Thirty Typhon siege tanks slowly crushed the already ruined fortress of Duran, and the foul smoke surrounded their tracks and gun barrels, and the once majestic Duran Dragon Banner was completely ravaged into dust by these rude war monsters, telling the end of the battle.

Riemannus rode proudly into yet another stubborn fortress that had fallen at his feet, standing in the middle of an ocean of smoke and flames, with only a few heirs standing beside him: most of the wolves had already swept away the defeated Duran army like a flood, and the warriors of the Third and Thirteenth Families followed their wolf masters, slaughtering the Durans who were unwilling to surrender like a race.

The wolf king of Fenris was glad to see this, and he knew that his heir would leave him the largest and fullest head.

A deafening roar surrounded the Genoplasm of the Sixth Legion: it was a formation of the Legion's Shadowblade Super Heavy Tanks, and these behemoths armed with volcanic cannons were the real fortress killers, even more terrifying than Riemanrus when it came to the steel tortoises with the walls of the city.

The Wolf King loved to watch the behemoths open fire: the blazing air burned into pure white destruction, the spear tips of hell shot out of the smoke of gunpowder, tearing through the air and the war cry, like a falling hammer and a striking key, reaping fortresses and recalcitrant enemies under the loud singing of the Fenris.

He loved to see these crushing scenes, he liked to see the Durán fortress crumble in the face of the irresistible forces, and the remaining defenders stood in the ruins and dust, hesitating between continuing to resist and surrendering, but for the most part, the Duráns would raise their weapons in anger and despair in anger and despair for the last time.

Frankly, Riemannus actually liked them, and these stubborn fellows had real courage, but that didn't stop him from giving order after order to slaughter all the Durán Resisters, raze one permanent fortress after another, and feel ...... for the destruction and killing he personally ordered

Refreshing.

It was a shameful joy, a simple joy of revenge.

For months, he and his legion wandered aimlessly from galaxy to galaxy, amassing Doran's intel in piecemeal battles, taking turns fighting countless planned and unexpected opponents: the Duran Defenders, the Duran Fleet, the Greenskin Pirates, the Eldar Pirates, and the bandit legions of all sorts of Xenomorphs......

Days like these leave all the space wolves in a never-ending boredom and pain, not to mention the constant endurance of the screams of the tyrant Duran through the interstellar radio.

It's torture.

But thankfully, it's finally coming to an end.

They have come to Duran, their iron boots trampling and ravaging the land, their bullets and blades reaping Duran's life, their artillery fire is causing thousands of Durans to fall, die, and destroy in fear and screams, and the whole world will be completely torn to shreds by the crushing force, as the best tool for Riemannus and the space wolves to vent their frustration for months.

As for the more [genteel] questions: the means needed to conquer Duran, the future restoration and taxation of the world, and whether this expansion of territory filled with violence and hatred will be a hidden danger......

That's not something he needs to think about.

He wasn't in a position to think about it either.

He is Riemanruth, the master of the Space Wolves and the Emperor's chosen executioner.

The third identity is more important than the second, and the second identity is more important than the first.

Therefore, he knew what he had to do: settle his personal grudges, put an end to his feuds, pay his debts with blood, so that his wolves would not delay the mission that the emperor might send at any time in the midst of grudges.

That's all he needs to do.

Riemanruth roared, presumptuous, and joyful, trying to make himself like a real Fenris, a real space wolf, in the midst of this hearty slaughter.

He kept trying.

Until a warrior's briefing came to him.

It's the thirteenth Dalian again.

The wolf king frowned, and then, he rarely picked up his sensor reading, and began to observe the attack of his two Dalians: the momentum of the third Dalian was a little weaker, they had just torn through the outer defense of Duran's last palace [Scarlet Fortress], and they were raided by a mobile force of Duran that returned in time, and now, the wolf lord of the third Dalian was shuttling back and forth with his warriors in the walls and trenches, destroying those tanks and armored vehicles.

And the thirteenth Dalian on the other side......

[What is that bastard doing in Yorin?] 】

Riemannus watched as his most trusted wolf lord walked out of a twisted curve on the outside of the Scarlet Fortress, and even the direction of the attack of the entire Dalian seemed extremely uncoordinated, and he stopped at a position only one step away from the penultimate defense line at the core of the fortress.

[When I find him again, I must blow his head off!] 】

Riemanrus scolded and threw the data tablet in his hand, then he pulled his [Kraken Devour] from the ground, raised his head, and smelled the blood and wind.

Let's go. 】

[Go see what that bastard Jolin is up to.] 】

[The emperor is above, we have to hurry, the two-hour limit is about to arrive. 】

——————

Yorin—The Bloody Roar is tearing at Duran's defenses.

He carried his tomahawk, three squads, and a sense of guilt that neither of his hearts could bear.

Treachery.

It was a betrayal.

What he was doing: disobeying Ruth's orders, modifying the company's offensive direction, and no longer allowing the Space Wolves' troops to advance steadily towards Duran's palace - this is tantamount to betrayal.

He knows it all.

The concealment of secrets, the disobedience of orders, the defilement of loyalty, these darkest acts formed a black lump in the heart of the wolf lord, and gulped his pleasure and reason.

It was a stain, a stain on himself, which he had never done since he had obtained his first weapon in the middle of that snowy night on Fenris, in the halls hot with fire and wine, and under the watchful eyes of countless warriors and chieftains, on his knees and swearing allegiance to the Ruth.

He still remembers that day: the night was long, the winter wind was blowing, the fire in the center of the lobby was blazing, and even made people feel a kind of false familiarity, and the shadows of people and wine glasses were cast on the wall by the firelight, changing shapes and movements, as if it were a random mime.

