Chapter 760: What Pandia Says or Does—What Has It to Do with Me, Selene?

Aboard the Immortal Blade, First Bridge.

The rhythmic beeping of scanners and the constant flow of servo-system data updates filled the projection display with soft tones.

“Commander Durandal, General Pandia has returned…”

“I know.” Durandal replied without turning her head, her gaze fixed entirely on the three-dimensional tactical projection before her.

The vanguard fleet drifted quietly on the moon’s far side, hidden in shadow. On the holo-map, the surface of the shinobi world—over four hundred thousand kilometers away—was displayed in striking clarity. Fertility of terrain, population distribution, levels of industrialization and technology…

All of it could be observed at a glance.

Perhaps even more precisely than the governing daimyō bureaucracies of the native nations themselves.

“How… fascinating, this social structure.”

Durandal stared intently at the gathered intelligence displayed before her, momentarily lost in thought.

In addition to dispatching vast combat automaton legions and the elite Knights of the Round Table to capture the Ten-Tails—the local, corrupted variant of a God Tree sapling—Durandal had also sent large-scale reconnaissance and decapitation teams alongside the Imperial auxiliary landing corps to assault the administrative centers of this world.

The results? Surprisingly smooth. To say the enemy collapsed without resistance—or capitulated instantly—would not be an exaggeration.

According to local classification, this life-bearing planet—referred to by the natives as the Shinobi World—was divided into five great nations: Fire, Wind, Earth, Lightning, and Water. Their capitals, seats of power, fell almost effortlessly. The daimyō rulers, their families, and their chief ministers were all captured in short order.

Those possessing the highest administrative and military authority—the five great nation leaders—had been seized with laughable ease. Their incompetence was, frankly, painful to watch.

By contrast, the “villages”—those less developed, sparsely populated, and modestly built military communities—had mounted several successful defenses against the Imperial landing troops.

The bizarre, unpredictable tactics of these so-called shinobi did cause the occupation forces some difficulties.

“Daimyō’s guard force, commander… the Fifth Mizukage, Terumi Mei… relocated? I see.”

Continuing to scan through the reports, Durandal finally tapped her temple, realization dawning.

She had made a critical assumption—interpreting this world’s social structure through the lens of the Sacred Selene Empire and other conquered worlds that possessed extraordinary powers.

She had assumed that rulers, by virtue of position, must also be the strongest; that a nation’s capital would house its most formidable guardians.

But in this world, the daimyō were mere mortals—often obese, decadent mortals at that—yet they sat comfortably atop the highest political thrones. The true wielders of military might, the ninja villages, held only limited autonomy and military authority.

To Durandal, the shinobi villages resembled… professional mercenary organizations.

And yet, despite the imbalance of power, these superhuman mercenary clans willingly allowed commoners to strangle them financially—bowing to the mundane rule of mortals. After all these years, none had rebelled?

Such professionalism and restraint… or was it sheer stupidity?

Were these daimyō secret prodigies of governance—economic geniuses, moral paragons who had somehow subdued these proud, law-defying warriors through virtue alone?

Durandal looked left, then right, reviewing the compiled interrogation data with growing disbelief and confusion.

Reformers? Visionaries? None.

But gambling, womanizing, hawk-fighting, and drunken revelry—they excelled. Hedonism was their governing principle. Wine, women, and wagers—every vice indulged.

Compared to them, even the lowest-ranking bureaucrats of the Sacred Selene Empire were paragons of diligence and virtue.

“A bunch of parasites,” Durandal muttered under her breath, her vocabulary failing to find a more vulgar term.

“Parasites?”

A sudden voice spoke from behind her ear.

Durandal froze—the voice of the overseer, the so-called General Pandia—when had she arrived?

It was worth noting—her perception was among the sharpest within both the Valkyrie Corps and the Sisters of Battle hierarchy. For her to have failed to sense General Pandia von Lorraine’s arrival could mean only one thing: this fellow general of the Imperial Guard was far stronger than herself.

The Imperial Guard truly hides dragons among men, she thought, her naturally earnest mind quietly impressed.

“Daimyō… huh. They don’t even possess the value of unification.”

In her guise of a golden-haired, blue-eyed officer, Selene strode confidently into the command bridge, her boots ringing against the steel floor. Casting a casual glance at the intelligence Durandal had been reviewing regarding the local rulers, she asked evenly:

“How stands the situation?”

