In fact, from the beginning, Morgan did not support Johnson's plan.

She remembered that Johnson had officially presented his plan on the bridge of the Glorious Queen of the First Legion, and for the first time in the ten years she had known the lion, she had seen such a stupid light flickering in Johnson's sparkling turquoise pupils.

When the three legions' genetic protogens gathered on the bridge of the Indomitable Truth, sending away the badly wounded Riemanluth and his remaining heirs, even the knight king of Caliban did not have even a half grudge against his brother, they embraced like the closest comrades, Johnson lowered his voice, and entrusted the wisdom of Riemanrus to the dark angels who had to evacuate first because of their serious injuries.

The truth of the matter sounded so ridiculous: in fact, at the end of this bloody tug-of-war like a meat grinder, the greatest casualties of the three legions were the sons of wolves from Fenris, while the First legion did not have a staggering loss figure.

The reason is also very simple: most of the Dark Angels have indeed experienced a whole brutal tug-of-war: but those neat arrays, well-defended fortresses, orderly advance and retreat, and exquisite command and coordination planning from their genetic protoplasms have made the battle situation of the First Legion rarely collapse and unexpected situations, and under the orderly support and cover of each other, although the Dark Angels are the well-deserved main force of this battle, they have not died too much, and every sacrifice can be roughly expected in advance.

Confrontation and attrition are never the biggest causes of casualties: irrational attacks and panicked routs are.

But this does not mean that the First Legion did not pay a price: more than half of Johnson's sons were killed in the dust of Tax, and more than 10,000 of them were killed: and the vast majority of these dead were meritorious veterans who came out of Terra, living legends in every company and order, and many long-standing orders lost their last heirs in the cold steel: they were so powerful and trustworthy that they stood in the most dangerous positions, endured the most likely desperate situation and sacrifice.

Compared to the Dark Angel who gave his life to responsibility and order in the cold and complete steel, the children from Fenris were even more reckless: the children of Riemanrus stormed into the heart of the Randan's army, and the damage they inflicted was probably more important than the Dark Angel and the Salamander combined, and the casualties they suffered were unimaginable: I don't know how many space wolves rushed to the alien warship, only to disappear silently in the absence of reinforcements and outnumbered.

Not to mention, the hundreds of warships in the void that were not afraid of death in order to temporarily delay the footsteps of the alien emperor, as well as the thousands of wolf kings who followed their genetic father to jump to the [Destiny Engine], but only a thousand survived: they were all the proudest sons of Riemanrus, the most elite part of the Sixth Legion, no one knew how much the space wolves paid in their shortest decisive assault, but when Riemanlus once again summoned his thirteen wolf masters, Only five people answered the call.

But even so, even with such sacrifices, the empire still could not sound the horn of victory: in fact, when the [engine of destiny] walked out of the alien emperor that could no longer be described in any words in the world, the situation that happened in the Tux galaxy can already be described as [extremely bad].

In this case, retreat seemed to become the only option.

At least, that's what Morgan thought.

——————

But she was soon surprised to find that her two blood relatives seemed to have some even more crazy ideas.

In her opinion, it was unimaginably absurd: with the gradual withdrawal of the elite power of the three legions, all that was left of the Taxs system today was a few mortal auxiliaries for the queen of the temple.

Yes, they are indeed very elite and numerous, but in this extremely bad situation, it is normal to abandon these forces and let them strangle with the alien army, so as to better preserve their power.

Exchanging the blood of millions of people for the safety of the genetic protogen, even the slightest possibility, is the most cost-effective deal, isn't it?

This is not ruthless, it is only the most basic choice of interests, and it is the simplest problem that every person who can command legions and fleets will encounter sooner or later.

But Johnson's answer to this was something that Morgan did not expect at all.

"Traps, ambushes, decapitations, and in the worst case, inflict as much damage as possible on that alien emperor."

In the dim void, Johnson slowly spat out these words, his pupils flashing with an excited light, the kind of long-lost light about challenge and hunting.

And this was quickly met with an equally positive response from Vulcan.

——————

Vulcan's ideas are not much in common with Johnson's.

