Ahriman and Morgan from the Legion of a Thousand Sons were the seventh group of guests Luthor had entertained today, and if nothing else, it should be the last.

The Calibans ran the precious clockwork clock on their desk, a work of art made of gears, glass, and wire, which had been motioned and pushed countless times to determine the pattern of the hands oscillating, so that it showed a time almost exactly the same as the homeland of mankind.

By Divine Terra's standards, it was only about eight standard hours today, and the last time he rested was about thirty-two standard hours, but despite this, Luthor didn't feel much tired, his muscles and spirit were still in a more soothing and energetic stage, which made the aging knight sigh at the miracle of genetic modification surgery.

Occasionally, though, he wondered what it would be like for knights who had been completely genetically modified and had undergone the legendary nineteen surgeries: Nemir, Zahariel, Seifer, and others......

They were his brothers, his warriors, his knights, the legions that followed in his footsteps into the hunting field, and once upon a time, he stood at the forefront of all, the leader of all.

But now, on the battlefield, on the front line, using unimaginable bodies and strength, those knights who once followed him, have participated in the most magnificent war cause in the galaxy, to obtain enough feats and honors to sing for thousands of years.

As for death? It was nothing more than an inevitable moment, like the last glass of wine at a banquet, like a sunset gradually swallowed up by the deep forest, and death was nothing to any Caliban.

When the first time he puts on the armor, what knight will guarantee that he will live a long life? When it comes time to cross the horse again, who can guarantee that this will not be the last one?

With a surging heart, hold the steel gun, move forward bravely, die like a fragrance, life is nothing more than that.

Both the former and the current Luthor think so.

But times have changed.

Luthor lowered his head, and in front of him were documents that were nothing new: requests for support, requests for survival supplies, requests for temporary evacuation, requests for ammunition supplies, or requests for fire assistance from the cruising fleet.

——————

The Luther Knight may have disappeared.

He thought.

——————

Luthor's gaze was quick to discern between the similarities in these documents, some of which he did not need to pay attention to, such as the movement of fleets and legions, which was the prerogative of the war commander, and the more trivial matters he was responsible for: supply, transportation, and storage.

And just like that, another document was chosen: the 23rd Kranos Regiment of the Mortal Auxiliaries, a mixed army of 1.28 million men standing alone in a semi-permanent fortress world on the edge of the battle line, was one of the first troops to be involved in the battle of Randan, having suffered a near-devastating blow in the fierce battle of Forge World Xana.

They also wanted to send new troops to take over their defenses if they could, and the 23rd Regiment had not experienced a rotational break for two years, with the Chief of Staff and Liaison Officers repeatedly using words such as "demoralized" and "heavy losses" in their reports.

Luther's gaze casually skimmed over these words, and did not stop, because every mortal auxiliary army unit was like this, and the [Heavy Losses] and [Requests for Support] in the various reports never stopped.

He opened the star map, searched for the location of the 23rd Regiment, measured the importance of the line they were in, and finally wrote down the reply: without reinforcements, the requested supplies could receive up to 50% of the share, and when the next batch of supplies arrived, an additional base would be added.

As the papers were sent, Luthor's eyes and thoughts didn't stop at all, and he quickly threw himself into his next job, which was still the same: a request for supplies, a request for reinforcements, a request for everything needed for this damn war.

……

When he looked up again, Luthor only felt a slight ache in the upper part of his spine finally begin to form, and he glanced at the clock, where almost ten Terra standard hours had passed.

Maybe take a break.

With that in mind, Luthor's gaze turned to the other side of his desk, where there was a stack of letters from Nemir, from Seifer, from every former comrade who had fought on the front lines.

Luthor stretched his fingers, only to feel some numbness in his fingertips, he moved a few times, and then opened the first letter, which was not long, but it exuded the smell of gunpowder and iron blood, and the Calibans couldn't help but take a deep breath.

He loved it.

Nemir said hello briefly, and then asked about his cousin Zaharel, who still referred to his old title in the letter: "Captain Luthor", which made the corners of the reader's mouth hook.

At the end of the letter, Nemir casually mentions the war, the destroyed and ravaged factories and furnaces of the world, the comrades who died in the steel, or the new generals rising in endless battles, and countless blood and flames burning on the battlefield, far more than this small piece of paper could contain.

Although the mention of war was only a few vague words, Luthor looked at it again and again, as if it were some kind of beautiful work that fascinated people.

Finally, the Caliban leaned back in his chair, still holding the letter in his hand.

For a moment, he even wanted to save the letter and read it several more times later.

But he couldn't.

