With the announcement of the "End of War Declaration," it was as if the heavens themselves rejoiced at the conclusion of this unnecessary conflict. Bright sunlight poured down on the steel-and-crystal jungle of skyscrapers, reflecting a dazzling brilliance.
The official car left the District 23 International Airport, driving for about five or six minutes before merging onto the elevated coastal highway. From here, the streets below were visible, with the commercial districts along the way coming alive once again.
Although there was still a trace of languor, it was clear the city would soon return to normal.
With the lockdown lifted, the armed forces stationed along the streets of Academy City were gradually withdrawn. Students had returned to the surface, walking in small groups, chatting and laughing.
On the glass curtain wall displays of the buildings along the route, news of France's defeat took up the main headlines, followed by coverage of Queen Elizard's visit to Academy City with Princess Carissa and the others, and then the Russian Orthodox Church's Patriarch—Krans R. Tsarskiy—announcing the return of Kaliningrad…
"Central and Southern European countries, as well as the nobles of the German regions, are here too. Logically speaking, World War III didn't really affect them, so the post-war rebuilding of the world order (or division of spoils) shouldn't have much to do with them. What are they doing here?"
Recalling what she had seen at the airport, Shokuhou Misaki couldn't help leaning slightly to the side.
Turning her head toward the other side, where the calm, blue coastline was as busy as ever despite the war, the starry-eyed girl idly tapped her finger against the car window frame. Her long, shapely legs—full and curvaceous—were still clad in spiderweb-pattern embroidered stockings, her feet in small leather shoes crossed and swaying lazily.
"Could they be planning to rebuild a unified Germany?"
She murmured softly. The honey-colored hair framing her doll-like face gleamed in the sunlight, her appearance untouched—at a glance, Shokuhou Misaki looked as if she had been on a casual outing rather than in a war.
And in truth, she might as well have been. Among the Lv5 espers who participated in the conflict, she was the least injured.
Stationed in an underground base providing support, she never directly faced danger, even at the most perilous moments.
By contrast, Mugino Shizuri and Misaka Mikoto—who had acted as mobile support and long-range attackers aboard the fortress "Star of Bethlehem"—were in far worse shape.
They hadn't suffered injuries as catastrophic as Accelerator, Kakine Teitoku, or Kamijou Touma—half-paralyzed, broken bones, missing limbs—but they were definitely battered.
Their once-pristine hair looked as though it had been gnawed on by dogs, their faces, arms, legs, and torsos covered in cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Band-aids and medical tape were everywhere, and the smell of iodine, nutrient salves, and disinfectant alcohol clung to them.
"Hmph, isn't it obvious? Our current Board Chairman comes from that family. In the post-war world, with everyone awed into submission, those small Central and Southern European states split off from larger nations would be smart to seek a protector. The devastation of this war—where even the aftershocks could wipe out a nation—is a terrifying sight. Finding shelter is a wise move."
"Especially when that protector was once their shared sovereign. Even if only nominally, the legal precedent for unification under a common ruler is already there."
Annoyed, Mugino Shizuri fussed with her tea-brown hair using a comb. The fresh wounds on her face had only just been treated with regeneration ointment. She rested her elbow on the seat's armrest, having already downed a glass of brandy, and was rummaging through the car's supply for more fine liquor.
If Selene, that extravagant benefactor, was footing the bill, it was free—so why not drink? She had nearly died on this trip and gotten her face ruined!
Misaka Mikoto said nothing to their conversation, simply propping her chin in her hand as she stared out the car window.
After the final battle in Banda Aceh, considering the available rescue and medical facilities—and with the underground base's field hospital still intact—there had been no need to rush the Lv5 espers back to Academy City. They stayed until they were out of danger and received proper treatment.
Who would have thought that upon returning, not only had Selene been promoted to Academy City's Board Chairman, but now it seemed that wasn't even the limit…
...
At this moment, inside Selene's official residence.
True to her much-criticized aesthetic of "grandeur is beauty, splendor is structure, and luxury is color," the palace by the park in District 7 was not quite as massive or lavish as the Palace of Versailles or Vienna's Schönbrunn Palace, but still imposing enough. Its towering outer walls and lofty gate pillars inspired awe.
The vast space inside could easily accommodate the Central European delegations and visiting nobles, along with their extended families.
The building's neoclassical style reflected Selene's ambition—serious, luxurious, dignified. Massive crystal chandeliers, meticulously crafted fiberglass sculptures, and enamel ornaments spoke loudly of power and wealth.
"Ferdinand, be careful not to fall! The stone pavement here is hard—if you trip and hurt yourself, your sister might send you to the military camp a few years early!"