In the eyes of the Lord of the Fire Dragon, this is a very simple arithmetic problem:

If he stays and stops the invincible Emperor Randan, then even if he can hold out for one more second, it will be enough for more mortals to pass through the escape door and save their heroic lives.

On the contrary, if he withdraws, he will need more mortals to go to the back of the palace and cover, so that more warriors will spill their blood on the battlefield.

Between this plus and minus, it was already a heavy number: it was heavy enough for Vulcan to fight.

——————

And Johnson's idea is even simpler.

In this war, the knightly king of the Caliban has remained in his command room until now.

His armor was as bright as new, his sword had not drunk even a single trace of blood, and even in the depths of his battleship, there was a large number of weapons that had not been put into battle.

He was alive: healthy, active, with the strength and courage to fight.

In this case, let him face an alien miscellaneous crumb, and he didn't even dare to fight, so he fled in a hurry?

……

Are you kidding!

——————

Through his own strength, Morgan was able to clearly hear in his heart the answers that his two blood relatives had chosen to leave behind.

Hearing such a clear answer couldn't help but make her face ......

It's even more confusing.

After all, in his bones, Morgan still couldn't understand the reason why Johnson and Vulcan stayed.

If Johnson's pursuit of his own theory of honor and responsibility can be understood by the Spider Empress, then the hot and sincere heart of the Lord of the Fire Dragon is enough to burn every thread of Morgan's thoughts.

She really couldn't understand what kind of power the so-called mercy could make Vulcan stand firmly in the most dangerous position for the slightest possibility of countless strangers: in any case, in Morgan's heart, the lives of tens of thousands of mortals, even in the purest value, were far less safe than Vulcan's own lives.

But apparently in the fiery heart of the Lord of the Dragon, wrapped in his dark skin, there was another equation that he recognized and believed, and that equation was enough to arrive at a series of noble words of courage, selflessness, and devotion: and each of these words was a bit of a fantasy to Morgan today.

Morgan even felt a certain irony at Vulcan's insistence: in her opinion, it was the right move to abandon the battleships that had been entangled, and allow the genetic prototypes and the last of the main forces of the legion to retreat in peace.

But that didn't stop her from saying a word in the brief meeting between the three primitives, listening with an attitude of almost contempt as Johnson and Vulcan constructed the doomed plan little by little, and her own somber face when Johnson asked her for advice......

Nodding.

She did not refuse the insistence of blood relatives.

Although she has denied and ridiculed countless times in her heart.

So, she joined the fight.

——————

After all, with Riemanrus seriously injured, Johnson and Vulcan's insistence forced Morgan to stay and accompany them through this long-ordained gamble:

The countless instincts and rationalities in her heart were constantly admonishing her that it was a most unwise choice to let her two blood relatives die here.

They can't die.

There is no reason.

But even so, that didn't stop Morgan from throwing himself into the battle with a bewildered mindset

Even the Spider Empress, who will be exclusive to the Second Legion in the future, has to admit that there seems to be a little strange change in her heart when she doesn't even notice it, but so far, these changes still can't shake her.

She was confident that she was still the same familiar self at this time, and that she would be able to heal these wrinkled waves for a long time after the end of this war, and become the absolute master of the thousands of cobwebs again.

With that in mind, Morgan watched as Johnson unleashed the most terrifying darkness and then aboard a specially modified battleship, waiting for the arrival of the Alien Emperor.

And then.

The battle began.

——————

There is no suspense.

Not even a single bit.

As Morgan dragged her exhausted body and soul, with lips as pale as her own, and spat out a spell that had been prepared long ago, dragging the bastards to the coordinates she had prepared long before the Battle of Tuckers, the crown of her teeth clenched as if it could tear apart the throats of Johnson or Vulcan.

These two bastards did not perform even the slightest miracle: even though they were genetic prototypes, they were only genetic prototypes, not gods.

When the alien emperor, several times taller than even the largest Imperial Titan, stepped into Johnson's trap, Morgan only glanced at its soul and began to whisper a teleportation spell.

