When more than 6,000 days and nights passed in a flash, when the original place and identity began to be completely reversed, when Perturabo met Morgan again.

The Lord of Steel was shocked to find that behind the silver-haired figure, a vague illusion had emerged, faintly fused with the blue pupils.

It was, a cold sun.

——————

Many years later, when Peturabo once again recalled what he had encountered and seen on the Veil of Fate, he would still fall into a momentary confusion and still feel genuine hesitation.

Until that time, until it was too late, the Iron Lord did not dare to tell anyone what he had seen on that day, and the instinctive rebellious thoughts in his heart.

The Polaris arrived on time on the sixteenth Terra Standard Day after the completion of the magnificent temple of Perturabo, and with it a whole new expeditionary fleet, the Second Legion, which had regained courage and hope after months with their genetic protogen, had gathered all their power and received the best maintenance and renewal in the galaxy in the vast moon of Reza.

The 23rd Expeditionary Fleet, as the code name for the vast military system of the Human Empire, now consists of nearly 20,000 Daybreakers, millions of cathars, and about a third of the Titan Legion of the Belligerents: a third of the Titans' forces are coming from across the galaxy to join the growing Blade of the Empire.

However, the Legion of the Dawnbreakers has been somewhat reduced in strength compared to the beginning: Cortés and Pizarro have led a group of warriors who have temporarily left their genetic mother and gone to a world called Catachan to complete some of the [work] they have at hand.

But despite this, when the gray-white projection of the 23rd Expeditionary Fleet appeared little by little at the end of Perturabo's field of vision, the Iron Lord was stunned for a moment, marveling at the sheer size of the fleet: he could not imagine how his blood relatives could pull a force strong enough to be the main force in any battle in a few months.

Although it was far from being as good as the Dreadnought Fleet of the Iron Warriors, or the notorious Void Wargroups of the Shadow Moon Wolves, Blood Angels, and Imperial Fists, the orderly, solemn and calm manner that appeared in front of Perturabo's eyes was enough to make the Iron Lord nod his head secretly in his heart, and have a better estimate of his familiar and unfamiliar blood relatives.

What's more, it arrived on time: overcoming the uncertainty of time and the weirdness of subspace, which are unique to the galaxy, two problems that even Perturabo could not handle, were skillfully overcome or avoided by his blood relatives.

The Queen of Dawn's fleet was neither prematurely nor late, and when the Iron Warriors' first fleet of greetings officially opened a loose welcome queue near Mandeville Point, the first Dawnbreaker ship broke the curtain of the real universe and subspace, and appropriately transmitted the joy of greeting to the Fourth Legion's public communication platform.

Compared to them, the response from the Iron Warriors seemed a little unprepared.

The corners of Perturabo's mouth rose in the lowest arc, revealing a smile that was almost nothing: through the projection and the divination box, he could see all this clearly, and felt the rationality and planning of his blood relatives when they ruled the legion from the most intuitive perspective.

Be admired.

He couldn't help admiring in his heart, and the slight improvement in his mood was accompanied by his almost habitual dull hum, which made the tridents and the battalion commanders on the side lower their heads and maintain the most secure silence, so as not to detonate their moody father at any small matter.

At this moment, he is wantonly immersed in his own world, immersed in the temple of thinking that only a true genius can build at will, although he is only standing on the desolate ground of the [Veil of Destiny], although he is only standing at the end of the shutdown track carefully arranged by his heirs, but his thoughts have long been drifting away, he has long been free from the shackles of gravity and reality, and has already crossed the long river of time and space. He arrived in the little piece of paradise he needed.

——————

Perturabo remembers Morgan: he always remembered, for sixteen years.

This was not a reflection of the progenitor's remarkable memory, but the impressively unique nature of the individual named Morgan: she was so unique that even though Perturabo had only worked with her for a few days, even if they had only worked together on some of the most mundane papers, even if they had been together for a brief time, everything that had happened to Li Xing was at least sixteen Terra standard years ago.

But Perturabo still remembers, and he remembers it more and more clearly, more and more beautifully, as the years go by and the experience increases, those memories of those early years seem to have become some kind of dusty wine, more mellow and seductive.