Katie stood among a circle of elegantly dressed noblewomen, her smile warm and motherly as she called out to Ferdinand and his playmates near the courtyard doors, cupping her hands to amplify her voice.
"Looks like Selene truly intends to raise Ferdinand as her first heir."
In the garden pavilion, dressed in a black-and-white, full-length, cinched-waist English gown that covered her feet, Queen Elizard set down her enamel teacup and spoke with some emotion.
Earlier, she had seen clearly: when Selene met with the German nobles, she kept the little boy Ferdinand by her side at all times. The message was obvious—and it completely extinguished any thoughts of marriage alliances.
It was clear Selene had chosen the same path as Queen Elizabeth I, the "Virgin Queen," who never married—Ferdinand would be her heir to wealth and authority.
"This is Selene's decision."
A flicker of melancholy crossed Katie's emerald eyes, quickly replaced by pride. Her daughter had achieved so much—what more could a mother ask for, other than her happiness? Whatever her choice, Katie's only wish as a mother was for Selene to be happy.
"Your Majesty Queen Elizard, you've truly handed over full authority since arriving—leaving all negotiations to Carissa. Are you sure that's alright?"
Back in the pavilion, sitting across from Elizard, Katie stirred her coffee, glancing toward the bustling palace courtyard, where guests came and went without pause.
Though her hair and skin now showed signs of age, Elizard, recovered from the attack by Fiamma of the Right, smiled faintly. "It's fine. I'm old now. I came here just to see that child. The details are Carissa's responsibility."
"It's the era of the young now. If she can shoulder the responsibility of the nation, good. If not, she should step down and let someone else."
"You are certainly open-minded."
...
While Katie and Elizard hosted a tea gathering with visiting noblewomen to strengthen ties, inside the main palace nearby, Brauchitsch moved among a group of older men.
Relatives, all of them—at least technically.
European aristocratic family trees were notoriously tangled, and even Brauchitsch himself hadn't completely sorted them out.
If Katie's role was to host the guests' families, then Brauchitsch's job was to haggle, negotiate, and exchange pleasantries with these relatives.
It couldn't be helped—he was the head of the household. In matters of aristocratic etiquette, he was well-versed. It wasn't Selene's role—she probably couldn't even name half of them.
In the days when the Austrian Habsburgs had been in decline, such scenes of familial and political gathering were unimaginable. Many of these nobles from small German states were complete strangers to Selene.
There had been little to no contact before.
It wasn't until Selene began developing the foundations of a military-industrial-medical-aerospace conglomerate that the situation began to change. Many sought to involve themselves, to take a slice of the pie—but since Selene spent most of her time in Academy City, no real progress was made.
"Poor in a bustling city, no one asks; rich in the remote mountains, distant relatives arrive."
This saying applied far beyond East Asia.
Then World War III broke out—and now, they were the ones seeking Selene's favor.
Her destruction of the Vatican and dismantling of the Roman Catholic Church had terrified the world. This was not a gentle or refined figure.
Especially in the global broadcast, where Selene fought both magicians and the Apostles of Satan—the sheer destructive power on display was enough to flatten a Central European state from a mere aftershock.
The world was changing too quickly, too dangerously. Clearly, it was best to find a powerful protector—or risk sleepless nights.
Once a few people suggested it, the idea snowballed into consensus, leading to the scene now before them.
"From the inception of the Holy Roman Empire, the Habsburgs have been the rightful rulers, blessed by God. The crown, suspended for nearly a century, should return to its rightful owner."
That was the reasoning the German nobles presented when they sought out Selene.
Under such circumstances, even if Selene wanted to step back, no one would allow it.
They were afraid—when her inhuman, crimson, diamond-cross pupils turned their gaze on someone, it was suffocating, cold, like a noose tightening around the neck. Refuse her, and you could be dead the next moment.
The atmosphere here was far more solemn and formal.
White, gleaming marble walls enclosed the inner courtyard of the residence, cutting it off from the city. Riot-control units patrolled the grounds, while towering armored mecha cast immense shadows on the white walls in the setting sun. The rhythmic march of armed robotic patrols echoed across the empty square.
There were few human staff—mostly servants—but in Academy City, the world's most advanced science hub, this was fitting.
One old Prussian Junker was already imagining replacing these robots with the Prussian Royal Guard… Yes, the resemblance to a royal palace was uncanny.
The entire palace was carved from marble. Above the main gate, set into the stone, was a bronze sculpture of a double-headed eagle with wings outstretched, talons sharp and menacing.
Many of the Central and Southern European delegates stopped at the entrance, staring at it in thought.
"Phew…"
Bathed in warm sunlight, on the balcony of a secondary palace intended as private chambers, Selene sat in a Viennese court-style white-and-gold embroidered gown, a gold-and-red sash across her chest, an honorary grand cord at her neck, and a jewel-encrusted formal cape draped over her shoulders. She sipped black tea at a small table.
