After the fall of heaven, mortal beings had the possibility of longing for civilization.

The fate of the galaxy was decided long before it began, and in years unimaginable to the races of your descendants, a catastrophe that could never be replicated has determined everything for the next tens of millions of years.

fear, greed, indifference, jealousy, anger, stupidity, weakness, surrender, deceit, disappointment, cruelty, slaughter, extermination, revenge......

The most brutal monarch ignited the nightmares and wars that swept the galaxy, and once this war began, even the greatest wise men could not determine its end, only devouring all the weeping mothers and children, and burning all the peaceful towns and fields, could the endless greed for murder and slaughter of the abominable twins be appeased for a moment.

And until all the careerists have fallen or been satisfied, the twins will never really stop.

And the war doesn't really stop.

First were the soldiers, those bewitched by the so-called honor and mission, who trembled in the trenches and wastelands, torn to pieces by artillery fire without the slightest mercy.

Then there are the people, and the cities, and the whole world, the endless, the souls that wail in the flames of war, the sins of the lone husband, drive all the miserable lives, until it itself falls into the web of guilt of stupidity and fear: the outward victor wins, but at the cost of all that it has.

Its life, its duty, its kingdom, its people, its future.

It sacrificed, it paid, it gave it all with its own hands, and all it got was an empty throne, an empty galaxy, empty eyes of hatred and dazed eyes of its former followers, and undying anger in the breasts of the truly noble.

It was afraid, it was guilty, it fled, and it became the most despicable butcher, the most contemptible villain, and the galaxy finally came into the hands of the true noble.

Our time has begun.

True wisdom and grace have since become the masters of the galaxy, and we rule in the splendor of a dream, in our minds the technology and power that you can imagine, the stars are just playthings on the fingertips, and the galaxies of galaxies rise and fall with our moods, or prosper or desolate.

But even we have not overcome the greatest power.

Time.

It's been too long.

It's been too long.

Do you know what a long period of time, a period of corrosion, a period of depravity, between the end of the war that would bring heaven to the end of our vain dreams when they were completely torn to pieces?

In the words of those of you who came after you: it was 60 million years, a full 60 million years, and we were the masters of everything we know, what we see, what we are interested in.

Sixty million years, with your barren experience and past, I am afraid I can't imagine what a long journey it was.

60 million years, 60,000 millennia.

The younger races like you, from just learning to walk, to getting a glimpse of the infinite elegance of subspace, countless so-called progress, countless vendettas between each other, countless wandering and returning in ignorance on the edge of the precipice of self-destruction, all of this is only thirty thousand years.

After that, it took you twelve millennia from the first glimpse of the subspace to the use of it.

You use those botched subspace technologies to spread your footsteps to every corner of the galaxy, swearing your hegemony in those barren ruins, enjoying the triumph of being the so-called lord of the galaxy, and then quickly falling, bleeding, and falling apart......

All of the above, from the time you officially leave your swaddling clothes, to the time some of you go back into disarray: all this is just happening in ten thousand years.

Finally, you tremble in the storm, embracing the shrinking and degrading fragments of your territory, allowing tyrants and religions to rise again, making strife the leitmotif of your race.

Until now, suddenly reversed, you are there...... Under the leadership of the dreamer, once again raise the banner of the past, eager to take back everything from the sea of stars, eager to snatch what does not belong to you again.

And that's just what happened in a few millennia.

Did you hear that?

Do you understand?

If you take what you call the first year of the Common Era, around 30,000 B.C., your ancestors had just learned how to make pottery and other crafts, and gradually broke away from the lowest class of beasts, and possessed something worthy of civilization.

Now, in the 30,000th year A.D., you have experienced the pinnacle and fall of your race, and are trying to make a final struggle: do not be bothered by the glorious achievements before you, sad descendants, your leader is burning your destiny, burning your destiny that should have survived, and letting it unleash the last spark.

All your history, all your pride, all your glory, all your pains, all your joys and sorrows, your love and hatred...... Everything, everything.

It's just 60,000 years, and what happened is fleeting.

It's just the most brand-new [thousandth] of the long night since the end of the Paradise War.

You are not special, you are not unique, you are not like our race, you are truly the chosen ones in the galaxy.

I have seen a thousand races like yours: emerging, rising, exploring, and dominating; to glory, depravity, decay and perdition.

You think you're the overlord of the galaxy?

