Clap, clap—
"Now then, this matter has been properly considered... For the time being, this meeting is adjourned. The fine dishes and wine have been served—let us not waste them. Everyone, please enjoy."
Selene tapped her hand lightly against the table, drawing everyone's attention back from deep contemplation. She raised a crystal goblet filled one-quarter with champagne and gave a graceful nod, signaling the start of the feast before downing it in a single motion.
"Thank you for the Imperial feast, Your Majesty!" ×7
Budo, Liver, Hak Foo, Azem, Jaghatai, Leman Russ, and Dorn—all seated below—straightened their backs and rose in unison, raising their cups with reverent gratitude. Selene's rare gesture of toasting personally had clearly taken them by surprise.
By now, Selene's preferences were hardly a secret among the Empire's upper echelons.
She loved fine cuisine and experimenting with new dishes, but rarely drank alcohol.
It wasn't that she couldn't handle alcohol—she simply didn't care for it, nor for the social theatrics of drinking. Outside of certain formal occasions, her beverages of choice were black tea, coffee, or sparkling fruit soda.
As the ruler led, so did her people. While the common folk and lower officials were largely unaffected, for the Empire's middle and upper ranks, understanding the Empress' tastes was essential for survival.
Knowing one's sovereign's likes and dislikes could shape a career—or end it.
And so, across the Empire, alcohol gradually disappeared from the homes of bureaucrats, collecting dust until brought out only for formal banquets. No one wanted to risk giving their superiors the impression of being careless or indulgent.
As the saying went: "What pleases the upper ranks, the lower will imitate to excess."
It was a universal truth, unavoidable in any social system.
Whether in slave empires, feudal monarchies, or modern societies—be it a household, a corporation, or an entire nation—so long as one held power over others' advancement or livelihood, such behaviors would always exist.
Flattery, mimicry, and pandering were the most basic survival instincts.
Some might claim, "A true talent shines wherever it stands." And yes, ability mattered. But if your skills were equal to your rival's—and they better catered to the preferences of those in power—whose odds of promotion would you bet on?
Of course, those born as "chosen ones" were exceptions. For everyone else stuck in the grind... reality was far less romantic.
...
Before long, amidst the clatter of empty dishes and drained cups, the banquet wound down. Once Selene departed, the attending Astartes Legion Commanders and acting commanders began to take their leave, chatting amiably as they exited the Grand Palace.
"Sisters of Battle, the new Imperial Guard division, the Inquisition... and the reorganization of both Imperial Army and Navy—Her Majesty's plans are bound to shake the entire military," Liver mused aloud, stroking his neatly trimmed mustache as he walked behind Budo.
"Shake? Hah! Let them try," scoffed a tall, broad-shouldered man with golden hair and sharp blue eyes walking behind him.
"Her Majesty's will is the Empire's will! Anyone who dares oppose it will be replaced."
His gray-blue power armor gleamed beneath the palace lights, detailed with golden and sapphire wolf-fang insignia. Draped over his shoulders was a thick, pale wolf pelt. The olive-leaf-ringed numeral "Ⅵ" etched into his gorget revealed his identity—Acting Legion Commander of the Astartes Sixth Legion, Leman Russ.
"The Empress is the Empire," he declared boldly. "Officials are expendable. Those who won't obey can be discarded and replaced."
Under the others' gaze, Leman Russ's words carried the raw conviction of one utterly loyal—a true hound of the throne.
"Of course, Russ, I agree," another voice joined in. "But there's no need to overthink it. We follow Her Majesty's commands—that's all that matters. She'll handle the rest."
The speaker, a black-haired, black-eyed man with a long ponytail and a commanding aura distinct from the central Imperial regions, approached and tapped Leman Russ's shoulder guard.
His energy was reminiscent of Esdeath's—cool yet fiercely resolute.
His artisan-forged power armor shone in white and platinum tones, trimmed in red. The twin-headed eagle of crimson lightning adorned his chestplate, while his pauldrons bore the emblem of a lightning bolt cleaving through a bar. Etched upon his neck guard, the olive-ringed numeral "Ⅴ" marked him as Acting Legion Commander of the Astartes Fifth Legion—Jaghatai.