This display was necessary—to affirm legitimacy and formalize the sovereign-subject relationship.
She had to admit, the gown was heavy. And when she returned to Vienna, the coronation robes would be heavier still…
Still, only Selene could stroll about in such attire as if it were everyday wear; most royals could only pose for photographs in it.
In this outfit, Selene had received the oaths of loyalty from numerous German nobles and had conferred several lordships in return.
The recipients? The delegations from those small Central and Southern European states that had pledged themselves entirely to her. Granting their leaders noble titles was simple reciprocity—Selene understood the importance of such gestures.
These weren't dukes, marquises, or landed nobles—the actual value of the titles depended on the individual.
Ahem. In any case, Selene could assure everyone there was no coercion involved; she personally hadn't done anything—it was entirely voluntary!
Well… perhaps Sebas had nudged things along a bit.
"Vasilisa—the commander of the Russian Orthodox Church's magical combat unit—quite perceptive, isn't she?"
Setting aside the letter she'd been reading, Selene closed her clear, deep eyes, savoring the faint aroma of tea with an air of calm.
The current Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church, Krans R. Tsarskiy, was still a shy child with no grasp of political gestures. This was clearly the work of Vasilisa, the Church's true power-holder.
Upon hearing rumors of the Habsburg dynasty's imminent restoration, she had unhesitatingly ceded the enclave of Kaliningrad—once the Prussian Kingdom's birthplace, East Prussia.
Such an overt show of goodwill sent ripples through the international community; even ordinary people understood what it meant.
It was ironic—Central and Southern European nations had largely stayed out of the war, their post-WWII fragmentation and weakness keeping them uninvolved, and in some ways, preserving their strength.
As the most loyal follower of the Roman Catholic Church, France had historically pursued policies to suppress and dismantle German territories after the war, ensuring the Church had little reason to cultivate the Central and Southern European nations.
They had to consider the Gallic rooster's pride, after all.
And postwar, the "German superman" had long since become the "Federal fat man," hardly a force to reckon with.
Beep!
From behind the balcony's electronic curtain came a chime, followed by the sound of the door opening. Even without turning, Selene knew who it was.
"Selene… Your Majesty."
"No need to be so formal—I haven't been crowned yet. Just call me Selene. Did the transfer of spoils go smoothly? The 'Woman Who Topples Nations' didn't give you trouble, did she?"
Aside from Selene's family, Sebas, and Alyssa, only visiting Crown Princess Carissa had permission to enter her palace so casually.
"Thanks to you. There was some resistance, but it's been resolved. You drew most of France's and the 'Woman Who Topples Nations' hatred, after all, when you took Alsace–Lorraine from them."
The sound of an armchair being pulled out, then Carissa, still in her crimson gown, sat across from Selene and exhaled deeply.
"What do you mean 'France's Alsace–Lorraine'? Since ancient times, that's been Habsburg land. The Treaty of Westphalia? I don't recognize it."
Selene grinned, unbothered by her double standard, and with a flick of her finger poured Carissa a cup of black tea.
"Bold, aren't you? I hear you took a slice out of the Ottomans too."
Carissa didn't press the point—politics was about representing your group's interests, nothing more.
Selene smiled faintly. "I prefer Constantinople to Istanbul."
"The Roman Empire, hmm… suit yourself." Carissa took a sip of tea. "By the way, about Sylvia—thank you for going easy on her."
The blonde maid Selene had defeated alongside pseudo-Magic God Ollerus was far more than a royal guard of Buckingham Palace; she was the British Royal Family's highest shrine maiden and a Saint.
"A small matter. Just keep her under control. If she provokes me, I won't be so lenient."
"I'll handle it…"
Nodding, Selene looked out beyond the residence.
"Oh, so they've arrived."
...
"Thá 'rtheis san astrapí (You will return like lightning!)"
"thá' chei i chóra giortí (The whole nation will rejoice)"
"thálassa gi kai ouranós (Land, sea, and sky); sto dikó sou fos (All bathed in your light)"
"Tha ntythó sta lefká (I will dress in white); na s' angíxo xaná (To touch you once more)"
"fos esy kai kardiá mou egó (Your light and my heart); pós s' agapó (How much I love you)"
"Vasiléfs Vasiléon, Vasileí Voíthei (King of Kings, aid our king!)"
...
As they approached the District 7 residence zone, the words of a song in an unfamiliar language became clearer. Kamijou Touma's ears twitched, quieting Index's chatter.
"Huh… what's that sound outside? Is there some kind of student festival going on?"
—
—
40 Advanced Chapters Available on Patreon:
Patreon.com/DaoOfHeaven