The conversation between the two Legion Lords lasted about thirty minutes.

After that, there was an orbital bombardment that lasted for three Terra standard hours.

The Indomitable Truth, the Sword of Noumaki, and even the Nidhogg and Esrumnir that had been preliminarily restored, all of the Imperial ships joined in the horrific bombardment, and the massive fortresses on the surface of Duran were named one by one, and the network of army camps and trenches scattered among the fortress communities continued to crumble and disintegrate in a torrent of steel and flame, and the Imperial punishment fell on them, over and over again.

At some point, the fleets of the two legions tacitly stopped bombing, and immediately after, the invisible rays of the sensors swept across most of the Duran surface, and hundreds of shiny red dots appeared on the electronic projection connected to it: each of which meant a weak point that could be forced to land.

The next moment, the lights that marked the beginning of the battle sounded on each battleship, and their flickering lights shone on the walls of the corridor, reflecting one tall shadow after another: thousands of dark angels and space wolves were pouring into the drop pod, and these killing cages would drop a rain of punishment and death on Duran in the next Terra standard time.

With the arrival of the last warrior, orders were delivered, gears roared, and hundreds of iron coffins of death flew out of the mouths of the giant Void Behemoth, their targets aimed at the crimson planet beneath their feet, unstoppable.

When Duran's warriors look up at this time, they will see the Angel of Death coming.

The space of this world had turned a dim crimson of a long time of industrial pollution and the recent orbital bombardment, and between the barren firmament, the light of the stars had dimmed, except for the fragmented clouds that still hung in the sky, like sand dunes ravaged by the wind.

And in the midst of this layer after layer of thickening things, the crimson and orange meteors came from the void, bringing the gospel of destruction and slaughter, and they flocked in droves, like angry gods opening the gates of heaven, calling out the world-destroying meteorites from the summit of Olympia.

The iron boulders that enveloped the Angel of Death, numbering in the hundreds, had turned into a blazing and trembling ball of pure white fire, and had turned into wisps of meteors that were so swift that they set the entire sky ablaze.

The killing cages belonged to two legions, and it was easy to recognize them: the drop pods of the Dark Angels were quiet and heavy, as if they were carrying relentless machines, and those that were constantly shaking, and the occasional beating of beasts howling and pounding against the walls could be heard......

But in any case, when these cages hit the ground, they will be just as deadly.

With a clash, wolves and knights burst out of the dust, their blasters and swords easily tearing apart the first resistance, carving out small landing fields across Duran's land.

Thousands of Duran soldiers were killed within a minute of the drop pod's landing, their blood soaked in the first lost soil, the gradually cold corpses illuminated by the lights of various explosions and flares, exuding a disgusting color, and by the time the thoughts of the dead finally stopped, an even more powerful beast had begun to walk the battlefield: tanks, artillery, and storm birds, which the Empire had transported to the surface of Duran in heavy transport ships. Swinging one heavy blow after another on the line of resistance to the repressors.

The Durans' counterattack was also unyielding: a phalanx of tens of thousands of elite soldiers with red faces launched a continuous counter-charge towards the Astarte's controlled area amid earth-shattering slogans, and behind them, all kinds of mobile artillery were dragged out of their bunkers, doing their best to provide their own strength, and in the distance, the Durans' unique land armor stepped out of the shadow of the fortress, killing and wounding the Imperial army at a great distance.

The world is doing its best, doing everything in its power to defend the most precious legacy they have received from the time of strife: freedom and independence.

But in front of the next hole cards of the empire, the determination and belief of the people of Duran are so pale.

Another drop pod fell, but this one was exceptionally large and eye-catching, and the moment it landed, at least thousands of guns were pointed at it.

The hatch opened, the guns rang out, and an invisible barrier stood between them, blocking the barrage of steel.

And at the moment when the fire cover was slightly exhausted, the cold and ruthless Caliban Lion burst out of his shield, and he roamed the battlefield like a pure black ghost, no matter how sharp the eagle eye could catch his shadow, and some lucky shrapnel hit his armor, but only left a fleeting spark.

