The headquarters of the Imperial Ministry of Internal Affairs.
Compared to the magnificent palace built for Selene, the office Sebas chose for himself could only be described as pitifully "small."
The modest-sized room was carpeted with thick rugs. Gilded wall lamps hung upon the walls, alongside relief carvings inlaid with alternating purple and gold patterns.
On the inner side stood a large incense burner converted from a European-style fireplace. Large decorative paintings hung on the walls to either side of it. Nearby rested a velvet-cushioned chaise lounge, and beside it were exquisite porcelain vases offered in tribute from the various worlds under Imperial rule, filled with fresh flowers as decoration.
Overall, the room's arrangement exuded courtly elegance and noble luxury—quite fitting for Sebas' temperament.
A heart fierce as a tiger, yet delicate enough to savor a rose.
The chamber was compact and refined, precisely maintaining the boundary between sovereign and subject, without the slightest hint of overstepping.
Rustle...
At this moment, the room was silent. Bureaucrats of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, attendants, and officers from the Imperial Ministry of War all held their breath, leaving only the soft sound of pages turning.
Separating the stack of urgent documents submitted by the Imperial Ministry of War, Sebas habitually took out his monocle from his coat pocket. He clipped it into his eye socket, letting its single protruding end rest upon the bridge of his nose.
It served no practical function. It was merely a habit—Sebas' way of signaling seriousness.
After all, nearsightedness or presbyopia could never occur in someone like Sebas, the companion Honkai Beast of the Herrscher of Finality.
Reading word by word, Sebas' expression gradually grew solemn. "Preliminary observations... the enemy is an interstellar alien empire, deeply steeped in religious worship, a theocratic spacefaring empire composed of multiple different extraterrestrial species."
Among the contents were conclusive assessments made by departments under the Imperial Ministry of War, as well as verbal reports from advance reconnaissance personnel, including surveillance images and audiovisual records.
"Based on compiled intelligence from reconnaissance units, their sphere of rule appears to cover most of the Orion Arm on the outer side of the Milky Way Galaxy."
"At present, no official or civilian human civilization forces have been encountered. All detected targets are alien species. However, through the downing and capture of multiple alien spacecraft, and by decrypting their central data cores..."
"Although we have yet to decipher their written language, we have obtained considerable fragmented information. One term appears repeatedly. After discussion among reconnaissance personnel, it is speculated to be an English transliteration. The term refers to a place—Reach."
"An English transliteration? Reach... That would suggest a high probability of a human civilization existing. And one that has already entered the interstellar era."
"A dark forest war among the stars—an interstellar conflict between human civilization and alien species will be the central theme of that world."
"Now that truly is a treasure trove. Vast human resources, material wealth, and military technology will certainly not be lacking."
War undoubtedly brings endless suffering to those involved, creating countless human tragedies. Many strongly oppose it.
But a coin always has two sides. One cannot deny that war provides an immense stimulus to technological advancement—especially military technology.
Under the mortal pressure of war, humanity's potential is squeezed to its limits. If you do not grow stronger, you lose. You die. Your family is slaughtered. Your race is enslaved.
It is like holding a blade to your throat and forcing you forward. Coupled with wartime mobilization, the inevitable result is a tilt of social resources toward armament. If resources are not poured into weapons development, defeat becomes certain.
The piling up of manpower and material resources without regard for cost is also an objective driver of technological progress.
For example, the weaponry of the First and Second World Wars was far more advanced than that of the early twentieth century. In the air, on land, and at sea, the types, quality, and destructive power of weapons exploded in growth.
Had one not lived through that period, could anyone at the end of the nineteenth or the beginning of the twentieth century have imagined such a leap within less than half a century?
However, from the Empire's standpoint—and Sebas'—let them fight. The fiercer the better. Ideally, both sides will be grievously wounded, battered to the brink of collapse, and only then will the Empire dispatch its forces to harvest the fruits of victory.
"A tough bone that will require a prolonged grind and hard battles. Fully digesting it will take considerable effort. But it is indeed a big fish—a nourishing feast for Her Majesty."
After carefully reading through the final punctuation mark, Sebas looked up at the officer standing respectfully before his desk.
"Yes!" Understanding Sebas' intent, the officer lightly tapped the wall control panel, projecting the encrypted files sent by the Imperial Ministry of War onto the 3D display at the center of the room.
"Hm?" Closing the folder in his hand, Sebas walked toward the projection device.
