The morning ceremony finally ended. Mio slipped into the anteroom of the Elector Palace and immediately collapsed onto the sofa. The ladylike grace she’d displayed during the selection ritual vanished like a mirage. She rolled over slightly, gazing up at the ornate ceiling. The palace’s decor could only be described in four words: sheer opulence. The Empire had poured vast wealth into this palace—the birthplace of emperors—a testament to its significance. Still, Mio hadn’t expected the imperial throne to be non-hereditary. The Empire’s political system blended feudal foundations with republican ideals; calling it a republic wouldn’t be inaccurate. Yet, following Earth’s Roman Empire as precedent, imperial succession would inevitably become hereditary someday.

But none of that concerned her. The replacement of slavery by feudalism was historical inevitability, and Mio had no intention of interfering with this world’s timeline. Her sole goal was to kill Yao Ye—to destroy the fallen goddess who had stolen everything from her, shatter her Divine Core, and condemn her to eternal ruin.

Just then, the master of ceremonies opened the gold-leafed doors. Aimee strode in, arms laden with grilled skewers. She wore lightweight armor for ease of movement, a longsword hanging at her waist, her radiant golden hair leaving an impression of splendor.

"Mio, how was the speech?"

"Terrible," Mio replied with a wry smile, sitting up. "I tripped on my dress during my first step onstage. Then I got carried away mid-speech and completely lost track..."

"Here." Aimee handed her a skewer. "From experience, eating always lifts your spirits. Fill your stomach, and your mood will follow."

Faced with Aimee’s earnest smile, Mio couldn’t argue. She took the skewer and bit into it. Juices and spices flooded her mouth—truly delicious.

"This is amazing."

"See? Feeling better?"

"A little happier." Mio tossed the bamboo stick into the trash bin. "The Senate and citizen representatives handle the afternoon session—they’ll evaluate this morning’s speeches. Candidates have nothing to do. Let’s take Talasha and Amber out to explore the city streets. Find some good food. Funds aren’t an issue."

"Perfect!" Aimee’s eyes sparkled. "An impromptu Imperial Capital food tour!"

As they prepared to leave, a gaunt man in dark robes entered the anteroom. Mio recognized the attire—similar to Seralni’s mage. Beside her, Aimee tensed visibly. It wasn’t just his corpse-like appearance; a thick aura of death clung to him.

"Mage," Mio addressed him first, "what brings you here?"

"I am Euplon of the Mage Association," the mage rasped. "I attended the election merely as an attendant, playing a minor role. But I sensed a trace of familiar magic... It seems the great one herself hasn’t returned."

"Regarding magic—" Mio displayed the ring on her finger. "This ring holds enchantment."

"Ah... This belongs to Master Rasputin." Euplon’s skeletal fingers reached out.

Watching the corpse-like mage’s eyes gleam, Mio regretted accepting the ring.

"This ring is precious. Do not display it so carelessly next time." Euplon’s expression turned grim again. "Since you’re the master’s ally, heed my warning: my employer, Charlesman Northenberg, is insatiably greedy. Though he carries the blood of the great Emperor ‘Conqueror’ Caesar, his character and capacity fall far short of imperial worth. Yet... be wary of him. He’s plotting something foul."

"Is this wise?" Mio studied Euplon. "Betraying your employer so easily?"

"No harm done." Euplon’s smile was unnerving. "Though bound by master-servant titles, we merely exploit each other. Mages pledge no easy loyalty. We revere Arcane God Megadon and seek cosmic truths—not vulgar wealth or fame. Still... one must eat. Within our contracted fees, we work diligently."

"Thank you for the warning." Mio bowed slightly.

"If time allows, visit the Mage Association in the Imperial Capital," Euplon added. "Though merely a branch, we can offer substantial aid."

"Noted. I’ll pay my respects."

"Lastly, forgive my impertinence," Euplon fixed his gaze on Mio. "Lady Mio... are you among the living or the dead?"

The question stumped her. "Probably... dead," she answered honestly.

"Mio!" Aimee yanked her behind her back, glaring at Euplon. "Creepy necromancer! You pry too much. The stench of corpses clinging to you has already ruined my appetite!"

"Perceptive, Sword Saint. You see my nature at a glance." Euplon chuckled. "But I mean no harm." He bowed deeply to Mio. "Forgive my rudeness, Lady Mio. I am a necromancer—an outcast even among mages. Studying death is my passion. Yet... to witness one who has embraced death in my lifetime? An honor."

"What do you mean?" Mio asked.

"Resurrection of the dead." Euplon’s smile was faint.

With another bow, he turned and left. Mio exhaled in relief. Though formidable, this necromancer hadn’t pierced her true nature. Had he known her secret—that she was a collective of death itself, a fusion of souls bound by the Fragment of Creation, blessed by the Reaper—he’d have fled in terror. Euplon had only glimpsed the surface: Yao Ye’s resurrection ritual on Theresa’s corpse at Frostwind Fortress was merely the beginning.

"Let’s go," Mio tugged Aimee’s sleeve. "Just the two of us."

"What about Talasha and Amber?"

"Takeout. We’ll bring food back."

