This is the last one.

Yorin—Bloodhowl's power armor was laden with ammo and ping-pong in the narrow passage, and he held his blaster in one hand and grasped the oversized power axe in the other, his off-white MKII.-type helmet casually hung around his waist, dangling around with the wolf lord's frenzied run.

He breathed violently, passionately, happily, and a great stream of heat surrounded his overly old face, but it still couldn't hide the most primitive thirst for hunting, and it made no difference that he longed to cut off the heads of every Duran, or simply bite their throats and tear their ridiculous power armor into pure shards.

This is the last one, the last of Duran's fortresses.

This shit-like war is finally coming to an end.

He howled and cheered, and ran wildly through the narrow and dimly lit passages, like a real head wolf, and let out a chaotic howl, this savage cry was not lonely, and at the moment when the voice landed, at least fifty chaotic ghost crying wolf howls rang out one after another, echoing their head wolf.

The corridor was dark and long, but Astarte's full throttle quickly conquered it, and Jorin almost threw himself into the light at the end: it was the only corner of the orbital fortress that had not yet succumbed to the Empire, the last piece of the battle had been missed.

He rushed in, the blinding light replacing the darkness of the previous second in an instant, and Jorin's amber pupils flashed with a burst of light, and in the next moment he could see the room clearly, and his body reacted even faster.

A group of Duran professional soldiers known as Fahi were stationed there, about a hundred of them, mortal opponents who had locked themselves in power armor as tall as Astarte, and formed a formation at the other end of the room that was best suited for a salvo, waiting for the wolf's army.

The clumsy armor was seen by Jorin: compared to the athletic Astarte, the armor of the Duran was incomparably thick and clumsy, and every movement made people laugh, but these round-headed and round-headed things were not without headaches: each, every Fahi soldier's armor was wrapped in a faint energy shield, which made any long-range hunting method a futile.

The weapons known as the jamming guns fired the first row of bullets in unison the moment the space wolves rushed in, whistling and piercing, the air vibrating, and the sons of Ruth, who had no time to dodge, couldn't help but let out a roar of pain, and on their bodies, scattered fragments of armor mixed with melted flesh and blood, like disgusting abscesses, and special bullets belonging to the Duran were rearranging what they had eaten and bitten on the molecular level. Those who were hit in the chest and thigh staggered, and those who were hit in helmets fell silently.

Yorin knew he had to do something.

The wolf lord who commanded the thirteenth Dalian of the Space Wolf Legion had just dodged the first round of attacks, and then raised his power axe high.

"For Ruth and his father!"

He roared and shouted, the first to charge towards the Duran's array, all the warriors who could still move responded to his call with roars and roars, and dozens of space wolves formed a gray hurricane that swept in front of the Duran in the blink of an eye.

This was not a reckless pig spurt, in fact, this battle had been going on for nine months, and the wolf lord had already cut off the heads of no less than a hundred Duran warriors with his own hands, and he knew how to fight these stubborn enemies, he knew a lot.

For example, although the armor of the Duran has a tooth-aching defense, these bulky creatures will not be able to get up on their own once they are knocked to the ground.

For example, while the Durans' weapons can really threaten Astarte's life, these narrow guns can't fire continuously: they have to reload honestly every time they fire.

For example, the Durans' proud shields, especially the individual shields they use to protect elite warriors, can't withstand the powerful impact of Astarte, or the swords, guns and axes that are wielded vigorously.

(Don't ask me what these SB settings are all about, that's what GW writes, yes, Duran, a magical nation that can take out Astarte with a single shot, but has to use a single-shot weapon)

The second and third rounds, the Duran were not a bunch of brainless reckless men, they formed the oldest three-stage strike array, ensuring that all the bullets could be fired in the shortest possible time, and with the sound of guns, several more space wolves fell on the way to the charge, but the sacrifice was worth it, and Jolin and his warriors had already rushed in front of the Durans.

The slaughter began.

Dozens of space wolves were like huge hailstones, instantly cutting through the Duran people's array, the huge sword found its best stage, all the sons of Ruth were trying their best to hold their weapons, swinging fiercely, the huge force broke through the psionic shield in an instant, sending the deadly blade into the chest and throat of the Duran people.

The sons of Riemannus roared, tore, punched and kicked, and the whole hall was filled with bloody killings and life-and-death violence, a jumble of armor parts and severed arms rolling around the room, blood flowing freely, contaminating the Duran dragon banner stitched together with crimson and black silk threads.

Forty seconds later, it was all over.

Jolin raised his axe high and chopped off the heads of the enemy beneath him, and the stubborn creature was thrown to the ground by him in the fight just now, but he still unceremoniously threw three heavy punches, causing the wolf lord to feel a kind of pain in hindsight.

The master of the thirteenth Dalian began to look around the battlefield that had been completely reduced to ruins, and counted his warriors: he had brought sixty men to clear the last stronghold, and lost three of them forever in this small room.

Such sacrifices were no longer unusual, and Jolin only watched with some sadness as the apothecary went about his job, but fortunately, none of the wounded companions were hurt, and they only needed to go and rest for a while.

The wolf lord took a deep breath of cool air accompanied by the smell of blood and corpses, and exhaled a long mouthful of fishy heat.

Finally, fuck, it's over.

Months of hide-and-seek, chasing and fighting around almost an entire sector, knocking out the fortresses of the Durans over and over again, strangleling the same opponents stationed on it again and again, and losing a few more comrades in the process.