Several attending officers—auxiliary and servant corps commanders, alongside Valkyrie staff officers—immediately rose and saluted. Every one of them recognized this figure of authority: the one who held the power of military audit and martial enforcement over the entire Durandal Expeditionary Fleet.

In the Sacred Selene Empire, to possess authority over military merit review was, in practice, little different from commanding life and death.

Unlike previous operations where Durandal had served under the Astartes main fleet as a subordinate tactical formation, this mission marked her first independent command of a vanguard fleet.

Thus, the appointment of an experienced overseer—one to monitor her performance and ensure compliance with military law—was perfectly ordinary from the Imperial perspective.

“General,” reported one adjutant, “our landing forces are converging upon the capitals and major urban centers of the five great nations. Based on the density of resistance, these five regions appear to be where the shinobi are most concentrated.”

Selene—still maintaining her guise—had, in fact, been present for some time already. She paid no mind to the peculiar politics of this world. Hands clasped behind her back, she studied the large holo-screen displaying the ongoing God Tree Sapling Capture Operation.

“How fares the ’God Tree Sapling’?”

“From the ongoing combat data, there exists a vast gap between samurai and shinobi, and even among shinobi themselves—the so-called ’Kage’ stand far above the rest. Of the six hundred thousand combat automatons we deployed around the God Tree perimeter, nearly all have been destroyed. However, we have succeeded in eliminating the majority of lower- and mid-tier shinobi.”

“Currently, the primary offensive is being led by Lady Artoria’s Knights of the Round Table, assisted by Knight Commander Gino Weinberg’s Knightmare Tactical Mecha Corps.”

On the screen, Gawain, Lancelot, and Mordred were unmistakably the heavy hitters of the front lines. The Knightmare units—humanoid tactical weapons reminiscent of mobile suits—provided precision strikes and long-range bombardments against the shinobi coalition, as well as against the Edo Tensei-revived Kage and elite jōnin.

Still… Gino Weinberg? From the Britannian Empire’s Knightmare divisions under Lelouch’s governorship… alongside the Knight King, Artoria herself? So, they had crossed paths—and, likely, he had fallen under her charm.

Watching the gallant mecha knights soaring across the battlefield, maneuvering in support of Artoria and her titanic wooden constructs, Selene let out a low, amused hum.

Knights piloting armor, serving a King of Knights… fitting indeed.

“Major General Pandia, what did you find upon the satellite?” Durandal asked with a polite cough.

“Unpleasant news. The satellite is artificial, its mysterious palace long abandoned. Aside from a single living subject, everything else—constructs, tombs, remnants—suggests internal strife. The inhabitants destroyed themselves.”

Selene shrugged, her tone aligning perfectly with her current persona.

“One survivor. Who was he? Where is he now?”

“His name was Toneri Ōtsutsuki, said to be kin to the legendary Sage of Six Paths who brought peace to this world.” Selene gestured toward the planet visible through the observation glass. “He chose death over submission. I obliged—burned him to ash, erased his lineage, and razed his temple.”

The words were spoken as casually as one might mention a meal.

Durandal frowned. Ōtsutsuki? Wasn’t that the name Fu Hua had mentioned—the extraterrestrial clan that planted the God Tree?

It struck her that such a high-value individual should have been preserved or recruited, not killed so lightly. But after a moment’s thought, she changed tack.

“General, do you believe… the Ōtsutsuki clan could be swayed through diplomacy?”

“Unnecessary.”

“Eh?”

“Submit through courtesy, and perhaps you may escape enslavement. Refuse—and kill them all. Send their heads to the Imperial Capital. I believe what Her Majesty desires are merely the God Tree and the Chakra Fruits.”

Selene smiled faintly, her demeanor calm and composed, voice steady as still water.

“I’ve reviewed Major General Durandal’s combat reports. Against non-humanoid alien species, your efficiency and resource expenditure ratios are consistently excellent—superior by every standard. Yet when the opponents are human, efficiency drops inversely with consumption…”

Leaning close, Selene exhaled softly against Durandal’s ear, her voice low and smooth. Turning her head slightly, those deep azure eyes reflected a depthless void—an abyss that could consume a person’s very soul.

