I Am Honkai-Chapter 812: Your Gluttonous Feast, Another’s Hongmen Banquet
"...The insignia..."
The silver-haired girl removed the Dragon Insignia and placed it in her palm.
In the next instant, a streak of red light flashed across Emilia’s violet-blue eyes from the dimmed emblem.
The glare was dazzling—yet only for a heartbeat. A breath later, the light extinguished. The once richly textured, glowing golden dragon crest turned gray. The roughly triangular insignia itself became increasingly brittle, cracks spreading across its surface as though it would disintegrate at any moment. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦
"What happened to my family’s token..."
"No—my insignia!"
"What is going on?"
As Emilia removed the abnormal Dragon Insignia, the other Royal Selection candidates—who had likewise been ’invited’ by the Sacred Selene Empire’s military to attend the banquet at Pristella Palace—felt that same penetrating chill. One by one, they took out their own insignias.
At the very same moment, their respective Dragon Insignias emitted a final burst of brilliance. For a single breath, the corridor of the side hall was dyed in multicolored radiance—then it vanished in an instant.
The source of the light was undoubtedly the jewel embedded within each insignia. Yet it was like a final flash before death. When the last flicker of candlelight burned out, the rootless drifting flame—no longer replenished by the Dragon’s origin—could not continue to exist.
Crack!
The unprecedentedly dim Dragon Insignias shattered.
The Royal Selection emblems, set with Dragon Jewels, crumbled like sand that had lost its solid form. Like a fleeting dragon’s mournful roar, they slipped through the fingers of the Royal Selection candidates of Lugunica and scattered with the wind.
"How could this be..."
The trembling whisper came from Emilia.
The object that represented their qualification to participate in Lugunica’s Royal Selection—the emblem that symbolized recognition of the covenant forged by the Divine Dragon Volcanica—had shattered!
This was something that had never occurred in the four-hundred-year history of the Kingdom of Lugunica. It not only meant that all of them had lost their qualifications for the Royal Selection—more critically, it meant that the Divine Dragon Volcanica had completely severed the covenant!
"So even the Divine Dragon has yielded to the Empire?"
The one who reacted to those words was Crusch Karsten.
The military-clad beauty with long green hair slowly scattered the last grains of sand from her palm, her narrow amber eyes wavering with complexity.
Though she had always emphasized independence—advocating that "what belongs to God belongs to God, what belongs to Caesar belongs to Caesar," and calling for severing the contract with the Divine Dragon and abandoning the kingdom’s reliance upon it—now that the moment had truly arrived, Crusch realized she was far less composed than she appeared.
Their expressions varied.
The glamorous girl with orange hair bit down on her folding fan.
The petite, delicate purple-haired girl sank into thought.
The blonde, red-eyed girl grinned carelessly, baring her sharp canine tooth.
"It seems your Divine Dragon has made its decision."
Seated within the side hall, observing the reactions of the ’voluntary’ guests, a silver-haired giant over four meters tall—clad in ornate ceremonial master-crafted power armor—slowly swirled his teacup.
How could the Dragon Jewels not shatter? Your Divine Dragon Volcanica has likely already been cooked by now. Judging by the time, the dishes should be reaching the banquet table. We must quicken the pace. I cannot allow you insects to delay my attendance at the All-Dragon Banquet.
The commander of the Third Legion of Astartes muttered inwardly.
"Take your seats, ladies of the Royal Selection from Lugunica."
Beneath neatly trimmed facial hair was the handsome face of a mature man. Leiva extended a hand in a courteous gesture.
He still acknowledged their status as Royal Selection candidates.
Of course he did. Without them, who would represent the Kingdom of Lugunica? The royal line had ended, and the Council of Wise Men was merely a council. Re-elect a king? He did not have the patience for that.
As long as the five of them had once been recognized by Lugunica as Royal Selection candidates, that was sufficient. After this banquet, their Royal Selection identities would naturally become meaningless.
"Please."
The gesture was precise, like a court blade. The Black Templars’ honor guard flawlessly played every role required of a formal assembly. The nearly three-meter-tall giants in violet-gold armor cast their towering shadows over the delicate young women.
Only then did Emilia and the others begin to discreetly observe the hall.
There were chieftains and noble families from the northern Holy Kingdom of Gusteko, clad in snowfield furs. Great merchants from the Kararagi city-states. Military grand nobles from the Vollachian Empire. Kings and lords from dozens of smaller nations.
Every single one of them wore an expression of muted terror.
At the highest step stood an enormous figure none could ignore. Though he appeared leisurely, no one doubted that he possessed the power to erase everyone in the hall—along with their nations and people—from existence.
