"Your Majesty, what is the Witch Cult?"
"An evil cult."
Selene's gaze swept toward Alyssa, who was kneeling by the low table, muttering to herself while curiously flipping through the briefing documents. Setting down her wineglass, Selene rested her chin on one hand while the other slowly stirred the blue, spherical jelly in her bowl with a spoon.
"A terrorist organization made up of lunatics, madmen, obsessives, perverts, pitiful wretches, fools, riddle-speakers, and pyramid-scheme leaders. They manufacture and spread so-called witch worship to beguile and deceive others—a heap of garbage."
...It almost sounded like she was insulting herself as well.
But Selene had long since become a qualified ruler.
Double standards, hypocrisy, unilateral definitions, standing on the moral high ground to lecture others, insisting "I decide what is right"—such maneuvers came to her as naturally as breathing.
As she calmly evaluated the Witch Cult for interfering with the renovation and construction of her imperial residence, Selene continued indulging her appetite. She poured freshly squeezed, additive-free seasonal fruit juice from the Great Jura Forest over the blue jelly, then sprinkled it with powdered sugar.
"They contribute nothing to the development of productive forces, create no value, and possess no value. Their existence is a sin."
After skimming the illustrated briefing, Selene was certain the Witch Cult had earned its designation as a hostile force—and why Leiva's Third Legion was clamoring to eradicate them.
They were simply too ugly.
At a glance, none of them resembled law-abiding citizens.
Aside from one white-haired individual who looked vaguely normal, the rest were grotesque: a deranged woman wrapped head to toe in bandages, a scantily clad aberrant creature, a filthy, hideous dwarf with a vicious face. The sort who would be singled out immediately by patrol officers the moment they stepped onto the street.
The Imperial military did not discriminate based on appearance.
But if you were already unsightly and the crimes you committed were heinous enough to outrage heaven and humanity, the effect was greater than the sum of its parts.
You were a criminal.
It was a very realistic judgment.
"Fine on the outside, rotten within" might be shameful—but it was effective.
Sentient beings were visual creatures. Rational lifeforms still judged by appearances. First impressions mattered.
The Witch Cult's first impression on the Black Templars Legion had been utterly negative. A quick investigation revealed the truth.
A terrorist organization.
The Sacred Selene Empire might employ rough methods, but it was still a legitimate, orthodox state.
How could it possibly associate with these anti-order, anti-civilization, anti-reason psychopaths?
They were not even worth absorbing.
An evil cult.
That was the final and complete classification agreed upon by Selene and Leiva.
In some ways, it was an even more severe judgment than heresy.
Though Selene herself was often denounced as an evil god by hidden dissidents in colonial worlds, by the enemies the military was conquering, or by profiteering merchants drained of blood and bone—
On the surface, she had never borne such a title.
The most derogatory epithet she had received publicly was something neutral like "Chaos God."
No colonial governor would be foolish enough to submit a memorial accusing the Empress of "evil."
Within the Sacred Selene Empire, heresy could refer to lost lambs who had not yet bathed in the radiance of the Divine Empress.
Those beings in unconquered worlds were merely temporarily astray.
The Divine Empress possessed great benevolence and love. The Empire granted them the choice to return to the "right path."
At the same time, heresy could also refer to Imperial subjects who knowingly chose to stray.
In short, the crime of heresy could be minor—or absolute.
Generally speaking, the former was light. The latter, once confirmed, was a death sentence. After all, every serious criminal within the Empire bore at least one charge of heresy.
But evil cults were different.
There was no such thing as a lost lamb among them.
A heretic could convert.
An evil cultist could not.
Having said that, Selene scooped up a large spoonful of the Great Jura Forest's bounty.
Slurp...
She took a delicate sip. Her crimson lips parted slightly, her teeth met softly. Closing her eyes, Selene allowed a faint smile to curl at the corner of her mouth.
Refreshing. Smooth. Pleasantly chilled.
"Even a single slime has more value than those psychopaths."
The Witch Cult. Witch Factors.
Looking at the twisted, deformed, half-mad appearances of those cultists, Selene had no interest in consuming such things.
The nourishment was meager, and their "color, aroma, and flavor" were entirely negative.
There was no need to debase herself.
Selene was indeed ruthless enough to devour a Chaos God like Nurgle whole.
But that required sufficient rank and intrinsic value.
The Sin Archbishops of the Witch Cult—and the hidden Witch of Vainglory lurking in the shadows—were clearly unqualified.
