It was a funny thing to watch the commander of the company of the dignified death guard flee without saying a word like a fart with his nose knocked out.

Morgan even felt that the depression he had accumulated in the storm in subspace had dissipated a lot with the embarrassed figure gone.

She felt joy, a rather dark happiness, like the evening breeze rustling off the shriveled leaves.

She felt it very clearly, it was like watching the young grass cut by the roots tenaciously pull out new shoots, and the bright green colors began to caress the passing breeze, although they were still very weak, very ethereal, and could not even be seen without even paying full attention, but they did exist, and they were coming back to life step by step.

Morgan can't speculate on the reasons why her creator chose to nearly eradicate her emotions, but it's clear that he didn't choose to completely clean them up, and after a long period of observation and hands-on practice, Lady Spider is gradually recovering the mysteries that she knew so much she never really understood.

This pale lady is not a complete heartless person, she has her own emotions, she can probe and know the true meaning of joy, anger and sorrow, but on the other hand, her emotions are missing, whether it is love and hatred, or jealousy and longing, which are things that she does not really understand at the moment.

Emotions and emotions are never a matter of affairs, the former being the product of a slightly more complicated instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm, while the latter are real man-made wonders, even the foundational elements of society and civilization.

At this time, Morgan is only a half-finished product who knows the former, but fortunately, with more than ten years of continuous observation, categorization and practice, she is really cultivating her emotions: although they are still as fragile as a sprout.

And now, she really felt a glimmer of pleasure, the most despicable pleasure she felt to see the suffering of others.

This even made her mood better, and she turned her head not to think about what kind of reinforcements this sad little creature could pull, after all, the recent confrontation had made her see the so-called Lord of the Fourteenth Legion in general.

Don't overestimate his danger, don't underestimate his malice. 】

Johnson's assessment is indeed correct.

She even missed the Lion King of Caliban, his solemn face and blonde hair, which had remained almost unchanged for thousands of years, and the teachings he had taught her, consciously and unconsciously.

She did learn a lot from the First Legion: whether it was the swordsmanship of Caliban, the way and necessity of the secret society, or the negotiation skills that had an incredibly high probability of success.

The First Legion is indeed a treasure.

She still remembered the time she spent learning martial arts with Johnson: whether it was swordsmanship or hand-to-hand combat, the Lion King was teaching her all his might, so that her skills reached a barely reasonable point in his eyes.

She even gained one of her pen pals in the First Legion, Luther, one of her four current pen pals, and as she wandered around Johnson, they were building up a hard-won friendship with each other at a rate of one every two or three months.

In addition to Luther, Morgan has three other pen pals, and their connection with each other may not be stable, but this friendship that transcends galaxies and worlds is indeed steadily built through the thin but infinite written word.

In a sense, Morgan's pen pals are actually big shots.

Needless to say, even after returning to Prospero, Magnus's letters have never been broken, and his souvenirs have been piled up in a small mountain, and in Morgan's private room on the Indomitable Truth, half of the shelves and display cases are filled with Arriman's gifts, in which he explains his situation in detail, or proudly shows off his recent ascension, thanks to him, even if it is thousands of miles away, Morgan still knew everything about the movements of the Fifteenth Legion.

Kellyfanie: This pen pal is just a real mortal who is helpless, but she is in a sense the smartest of Morgan's pen pals, Morgan met her at Olympia, when she was on her way to the front line of the Zandan War with the Thousand Sons, on the home planet of the Iron Warriors, the fleet had a short stay for a few days, and it was at this time that Morgan met this rather special noblewoman, and when the fleet set sail again, they were already friends with a strong friendship.

And the last one is the man Morgan is waiting for now: he is a Shadow Moon Wolf.

One of the finest Shadow Moon Wolves.

The shadows struck, and it was the largest Void Battleship obscuring the sun's light, enveloping the entire Fourth Knight in the darkest light it raised.

Here they are.