"Alright, alright," Jaghatai said with a faint smirk. "We're worrying too much over nothing."
Nearby, Azem—the Acting Legion Commander of the Astartes Fourth Legion—crossed his arms over his chest, his bone-white, gold-trimmed power armor gleaming faintly in the moonlight. His tone was calm and measured. "I think we should all return to our respective stations. That word 'acting' doesn't sound pleasant. What we should be doing is rebuilding our legions and proving ourselves through conquest."
At the very end of the group, the silent Dorn finally spoke up, his deep voice echoing beneath the hall's arches. His golden armor, inlaid with crimson gemstones, shimmered with restrained majesty. "Agreed."
"Let's move, then."
...
"Only seven legions, huh... still far from enough."
From the balcony of the Schönbrunn Palace, Selene murmured as she watched the departing figures of Budo, Liver, Hak Foo, Azem, Jaghatai, Leman Russ, and Dorn.
Both Liver and Hak Foo were of the Third Legion. Selene had once considered grooming Hak Foo to become a Legion Commander, but the man's nature made that impossible. He was pure—a brute warrior, a combat fanatic, a brawler to the core.
A berserker at heart. The description fit perfectly.
Since Hak Foo had been originally recruited by Liver, Selene eventually decided it was best to keep him under Liver's command.
"Your Majesty, the generals have departed," came Kinshasa's steady voice from behind her.
Selene nodded lazily, her gaze still fixed on the fading silhouettes below. "Mm. Kinshasa, have the relevant notices distributed to all administrative departments by dawn tomorrow. The morning council session will be... eventful."
"As you command!"
...
By the next morning, news of Her Majesty Selene's sweeping military reforms had spread like wildfire throughout every government bureau of the Imperial Capital.
Talk of Imperial Army restructuring, the acceleration of Astartes Legion expansion, the establishment of three new departments, the overhaul of the Imperial Science Bureau, the reorganization of the Navy's fleets—it was endless.
In short, if carried out as Selene envisioned, the centuries-old military system of the Empire would be utterly transformed.
According to her plans, the local defense forces and border garrisons would be disbanded entirely—because there was simply no longer a need for them.
Who are we defending against in the Honkai Dimension? she thought.
All such defensive units would be restructured into offensive-oriented Imperial Auxilia, tasked with supporting the Astartes Legions and accelerating the Empire's expansion.
After all, wasting Astartes legions as glorified planetary police was a luxury Selene would never allow herself.
The same logic applied to the disbanding and reorganization of the Eastern and Southern Imperial Fleets.
At this time, Selene had just concluded her weekly court assembly, where her new decrees had been formally issued.
Returning to the Schönbrunn Palace, she resumed her usual position behind the office desk, reviewing the stream of critical documents submitted by the Ministry of Administration.
With the military structure effectively rebuilt from the ground up, everything had to be redeployed from scratch.
This included the reassignment of displaced generals, the establishment of new departments, the construction of new bases—each a monumental undertaking requiring Selene's personal approval and signature before implementation.
Though much of the administrative burden had been distributed among her cabinet ministers, it was by no means a light workload.
"At least someone's excited about all this," Selene muttered, flipping through a stack of reports. "Arisa practically flew out the door at sunrise—straight to the Southern Lake Barracks."
Her eyes landed on the topmost urgent file, and her calm expression flickered slightly.
"Dr. Stylish's report?" she read. "The Honkai Particle Weapon integration design is nearly complete—the first batch already in production. Requesting inspection by Your Majesty."
Selene raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That was faster than expected."
She sighed. "Looks like I won't be slacking off anytime soon."
...
Meanwhile, as the sun rose over the Imperial Capital, the Southern Lake Barracks—once a prison camp for captives—was now under heavy guard.
"Hey, hey, An, do you ever think about seeing the world outside?"
In a corner of the compound, a few young girls in black-and-white striped prison uniforms huddled together, chattering softly. Each bore a number across her chest. Their hair came in all shades and colors—but their eyes were the same hue, glimmering faintly with otherworldly light.
The girls were all quite young—by Earth's standards, most looked no older than elementary schoolers who had just graduated from kindergarten.
"Why do you want to go outside? Isn't it fine here? No one beats or scolds us anymore, and at least we have food and clothes," said a girl named An, sitting on a small wooden stool while flipping through an Imperial-issued book.
