Interlude: The Empire's Holy Capital

The Imperial Capital. The sacred metropolis. The most magnificent and colossal fortress in existence.

Gloria sips tea with the newly awakened Alisa, explaining everything that's transpired in her absence. The gist of it goes like this.

After the Mage Tower's destruction, they mobilized massive armies to seize various magic artifacts and creatures. They gathered the fragments of Alisa, who had turned to stone, and began restoration efforts. And then Gloria staged a coup, overthrowing the royal family, declaring the nation no longer a holy kingdom but an empire, and proclaiming herself empress.

In response, provincial nobles rebelled, sparking a civil war. Following that, they raided the dwarven nation, reducing the dwarves to second-class citizens for exploitation, and assaulted the giants' alliance, enslaving vast numbers of giants.

With the empire now in her grasp, Gloria launched all the policies, research, and developments she'd long postponed.

Gloria explains everything she knows as concisely and efficiently as possible.

Alisa nods calmly, though a flicker of surprise crosses her face. Watching her, Gloria senses something off—an uncanny dissonance in her demeanor. She's changed. Like a different person entirely.

Gloria knows she's changed too, quite profoundly. But hers feels like growth. Whereas—

Gloria gazes at Alisa. That matured poise, the more adult timbre of her voice. A subtle shift—something more eerie, more beautiful, brimming with perfect, overflowing power. An uncanny vibe.

Why does she sense this strangeness upon seeing Alisa, now even more stunning and powerful than before? It might tie to Alisa's signature trait—her freakishly potent regeneration.

Even after years of effort to restore her from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stone fragments, there was no progress. Then, suddenly, she began regenerating on her own.

Gloria prepared a comfortable spot as Alisa regenerated and gathered whatever information or items she might need. Years passed like that. And then Alisa awoke.

Twelve years ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gone, just like that. It took another three days for Alisa to fully recover, at which point Gloria finished her duties and welcomed her to her own fortress in the holy capital—the Callas Citadel.

"......"

Alisa's body was breathtaking, enough to make even Gloria jealous. Such vulgarity fused with perfect beauty in form. Gloria marvels at it again and again.

Alisa wears a loose black robe, but a belt cinched tight at the waist reveals her figure in full. Her breasts are so full, so packed, the phrase fits perfectly. How much vitality and mana swirl inside those massive tits and areolas?

Seductive lips that gleam enticingly. Long, inky lashes and glossy skin.

Gloria approaches Alisa, who glances at her and lets out a soft, surprised chuckle.

"...What's that? With you?"

Flanking Gloria are knights in ornate armor. But their hands—meant for swords or spears—rest beneath her breasts, supporting them to prevent any sag or bounce. Like human breast stands.

Arrogant, haughty to the extreme... fitting for an empress.

"My breasts have gotten bigger lately. They kept sagging, so I needed supports.... You there, come here."

At Gloria's command, one soldier steps forward from the throng trailing behind. In his hands, a box containing notes on paths to hell—researched painstakingly over Alisa's twelve-year restoration.

Getting to hell isn't hard. Cross the continent from the Holy Kingdom to the Black Continent. Birthplace of all demons, succubi, tentacle beasts—the place where contact ceased a century ago, presumed to have wiped out several human nations. Deep within lies a gateway to hell, or so the intel says. Over a hundred years old, but still.

Legends speak of a holy alliance sealing hell and guarding the gate.

Now an empire, with Gloria wielding absolute power, one could march there for conquest. Expand territory, even. But Gloria has grander ambitions keeping her here.

Gloria smiles sweetly. "What do you think?"

Alisa opens the box, skims twelve years of Gloria's research in a glance, and nods approvingly.

"Looks good. But I don't know how to sail."

"No worries. I've been recruiting brave sailors to pilot the ship since you awoke. Follow me."

Gloria takes a step, and her entourage—nearly a hundred soldiers, attendants, priests—moves in unison.

Alisa eyes them with a wry smile. "...You've changed a lot."

"One must suit the position. Climb higher, live more extravagantly. That way, the fall hits harder, right?"

Alisa nods in agreement. Despite her eerie changes, remnants of her humanity linger. Gloria thinks coolly.

"I can't leave the capital on business. But your bag has credentials in my name, plus various items. I've ordered every city to treat you as the highest guest, so no concerns there."

Chatting lightly, Alisa and Gloria walk. In heels, they're nearly eye-to-eye, sharing glances now and then—kindred souls with divergent yet similar aims, feeling subtle kinship and discord—until they reach the palace gates.

At the entrance to the grandest citadel, named for Gloria herself, she bows lightly. Her hundred-plus soldiers and attendants bow in sync.

"May the greatest trials and ruin find you."

With that, Alisa bows briefly and heads to the carriage Gloria prepared, beyond the palace walls. Her black hair flows as she walks, trailed by Gloria's assigned escorts.

Gloria imagines herself in Alisa's place, just a little. Watching Alisa depart fully, she exhales long and slow. Leaning on the shoulder of the soldier propping her breasts, her golden silk gown shimmering, she speaks.

"How's that building coming?"

"Near completion. But the giant slaves and dwarf artisans complain of exhaustion from overwork."

"Keep it going."

The building Gloria means is the Female Exhibition Museum—euphemistically the Cathedral of Atonement. A collaboration with the archduke who loves restraining people. Far beyond a mere museum in scale.

It can display up to ten thousand women, and double that for simple preservation.

After seeing Alisa off completely, Gloria tours the Cathedral's construction with her guards.

She strolls through like a leisurely inspection. The near-finished structure dazzles above all, with female exhibits scattered throughout. Construction took ages, but displays began early on.

Seeing women tormented for years, Gloria feels heat pooling in her lower belly. Soon—just a bit longer—

"...............Haa....♡"

After circling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the exhibits, Gloria heads to the central hall. Not yet complete, it's colossal, evoking a coliseum. Giants haul materials busily; dwarves and engineers check mechanisms.

The dome's apex is transparent crystal, beaming light onto one spot in the vast space: the altar at the hall's heart, where Gloria herself will be executed, preserved, and displayed.

The golden altar bears exquisitely crafted decorations by master artisans. Elevated high, anyone entering the dome would spot the central exhibit.

Around it: magitech tools, enchanted pillars and statues, magic circles—all born from Mage Tower artifacts and captured specimens over twelve years.

Twelve years. Finally here. The day her life ends draws near.

"....................♡♡"

Savoring it long, Gloria turns slowly, boards her carriage leisurely, and returns to the palace. Duties await.

"Alisa's probably on the train by now. Hehe. If she'd stayed a bit longer, she'd have seen something fun. Such a shame."