That's the Tenacity.

Horus, just above it.

——————

Pain.

The pain still surrounded him.

Typhon gritted his teeth, forcing himself to walk through the corridors and halls of the battleship as he normally would, saluting each of the death guards who greeted him in a respectful manner.

He had to do this, he was a company commander in the Fourteenth Legion, and his status forced him to maintain a nonchalant and strong posture at all times: although there were always rumors that he had risen to this position through his relationship with Motarian, Typhon himself dismissed this claim, even with disdain.

Even if he didn't know Motarian, he would have been able to climb to this position......

And even climb higher.

“…… Hiss ......"

Damn, this was no ordinary pain, but a scar of psionic energy: how did he not know that a psyker could do this before?

Typhon frowned, and began to recall what he had learned as a psyker, but that only made his brow furrow, for he remembered almost immediately: he had not undergone any systematic psionic training.

Naturally, there was no place for a human-alien hybrid like him to study and experiment safely.

And finally came to the void with infinite possibilities, but he encountered a most paranoid and stubborn primordial: under Motarian's undisguised witch-hunting tendencies, he had to carefully hide the fact that he was a psyker, let alone receive some systematic psionic training.

He even remembered the day when in the poisonous fog of Barbaros he made his advice to Motarian, who had become a hero to the world, and as a friend, he carefully mentioned the power of psionics: in his plan, with psionic powers, Motarian could defeat his seemingly invincible alien adoptive father.

Typhon couldn't forget the moment when his advice slipped out of his lips, and Mortarion, his so-called friend, was so angry at that moment that he just glanced at Typhon and made him almost instinctively want to kneel, or run away, and never be around this terrible monster again.

Motarian then gave a full lecture to his first friend, denouncing the filth of psionic powers and the vileness of the aliens, but Typhon didn't listen to a word, his head bowed deeply, and his mind was full of the look that made him lose face.

Is...... Humiliation.

He was a psyker, but nothing more, he didn't have any of the more advanced skills, comprehensions, and combat experience, and calling out a flame or lightning was already his most powerful trick.

He shouldn't have been, he should have had more power.

If it weren't for that damn order......

Damn Motarian.

He felt pain again, and this pain was even eroding his ability to reason and organize his language, as if it were a poison that had been deliberately fed in: of course it was impossible, and he had not been with Morgan for more than five minutes in total, and unless he had been thoroughly seen through in an instant, the mortal would not have had any hostility towards him at all.

What the hell is going on......

He thought, but he couldn't figure it out, that his lack of psionic powers had made him feel more and more pain.

Damn it...... Motarian ......

His heart whispered until he slowly walked to his room.

[Typhon.] 】

A deep voice burst into his eardrums.

[I heard them say that you went to the wizard, Typhon, I think I told ......]

The sound stopped abruptly.

Typhon could feel the gaze of the progenitor linger on him, and he felt the gas-mixed breath grow gruff and serious.

Finally, Motarian spoke again.

[Tell me, Typhon.] 】

Who did all this? 】

——————

"Welcome, Ms. Morgan."

"It's been years since Xana said goodbye, and now that I think about it."

James, the fourth company commander of the Shadow Moon Wolf Legion, the favorite and most trusted heir of the Wolf Shepherd, the head of the Mourning Society, and Morgan's fourth pen pal.

Years earlier, he had visited the Dark Angel as an envoy to the Shadow Moon Wolf, and under the dark clouds of Xana's world, he met Morgan, who was still doing nothing, and the two visitors, who also had some free time, walked together, and their friendship was formed extremely quickly and firmly, even though the First Legion and the Sixteenth Legion were separated by more than half a galaxy, and the correspondence between the two pen pals never broke.

So, of course, when Morgan gained a foothold on the Death Guard's battleship, her first request was to contact Sejames, and then she let Zaharel take command of the remaining Dark Angels, and she herself was the representative of the Legion, aboard the Fortitude, where Horus is now.