“Let’s not speak of flanking tactics. Mercy has its place—but never at the expense of purpose. Imperial resources are not infinite. Treat them well; see that they are spent where they belong.”

“Strive to minimize lower and mid-tier efficiency ratings. Do not disappoint Her Majesty’s expectations, Major General Bianka Durandal Ataegina.”

When she finished, Selene brushed aside a loose strand of Durandal’s hair, smiling in quiet satisfaction.

Heh. Playing the part of the Empress’ watchdog… this does have its charm.

Had her true body come instead, she wouldn’t have needed to say a word. The entire bridge would have knelt on instinct.

And that would’ve been boring.

“Thank you for the reminder,” Durandal replied, her tone carrying restrained anger. Though deeply integrated into the Empire, she refused to become one of those cold, mechanical bureaucrats who saw only efficiency and numbers. She still held to her own sense of principle. Her hands clenched into fists.

“Some things cannot be measured by statistics or conversion rates alone. Sentient beings possess infinite potential. I choose to give that potential a chance.”

Selene merely smiled.

Those are the words of Major General Pandia von Lorraine of the Imperial Guard. What has that to do with me, Selene?

“Of course. You are the commanding officer. I have no intention of usurping authority. I am merely an observer. My duty is to record your words and deeds truthfully.”

“You’d best do just that.”

Before their ideological clash could deepen, a tense voice broke the silence.

“Report! The shinobi coalition has entered internal conflict!”

A nervous operator raised her hand, pointing to the holo-display projecting the God Tree Sapling’s surface structure. She explained quickly and clearly:

“The factions of the shinobi world, forced to cooperate due to our presence, appear to have fractured. Some individuals have turned on their allies. One has seized control of the God Tree Sapling. We’re unsure if he intends to defect—to join us in exchange for his life and his clan’s safety.”

“Internal strife?”

Selene and Durandal turned simultaneously toward the screen—where shinobi now drew blades against each other. One woman’s gaze was laced with amusement; the other’s remained unreadable.

“I shall uphold my own will,” Durandal said firmly. “Those loyal to Her Majesty Selene are not limited to your Imperial Guard faction. Stop presuming that your doctrine is the only truth She recognizes.”

Her voice regained its calm authority. Staring at Selene, arms crossed, she spoke each word with measured clarity before lifting her lance—Hler’s Ataraxia.

“Come or not, it’s your choice, Overseer Pandia.”

Selene leaned lazily against the command table, tone nonchalant.

“…A cup of strong, aromatic black tea, please,” she instructed a nearby service automaton.

Watching the battlefield with deliberate leisure, she suddenly remembered something. “Oh, right. Where’s Fu Hua—ah, Instructor Fu Hua?”

“Report: Commander Fu Hua has departed for the shinobi world’s surface. Her mission report indicates she detected another Ōtsutsuki presence—and a second God Tree signature hidden there.”

Isshiki Ōtsutsuki, Selene mused silently, cracking her fingers.

“So she couldn’t resist the urge to fight. Fine. It’s been a while since I’ve stretched my limbs myself.”

…

“Obito—! Zetsu, you damned cur! You betrayed me?!”

Madara Uchiha was livid.

All his careful plans—undone. The hunter had become the prey.

He tried to move swiftly, but the Imperial Knightmare units had locked onto him. They had no intention of letting their quarry escape. From over ten kilometers away, a barrage of massive orange-red particle beams sliced through the air, piercing his body mid-leap.

“Hahaha… ha…”

The ground was slick with blood, staining the battlefield scarlet.

Wrapped in the swirling, pitcher-plant-like armor of White Zetsu, Obito Uchiha stood amid blood and corpses, then suddenly began to laugh—low at first, then rising higher and higher, shrill like a night owl’s cry, or perhaps the storm’s release after suffocating restraint.

“Obito… why?!”

Kneeling in disbelief, blond-haired, blue-eyed Minato Namikaze—his face marked by the telltale cracks of Edo Tensei—wore the white Hokage cloak over the green flak vest and blue undersuit of a jōnin. His eyes widened with fury as he demanded:

“I can understand if you hate me. I can even understand if you hate Konoha! But don’t forget—you’re part of the shinobi world too!”