All information about the war on the front line is to be kept secret to the utmost extent, and all file backups are not allowed and must be destroyed after reading.

And this command comes from the [Lion].

No one dares to disobey his lion head-on.

Luther's inner struggle was brief, but it wasn't intense: almost instantly, obedience and fear prevailed.

Looking at the burning letters, Luthor only wanted to sigh.

He turned his head, looked behind him, looked at the paintings that carried the glory of the past: he saw the day when Johnson was brought back by himself, the day he personally put on the armor for this adopted son, and he saw Johnson begin to grow up, more and more majestic, more and more ...... Terrible.

He remembered those days: the child who had been brought back from the deep woods, and Luthor had thought of his dead child, and he watched the child grow and learn, and watched him quickly transform into a great warrior like the legendary son of God, from a savage child by his side to a great knight to be trusted.

The Lion grew so fast that he was already so powerful, so majestic, and so invincible when almost no one noticed.

Luthor didn't even notice when he was taller than himself, and when [the Lion] began to take on his strength, his shadow hung over everyone.

Luthor didn't notice when he was standing in front of him, the new leader and hope for all: no one was chanting Luthor anymore, everyone was only chanting the name of the Lion.

Luthor didn't realize exactly when it began, and he began to fear the lion's every move, seeing him as a leader rather than his own heir and family.

Luthor even began to ......

Hate him

——————

He hated the Lion.

Maybe so.

——————

The letters were burned.

The last of its scrolls began to curl and blacken as the heat approached, and finally disappeared into the crimson flames.

Luthor stared at it all, and he just wanted to sigh.

Immediately, he picked up a second letter, which was from Seifer, the words of which were inevitably vague, and even contained some code words and references that only the Caliban knights would understand, but Luthor could still see some traces of war in his description, and all this did not prevent him from searching for them as much as he could.

Read, read again, sigh, then burn, then pick up the next one......

Luthor wanted to laugh, bitterly.

His former comrades, his former brothers, and even his former subordinates, they are enjoying the madness, pain and honor of war, and they are living as living soldiers.

Only him, only Luther, is like a stamp, and every day, every hour, every minute, he has to get along with the documents and the response.

He even had doubts if he had ever been a knight, and if he was, then he was clearly under unimaginable torture.

For knights, there is no war, no honor, no days worth charge, no fighting, no bloodshed, that is torture, a living torture.

But he couldn't disobey all this, after all, it was an order from the Lion.

The lion hates disobedience.

After burning the last letter, Luthor closed his eyes, and he even wanted to sleep for a while.

Then, he heard a knock on the door.

——————

The eighth visitor is a Dark Angel veteran.

Luthor saw the Hurricane Wings and Blades logo on his shoulder armor, and even a Terra Medal of Honor for the War of Unification, while he held a paper document in his hand.

"Urgent documents, logistics officer."

Luthor got up, took a few steps forward, smiled, and solemnly took it, everything was smooth, he had done it countless times.

But this time, after a silent thought, Luthor smiled and said one more word.

"You can call me a knight, you think, I'm more used to being called that."

This sentence obviously caused the Dark Angel to pause, he neither nodded nor denied, but only lowered his head slightly, his eyes moved downward, revealing a large whites of his eyes, and then stared condescendingly at the short old man in front of him.

He didn't say a word.

But his gaze says it all.

Luthor was still smiling, but this time, his smile couldn't help but freeze, because he had seen such a look before.

He will never forget.

He remembered that time, he remembered clearly, he remembered how when the [Lion] returned to his legion, he took himself with him, as if he were a servant, he remembered that the [Lion] stood in front of all the dark angels, patted him on the shoulder like a king, and told everyone that this old man, who could not even undergo genetic surgery, was his most trusted right and left hand.

He remembered that no dark angel spoke, they neither resisted nor promised, they just stood there quietly, looking at him.

That's the kind of look in the eyes.

He will never forget!

——————

But Luthor was still smiling.

He could only laugh.

——————

The Luther Knight may have disappeared.

Because of the lion.

——————

The Dark Angel was silent, he didn't say anything more, just turned away, and closed the door.

As the sound of Iron Boots stomping on the ground faded away, Luthor was finally able to—he almost forgot—to stop his damn grin.

The papers were tossed haphazardly on the table, and Luthor leaned back in his chair and watched the smoke and dust that had not yet dispersed wander through the air.

They are weak, sluggish, and have nowhere to run.

He held his head high and wanted to look at the paintings, but he couldn't see them, and he had no choice but to push his neck harder.

There are times when life is really bad.

When the blonde-haired Lion caught his eye, Luthor couldn't help but think so.