In fact, in theory, Zaharel would be more suitable for the position of envoy of the First Legion, but when Morgan proposed that she be the envoy, none of the Dark Angels objected to this somewhat strange request.

Sejames greeted his mortal friend on the bridge, and together they made their way through the corridors of the Glorious Queen, casting two shadows on the walls.

The Fortitude is an overly simple battleship, it doesn't even have any decorations, after all, the Lord of Death from Barbaros is not a person who is keen on extravagance, and inside this battleship, only the Empire's double-headed eagle emblem and the scarb-ring skull emblem of the Death Guard Legion itself are somewhat decorative: the former maintains a golden appearance according to the custom of the Empire, while the latter is made of nickel iron ore.

Moreover, as Sejames led Morgan through the halls where the warriors were gathered and the orders were given, they did not even see a corner for rest: for in these halls there would never be controversy or discussion, but orders from the Pale King would be conveyed to all without question.

Everything on the Fortitude is a dull yellow, as the ship's lighting comes almost entirely from special shutters, which have been specially adjusted to make the starlight that shines through it the same color as that seen on Barbarus, the home planet of the Death Guard.

But despite this, Motarian never admits that he misses his home planet.

The Shadow Moon Wolves lead the [Soul Drinker] forward in this dusk, they are like mysterious inhabitants walking in the valley, from a hidden kingdom that only exists in the scrolls, the two of them think almost equally fast, and the correspondence has always allowed them to keep up with each other's rhythm very well.

They talked about war, the eternal subject of the galaxy, and they kept jumping on their own topics, from the current war, to the three legions with different styles, to the genetic prototype Horus, the frontline battle situation of Ran Dan, and the eleventh prototype that was missing.

By the time they walked into the room that had been specially designed for negotiations, their words had been revolving around the missing Eleventh Primordial for a while.

"The Eleventh Primordial, or we can just call him Menger, that's what he calls himself to the outside world, but few people use it, they prefer to call him the Pure One, or the Perfect One."

"In a sense, he does deserve the second title, it is said that each primordial represents the imperial side, and the eleventh primordial Menger obviously has more accomplishments than the year he represents."

[So what side does he represent?] 】

Sey James laughed.

"Science."

"The eleventh original Menger symbolizes the side of the great emperor in the field of science and technology, what he is best at is to think with the purest rational thinking, and his achievements in various scientific research, especially biological sciences, are simply unparalleled."

"In this regard, his so-called perfect face and legendary deeds are just things that ordinary people are more concerned about, but from another point of view, he is not really perfect, he is always a little strict with his own legion."

"Even His Excellency Perturabo has complained privately to our Father of Genes that he feels that His Excellency Menger is too harsh and ruthless with his legions, as if they were not his own heirs, but a group of complete strangers, and his attitude towards those who conquered the world has also been criticized by many, but his merits are real, and no one is qualified to refute this."

[Sounds like you're not very worried about his disappearance? 】

Sey James smiled.

"If it were other legions or primitives, it would be worrying, but the Eleventh primordial and his legion are an absolute exception, because they have a very special killer feature: it's no secret."

[Want to hear more about it?] 】

Sey James lowered his voice.

"That's ......"

"Bang!"

At that moment, the door to the room was slammed open, and a beast of infinite anger and vengeance swaggered in, his bone-white armor and gray hood so conspicuous that this iconic outfit was only suitable for one Primordial.

Motarian, here.

His gaze wandered through the empty conference room until he locked on to where Morgan was.

The Lord of the Fourteenth Legion furrowed his eyebrows, and he whispered words that no one could understand, and walked over slowly, his palm flipped, and a huge scythe shining with snow-white light.

Morgan could hear James' uncontrollable heartbeat, but she didn't react herself, because Morgan could guess what he was coming from the first moment Motarian broke in.

Oh......

Old-fashioned plot.

(End of chapter)