He rushed to the most dangerous places: permanent fortresses that were well guarded, trenches filled with soldiers and bombs, and no-man's lands that were completely sealed off by heavy weapons, and he wandered around the fortresses where even the warriors of Astarte could not go any further, harvesting the strongholds of the most central defenders, the best of the Duran's heavy armament and artillery, killing at least one squad of the Dark Angels in less than ten minutes, but they were as fragile as ice ballast in the scorching sun before Johnson's blade.

Johnson walked on the battlefield, walking in the shadows, his movements without the slightest hesitation, his heart without a moment of pity, his pure black armor almost perfectly blended into blood and death, only the turquoise pupils became the pathetic phantom of thousands of Durans before death, the great sword in his hand was constantly swinging, unleashing flames, waves of air and dark green whirlwinds, turning every fortress that stood in his way to ashes.

He walked under the scorching black sun, and behind him was a rain of scarlet meteors streaking across the sky, a swift assault of the dark angels, a despair, a cry of sorrow, and fear that no one could stop.

The collapse began.

Not all Durans were as brave as they thought, especially when they witnessed the feats that would never have happened to humans, and despair and fear consumed the hearts of the makeshift soldiers in an instant, and the rout began to appear, soon unstoppable.

Thousands of Duran's warriors abandoned their positions, and more fell to the Dark Angel's deflagration guns and plasma: after the Genoplasm had shredded the core of the resistance, and with the Legion's heavy weapons and fire support arriving, the undefeated First Legion was finally restored to its original form.

The Dark Angel's sword blade drove straight in, and it only took them forty minutes to complete the predetermined plan, and the second and sixth knights began to expand their positions to prepare more strategic space for the next defensive battle, the two knight captains Gail and Morrion had thousands of warriors under their command, and they had to face at least hundreds of millions of enemy troops in the next time, which was not an easy task, because despair and defeat might increase the madness of the Durans, not to mention that they could have posed a fundamental threat to Astarte.

As a temporary victor, Johnson was now witnessing his last target: a fortress larger than any previous stronghold, with walls as high as mountains, thousands of cannons and shooting holes interspersed, and the red and black dragon banner of the tyrant of Duran was hoisting in the middle of the fallen place.

It seems so great, so strong, and invincible.

But at this point, it's wailing.

The Ninth Knights' men were pouring into this final target, and even Duran's sky was trembling and weeping under their iron hooves.

Johnson closed his eyes and felt this moment carefully, feeling the breath of blood and ashes filling his lungs, feeling the steel cities disintegrating in the cannon fire and battle cries, feeling the tens of millions of roars, curses, orders, pleadings and cries constantly intertwined in the endless sky, playing the beginning of a killing, the climax of a war, and the end of an empire.

He was fascinated.

——————

[Yes, Johnson, it's me.] 】

[I'm done here, they're weaker than I thought, and the Durans don't have any means to fight against psionic powers.] 】

[Okay, I know, I'll be back to you soon, you don't need to be so unconfident in your own heirs. 】

[Speaking of heirs, do you remember the thing I told you about, the one we discussed before the airdrop.] 】

[Yes, the warships of the Durans were not all destroyed, at least one of the warships that fought against the Space Wolves took the opportunity to escape, I was aware of it at the time, and there were some Durans on that ship, as well as a ...... A creature with a very strange breath. 】

[He looks a bit like a space wolf, but it's not exactly the same, I can smell the fury and fury of a pure beast from that breath......]

[Okay, I know, Johnson.] 】

[War is the point. 】

I'll be looking for you right away. 】

[See you later.] 】

——————

Ossowitz could feel that his left leg was broken.

He breathed with some difficulty, blood pouring from between his broken teeth and staining his gray beard.

The re-serving veteran could feel himself crushed underneath something, and he tried to calm himself down, recalling the images before he fainted: the towering black devils breaching the fortress he was stationing, slaughtering his comrades, blood and brains splattering on the cold gray walls, lifeless corpses lying into mounds on the floor, and remembering that he had been knocked down by a shrapnel and buried alive in the heap of corpses.

His leg was bleeding, a lot of blood.

He could feel that his left leg was broken, his right leg was pierced by a steel bar, and it seemed that two bullets had hit him in the stomach, roiling his intestines and stomach, and he didn't know if it was a friendly wound or the work of those so-called [Astarte warriors].

Those intruders......

He cursed in his heart, he knew that he could only do this, and his decades of military service had already told him about his current situation: one of his arms and legs had been blown off, the organs in his stomach had been stirred into mud, almost all his teeth had been lost, his mouth was full of blood, and he couldn't even speak.