Because—
When one inhaled the air within the hall, beyond the fragrance of delicacies, there lingered a faint fishy scent and the metallic tang of rust.
The smell of blood.
A shadow crossed Emilia’s brow as she exchanged a glance with Crusch.
To be selected as Royal Candidates, despite appearing like sheltered noble ladies untouched by hardship, each of them had walked her own path of growth. The scent of blood—killing or injuring, brushing against life and death—was not unfamiliar to them.
"Please."
Under the guidance of the Black Templars warriors, they arrived at their seats. Several soldiers of the Empire’s auxiliary forces were meticulously wiping down the tables.
In that fleeting glance before sitting, Emilia saw what their cleaning tools were pushing aside—
Fragments of human remains. Shredded flesh. Bone shards. An eyeball.
Ah!
Instinctively covering her mouth, Emilia sat at the now-polished seat. Yet she could not calm herself. Looking at the delicacies set before her, nausea surged. Her throat tightened. Her stomach churned.
"Very well. You are all intelligent people. Let us continue the agenda."
"Abdicate. Change your banners. Swear fealty. Pay taxes. Accept oversight. Permit garrisons. Standardize decrees, measures, and governance across all territories. Abandon your unrealistic fantasies. I will grant you provisional Imperial citizenship. After three complete tax cycles and a successful review, you will be formally naturalized."
Leiva’s deep, resonant voice—clear without being overtly severe—echoed through the hall, jolting the girls from their unsettled daze.
There was no time to dwell on nausea. This concerned their future. Even outsiders to politics like Emilia and Felt began to weigh the matter seriously.
In short, Leiva’s meaning was unmistakable.
Lugunica would cease to be a political entity and become merely a geographical term. All factions—whether ’heads of chickens’ or ’tails of phoenixes’—would lose autonomy. The old noble hierarchy would be abolished entirely.
"General, the Harold Trade Confederation accepts the Empire’s sacred mandate. Long live the Empire. May the great Empress Selene reign eternal. Please accept the repentance of your humble servant."
The first to declare his stance was a great merchant from western Kararagi. Clad in desert robes and a headscarf, the bearded middle-aged man solemnly knelt beneath the massive screen behind Leiva, upon which the blurred image of the Divine Empress was carved.
Then followed the feudal lords of the smaller kingdoms...
Recalling how those few minutes earlier had spoken harshly and defiantly—only to be reduced to mangled corpses—these men understood that if they continued to resist, death was certain. Better a dead fellow than a dead self.
Clinging to the instinct to survive, they prostrated themselves in submission.
Under Leiva’s silent gaze and the intimidation of armed guards standing along the hall’s perimeter, the military nobles and territorial lords of the southern Vollachian Empire, as well as the chieftains of the northern Holy Kingdom of Gusteko, stepped forward one by one and bowed their proud heads deeply.
Was it herd mentality? Fear and obedience born of the Empire’s display of overwhelming force? Or the will of individuals and families to survive crushing pride and loyalty?
Leiva did not care. He only required results.
As for surrendering today and rebelling tomorrow—hmph. To this day, Leiva had yet to hear of anyone escaping unscathed. Even if it meant fighting until mountains of corpses piled high, even if this fully industrialized life-bearing planet had to be abandoned, the Imperial military would eradicate them all. Not one spared. At any cost.
Thud.
Thud. Thud.
Armored fingers tapped rhythmically against the table. Leiva set down his teacup with a slight motion. The sound was soft, yet it struck like a hammer against the chests of those still hesitating.
As he slowly rose to his feet, his over-four-meter-tall frame stretched long under deliberately positioned lighting. The shadow cast behind him resembled the scythe of Death sweeping slowly across the hall—resting at each person’s throat, as if ready to sever life and everything attached to it in the next instant.
"Hahahahaha..."
Watching hundreds of native elites—those who once stood at the pinnacle of planetary power—collapse under the pressure, cowed by the example made of others, while only a handful of feudal lords remained seated, faces either strained or calmly resigned, Leiva laughed heartily and accepted a wine vessel from his adjutant acting as chamberlain.
"Heroes of a realm, all gathered within Our Empress’ net. To join together in this grand endeavor—this is a momentous occasion!"
A lie.
In truth, Leiva was eager to finish this tedious affair and return to dine with his sovereign. Yet lazy as he might be, he had principles. A touch of perfectionism. If he undertook a task, it had to be completed properly—completed beautifully—before he would present himself before Her Majesty.
That was the distinctive style he had instilled in the Third Black Templars Legion.
With a voice rich in emotion and sonorous conviction—so persuasive he nearly believed himself—Leiva delivered what must have been his countless act of accepting surrender.