"Which legions are responsible for this campaign of conquest?"
"Report! It is the Astartes Second Legion, the Retributors, under Great General Budo! Supported by General Konrad Curze's Eighth Legion, the Night Lords; General Angron's Twelfth Legion, the World Eaters; and General Corvus Corax's Nineteenth Legion, the Raven Guard!"
"Budo and the others, hm. Tell them not to rush. Dispatch more reconnaissance units. Make thorough preparations before launching the offensive. Do not charge in recklessly."
"At the same time, avoid indiscriminate extermination policies against aliens. Capture some prisoners for interrogation. For alien species that voluntarily surrender, a policy of leniency may be applied."
Sebas' meaning was clear—take in certain alien species as hounds. Divide and dismantle them. It would reduce suicidal resistance, provide guides, and supply additional cannon fodder. The benefits outweighed the drawbacks.
After a brief pause, Sebas added, "This is merely advice. Specific frontline engagement decisions remain at the discretion of the Great General. Do not embellish my words. Convey them exactly as spoken."
"Yes!"
On the projection screen, the diminutive alien species were instantly torn into chunks of flesh by the elite reconnaissance troops of the Second Legion Retributors. Sebas did not spare them a glance. His attention was entirely drawn to the alien spacecraft.
Unlike the Empire's massive warships—shaped by a certain individual's aesthetic into flying cathedrals and palaces, embodiments of brute-force grandeur—the alien vessels were predominantly streamlined, with few sharp angles. They appeared agile, almost carrying a fresh and minimalist charm.
It was a design philosophy utterly different from the Imperial Navy's pure aesthetic of war and violence.
After so long using one's own "noble ladies," sampling a "modest beauty" now and then... had its own distinct flavor.
After observing closely for a full minute, Sebas suddenly lowered his head and gave an order, tossing out a shield-shaped token.
"The reconnaissance forces may not be sufficient. Inform the Imperial Assassination Unit and the Assassin Division of the Inquisition—it is time for them to stretch their muscles."
"..."
At his feet, the pitch-black shadow writhed in response. Accompanied by the appearance of a pair of blood-red eyes, a bluish-black hand slowly emerged, took the token, and then withdrew back into the darkness, vanishing as though it had never existed.
Immediately afterward, a flash of violet light flickered at Sebas' fingertips. A crystalline cube materialized instantly.
"Milady, an urgent document. It concerns the interstellar empire type you specifically emphasized. Please review it and render your decision."
Bzz—!
Having completed everything at hand, Sebas waved his hand. The teardrop-shaped alien spacecraft projection was instantly disassembled into dozens of components.
He began examining each part one by one when a voice suddenly sounded.
"Report: Lord Sebas, Dr. Stylish requests an audience."
"Show the doctor in."
With Sebas' permission, the guard gently pushed open the wooden office door. Carrying a briefcase and dressed in a white lab coat, Dr. Stylish spread his arms wide and bowed exaggeratedly.
Sebas shut down the 3D projection and glanced at him before returning to his desk.
"Dr. Stylish, you've come at just the right time. The time-sensitive viral bomb research you previously proposed—are your preparations complete?"
Sebas had disciplined Dr. Stylish more than once. Although he was not particularly fond of the man's flamboyant and unrestrained behavior, scientific madmen always came with all sorts of eccentricities. Sebas understood—and tolerated—it.
"Of course, it's ready—" Dr. Stylish hurried to sit opposite Sebas, pulling a stack of documents from his briefcase and laying them out one by one on the desk. "Part of it."
"Part of it?" Sebas looked up again. "Does the doctor have some requirement?"
For a scientist who would rather eat and sleep in the laboratory to voluntarily step out of his "little hut" and approach bureaucrats—especially at headquarters—there were only a few possible reasons. Lack of funding, lack of authority, or lack of experimental materials. Sebas could think of no other.
"As expected of Lord Sebas..."
"Speak plainly. What do you need?"
"Straightforward, I like that. Well..." After a brief hesitation, Dr. Stylish ventured, "Mr. Sebas, I require more goblin materials. The viral bomb development materials have been used up."
After a pause, he added, "Specifically goblins from the Fifth Trial World under the Imperial Ministry of War. Preferably more than one hundred thousand. That way I can accelerate development..."
"Used up?" Sebas' voice rose several degrees. His excellent memory instantly retrieved the Imperial Science Bureau's report log from three days prior.