All the means seemed so insignificant in front of the hundreds of billions of souls who were wailing in unison: whether it was the various traps that Johnson had painstakingly built, the hammer blows of Vulgana containing fury and noble flames, or the roar of the ancient machines that were enough to confront and delay the two genetic prototypes, or even the trap itself, a killing machine inherited from the Golden Age, their joint efforts, their uninterrupted cooperation at the same time, only made the alien emperor pause slightly.

The battle was swift, monotonous, and without any ups and downs: the roar of the Lord of the Fire Dragon and the roar of the Ancient Creation brought the Alien Emperor to a slight halt, and then it was his earth-shattering counterattack, and under such fury, Vulcan actually held out until the third round, until Johnson and his layout began the second round of the offensive against the Alien Emperor, and then passed out.

And when Morgan almost didn't hesitate to spit out his treasured soul and let a stable portal and a storm descend at the same time, even the knight king of Caliban had already smashed through all the walls, dying in the face of absolute power and fury.

Morgan looked up, sighed, and caught a brief glimpse of the terrible creation, and then, her pale lips uttered a spell that would allow the storm to descend in time.

This was the end of the Battle of Tak, the end of one of the most magnificent wars between the Empire of Man and the Empire of Randan.

It is neither grand nor legendary, only endless blood and pain: like every war that goes down in history.

When Morgan fell out of the portal she had created, leaving the unimaginable horror on the other side, she collapsed on the deck of the Indomitable Truth, thinking with the only remaining will.

In her ears, the killing machines that had not yet been completely destroyed hissed with hatred: they had lost their purpose of fighting and killing, and were eager to find their next victim.

Fortunately, Coswayne and the others, who had been waiting for a long time, rushed to this side without hesitation, and they pressed the controller, ending the possible disaster, and it was only at this moment that Morgan sat down on the dirty armor of her two blood relatives, gasping for air.

It was only at this moment that she felt temporary security, temporary.

Because she knew that Ran Dan's fleet would never stop for even a moment: carrying the bite of those countless souls, until now, it was a stupid move that Morgan could not imagine, but this did not prevent Morgan from figuring out what would happen to the alien emperor: sooner or later it would fall into madness, it would fall into distortion, and it would completely lose all reason and will.

Well, before that, this madman will definitely not stop his steps, even if only for a moment.

It will soon get here.

Morgan isn't bothered by this, though.

She let the legionary minions support them to rest, and let the rest of the fleet quickly withdraw along the light of the stars, her eyes always flickering, staring in one direction:

That symbolizes the direction of the Holy Terra.

She knew where this was, this was another key point of communication on the road to Holy Terra, next to the Tux system, a place of death that Ran Dan couldn't avoid.

It is where they are about to arrive and hold on.

It's an obscure corner.

Obscurity...... That's good.

She thought so, and even laughed softly, leaving the mortal nurses around her at a loss: they didn't know the reason for the smile, nor how to use their abilities to heal a genetic protogen, and the pharmacists of the First Legion just looked at the freshly washed film, gathered together, and furrowed their brows one by one.

But all this doesn't matter anymore.

On the other side, in another corner of the nameless galaxy, behind a slammed sliced interstellar door, a large fleet was slowly pouring in.

Through her third eye, which she was now barely open, Morgan was able to witness the great fleet, some of which she recognized.

At the top of the pack was the Death Guard's Tenacity, its dark green livery was truly memorable, and behind Mortarion's Queen of Glory was an even more massive ship: the Vengeful Spirit, the Wolf Shepherd's car, showing its majesty in its silent advance.

Countless powerful engines of war surround the two Queens of Glory: cosmos-killers from the Praetorian Army and Mars, advancing at breakneck speeds in their golden hulls and silvery light, each of which can easily determine the outcome of a naval battle, but here they are nothing more than soldiers.

And further in the center, there are the monsters called the Ark of the Machine: yes, not just one, but a swarm.

But everything is still overshadowed by the real kings of this fleet.

In the amber light, it slowly revealed its form, it was a god-like warship, it was more dazzling than a thousand suns, it was an impossible ship made of gold and marble, a ship of kings that did not exist in the laws of the real universe.

Looking at the entire galaxy, there is only one person who can match this mythical ship.

The Emperor's flagship.

【Emperor Dream】

At this moment, it comes.

(End of chapter)