There is no shortage of overlords in the galaxy, because careerists and delusionals can never be killed like grasshoppers in the summer.

You are not special, the galaxy once had thousands of so-called overlords, and their so-called hegemony was nothing more than a child's play for tens of thousands of years, and the river of time was enough to wash everything away from them.

But even so, you all have your own peculiarities: the rise of each overlord is the most brutal fight, and countless races and civilizations have thrown everything into the war across the stars, just for the ethereal 10,000 years of royal power.

And each successful overlord has similarities in their connotations.

They all have talent.

They are all lucky.

They all have ...... Emperor.

——————

Emperor.

That's what you call it.

Of course, you can also call him a lord, a leader, a prophet, a priest, a leader, a sage, a genius, a mad king......

All names and appearances are nothing more than false appearances, deceitful intentions that have been deliberately blurred and transformed, and a means of concealing their monstrous nature.

The birth of the Emperor is not an accidental event, it is a certain fate, the result of prayer, the manifestation of ambition, and the harbinger of war and destruction.

You and I both know how chaotic and crazy that Void Realm called Subspace is, how dangerous and terrifying it is, but you and I have to admit that that chaotic and crazy paradise of the gods is an inexhaustible treasure.

The Void does not refuse anything, the Void does not laugh at any delusions, and as long as your prayers are large enough, firm enough, long enough, the Void will respond and satisfy even the wildest of your ambitions.

And the Emperor is the product of this fairness and generosity.

When a race is lucky enough, strong enough, ambitious enough, when they can slip through the trap of civilization, pass through the barriers of history, break through the shackles of the home planet, and start their own conquest and exploration among the endless stars, if at this time, the fire of hegemony in their hearts is strong enough, they will begin to fantasize, begin to hope, begin to pray, and begin to desire.

They will yearn for a great leader, a noble rider who can be trusted, who follows and dies, who is capable, willing, and likely to burn himself for the sake of the hegemony of the race.

It can be a man, it can be a woman, it can be an individual, it can be an organization, it can be a sage, it can be a tyrant.

Everything is available.

As long as it can be as majestic as a lion, it can unite and dominate a galactic empire that is rising like the sun, so that infighting and strife will not stop the rise of the race.

As long as it can be as cunning as a wolf, able to stand up to countless rivals and mortal enemies, and let its people win brutal wars in every galaxy.

As long as it can be as ruthless as a spider, it can not be disturbed by anything to make a correct and rational judgment, and it will become a living beacon of hope and faith in its purest form.

As long as it can do this, it will become the one who is expected, surrendered, and demanded by everyone.

Such an existence, of course, is unavoidable, the vast majority of races in this galaxy have not obtained their own emperor until the moment of extinction, only those children of destiny who are large enough, determined enough, and lucky enough, their subconscious fantasies and prayers will successfully make a ripple in the subspace, so that countless beliefs and the acquiescence of the void merge, and finally produce a different kind of god hatchling, and finally produce a great will to come to them.

Eventually, the ...... of this race was born

[Emperor].

And when the emperor appears, it will come to its own people, it will rise to the occasion when it is most needed, it will be the absolute leader and soul, it will create the grandest plans to conquer the stars, it will gather the most illustrious people to prepare for a rainy day, and of course, if it does not have enough followers, it will even rely on its own will to [create] a group.

The primordial, or the Forbidden Army, whatever you want to call it.

Regardless, it will eventually succeed in rising, conquering, and creating what mortals will never be able to defeat in the eyes of mortals, and occasionally, it will need to defeat emperors from other races to fight for the only trophy.

This galaxy itself.

And in the end, the emperor will be victorious, will establish a great foundation, will become the sole ruler of countless universes and peoples, and will let his reputation be sung in every corner for thousands of years.

But it won't be satisfied.

When hell freezes over.

Every galaxy overlord race has a deep-seated greed, and this greed will also manifest itself in the emperor.

The greatest selfishness is selflessness.

It will yearn for more, it will pursue an immortal foundation, it will explore the endless sea of stars, and it will hope that its race will become the most special one that breaks the cycle of history, can escape the fate of decline and destruction, and pass on hegemony and prosperity from generation to generation to the end of heat death.

Such flames burned in the hearts of every emperor, never extinguished or diminished slightly, always urging the greatest of men to continue to exhaust themselves for the infinite love of their own race.