Setting down his fountain pen, he questioned, "If I recall correctly, three days ago the Fifth Trial World submitted no fewer than eight thousand captured goblins. Don't tell me that in less than three days, nearly ten thousand goblins have all been dissected by you?"
"Well, a rather interesting new member joined us. She's energetic and wishes to challenge my position as chief. So I competed with her a few times..."
"A few times?" Sebas repeated the quantitative phrase with emphasis.
He must have gotten carried away.
Rubbing his forehead, Sebas sighed. "Doctor, explain something for me. Why only goblins from the Fifth Trial World under direct control of the Imperial Ministry of War? As far as I know, several resource worlds also produce goblins. What's the difference?"
"The difference is enormous!" The moment the topic touched his interest point, Dr. Stylish reacted as though struck by electricity. Spinning on one foot, he pulled out his personal notebook from the briefcase.
"Lord Sebas, grant me authorization."
"Granted." The response was somewhat weary.
The projection activated again. This time, the scene of the Imperial Science Bureau's headquarters laboratory appeared.
Bang!
With sound.
Inside a cage filled with shrill howls, a guard swung his baton, sending a goblin flying two meters across the floor. Beside him, another researcher in protective gear raised his hand and brutally tore out its heart.
The scene was grotesquely violent.
Looking to the side of the cage, seven or eight goblin juveniles were curled up in the corner. They stared fearfully at the Imperial soldiers, emitting "gala gala" cries.
Snot and tears smeared across their faces. They looked terrified—almost harmless.
"You're showing me this? No wonder your materials are being consumed so quickly..."
Hearing the dissatisfaction in Sebas' tone, Dr. Stylish remained unfazed and added with a grin, "Lord Sebas, have you noticed that this group of goblins consists only of males?"
"Hm? Indeed... Is that a problem?"
"Don't be fooled by their harmless appearance. According to the capture reports, when they were taken, several half-devoured human female corpses were found in their nest."
"Only female corpses?" Sebas already had a suspicion.
"Precisely. They are a unisexual species. Mammals—yet entirely male. Completely different from goblins in other worlds, and utterly inconsistent with natural evolutionary laws. In other words, they are the product of deliberate intervention by a 'god.'"
As he spoke, Dr. Stylish reached out to the projection, his voice lowering.
"Furthermore, their DNA similarity to humans exceeds that of laboratory mice—over ninety-nine percent.
"Genetically speaking, they can be regarded as another morphological variant of humanity. Which means—they are naturally ideal human test materials!"
"Oh? In that case, perhaps these goblins should not be exterminated after all. They have their uses."
"Exterminated?! What do you mean exterminated?! These little 'cuties'—how could anyone bear to harm them? Which heartless person proposed that?!"
And you have a conscience?
On the projection screen, guards coldly dragged the goblin juveniles out of the cage one by one. No matter how they shrieked, they could not escape becoming experimental subjects.
Their terrified screams likely resembled those of the human women they had once captured. However, in Dr. Stylish's hands, their fate would be far more miserable than simple death.
"Esdeath submitted an application for Exterminatus. You're fortunate. Her Exterminatus request has been withheld by Her Majesty."
"Her Majesty is wise!" Dr. Stylish exclaimed.
"Enough, doctor. Save your flattery for when Her Majesty returns. For now, you may go collect your materials."
At last, Sebas used his administrative authority to sign an official order and handed it to Dr. Stylish, who waited eagerly like a fly rubbing its hands.
"Hah..."
Watching Dr. Stylish depart in high spirits, Sebas rose and looked out at the garden scenery beyond the window. He stared at his own palm and murmured,
"Viral bombs. Bacteriological weapons. Exterminatus... Truly, the world is unpredictable."
Who would have thought that an old man whose major was architecture and fine arts, with a minor in management, would end up here?
At that moment, the cube belonging to Sebas on the desk suddenly trembled. A translucent projected hand reached out and touched his own.
"There is no need for such thoughts. Your hands are not dirty. The one stained is me."
"Milady, you..."
"I've reviewed the file you sent. Informing you—Sebas, you will need to continue holding acting decision-making authority for a while longer. I won't be returning to the Imperial Capital just yet."
"Milady, are you planning to..."
"Mm. I'll go directly to the front lines." Selene's projection clasped her hands before her chest as she spoke calmly. "It's been a long time since I moved my body. I'd like to vent a little—stretch my muscles."
"I will personally smash through that galaxy."
"Uh... as long as Milady is pleased."