It was on that day that he made his vow, the simplest and most sacred word: that his sword would always be wielded only for the king of the Ruth.

When the king died of illness, his allegiance naturally changed to Riemanruz: the king's adopted son, and it has remained unchanged to this day.

But now, he had a reason to have to break it.

The wolf lord raised his battle axe, roared, and swung it, and another of Duran's warriors was crushed by his fierce onslaught, but he did not taste the breath of victory as usual, for an illusion of the past, the anxiety of the present, and the worries of the future had been superimposed, and it had repeatedly scorched his heart.

He was one of Ruth's first comrades-in-arms, as was the case throughout the Thirteenth Century, and when the whole father came to Fenris to take his son with him, they were unwilling to leave their king, thus losing their oath and missing out on the Burning God Kingdom beyond the firmament.

So, they made it to the operating table, and only a handful of them survived, and Yorin was the oldest of them and the one Ruth trusted the most, so he remembered something more mysterious, and he remembered that their bloodline was not just the transformation of the demigods and the immortal blizzard of Fenris, but something even dirtier.

He remembered that in addition to their father's Valhalla and death in their bed, there was a third, worst of all—a beast, a beast that would not be accommodated in even the most remote wilderness, a monster that even the most horrific legends would not mention, and a pathetic filth that even the closest brothers would not want to recall.

He thought it was all gone, but now, it had returned, trying to destroy Ruth's legions.

Jorin would not allow such a thing to happen, and would never allow it: even if it came at the cost of tarnishing his loyalty to Ruth, he would grit his teeth and do it.

The secret must be hidden until the day when the solution appears, he does not know what the solution will be and on which day, he does not even know if it will appear at all, all he can do is cover it up until the end of his life.

"I found it."

Bravie's voice rang out over the communicator, which made Jolin subconsciously breathe a sigh of relief.

"On the next level, about fifty meters away, vital signs are very faint, but still alive...... We don't have a lot of garrison around us, and we can handle it. ”

"I can't care so much."

The wolf lord muttered softly, and he rushed through the last corridor first, and slammed headfirst into the courtyard at the end: it was like a temple or a temple, and the walls were carved with all sorts of unsettling monsters.

Duran's soldiers were waiting for the battle, but there were not many soldiers, and three squads crashed into the defenders' shield walls and armor, igniting the flames of war in this small but delicate courtyard.

Yorin had killed four of his opponents, his squad had lost two, and one of the recruits had had his arm completely broken, and the wolf didn't care so much, so he hurriedly tapped the number of people and plunged headlong into the half-ruined cell, still with some sad luck in his heart, some of the ridiculous luck that even he knew was.

And a fluke, after all, is a fluke.

Jolin walked into the building, which was roughly a theater-like place, which explained its fine décor and elegant style, but the wolves didn't care about it, they stepped on the precious tapestries and chairs to the very center of the theater, where a rusty iron cage was hanging inside, and inside was a monster that would make any Astarte jealous.

The Thirteenth Wolf Lord looked at everything in front of him: the cage held the fragments of his former comrades, the remnants of a great space wolf of yesteryear, but at this time, it was just a pure creature, a primitive slayer who indulged in savage and blood.

The wolf lord could see that the hair-clad claws were constantly trying to reach out of the railing, grabbing the flesh of the person in front of him, this monster had obviously forgotten his former comrades and glory, his face had been completely distorted by congealed blood, hideous canine teeth and saliva, his armor was scattered all over the ground, and the scars left by the torture could be seen on his bulging body, and the oozing blood was constantly dripping.

More and more space wolves converged here, no one spoke, these were the people Jolin had carefully selected, who knew and even witnessed this dark secret, and knew how to treat it.

Dozens of explosive guns were aimed at the monster in front of him, and the wolf lord held back the anger, sadness, and disgust in his heart, and whispered goodbye.

"Goodbye...... Brothers. ”

"Bang!"

The sound rang out, but it wasn't gunshots.

Jolin looked up, only to see the curtains around him rise in unison, revealing what they were covering: a dozen cameras focused on the image generator in the center of the stage, apparently recording whether it was the roar and struggle of the cage or the whisper that Jolin had just spoken.

A high-pitched metallic hiss rang out, irritating everyone's eardrums.

"Duran's warriors!"

"Keep your eyes open, see your enemies for what they are, and puncture their filthy lies!"

"They are not the so-called empire of mankind at all! They are a bunch of heretics, mutants, and aliens! They are eager to enslave your loved ones! Trample your land......"

And at the same moment, in the display screen inside the wolf lord's helmet, the soldier of the Sixth Legion who had been wolfed and the scene just now popped up.

"Damn it!"

The wolf lord gritted his teeth and waved his hand, and dozens of fires tore all the image generators to shreds in an instant, but even so, the memory of the scene just now still clearly appeared in everyone's minds.

Jorin looked at Bravie.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know, but it should be...... Never mind? ”

——————

"It's ...... What ......"

Arachos's voice trembled a little, but no one was destined to answer his question.

Johnson was standing in the emptied room, waiting for someone, and his face was not good.

Obviously, in a split second, he had also seen the image of some kind of blasphemous creature.

Johnson did not speak, he remained silent and thoughtful.

And just then, he heard the almost iconic crisp footsteps.

The silver-haired, black-armored queen pushed the door open, her gaze briefly making contact with her blood relative.

Johnson still didn't speak, he just frowned and nodded at Morgan.

His blood relatives looked serious and nodded.

The lion of Caliban paused, he closed his eyes, then opened them again, some kind of inquiring gaze on Morgan's pupils.

He was quick to get an answer.

[It's your own business.] 】

Morgan laughed a little, no more.

In her body, there seems to exude some kind of temperament that is more irritable than Johnson.

I don't know why.

(End of chapter)