Let the Black Templars crush their physical vessels.
On the supra-energetic plane, let the swelling expansion of Imaginary Space's factors from the Honkai dimension swallow them and erase them entirely.
"Oh."
Holding the folder open, Alyssa scratched her head, her gaze lingering on the briefing entry titled:
"The Witch Cult's Executed Sin Archbishop of Sloth: Petelgeuse Romanée-Conti."
She looked half-comprehending.
"So in other words, unrecyclable social trash that must be completely exterminated?"
"That is one way to put it. Let's not dwell on such unpleasant matters. By the time we arrive, Leiva will have already cleaned up the place."
"Then, Your Majesty, what exactly is a witch?"
The gray-haired, blue-eyed girl tilted her head adorably as she looked at Selene.
She was even more curious now.
According to the Black Templars' compiled rural intelligence interviews, what kind of witch could inspire such manic devotion from the man on the wanted poster—
A skeletal figure, skin stretched tightly over bone, face pale as a corpse, bloodshot eyes bulging as though ready to burst. Even through a mere sketch, his hysteria seemed capable of leaping from the page.
What sort of witch could make such a madman—whose very presence evoked disease and death—so enamored?
It was true that by the time Imperial forces arrived, the Sin Archbishop of Sloth, Petelgeuse, had already been killed by the faction of Emilia—one of the five Royal Selection candidates of the Kingdom of Lugunica.
But that did not prevent Imperial investigators from digging deeper.
As the most active Sin Archbishop, more than half of the Witch Cult's extremist religious activities and terrorist attacks over the past century had been orchestrated by him.
Within Lugunica, there were countless witnesses and victims who knew of his deeds.
"When you go there, you'll find out."
Smiling faintly, Selene passed the specially prepared chilled blue jelly to Alyssa.
"I'm on vacation. Do as you like. Treat this journey as a grand adventure, a great detective story, or a treasure hunt, little Alyssa."
"I have little interest in the Witch Cult or witches. If you're curious, then research them. Unearth their secrets."
What she did not say was—grave robbing.
After all, the Seven Witches of Sin were already dead.
Drowned, starved, burned—each with their own end. Some were sealed away.
Beyond the seven, there were two more hidden outside recorded history—one witch and one warlock.
Each of them held secrets well worth excavating.
Selene herself had no interest. Perhaps, in the future, they would be unearthed during the construction of the palace complex and burned away, or assimilated and degraded when the tides of Honkai energy arrived. But since Alyssa was curious, she could play and explore. Selene would simply lie back and watch.
"Mm. Your Majesty, don't treat me like a child."
Though she said so, the expression on Alyssa's face as she accepted the chilled jelly from Selene clearly showed she was tempted.
Taking small bites while staring at the blue jelly shaved ice in her bowl, she seemed to think of something. A mischievous, little-devil smile curved across her pretty face.
"Hehe, Your Majesty, I won't tell anyone. Your vacation pastime is really too wicked..."
"To think you take pleasure in scaring slimes."
That was correct. The raw ingredient for the iced dessert Selene was currently enjoying was the specialty slime of the Great Jura Forest.
Alyssa still remembered the expression of that slime named Rimuru when he returned to the guest hall after resolving the invasion and probing of human kingdoms and Demon Lords—only to witness Selene eating wild slimes she had captured from the Great Jura Forest as jelly.
That feeling had been wonderful.
Ever since then, Rimuru always seemed to avoid the Empress, as though afraid that on a whim she might chop him up on the spot and turn him into shaved-ice ingredients.
"..."
Having finished her chilled dried-fruit powdered-sugar slime shaved ice, Selene was now considering whether to dip the next flavor in vinegar or black syrup. At Alyssa's words, her brow arched slightly, and she cast a suspicious glance at the gray-haired, blue-eyed girl.
When did this little one awaken a mischievous streak? Why did I not know?
Swish—thud!
"Ow!"
A hand chop descended. Tactical tea-time.
Ignoring Alyssa's impending whimpering protests, Selene snapped her fingers. A manifested claw from Imaginary Space seized Alyssa by the back collar and pressed her down onto the workbench not far from the tea table.
Selene extended a finger.
"Go. Complete the assignment I gave you. Using a non-sentient slime as material, endow it with spirituality. Program and modify it into a mystic code with the properties of Volumen Hydrargyrum."
"Oh."