Cradled in his arms, Naruto Uzumaki trembled violently. Having lost the Nine-Tails, his body was riddled with gaping wounds, blood trickling from his mouth and dripping to the dirt below, raising faint clouds of dust.

His end was near.

Just as Minato and Naruto had resolved to return the Nine-Tails’ chakra to the Ten-Tails—to restore the Sage of Six Paths’ power and resist the invaders from beyond—Obito had appeared, without warning.

With Wood Style: Piercing Spikes Technique, he had slaughtered every medic-nin attending Naruto, along with the great slugs and toads—Katsuyu, Shima, and Fukasaku—who were maintaining his life support.

Even Minato, the ever-gentle sun-like teacher, felt rage, guilt, and hatred boil within him for the first time in his life.

“Why? The shinobi world? Hahaha…”

“I should be thanking these invaders. Otherwise, I’d never have had this chance.”

Before his master’s horrified gaze, Obito laughed—his voice broken, his Rinnegan eyes gleaming coldly, his body shaking with deranged mirth. It was a laughter stripped of humanity.

“Obito… you’ve gone mad.”

“I went mad a long time ago! Sensei—this will be the last time I call you that. Your scolding means nothing. In this world of despair, there’s no value left—only pain.”

“What happens to the world doesn’t matter. Let it burn, let it end. I feel nothing for this cursed land. This wretched world of shinobi—I’ll destroy it with my own hands!”

With a sharp clap of his hands—pa!—he activated the seal. The Ten-Tails, having absorbed all nine tailed beasts, shed its emaciated form, swelling with monstrous vigor. It raised its head and roared, the sound shaking both earth and soul.

“Damn you!”

Seeing this, even the Edo Tensei-revived Madara Uchiha could tell what was happening. Dodging sniper fire while struggling to wrest back control of the Ten-Tails, he cursed bitterly.

Damn it—the sealing technique was his! He had taught it to Obito himself.

His immortal chakra reserves and immunity to physical damage were useless here. Against Obito—now wielding Madara’s own Rinnegan—he couldn’t overpower the younger man’s control over the beast.

That damned Zetsu! His so-called will incarnate had betrayed him—handing Obito both Rinnegan intact!

“Madara Uchiha—you thought you could control my fate? That I’d remain your obedient dog, summoned and dismissed at will?!”

“You’re too arrogant! You’re dead, and you should’ve stayed that way! I win, Madara. I win!”

Grinning darkly, Obito’s hands flashed through seals, savoring Madara’s murderous glare.

“Six Paths: Ten-Tails Coffin Seal!”

Vrrrrmm—!

In an instant, the roaring Ten-Tails froze. Its colossal form, towering to the heavens, began collapsing inward—shrinking rapidly, like a deflating balloon.

Amid the flying rubble and rising dust, the massive creature folded into itself in a spiral, shrinking ever faster.

It was like a whirlpool devouring the ocean itself. In a surreal, breathtaking sight, the tiny figure of Obito—barely two meters tall—swallowed the thousand-meter-tall Ten-Tails whole in the blink of an eye.

All that remained was a pale, oval shell, patterned with irregular scales.

Then—crack!

The shell split open.

Barefoot and bare-chested, Obito emerged—skin deathly pale, a large and small horn growing from his head, scales and serpentine markings running across his body. Six black magatama symbols lined his chest.

Even Madara halted, his face twisted in disgust.

“Hahahahaha… I won… I won! Hahaha!”

Feeling the overwhelming energy coursing through him—the power to look down upon all creation—Obito was intoxicated.

“Rin… I’ll destroy the old world and create a new one—one where you exist… huh?!”

But mid-murmur, something shifted.

The moment he ascended as the Ten-Tails’ Jinchūriki, inheriting the Ōtsutsuki bloodline and the God Tree’s core, a chilling void tore through his consciousness.

Twin stars—two crimson-gold suns—stared directly into his soul.

Their gaze was judgment. Their presence—hell itself.

“T-That’s…?”

In the next instant, Obito snapped back to reality—gasping for air, clutching his chest, sweat pouring down his pale face.

His eyes flickered toward Madara, dread and revelation warring within.

At last, he understood. Why even the proud Madara had chosen cooperation.

Just as he opened his mouth to demand answers—

A thunderous voice split the heavens.

“Judgment of the Abyss!”

—

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