Crack, crack—the sound of shattering rang out as the Tree of Souls collapsed, followed by the flare of a violet-red light.
Bzzzzzt—!
From the point where Abyss Flower pierced through, streams of light spread like current from the decaying trunk down into the earth. Then, with a sharp crack, the brilliance flashed outward.
The tremors grew wider and wider. Even the roots of the Tree of Souls—dangling like the tendrils of a jellyfish, glowing with violet luminescence—dimmed rapidly.
In the blink of an eye, the plunging canyon waterfalls, the entire gorge, all were drawn into the trembling range.
Whoosh!
Durandal gazed at the Abyss Flower—the 6th Divine Key, the Key of Creation—now returned to her hands. Her fingertips brushed against the spear tip of the 'Abyss,' lips parted slightly, unafraid of the death and decay its Honkai power radiated.
"Truly, fate is fickle… Abyss Flower… Mother, if you could see your daughter's 'atrocity,' would you be angered at what I've done…?"
She had extinguished a world's future with her own hand, ordered the slaughter and destruction of their home, and beheaded their native leader. Durandal whispered in a voice none else could understand.
Beside her, the Astartes warriors of the Luna Wolves stood solemnly. Several Centurions fixed burning gazes on the 'sacred relic' in Durandal's grasp. Their eyes shone with fanaticism, excitement, yearning, reverence.
For no other reason than this: Selene herself had once loved to ride into battle with lances in hand.
Among them was Abyss Flower—or rather, its likeness. The 'Holy Lance' had long become legend across the Empire's countless colonial worlds. Its name was a theme for craftsmen, poets, and artists. Oil paintings, frescoes, reliefs, stained glass, statues—endless hymns of creation were dedicated to it.
If a Holy Grail War were to occur, the 'Holy Lance,' by the sheer weight of the Empire's adoration and eternal songs of praise, would surely gain countless imagined powers beyond its true function.
Crack!
The entire trunk of the Tree of Souls, along with its roots and branches, collapsed into ruin, disintegrating into ash-grey dust that scattered into the air.
The instant the Tree of Souls truly died, a wave of unprecedented rage and hatred flooded into the hearts of every creature on Pandora.
Yet just as quickly as it came, it ebbed away. Perhaps the surviving Na'vi tribes would cling to their hatred for the Sky People—their name for outsiders—but the myriad creatures of Pandora, under the Empire's iron fist, had their fury extinguished in an instant.
After all, even among Pandora's vertebrates with neural interfaces, only the Na'vi had evolved true intelligence.
The rest—perhaps spiritual, but still only beasts. Before the glaring threat of death, with Pandora's collective consciousness dispersed, could anyone expect them to fling themselves against fully armed legions?
Szzzzzz!
Several radiant violet-red beams extended from the ground, darkened under Honkai corruption. Like spiderwebs, they spread endlessly—into the core, the oceans, the skies.
It was foreseeable. Soon, Pandora's exotic flora and fauna would enter the Empire's markets.
Some would be bred as livestock, to enrich Imperial dining tables. Some would be trained as steeds, companions for noble children, or cultivated by the Imperial Science Bureau to expand genetic libraries. Some would be taken as curiosities, to populate parks and exhibition gardens…
"General, what shall we do with Jake Sully's body?"
Sheathing Abyss Flower, Durandal brushed a lock of hair from her temple. After a moment of silence, the golden-haired knight uttered a decision she herself had once thought unimaginable—
"Extract his soul."
"Leave no detail unchecked. I need to know how Jake Sully, once a Marine, could be persuaded in just a few months of contact with the Na'vi to turn his gun on his own people. Compile everything into a report and deliver it to me."
"Also, patch the gaps. As chieftain of the Omatikaya clan and the so-called 'Toruk Makto' of the Highland Forest Na'vi resistance, I am certain his mind holds many secrets unknown to us."
Toruk—those aerial leviathans, the great leonopteryx, butchered by the Luna Wolves. Before the Astartes they were like lambs to the slaughter, yet on Pandora they were without question the apex aerial predators.
Resembling dragons, with wingspans over twenty-five meters, their bodies painted in stripes of red, yellow, and black, they were swift and fierce beyond measure. Their beauty and nobility earned the Na'vi's awe and reverence. They called them Toruk.
The Na'vi expressed this reverence through dances, songs, and totems crafted in their honor.
To tame a Toruk was regarded as an extraordinary feat. According to the history of the Na'vi tribes, before Jake Sully, only five Toruk Riders had ever appeared.
Toruk Makto—the title given to the one who rides the red great dragon. It was by taming the leonopteryx that Jake Sully won the Na'vi's trust, married the chieftain's daughter, and assumed the mantle of clan leader.
"The General's orders?"
"After the war fifteen years ago, the RDA scientists who chose to serve the Na'vi—where are they? Including the traitor Grace Augustine. Alive or dead, find them. Execute them."
"All of them—display their heads!"
"Yes, ma'am!" ×N
Nodding, Durandal gave a merciless command. Such severity was nothing unusual in the Empire's army. She then approached the servitor soldiers who had captured Jake Sully.
"Attention!"
Before the canyon where the Tree of Souls once stood, her cry echoed. The waiting servitor troops snapped to silence at once.
The soldiers, clad in combat gear, sprang to their feet. Forming a straight line, the heels of their steel-shod boots clicked sharply together. Rifles were shouldered, jaws lifted, spines straightened, chests thrust forward.
"You fought bravely. I am proud to be your commander. It is my honor to have fought at your side. This is your due reward."