These Duran idiots even set up exactly the same strength to defend the fortress, nine fucking battalions at a time.

"Tell our genetic father that the last fortress has been taken by us."

Yolin called out to his henchmen and asked simply.

"We've captured the last stronghold, and if those oily guys are not wrong in deciphering the code, from here at Mandeville Point, the next galaxy is Duran, our final destination, where that bastard of Duras is hiding in a galaxy, waiting for our genetic father to take off his head."

"We're going to hurry, as soon as possible, the hell knows where those dark angels are advancing now......"

He was still commanding, a little babbling, but the voice from Bravier on the communicator interrupted him rudely.

"Jorin! You have to come and see! ”

The wolf lord's brow furrowed, like a twisted glacier.

"What's wrong again?!"

Bravier paused, and Jorin could hear from him a shrill rebuke and the most savage, purely beastly howl.

His comrades were clearly containing something, preventing some guy who could destroy the Legion from getting out of control.

Unaware, Jorin's voice began to tremble.

"Again?"

“…… Yes, it's Harald's case again, and this time it's two. ”

“…… Fuck it. ”

Ruth, father, what the is going on.

When faced with endless death and blood, when asked about the stinking wreckage and rotting flesh, Jorin never frowned even a moment, but now, his eyebrows seemed to be knotted with death.

He remembered Harald, poor Harald, what a young and lovely warrior, no one disliked him, he was a model of a legionnaire, and Jorin even considered whether to promote him out of the ordinary.

But that was in the past, and Harald's life had been taken by Mokai, forever two weeks earlier, when Yorin himself ordered his execution, giving him the last mercy in his agony.

(Mokai: A god associated with death in Fenris's native mythology, who appears to be a giant wolf)

Jorin remembered Harald's last appearance: he was no longer a human at all, his armor was torn apart by his swollen body, covered with bloody entrails and flesh, his messy hair grew like crazy from his limbs, even obscuring his once handsome face, his hands and feet were turning into pure claws, half-crouched on the ground like a beast, and his pupils were no longer even the slightest bit of a human or warrior.

Yorin had tried to appease him, to control him, to awaken him as a part of humanity with words and glory.

But he failed.

The best new blood in the Legion fell to the guns of his own people, he did not even die as a pure human being, and in the last moments of his life he roared like a real beast, looking at his comrades with only pure desire to hunt, until the light of the blaster smashed him into a rotten pulp.

…… Fuck it.

It's a terrible way to die.

Jorin's heart was roaring, but there was nothing he could do.

"Shall we inform my father?"

Bravie's already hoarse voice became even more harsh through the communicator's harsh signal.

"It's not the first or second time, Yorin, it's been like this in almost every battle, and it's obviously not something to ignore......

"Leave it alone."

Jorin could hear his canines biting at each other.

"Fighting is important, just as they have died as our fighting brothers, don't let this kind of thing disturb our genetic father until Duran is smashed, and, you know, there are outsiders in this sector right now."

Bravier nodded.

"I see, I'll take care of it."

Jolin didn't speak again, he was silent, listening to everything on the other end of the communicator: futile blocking and persuasion, uncontrollable roaring, and sudden gunfire.

……

Fuck it.

They had to smash Duran early and then settle the without anyone knowing, and they had to be careful not to let anyone else know, especially the Dark Angels......

I don't know where they're going.

——————

"This is Duran, my lord."

When the first sword-and-wing-sprayed battleship rushed past Mandeville Point in the Duran system, the vanguard of the Space Wolves didn't even have a shadow.

The Lion King's most trusted heir stood by his side, and Coswayne whispered the names of the first ships to be put into battle: the Flame of Redemption, the Sword of Noumaki, and the Purification of No Mercy......

These most powerful Legion warships drove more escort ships to the last fleet of the Duran as the vanguard of Johnson's will, and the all-out confrontation between the fighter groups was the first to unfold, and the small galaxy was soon filled with all kinds of laser rays: blast fire and metal debris, and the random wreckage even obscured the view from the Indomitable Truth.

Through the divination box, the genetic prototype of the First Legion can clearly observe everything they want to know, whether it is the specific situation of the slightly dim Duran star, or the location and status of each warship under his command, their existence and data are all recorded in Johnson's mind as a footnote to a perfect battle.

Johnson didn't really care about the exploits of the Durán Realm, he didn't care about these petty fights involving only one galaxy or world, but that didn't mean he would treat it all with a reckless attitude.

In the final stages, his fleet sailed almost swaggering towards the Duran system, and if his brother he had never met was too stupid to take advantage of this opportunity, he deserved to miss out on the essence of the war.

A sarcastic smile appeared on Johnson's lips at the thought of this, but then he realized that now was not the time to think about it, and that he needed to do his best to face the war in his eyes: just like he had done before.

The interstellar battle was shown in the pupils of the genetic prototype, and he watched his fleet knock on the first line of defense of the Duran people little by little, and the momentum of the offensive had weakened a little, but Duran's defense force had not yet been really hit.

He needs something sound, powerful, and efficient, even if it's as a candidate.

Thinking of this, Johnson turned his head and looked at Coswayne on the side.

[Go and call Morgan.] 】

Coswayne nodded yes, but just as he turned to leave, Johnson seemed to remember something.

[By the way, tell her ......]

[Dress more formally.] 】

[I remember that there was a set of power armor for mortal women in the Order of the Forge, tell her to wear that.] 】

(End of chapter)