"Blood for the Empress. Skulls for the Golden Throne!"
As he proclaimed the final affirmation of legitimacy, Leiva raised his wine vessel high and swept his arm outward.
Crash!
At once, along one side of the grand hall, a section of wall—converted by the auxiliary engineering corps into a mechanized partition—slid open. Brilliant sunlight poured inside. Beyond the railing and waterway, atop a raised platform—
Execution stages.
"That’s... the Sin Archbishops!"
Having only just taken her seat and already overwhelmed by the rapidly shifting situation, Emilia instinctively looked toward the platform—and immediately recognized the grotesque figures bound upon the stages.
"Bastard! How could I possibly die?! I am the Lion and King beloved by the world and the Witch—ghk! Ugh—aaaghhh—!"
Limbs pierced by specially forged Honkai crystal spears, violet-red corrosion patterns spreading across his veins, the white-haired, pale-skinned, golden-eyed youth—face bruised and body riddled with wounds—howled in agony.
"Identity confirmed. Sin Archbishop of Greed, Regulus Corneas. Sentence: death. Immediate execution."
A gravity hammer smashed one of the condemned man’s legs into pulp. The Black Templars warrior declared the judgment without expression.
The greatest destruction and losses during the encirclement of Watergate City had been caused by this man. His combat prowess was not particularly remarkable, but that Authority—called ’Lion’s Heart’—had been truly disgusting to deal with.
"Sin Archbishop of Gluttony—Lye Batenkaitos (Gourmet) and Roy Alphard (Bizarre Eating)."
Two nearly identical short, emaciated men with half-burned, messy dark-brown hair, shark-like teeth, and emerald eyes with yellow blotches at their centers—grotesque as malformed twins.
"Sin Archbishop of Wrath—Sirius Romanée-Conti."
A madwoman wrapped in bandages, her face marred by burn scars.
"Sin Archbishop of Lust—Capella Emerada Lugunica."
A woman nailed to the execution stage, scantily dressed, limbs twisted into inhuman forms.
"Execute."
At the executioner’s command, the waiting Black Templars warriors swung their chainswords. In terms of spectacle, chain weapons were far more explosive than power weapons.
Bzzzz—
Monomolecular teeth churned. Human tissue disintegrated in an instant. Intestines, viscera, shredded flesh, bone fragments, and blood sprayed in every direction.
Bound by restraining chains that sealed their Authorities and impaled by Honkai crystal spikes that corroded their bodies, the Sin Archbishops were sawed apart piece by piece by the Black Templars executioners.
When the segments containing neck and chest were severed, only grotesque heads remained upon the stages—picked up by the executioners.
To prevent any bizarre resurrection of the Witch Cult or the Witch Factors seeking new hosts, their heads—along with the remnants of their bodies—were thrown into a melta-Honkai ion incinerator and reduced completely to ash.
"With the heretical cult extinguished, an age of peace begins." Were there still remnants of the cult?
Leiva drained his cup in one swallow and flung it toward the center of the hall. The shattering of porcelain echoed like the breaking hearts of those still resisting.
Refuse—and you will share the Witch Cult’s fate.
How fitting it would sound: the Witch Cult’s final desperate uprising, the attending lords tragically slain.
At last, the representative of the northern Gusteko Holy Church could endure no more and collapsed to his knees with a dull thud.
Even the royal envoy of the Vollachian Empire—long preaching the law of the strong devouring the weak—recognized reality. Struggle was futile. The Sin Archbishop of Greed, who had once single-handedly conquered their impregnable fortress city of Garkla and slain the demi-human general known as ’Battle God Eight-Arms Kurgan,’ had just been executed.
They were stronger than you.
He surrendered.
Witnessing all of this, Emilia might have been idealistic—but she was not foolish. At this moment she understood that their being ’invited’ here had been nothing more than a perfunctory formality. A courtesy.
Her stance would change nothing. The outcome had already been decided.
She exchanged glances with her fellow candidates. Felt was indifferent. Anastasia, ever the merchant, would not throw her life away. Priscilla would submit to the stronger. Crusch accepted the bitter truth.
"Lugunica... is willing to submit to the Empire..."
...
Several minutes later, atop the central tower of Pristella Palace.
"Efficient as ever, Leiva. A textbook combination—coercion and inducement, pressure through power, elimination of dissent, execution as warning. I am quite satisfied with your handling of the Palace World."
Within the semi-open hall above, the Imperial Empress—who had restrained her pace of eating in deference to the absent host—lifted her crimson eyes, now gleaming with interest after observing the proceedings.
"Come. Take your seat and drink with me."
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