Honkai: Strijder (Honkai Impact 3 Male MC)

"Over two hundred individuals, and aside from one kind soul early on who pointed me toward the imaginary space and allowed me to deliver a few small gifts, none of the others cooperated. All we brought back were corpses... It's really quite frustrating."

Under the starlit sky, on the balcony, Sigurd and his companions took a break from their chaotic duties, enjoying some tea and resting briefly.

At the same time, it was Hera's moment to shine during a live interrogation—the sole captured individual from the Herrscher of Thousands warranted special attention.

"Ahem! Can you hear me? Is the image clear enough?"

"The audio signal is quantum communication, and the visuals are a lifelike 3D projection. Aside from not being able to touch it, it's practically immersive—stop wasting time on theatrics, Hera, and get on with it."

"Got it~~"

"I'm starting to miss your male body. Find time to switch to a strong male form, would you? If you keep this up, you might never go back."

"ʅ(･´‸･｀)ʃ Blame me, huh?"

Hera looked innocent, even a little aggrieved.

As an archbishop who had lived over 500 years, Hera prioritized practicality and disregarded the inconveniences of mortal sentiments. Was that so wrong?

Sigurd, unimpressed by Hera's indifference, said nothing more. To be fair, beyond the irritation of her intentional cuteness, Sigurd didn't see any real issue with her pragmatic style.

Shaking his head, Sigurd cast aside unimportant matters and turned his attention to the golden-haired girl gradually revealed in the projection space, as if she were truly present.

Her limbs were restrained, suspended mid-air, facing Hera, who sat leisurely drinking tea. Standing beside her was the black-uniformed Durandal, calm and poised, embodying one of the Herrscher of Thousands.

"Hmm... Good tea."

"Can I have a cup? Your watchdog has been too rough. I haven't had anything to drink all day—I'm dying of thirst here."

The golden-haired girl, suspended in mid-air, lifted her head and spoke with brazen confidence.

She bore a different appearance than what Welt had known, clearly operating in reality under this identity and visage. While her features weren't bad, her gloomy and sinister demeanor left a poor impression.

Durandal, likened to a "watchdog," remained unbothered and unresponsive, standing still like a statue.

Hera, on the other hand, crossed her legs and, with a faint smile, set down her teacup.

"There's plenty of tea, but unfortunately, I don't feel like sharing. Besides, you're a Herrscher—you won't die of thirst."

"Tch! Cold and heartless as ever, Lady Hera Schariac... or should I call you Lady Eleanor Schariac instead?"

The Herrscher of Thousands smiled as she spoke.

Hera's smile vanished.

"Where did you hear that name?"

"Anything that exists leaves a trace. Eleanor Schariac, adoptive sister of Archbishop Otto, a prominent figure within Schicksal 500 years ago. She mysteriously disappeared shortly before Otto ascended to the archbishop's seat, and her name was deliberately erased from history—something only Archbishop Otto could achieve."

The Herrscher spoke fluently, narrating the history they had uncovered and their deductions.

Hera listened solemnly, without interrupting.

The Herrscher continued:

"Otto's motivations for doing so could be twofold: First, Eleanor's disappearance was tied to Schicksal's power struggles, or perhaps to Otto himself, making it a painful memory he wished to bury. Second, Eleanor never actually died; instead, she went into hiding for a greater purpose.

Meanwhile, we discovered that the name Hera Schariac exists in history in an exceedingly obscure and ambiguous way. It has no concrete origin but appears sporadically in fragmented records—always at Otto's side, subtly suggesting equal standing.

Looking over Schicksal's 500-year history, only Eleanor and you held such a status within the Schariac family. Eleanor vanished mysteriously, and you appeared out of nowhere with similarly sparse and enigmatic records. The connections are hard to ignore, wouldn't you say?"

"Phew—"

Hera took a sharp breath and leaned back in a mock "tactical retreat."

What a brilliant deduction!

Hera had indeed put thought into crafting her identity. The fewer and more ambiguous the records, the more outsiders would speculate and imagine, eventually piecing together a "truth" that was plausible and reasonable.

