Now, it is the thirteenth day since Li Xingxing's death.

The fleets of the two legions are still moored in the orbit of the Dead World, and the most conspicuous ones are the Radiance and the Blood, which form the two cores of this Void Mobile Empire, with more than a hundred ships large and small surrounding these two Glorious Queens.

The two genetic protogens, their respective offspring, and the second-rate characters that surround the Astarte Legion, such as the Space Navigator, the Mechchan Representative, and the Mortal Auxiliary, populate the fleet, and allow these steel behemoths to operate in an orderly manner, breathing and working for millions of people, even if they are a few individuals, will not have a bearing on the big picture.

For example, a high-ranking advisor of the 15th Legion, she has been staying in her private room for ten days to [recuperate].

The ten days were not entirely isolated, for example, he would visit every day, sometimes asking if the wounds of his soul had recurred, and sometimes he would simply sit down and have a careful chat with the silver-haired female officer about the topics of history, knowledge, and philosophy, and he would occasionally lose track of time, until someone specifically reminded him to remember the progress of his work that he had delayed.

Morgan could hear a certain low guilt in the Crow elite's tone, and her shelves were filled with gifts from Ahriman: two bottles of wine supposedly from Prospero, a book of poetry written by Ahriman himself, and a copy of the best from the private library of the three commanders of the Thousand Sons Company.

Second only to Ahriman, Atawa had been on the road four times, and he was enthusiastic about Morgan's injury, but there was nothing else in common, so his visit was always awkward and brief, sustained only by Attawan's brilliant conversation.

But Morgan could smell something bad about him.

The good-natured Thousand Sons look back on his warrior career with sadness, and in his description, he may not return to the front line for a long time: Magnus has taken a fancy to the Son's diplomatic skills, and the Gene Prototype is preparing to send Atava to Holy Terra as the representative of the Thousand Sons in the heart of the Human Empire.

Then there was Phoss, the elitist stance-master who was more of a routine than a visit, and he occasionally discussed psionic skills with Morgan, but his critical language did not hide his excellence in the field, and next to Ahriman's book was a gift from Phosis: a book of his different opinions, experiences, and analyses of many stances, Phosis arrogantly ranked every worthy opponent he had slain in the prologue as the best proof of the feasibility of his theory.

From a utilitarian point of view alone, this book alone is more precious than all of Ahriman's gifts combined.

And the last person was Hathor, who remained arrogant and lonely: he could hardly even be called a visit, and in general, the master of swordsmanship of the Bright Feather School was just following Ahriman, awkwardly polite, and hurried away.

Although several company commanders and soldiers visited like marquees, but that was all, for most of the ten days, Morgan enjoyed absolute privacy.

This gave her enough time and energy to study the treasure in her hands.

——————

After a long time, the silver-haired loser returned to his spiritual realm.

Although this dark void theoretically belonged to Morgan's own kingdom, she almost never returned to it, because she knew very well that this vast spiritual wilderness did not belong to her, it may belong to the gods who disappear from time to time in the distant void, it may belong to the radiant creator hidden in memory, but it does not belong to Morgan himself.

But despite this, as she walked on the pitch-black earth with little light, Morgan still felt a long-lost sense of relief, a sense of relief that no longer needed to be disguised, no longer to ponder, and no longer even to think.

The forces that tried to manipulate her were so powerful that Morgan couldn't resist them now—it brought a sense of relief, and she didn't need to stay in the tension of the outside world at all, because her thoughts were useless in the face of sheer power.

But despite this, she still didn't want to come to this place, she preferred to keep her nerves tense and enjoy the tiring short freedom.

In the depths of darkness, the road is invisible, it is an extension of Morgan's self-will and sense of direction, like a muddy path covered in fresh snow, and around this narrow passage floats terrible riddles of dark blue and bright purple, which are low and continuous, and from which all kinds of seductive whispers are constantly spewed.

When Morgan broke through them, she had to squint her eyes too.