"Agreed!"

The two girls left the Elector Palace, embarking on their Imperial Capital food adventure.

***

Marshal Moura flicked blood from his sword. Crimson spread across the pristine white marble floor. Sixteen soldiers lay fallen around him, broken blades scattered like discarded twigs. Though clad in the elite Imperial Guard’s armor, they’d been no match for the battle-hardened marshal. He’d repelled over ten assassination attempts en route to the palace. He’d hoped such filth would cease within these hallowed walls—yet imposters disguised as guards had dared strike. Audacious.

"Fools." Moura sheathed his sword and strode to the balcony. Below, noon sunlight bathed two girls walking hand-in-hand toward the streets.

"The foreign princess and the Sword Saint..." A smile touched his handsome face. "An intriguing pair."

"Marshal!" Two genuine Imperial Guards sprinted over. "What happened?"

"Assassins." Moura’s tone was clipped. "Clean this up. Report to the Senate."

"Yes, sir!" The soldiers saluted sharply.

Leaving the carnage to the real guards, Moura swept his cloak and headed for the palace gates. Bloodshed on the first half-day of elections boded ill for this cycle. But who became emperor mattered little to him. His three legions still fought in the east; his soldiers’ lives weighed heavier on his mind.

"End this farce quickly..." he muttered, stepping through the gates.

***

The Mage Association sat in a corner of the Imperial Capital near the first city wall, bordering the slums. Mio hadn’t expected mages to dwell here. The ancient door was cracked, its iron reinforcements rusted through. Oil stains marked the heavy hinges—recent maintenance, at least. The three-story building was draped in ivy. Had it not borne the Mage Association’s sign, Mio would never have linked this structure to magic.

*Knock-knock.*

Mio rapped the iron knocker. Aimee stood behind her, shoving skewers into her mouth. The gluttonous Sword Saint had devoured street food at an alarming pace—all meat, no hesitation. After five minutes, the door creaked open a sliver. A young robed mage peered out from the darkness within, his gaze icy.

"Lady Mio and Lady Esmeralda?"

"Yes." Mio was slightly surprised. "Were we expected?"

"Master Euplon notified us." The young mage stepped aside. "Come in. Thieves frequent this slum district. Guard your belongings."

"Appreciated."

Mio entered, Aimee close behind. The moment she crossed the threshold, the scene transformed. Where darkness had loomed beyond the door now stood a hall of ancient grandeur. Sunbeams pierced the skylight, illuminating a brass mechanism floating at the hall’s heart. Interlocking rings of gears revolved slowly around a glowing core, humming with arcane energy.

A massive hexagram adorned the floor—the mage’s sigil. Rasputin’s ring bore a miniature version, but this one thrummed with power. The floating device accelerated the hall’s mana circulation to astonishing speeds.

"Welcome to the Imperial Capital Mage Association." An elderly man in white robes descended the stairs. "Ah, the heroes of Seralni! Forgive my tardy greeting." He straightened. "I am Oleg, head here. My studies focus on alchemy and light magic."

"Pleasure to meet you, Master Oleg." Mio bowed lightly.

"Oh... remarkable." Oleg’s eyes glowed with analytical magic. Mio endured his piercing stare in silence.

"My apologies," Oleg retracted his gaze. "A bad habit—I examine anything intriguing with these ‘Appraisal Eyes.’ Forgive my rudeness."

"No offense taken." Mio smiled faintly. "I’m surprised your patron deity is Commerce God Lacond. Mages with Appraisal Eyes are rare."

"A necessary tool for alchemists," Oleg chuckled. "We must discern metal purity. Most of us revere Lacond as our primary deity, though we honor secondary patrons too." His tone shifted. "Lady Esmeralda’s patron is War God Balder, with Justice God Justis as secondary. But Lady Mio’s primary deity... I cannot discern it."

"Merely a minor northern god," Mio replied lightly. "Unworthy of mention."

In her mind, she heard Reaper Deus wail. The world’s paramount death deity, reduced to a "minor northern god." She pictured him rolling on the ground, sobbing.

*Sorry. I’ll apologize properly later.*

"We only came to pay respects," Mio said. "We’ve taken enough of your time."

"Nonsense!" Oleg beamed. "Few visit the Association. Guests are a delight. Should you need aid, contact me. If I’m absent, speak to Victor."

The young mage bowed slightly to Mio; his name was Victor.

"Noted, thank you very much."

After finishing their visit to the Mage Association, Mio and Aimee returned to the streets. The setting sun slowly sank behind the towering walls of the Imperial Capital, while the evening glow spread across the purple sky.

"Let's grab some takeout," Mio said, glancing at Aimee. "Talasha and Amber are waiting for us."

"Mm." Aimee finished the last grilled skewer. Mio handed her a handkerchief, and she casually wiped the oil and spices from her hands. The two girls walked side by side toward the shopping district, completely oblivious to the shadows behind them.

Several assassins quietly drew their weapons—but missiles rained down from the sky, hitting their hideout. The small explosion sparked a commotion in the slums, though it quickly died down.

"What a hassle..." Mio confirmed the airstrike's effect; the assassins were completely wiped out.