However, the Herrscher of Thousands managed to unearth the existence of Eleanor and even equated her with Hera—a truly brilliant deduction!

After all, Hera's true identity was known to only a select few, none of whom the Herrscher could possibly reach to gather intelligence. That they could piece together such a logical and well-researched hypothesis from scarce historical fragments was commendable.

"Eleanor… that foolish girl."

Hera leaned back slightly and let out a faint sigh.

For once, it wasn't an act.

The deliberate omission of the child's existence in the records wasn't without reason—it was born of guilt. Every time Hera thought of it, she felt regret and sorrow. It was enough that she remembered; she doubted Eleanor would have wanted others to pass judgment on her anyway.

Relaxing her posture, Hera resumed her characteristic playful smile, neither confirming nor denying the deduction. After all, their imagination had done all the work, and denying it wouldn't deter them from their conjectures. 

She said:

"So, you've investigated me so thoroughly because you've got an agenda, haven't you? Is that why you didn't commit suicide halfway through? You came here specifically to see me, didn't you?"

Hera gazed at the Herrscher of Thousands, her curiosity finally resolved.

After all, Sigurd had no shortage of means to subdue and restrain Herrschers, yet they'd failed to capture any living specimens—until now. What made Durandal capable of bringing this one back unharmed? Could it be that this particular Herrscher was unusually afraid of pain?

As Hera suspected, the Herrscher individual nodded, sighed helplessly, and said:

"Indeed, I did come to see you. Over at Anti-Entropy, Welt is far too difficult to deal with. And Sigurd Kaslana is even more mysterious—he somehow has a near-flawless fake background, and his true origins are completely untraceable. Judging from his silver hair, blue eyes, and mastery of the Judgement of Shamash, he must be an ancient member of the Kaslana family. But there's no way to find any weaknesses there, so I thought I'd try my luck with you.

"Though honestly, my presence here is purely coincidental. There should've been someone more professional handling this, but as luck would have it, your watchdog just happened to be nearby."

"Oh? Then… what's my weakness?"

"Ana Schariac, your descendant, the current Herrscher of Ice. Her condition isn't stable, is it? You can protect her for now, but what will you do the next time she loses control? For the greater good of humanity, you'll have no choice but to abandon her. Isn't that pitiful?"

The Herrscher stretched her neck forward slightly, speaking with a tone of mock pity and questioning.

Hera's smile vanished again.

The Herrscher continued her calculated provocation:

"Ana hasn't done anything wrong! Being chosen by a god only proves her excellence. And for that, she's supposed to be punished? Being executed and dissected wouldn't even be the worst outcome. In the worst case, she might be treated like livestock—forced to watch as people study her body while fully conscious. Lady Hera, as a member of the ancient Schariac family, having witnessed the tragic fate of generations of Schariacs, how could you bear to see such a kind and innocent child suffer?"

"…Shut up! Tell me your intelligence and plans, or I'll search your mind myself."

Hera crossed her legs the other way and spoke with a calm yet emotionless tone.

The Herrscher seemed to confirm something at that moment and burst into laughter:

"That's enough talk for now! My brain is far too valuable to let you snoop around. We'll… chat again next time. Hahaha!"

The laughter stopped abruptly. The Herrscher's head drooped, and her body, still suspended mid-air, went limp.

Durandal stepped forward, lifted the Herrscher's chin, and saw her lifeless eyes, still open but devoid of spirit.

"Breathing and heartbeat have ceased. Her Honkai energy is dissipating, and all other life signs are… hmm? What's this?"

Durandal noticed a trickle of blood from the Herrscher's nose, mixed with faint, whitish particles.

"That's brain matter. Like Sigurd encountered, they destroy their own brains before death, ensuring their consciousness detaches completely and leaving no chance for us to extract information."

Hera explained nonchalantly.

Durandal's expression froze momentarily. She had already wiped the strange blood away with her pale fingers, almost bringing it to her nose to sniff. She hadn't immediately thought of brain fragments—it was an unexpected detail.

It wasn't her fault. While she'd experienced countless brutal battlefields filled with Honkai beasts and dead soldiers, who in their right mind would ever think to research brain matter?!

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