In the end, Morgan made it slowly, steadfastly, and safely to her destination: the Rift, her scars, her curse, her only territory.

It didn't seem to have changed, because Morgan hadn't sucked any more soul out of herself over the years: those things were delicious and nutritious, but as she grew, she found that they weren't the necessities she needed to survive, even though she would need them in the future.

Now, though, when it's not urgent, some kind of innermost proverb reminds Morgan not to indulge too much in the wonderful sensation of devouring souls, which she regrets.

In her cautious nature, she finally chose to listen to this inner voice, just as she also listened to its advice, and did not try to thirst for the souls of ordinary humans.

So when Morgan's eyes fell on the canyon, the scene was exactly the same as the first time she had seen it: the earth had been split apart, the bottomless layers of abyss, and at the bottom, the few streaks of snow that Morgan could only see, the last traces of hundreds of devoured spirits.

Oh, and on the other side, there's a touch of black: it's a soul called [Erebus], and I don't know why, it's so unique and heavy.

Even Morgan's mind couldn't figure out why it was so special.

In the midst of this ancient doubt, Morgan spread out her left hand, and as she chanted the incantation, the traces of her palm slowly lit up, and the fragment of Magnus soul named [Kalimaeus] slowly floated out of her palm.

Manipulation, Change, Secret......

Morgan wasn't sure if Magnus still had these abilities after she had taken them all, or if Magnus would have had unexpected trouble in the future without them.

When she thought of this, unlike the cold heart of plunder, when Morgan recalled these sins in a quiet time, a strange emotion flashed through her heart.

She recognized the emotion, and it was guilt.

Guilty...... And what is it?

She thought about it for a moment, but because the emotion was only fleeting, as insignificant as a fiber sticking out of a cut blade of grass, Morgan didn't think much of it in the end, and didn't bother with it.

The silver-haired loser continued to chant the incantation, and as the merciless words echoed in the darkness, Morgan's soul was finally covered in an ice-blue light, and slowly floated up, and then calmly advanced towards the bottom of the canyon.

Like a balloon wrapped in steel, [Kalimaeus] smashed into Morgan's most torn spiritual realm, it was silent for a moment, and then it spread out like a ball of mercury that had dissolved in all directions.

Morgan neither guided nor stopped, she chose to observe and learn in this first action, and she watched as Kalimaeus roamed freely under her absolute control until it reached the greatest extent it could expand: by this time, the soul had already covered the bottom of the rift with a white layer of frost, as if it had coated the bottom of a black cake with cream.

There is one exception: in the white realm of [Kalimaeus], the black individual named [Erebas] is still so outstanding and so eye-catching.

What the hell is this guy coming from?

In the end, Morgan didn't bother him, after all, he was just a dead man.

The silver-haired lady leapt down and landed at the bottom of the rift, her boots stomping on the snow-white giant soul that had just fallen, leaving a shallow trail.

Morgan first looked around, and she was quite satisfied to see that Magnus's soul was naturally merging with the edge of the rift, and after observing for a while, Morgan began to walk to the deepest part of the rift.

As she walked, darkness eroded Morgan's surroundings more and more, and even the sharpest light could not shine on her path, Morgan groped in this pure darkness, and in the deepest part of the chasm, in the corner where darkness would swallow up, buried the greatest secret of this lost genetic primordial.

It was an all-natural cell, with at least twenty doors and chains bound by behemoths, and these protections were all forged by Morgan with her own mental power, and she used all her power in this disputed land to build this impregnable cell.

From the moment she found that thing, she made such efforts, just so that that the thing would be sealed forever, never see the light of day, and never walk in Morgan's spiritual world.

She stepped forward and listened intently, the wind howling through the layers of bars.

After another confirmation, Morgan slowly turned around and left the death cage where a prisoner was kept.

In the deepest part of the rift, what Morgan fears the most, even ......

It was the only thing she was afraid of.