No wasted words. The commendation order was immediate, unquestionable. When this campaign ended, these servitor soldiers would receive rich rewards from their planetary governorates: noble ranks, promotions, opportunities for further study, monetary wealth, land, homes…
Perhaps this was why countless souls pledged their lives to Selene. Truly—even a fragment of the authority granted by the Empress was enough to ensure a prosperous life on a planetary or even interstellar scale.
"Announce to the entire army: the Na'vi rebel leader Jake Sully is dead. Orders! Advance swiftly, annihilate all Na'vi resistance! Captain Scout of the Luna Wolves has already reached the Sol System—we will conclude this entire warzone campaign before the year's end!"
"Yes, General!" ×N
...
RDA Bridgehead Outpost Base.
"What are those butchers cheering for now?"
As time passed, the chaos outside quieted. The gunfire grew sparse. The RDA employees, confined to the dormitory blocks within the base, peered out helplessly.
The shock of their first encounter had long worn off. Now, most spoke like idle spectators, commenting on the Imperial army outside.
"Maybe they're celebrating getting home to their families by Christmas," one RDA mercenary half-joked.
"Family, huh…" At those words, silence fell on some.
Even with the RDA's most advanced Venture Star-class interstellar craft, its hybrid engines could only achieve cruising speeds of 210,000 km/s (around 70% of light speed). The distance from Earth to the Moon could be crossed in less than two seconds.
But from Pandora to Earth was 4.2 light-years.
At such speeds, it took over five years to travel from Earth to Pandora. A round trip meant a decade—passengers in cryosleep the entire way. The feeling of spending Christmas at home had long faded. By the time one returned, even "home" itself might be unrecognizable.
"Oi oi oi! Look, look! Another beauty! And she looks like someone important—look, even 'Deadface' is saluting her… almost like a knight's salute."
Mercenaries would be mercenaries. Soon their jeering cut short the silence, and even the melancholy ones pushed forward to gawk.
Whether by design or accident, the dormitory block had been built close to the airfield. For men used to guns and barracks, a little noise was nothing. With soundproofed quarters, there was no real problem. Some even pulled out high-powered binoculars to spy.
...
From a massive assault transport descended a young woman in the uniform of the Imperial Guard. Her golden hair shimmered brilliantly, silk-like strands flowing with the wind. Her refined features embodied what it meant for beauty to be like a painting.
Standing opposite her was Agravain, clad in black plate armor. As he was in charge of dealing with the RDA prisoners, his cold efficiency showed: several of the loudest troublemakers had been dragged out and executed without the slightest hesitation.
Among the RDA employees, there was no shortage of Marines. Following their tradition of giving nicknames, they had dubbed Agravain "Deadface."
"My king."
"Agravain… how many times have I said, I have abdicated. And with my current merits, I have no right to an Imperial peerage. Perhaps when I am granted a fief and rebuild Camelot, you may call me king again."
The golden-haired girl was none other than Artoria.
Having resolved her inner knots, she was no longer the stern, grim figure of the past. Now she could even make light jokes with ease.
And as for rebuilding Camelot—this was no idle boast.
The Nasuverse still existed. With enough military achievement, the Empire could grant Artoria the British Isles as a fiefdom, allowing her to establish the Kingdom of Camelot once more.
In the Sacred Selene Empire, everyone had a bright future.
Smiling faintly over a cup of hot coffee, Artoria waved her hand helplessly. Approaching Agravain, she suddenly rose on her toes, measuring her height against his before nodding with satisfaction. "Mm, you've definitely grown taller."
Selene had fulfilled Merlin's wish, reviving Artoria with a living body. Naturally, the ageless blessing of the holy sword was lifted—she could finally grow again! Among the Sisters of Battle and Valkyries, her petite stature had been a constant source of stress.
She had been teased enough. Artoria had no desire to end up like a certain short bishop of Schicksal who drank bitter gourd juice all day.
"My king, General Durandal awaits in the command tower."
Tap-tap~
Walking half a step ahead, the golden-haired girl strode past the dormitory blocks, her eyes briefly meeting those of the imprisoned RDA employees before moving on. Her gaze settled instead on the severed blue heads mounted in the center of the training ground.
"So these are the Na'vi?"
"Strictly speaking, Avatars. The traitor Jake Sully, and the human scientists who defected to the Na'vi cause."
Alongside Jake Sully and his Na'vi family, a string of human heads hung grimly upon crude execution posts.
At that moment—"Artoria?"
It was Durandal, approaching with documents in hand. "Good timing. I have completed the cleansing of Pandora. What of the other thirteen moons of the Alpha Centauri system?"
"All proceeding smoothly. No signs of higher intelligence like the Na'vi. But, Durandal—are you serious about finishing this entire warzone before the year's end? By Imperial standard time, that doesn't leave much."
"Which is why we must both work harder. Artoria… it's time you left your leisurely feasting behind. From now on, your rations are halved!"
The truth revealed.
"Eh?!!"
...
Honkai Dimension, Imperial Palace.
In the capital, night had fallen. The lights of Schönbrunn Palace dimmed, though guards and attendants still held their posts.
Within the Empress's chambers, Selene reclined. Habits ingrained—and with the nourishment of the Magic Gods more than sufficient—she had overeaten, and now lay sprawled on her bed, digesting in bliss.
Thud—!
The velvet blanket tossed aside, Selene sat upright, rubbing her brow with drowsy eyes.
"Bianka… did she just… sacrifice Pandora's planetary consciousness to me?"
A good method, to be sure—cost her little effort, and was the safest way. But… wasn't it a little too lazy?
Rolling back onto her side, Selene suddenly realized—ah… perhaps she wasn't one to judge others for laziness.
—
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