He didn't have much to live.

He's going to die.

Die......

He thought of the word, but he was not afraid.

When his eldest son and second son died on the very edge of Duran's border, at the hands of those so-called space wolves, when his other two sons died in the naval battle a month ago, when his last son had just died in front of his eyes, his head was directly pierced by scattered shrapnel, his paralyzed body fell directly into his arms, blood and brains flowed from his fingers......

He was no longer afraid of death.

Ossowitz felt his life pass and decided to do something more, he looked up, stretched out his remaining hand, grabbed the dirt in front of him with difficulty, and tugged at his body on the ground little by little.

He brushed aside the corpses and saw what was going on: the battle was over, there was no doubt that the most terrible black devils had won their victory, most of them were gone, and only a few were still busy on the battlefield just now, and the veterans could see that they seemed to be planting mines and other things.

He doesn't care.

His gaze looked to the other side, and caught an officer with an unpressed starter, which he recognized, and by pressing that button, the explosives buried in the ground would blow up the place to the sky, and they had to prepare for the most formidable of their opponents.

Right now...... If he can start it......

He stretched out his only hand and gripped the soil in front of him, the sharp stones and iron filings cutting his fingers mercilessly, but they were milder than the pain in his body.

He slowly tugged at his body, carefully hiding behind the burning corpses, avoiding the sight and footsteps of the dark angels, who fortunately had no interest in the burning corpses, and devoted themselves to the work in their hands.

It's closer......

It's getting closer......

Just a little bit!

It's about to ......

What are you doing, sir? 】

A chuckle was heard, and the cold blade lazily pressed against his neck.

——————

Morgan looked at the dying man at his feet with interest.

Originally, she was just searching for any fallen souls before leaving, and although she couldn't eat most of the human souls, it didn't stop her from collecting them.

Then, she spotted a figure who was slowly moving through the pile of corpses.

She looked at him, and then at his goal, and a boring evil taste welled up in her heart: if a dying soul was given a false hope, would his soul be changed in a different way?

You don't have to struggle like this, old man. 】

Through her inner sensing, her voice was able to reverberate directly in the old man's mind.

[Look at you, so old, so badly injured, but they still recruited you here, such a country is not worth paying at all. 】

[Surrender, you can choose the true path, the empire will rule the world, obedience will bring benefits, but resistance will not. 】

She chuckled and pointed at a finger, and countless visions swirled through the minds of the dying: wealth, power, a body rejuvenated, the former superior as a servant, kneeling at his feet, the dead heirs resurrected by the might, encircling his knees.

It wasn't difficult at all, she knew what these most ordinary people wanted, in her illusions and words, she had bewitched some of the most powerful people in the galaxy, let alone the tiny mortal in front of her.

Morgan felt the old soul shake, and she chuckled, ready to observe the change.

But a second passed, then the second, the third......

It hasn't changed anything.

And until this time, the old, frail, Morgan's soul, who had not even looked at him squarely, was speaking in the most determined tone.

[With your promise, get out!] Devil! 】

[I don't know what power, honor, and eternal youth are, I'm a rough man, I just know that you bastards broke into my homeland, killed my relatives and friends, tore my life to shreds, and set everything on fire. 】

[No matter what reason you have, I will not forgive you!] 】

[You think you're great?] You think you're noble? 】

You are a vicious devil! Your words are nothing but falsehood and deception! 】

[You don't believe in it! 】

His soul was roaring, roaring, and so was his old body, his palms were rubbed to flesh and blood by stones and iron filings, but he still clung to every piece of dirt, struggling but determined.

He breathed.

He struggled.

He felt something.

He felt the sound of the wind.

It's a cold wind.

His brain thought about it in hindsight, and then he felt that his neck seemed to ache, and he realized that everything in front of him seemed to be spinning, and he felt that his head seemed to be colliding with the rocks.

He saw the black devils, and they seemed to notice this, and he saw the black armor, and the long knife, which was stained with blood, as if it were his blood.

…… That's right.

He sighed inwardly, and the pain of hindsight came to every part of his neck, and he saw his own body, a body without a head, bleeding.

Pity.

He's just a little close.

He thought so, and then closed his eyes.

(End of chapter)