They are convinced that their race will be special, they are confident that their attempts will end in success, and they are convinced that their companions are the most trusted and dear friends......

They won't stop.

Even they knew from the beginning that in the depths of subspace, there were terrible and invincible gods.

Even if they will gradually discover that there are countless forerunners before them, they are just as powerful, just as intelligent, and just as determined, but they only have the same bones left.

Even if they saw with their own eyes: the golden throne stacked into a mountain, discarded like the most humble garbage into a priceless hill, was the ridicule of the gods, the declaration of fate, the end from which every race and every emperor could not escape.

But even so, they won't stop.

Every emperor, not.

And their ends.

From this, it is obvious.

Died of betrayal.

Died in strife.

Died of decadence.

Death from the Fall.

Died of decay.

Died of loneliness.

……

The way of death is bizarre.

The meaning of death is eternal.

When the orphan of the last overlord swallowed his last breath in endless despair and loneliness, perhaps the emperor who had been placed infinite trust and expectation on them was left with only a sigh to linger in the eternal void.

Everything has come to an end, and ten thousand years of glory and suffering do not need to end vigorously, just a sigh is enough.

In the end, only the golden barren mountain will have a measmic abandoned throne as the final echo of a conquest, a supremacy, and a challenge.

No one can succeed.

Every challenge is nothing but struggle.

The rise, glory and decline of 10,000 years are nothing more than a pastime for the gods to laugh at.

When the overlord falls, it will only take a few thousand years, and the deeds that it is proud of and think can be passed on to the next generation will be washed away without the slightest trace.

Until the Milky Way is silent again.

Until ambitions swell again.

Until the next emperor came to the mountain of golden thrones.

Begin another reincarnation.

There is no end.

——————

There is no end.

When Morgan looked at the [Battle Marshal] who was sleeping peacefully in her arms, her heart echoed with the last words of the Spirit Clan.

She thought about something, thinking strangely calmly, the seemingly grand and seemingly desperate future did not disturb her thoughts and composure in the slightest, and the Spider Lady only stroked her pet slowly: it was evident that it had been well raised by the mortal servants for the past few months, and had even gained weight.

Imperial ......

She muttered softly.

Morgan didn't fully believe the words of the spirit race, after all, not a word in the alien's mouth was worthy of full trust, not to mention that there were some subtle omissions in its words itself, of course, it was not a lie that caused these omissions, but its deep-seated pathetic arrogance.

Morgan didn't believe it all, she didn't believe it, she just figured out some thoughts according to the most rational way of thinking, and then recorded them in her memory as a possibility of the future.

But for one thing, Morgan was pretty sure the Elven was wrong.

Her founder, the emperor of mankind, is not that kind of emperor.

She even pointed it out to her face, and the Spirit Race generously admitted it: it admitted that even among the emperors, there will be special individuals, and perhaps what human beings have is the most unique emperor among all the [emperors].

Of course, that won't change anything, and he'll still go down that path, trying to snatch the future of the race from the gods and fate.

It would be the saddest struggle of hopelessness and suspense.

At the very least, in the knowledge and imagination of this spirit race, it could not think of any way or any possibility that Morgan's founders could win.

But that's not what Morgan cares about.

She was just thinking: if most of the words of this spirit race were credible, if Ran Dan, a powerful alien civilization that had risen rapidly in a short period of time and was even able to fight against the profound human race for so long, it was really because they had an [Emperor].

If the [Emperor] of the Randan Empire really exists, and is in the middle of this war, standing on her opposite side.

So its soul......

Is it good for her?

Will she be able to peek into some rules and secrets in the subspace that cannot be directly observed?

A different kind of longing quietly took root in Morgan's heart, and Lady Spider had no mercy or jealousy for this evil alien, and she was not even afraid that her hunt would be noticed by others, nor that her hunt would fail.

After all, she has a powerful blood brother, with his legion, doesn't she?

Thinking of this, Morgan heard footsteps outside her room, from far and near, and she recognized the approaching soul from Coswayne.

The lion king's darling knocked on the door, and his tone was as if he were dealing with a great man who was more noble than him.

"Your Excellency wants to see you, Ms. Morgan."

[What's the matter?] 】

"The Eighteenth Legion, along with their genetic protogen, His Excellency Vulcan, has arrived."

"Your Excellency now...... Comparison requires your calmness and ....... ”

"Talk."

(End of chapter)