Indeed—these children were none other than the so-called Cursed Children, captured and brought back by Alex's First Legion from the world of Black Bullet.
No one knew how the first batch had survived. They had no names—abandoned by their parents at birth, rescued and raised by older girls who shared the same fate. They were named only by their hair color, the place they were found, or a number.
Here, though the Empire's management was still strict and closed, their lives were at least stable. Their clothes were plain but intact, and they no longer starved or froze.
"Do you think those black-armored giants will come to see us again?" one little girl asked, her voice filled with hope.
It was those towering, black-armored figures who had descended from the skies to save them from the Gastrea's fangs, giving them food, shelter, and protection while battling the grotesque monsters.
They had never spoken to the girls—but their presence had etched itself into every heart.
"They'll come back, Kofuku! I know they will!" another girl replied eagerly.
Suddenly—
"Silence! This is a military zone! No noise permitted!"
Outside the barbed wire fence, an Astartes in iron-gray power armor, marked with the insignia 'Ⅱ' on his pauldron, had heard the chatter. His voice boomed metallically, carrying the weight of command.
Startled, the girls froze, trembling as they huddled together.
"First offense—no punishment. Repeat offenders will be disciplined severely!" he declared coldly.
Without another glance, the patrolling Astartes turned and continued his rounds, the ground vibrating faintly under his armored steps.
From nearby barracks, other children who had come out to stretch their legs immediately ducked and crouched down, holding their heads in fear. Whenever one of the towering, gray-armored giants passed, their small bodies trembled uncontrollably.
"..." Only when the Astartes had walked far away did they dare to rise again.
In the eyes of most Imperial soldiers—including the Astartes—concepts like "fairness" or "mercy" had little meaning.
To them, prisoners were commodities—resources to be used and replaced.
"Kofuku... I'm scared... Will they kill us?" one girl whimpered, tears glimmering in her eyes.
Her fear was not unfounded. Though Cursed Children possessed immense potential, that potential was still unrealized. To them, the Astartes were terrifying titans of blood and steel.
Normally, a prisoner camp would never be guarded by Astartes—but this one was different. It stood within the Southern Lake Barracks, one of the Empire's most fortified zones.
"If you make noise again, you'll be marked as unfit—and eliminated. I don't think I need to explain what 'eliminated' means," came a calm, cold voice from behind.
The girls turned and saw a middle-aged man in an Imperial uniform approaching, his sharp eyes scanning them.
"S-sorry, Overseer sir. We didn't mean to cause trouble," they stammered.
"Sir? I'm no 'sir,'" the overseer said with a bitter chuckle. "A new directive just came down. The selection for the 'Sisters of Battle' is about to begin—and it starts with you."
"Really?! If we're chosen, will we see the black-armored giants again? The gray ones here are too scary," one girl asked innocently.
The overseer paused, momentarily at a loss for words.
Those 'black-armored giants' must have been from Alex's First Legion. General Alex was known to be approachable and kind toward mortals.
These gray-armored ones, however, belonged to the Second Legion under Grand General Budo. And Budo's discipline was absolute. Having risen from the ranks of the Imperial Guard himself, he was known for his ironclad rigor.
Under his command, the Second Legion had adopted the same rigid ethos—unyielding, efficient, emotionless, obeying every decree of the Empress to the letter, without deviation or sentiment.
"If you pass the selection," the overseer finally said, "anything is possible... Perhaps one day, I'll be the one calling you 'ma'am.'"
He straightened up, his expression hardening again. "You'll be taken somewhere shortly. Don't ask where. Don't speak of what you see. Follow the etiquette you've been taught."
Ignoring their excited murmurs, the overseer waved for them to follow. They fell in line obediently.
Passing through the training grounds under the watchful eyes of countless mortal guards, the girls finally stepped beyond the fortress walls for the first time—and saw the outside world.
Before them rose the magnificent walls of a grand castle, its arched stained-glass windows glittering in the sunlight. At the very center stood a vast window of radiant color, so beautiful it stole their breath.
"Overseer, what is that?" one girl asked in awe.
"That," the man said softly, looking up at the shining glass, "is Our Empress."