, the Eastern Nations' Restorationists, and countless others.
As for revenge? That would be giving them far too much credit. Frankly, paying attention to such insignificant pests was less worthwhile than Selene taking cooking lessons from Susanoo herself.
They could hate her all they wanted—she had long grown immune to bites from fleas.
This colony had been entrusted to Kiana, and Selene would not go back on her word.
Whether Kiana turned the world into a paradise or a battlefield, whether it flourished into a utopia or sank into rebellion—even if the entire planet exploded—it would not cost Selene so much as a single grain of rice.
At worst, she would simply erase that planetary system and move on.
Soon enough, under Selene's quietly approving gaze, the white-haired governor stepped forward to the podium. With eloquence and poise, she deflected every question and accusation, delivering a masterclass in evasive rhetoric—textbook diplomacy, perfectly vague yet convincing.
In short: Yes, yes, you're absolutely right. I'll revise my strategies. The handling will be firm and thorough. The Inquisition's warnings will be heeded. The Empire's dignity is absolute...
As for how firm and thorough the revisions would be—that was entirely up to Kiana.
Strictly speaking, as long as taxes flowed in, as long as the "loyal auxiliary armies"—cough, cannon fodder—were organized and conscripted without issue, and as long as no full-scale insurrections or acts of blasphemy against the Emperor occurred, the Empire seldom interfered directly in the colonies' internal governance.
Criticizing the Imperial Government might earn you prison—or not. But to insult the Empress? That was another matter entirely. In private, it might be overlooked; in public, it was a death sentence.
Such was the shared understanding of the Empire's seasoned administrators—those who truly understood how the Sacred Selene Empire operated.
Unfortunately, most rebels and hotheaded zealots never grasped these subtleties. They revolted blindly, dragging their clans into ruin—fuel for others' advancement.
Perhaps it was the teasing curve of Selene's lips or the sharp glint of amusement in her eyes, but the moment Kiana descended from the podium, removing her cap to salute, she suddenly noticed a peculiar figure on the upper observation tier.
The backlight obscured the woman's face—just a silhouette at first.
As Kiana shifted position, the image became clear: a regal lady in a custom-tailored uniform, golden hair, blue eyes, one leg crossed, holding a flat French-style cap between her fingers.
It felt... off. Familiar, yet strange.
Kiana was certain she knew her.
And then, as the golden-haired woman rose, placed a hand over her chest, and nodded in salute, Kiana froze—only to quickly compose herself. She smiled, eyes bright, and returned the gesture with dignified respect.
Selene sat back down gracefully, shifting her gaze away from Kiana as another colonial governor stepped up to deliver his report.
Since I'm here, I might as well watch more than one, she mused. Wouldn't want to tell Sebas I came all this way just to see one person.
Clatter—!
Listening to the crisp marching steps and formal, carefully worded reports from the other governors, Selene's attention shifted to the assembly floor.
A sea of ceremonial plumes, gleaming medals, and polished sabers—it looked more like a military council than a civil one.
Such martial vigor, she thought wryly.
In truth, the Empire made no strict distinction between civil and military governors.
The aristocracy was steeped in martial tradition; nearly every appointed governor of a colonial world, even those with civilian résumés, chose to don a military uniform. They paraded, inspected, and presided over all matters in full regalia.
Many so-called civil officials were simply nobles who had once earned their rank through military merit before changing careers.
As Selene pondered whether she should design an ornate new uniform line for the civil branch—to better reflect her imperial splendor—
"...During our frontier expeditions, my governorship discovered a lifeless planet—its vitality entirely drained. Fossil evidence indicates that a primitive industrial civilization once flourished there, but was mysteriously destroyed."
"It wasn't orbital bombardment or an Exterminatus-type event. The crust and mantle remain intact—consistent with natural geological evolution—until our survey ships detected an anomaly in the planet's largest impact canyon."
Selene's azure eyes flickered.
"At its center stood a colossal withered tree. Its roots spread across the entire planet, and atop its trunk rested a massive, undying bud—bearing what appeared to be a fruit."
"But it had already been plucked..."
Selene's once-placid gaze sharpened instantly, predatory and intent—the gleam of a wolf scenting prey.
—
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