Saint of Ethernia

Instead of the clothes that had been utterly crushed under the crushing pressure of Artraia's enormous, bountiful maternal embrace—

"Minister! Over here!"

"Guh?!"

I strapped on the special ceremonial robes Riel had brought me as if equipping some ridiculous piece of gear, then set off at a brisk but carefully non-running pace toward the reception hall of the Imperial Palace.

The outfit was filthy, complicated, and a pain in every possible way—but when dealing with the Precursor Empire, and only then, it was mandatory. Having to wear the damned thing left me both irritated and thoroughly puzzled.

Of all times for those people to show up in person…?

Even before this, the Precursor Empires in the game had almost never engaged with other alien nations. More precisely, the type of Precursor Empire that appeared changed from playthrough to playthrough, and so did their reasons for isolation.

Sometimes it was religious doctrine that forbade interference. Sometimes it was a legal prohibition—something like Star Trek's Prime Directive—against meddling with "lesser species." In other cases they simply found association with lesser races distasteful. There were also those who did interfere… but only on their own arrogant terms. And sometimes they just… didn't. The Precursors were a grab-bag of every possible flavor.

As far as I had mapped this galaxy, there were two major Precursor Empires. One of them was the very power whose envoy had just appeared, unannounced, in our palace reception hall—the same empire whose special forces I had recently annihilated while claiming an ancient warship for myself. They fell into the first category: the ones who claimed religious reasons for non-interference… and yet had been sticking their noses into our business with suspicious frequency of late.

They also ranked among the absolute strongest nations currently dominating the galactic stage on my UI.

Yes. The Ethernia Holy Empire.

And so we had decided to greet the "envoy" who had so abruptly materialized in the reception hall with every scrap of courtesy we could muster. That was why I—who normally wouldn't be caught dead in the thing—had squeezed myself into the hideously complicated, nearly unwearable, movement-restricting formal robes. With the help of the palace attendants I wiped away every last bead of sweat, then followed their guidance as they opened the perfectly oiled and maintained wooden doors of the reception hall. I stepped inside and delivered a flawlessly respectful bow.

"We of the Holy Sevelian Empire offer our most sincere welcome to the envoy of the Ethernia Holy Empire."

In the process the cursed ornaments of the ceremonial garb stabbed mercilessly into my bent abdomen, nearly forcing a groan past my lips… but with superhuman endurance I held it in, kept my expression under iron control, and waited for the other party to acknowledge the greeting.

Looking at it objectively, the whole situation was absurdly artificial. Not long ago I had teabagged their special forces, taken heads, and cheerfully declared, "That ship you wanted? Ours now—good luck!" while throwing every provocation in the book. Yet to Ethernia, all of that still fell within the bounds of acceptable behavior. The best way to put it… was that it felt like a child throwing a tantrum over a toy. Hard to explain cleanly, but that was the vibe.

Killing their special forces? Those people could resurrect their minds back on their homeworld even if their bodies were destroyed. As a culture that took the distinctions between body, mind, and soul with deadly seriousness, their baseline attitude was essentially: Ah, the flesh got a bit wrecked? Mind's still fine, so no big deal. That much wasn't a real problem.

The warning about taking the ship? Even that, on its own, felt more like a parent scolding toddlers who refused to share a toy, then finally sighing and letting them play until they got tired of it.

But all of that only held true inside the carefully drawn lines Ethernia itself had set. If we pulled the same stunts while an actual envoy was standing in front of us? That would be judged as crossing the line—and the true Invincible Fleet they boasted of would burn our entire empire to ash. Our favorability had already taken a hit from the earlier "games." There was zero reason to poke the envoy any further.

So I was sacrificing this one body of mine, doing everything in my power to keep the empire intact.

…Still, I really wished they would hurry up and accept the greeting already.

This is killing me.

The ceremonial decorations were pressing into my abdomen and every other part of my body like a full-body acupressure massage. Just as my endurance was about to snap and cold sweat threatened to reappear on the face I had so carefully wiped clean—

"…That will suffice. You may rise."

At the Ethernian envoy's words I let out an internal sigh of pure relief, straightened my spine, and savored the sudden freedom from the ornaments' crushing grip. Only then could I finally take a proper look at the person standing before me.

Snow-white hair cascaded all the way past the hips in luxurious waves. The face that regarded me held a pair of crimson serpent eyes—so like Artraia's—that fixed me with an unmistakable, unshakable will. The clothing was similar in style to my own ceremonial robes, yet somehow cleaner, more elegant… and, frankly, a lot more comfortable-looking. I felt a sudden urge to track down whoever had invented this ridiculous protocol and give them a piece of my mind.

But then—

"So, child. You are the little one who has lately been making a name for yourself across this galaxy."

"Honored blood of Ethernia, I am hardly so remarkable as that."

She had skipped straight past the situation and gone right into evaluating me. I kept my surprise carefully hidden and took a half-step back, projecting humility rather than arrogance.

"A pity. Even carrying that bloodline, you have yet to awaken its power."

…???

The verbal gut-punch only deepened my confusion about why these ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠people had come at all. The Ethernian envoy simply watched me for a moment, then—

—stroke, stroke.

"?!"

She was a psionic. She was petting my head with telekinesis.

"Doubt not, child."

"…"

For the record, by this world's standards I'm in my late thirties. My mental age might be a little young, but aren't men allowed a bit of that?

While I was thinking that, the envoy's expression grew markedly more serious.

"Hear me well. This Saint of the Ethernia Holy Empire has come to deliver a warning unto you."

The moment those words left her mouth I seriously considered hitting the pause button and fleeing reality. But before I could even try, the self-proclaimed Saint continued.

"The Warp Gate you sealed—the place ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to which it connects is an ancient nightmare that we once locked away."

"…"

"Mashir-Rak-Tar, the Grey Nightmare, nearly broke free into this universe once more. It seemed you had stopped it through the sacrifice of the Nightmare's mother-body that you yourselves brought…"

The fact that she knew every last detail of our internal affairs forced me to pour every ounce of effort into hiding my shock.

"Yet your secretive children… yes, the ones you call Rixi? Some among those little ones long ago unearthed a hidden secret upon one of their worlds."

Personally I wished she would tone down the roundabout, grandmotherly phrasing, but the moment the words registered—

—beep, beep, beep.

The instant the event message flared across my vision, I completely forgot the Ethernian envoy standing right in front of me and nearly spat a string of curses out loud.