Alyssa nimbly climbed into her seat and began carefully examining the blue slime on the workbench, which was currently devouring and digesting various magical herbs. Her expression turned serious and tranquil, wholly focused—radiating obedience and composure.
"Hm..."
With a light snort, Selene lifted her spoon slightly, a faint, carefree smile touching her lips.
Alyssa's interruption brought back memories of the little holiday interlude that had taken place not long ago in the Jura-Tempest Federation.
On a whim, following a local recipe, Selene had used slime as jelly and frozen it into shaved ice. She had been caught in the act by Rimuru, who had just returned in triumph.
After that, Rimuru's terrified little gaze had never dared to appear before Selene in his original slime form again.
Aside from that, Selene's remaining days in the monster kingdom had been simple—eat, drink, indulge in pleasures without extravagance. Enjoying the dances of goblin beauties, the service of dryads, the flattery of dragonfolk and ogres...
Incidentally, as the Imperial Inspector of the suzerain state, Selene had received Gazel Dwargo, ruler of the Armed Nation of Dwargon, who had come to assess the situation. She offered him a suitable measure of intimidation—enhancing Rimuru's persuasive leverage.
There were also minor episodes such as frightening away the delegation from the Beast Kingdom of Eurazania; casually suppressing Milim Nava, who had come again due to the anomalies in her friend Rimuru's federation; crushing the oldest Demon Lord, the "Mediator," Guy Crimson, to the brink of death when he came to challenge her; and annihilating the Eastern Empire's infiltration unit that attacked the guest district.
All for a single principle.
Do not disturb me.
Selene obliterated anyone—human or monster—who sought her out or interfered with her vacation.
As for the consequences, she did not concern herself.
Before Selene departed, the Jura-Tempest Federation had already declared the annexation of the Kingdom of Falmuth, and Rimuru had led his high-end forces to invade Demon Lord Clayman's puppet state.
After that, whether Rimuru continued residing in the Jura Forest or moved elsewhere would depend entirely on his own performance.
"Ah... refreshing."
After reviewing those memories, Selene lightly swirled the semi-translucent blue chunks in her bowl.
What a remarkable discovery—edible slimes.
Foraging was one of the great joys of vacation, was it not?
Although... why had she never seen slime listed as an ingredient in the Imperial Capital's menus?
Were slimes from other colonial worlds inedible? Or was their culinary value too low to qualify as ingredients? That was entirely possible.
Then again, given her well-known preference for rare magical beasts and powerful ferocious creatures, it was unlikely that imperial chefs or provincial governors compiling tribute lists would dare to present slimes.
"Water Gate City—Pristella..."
Selene picked up the summary report Leiva had sent once more.
"Which witch was buried here again? It seems Leiva has chosen this as the site for the main palace complex."
Was this not equivalent to holding a festival atop someone's grave?
A taboo?
Impossible. Would Selene fear ghosts? Ghosts ought to fear her.
"No wonder the Witch Cult's influence here is considerable..."
...
Exterminate.
To eradicate. To kill without remainder.
The efficiency of the Imperial military was extremely high. At the very moment Selene issued her order while eating slime dessert and humming a tune, Legion Commander Leiva transmitted the command to utterly wipe out every trace of the Witch Cult's existence.
In the Kingdom of Lugunica, the Holy Vollachian Empire, the Kararagi City-State Republic, and the Holy Kingdom of Gusteko, the ruling classes almost simultaneously discovered that the so-called Sacred Selene Empire's "Imperial delegations"—which had entered their territories under the pretext of diplomacy, surveying, land purchases, commerce, and construction—were undergoing large-scale mobilization and war preparations.
Before the territorial nobles of each nation could even demand an explanation, the Astartes of the Third Black Templars Legion—who had only recently been acting as overseers of construction—along with their auxiliary and servant forces, launched sweeping purge operations.
Personnel lists?
There were none.
Was the Witch Cult not rigidly hierarchical internally? One could roughly determine rank by the density of witch miasma alone. Rumor even held that individuals bearing heavy witch miasma—even if not official cult members—could issue simple commands to cultists.
With the aid of detection instruments such as energy avian diviners and other scanners, the Black Templars began scouring the world for individuals carrying witch miasma and exterminating them.
Meanwhile, at the border of the Kingdom of Lugunica, within the territory of Count Mathers.
A simple yet extremely high-level council—at least by the standards of this world's natives—was underway.
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