Overall, there is a rather obvious watershed in the memory of his blood relatives by the Lord of the Fourth Legion: that is the day when the Lord of Humanity personally tells him Morgan's true identity.

Until then, Morgan had been an inexplicable mystery, a program-disrupting error code, a dark cloud obscuring reason and cold calculations, and memories of her constantly interfering with the Iron Lord's contempt and sorrow for mortals, forcing Perturabo to remember the [Li Xing's case].

After Li Xingxing, whenever Perturabo was angry at the delay of the plan, and every time he looked at the Astarte warriors and mortals who could not defeat his duties with resentment and sighs, he would sigh with contempt the fragility of these physical mortals, and lament that he was a genetic prototype, and that the gap between him and mortals was too obvious, almost two worlds and two species.

But this kind of emotion is always unsustainable, because whenever he wants to bring down the final judgment of [incompetence] and [ignorance] on all sentient beings, those noble rational and scientific thinking that come from his bones will involuntarily raise a question.

How to explain the case of Li Xingxing, the mortal named Morgan?

She is obviously a mortal, she is obviously a physical mortal who is no different from these mediocre people in front of her, but she can defeat his best heir on the bloodless battlefield, she can keep up with his thinking and pace in the realm of reason and art, and she can have even a momentary, short and precious resonance with him in the lonely fortress called the soul.

She did all of this: even if she was a mortal, Perturabo would never refute the truth, and his admiration for science and reason made him so sincere, but it also put him in a sad predicament.

If all mortals are pathetic and ignorant, then how can the Morgan, who worked with him for a short time, such a good and intelligent person, explain it?

This is not a problem that can be rudely disguised by so-called probability and special cases, Morgan's existence is like a sharp stone with just the right point, shaking the fortress of perfect thinking in Perturabo's mind again and again: but in this way, the more he remembers it clearly, the more he is unwilling to forget, the more he tries to solve this problem in the trust of calculation and reason, and then returns again and again in vain.

Like a virus entrenched in an electronic instrument, like a bug hidden in the vast code, Morgan became an invisible frequent visitor for a period of time after the Li Xingxing incident, a vague concept, an opponent who was never absent: whenever the Iron Lord spurned the drag of the world, he had to face the memories from Li Xingxing, and face the simple and complex shadow.

Over time, over time, he firmly remembered Morgan's name, the wisdom and rationality symbolized by the bright silver hair and blue eyes, and the soul resonance that flashed in the busy state of affairs of Li Xingxing: the genetic prototype firmly remembered these, but the other details began to become blurry and no longer clear.

In this way, at a certain point in time, before he knew that it was his blood relative, Morgan's noun became a symbol of some kind of beauty in Perturabo's heart, a kind of white sky that was extremely unsociable in this bloody world, but which people subconsciously wanted to approach.

She became beautiful, she became intelligent, she became in line with any of the Iron Lord's temperament, and her brief memories with Perturabo, in the passage of time and subjective influences, were constantly added more and more by the genetic prototype, and in the end, even some unrecognizable.

She did those things, and she did what even Kellyfanie couldn't: his titular sister might have loved him as she said she did, but her love wasn't what Perturabo needed, and she couldn't give Perturabo what she needed.

Whether it's artistic insight, rational equivalence, or soul resonance, Kelly Fanny can't do it, all she can do is the "love" she says.

But what does he want that useless ridiculous thing?

Kellyfanie would only conform to him, but she would never feel the loneliness in his heart, and she would never be able to say that appropriate adjective to any of his works, to any of his situations.

Kellyfanie wasn't good enough, maybe she was smart and playful, but she was no more different from those pathetic mortals: as she grew old and pedantic, even those only differences faded away, making her a part of the multitude.

Is...... Lamentable.

——————

The Iron Lord shook his head, and when he thought of this, a fiery breath erupted from his thick nostrils, like a legendary dragon scorching the pretentious dragon slayer.

His gaze moved casually, sweeping over the silent Iron Warriors, and his otherwise godless vision inadvertently caught a few familiar figures, like a key that could help him open the dusty memory: he saw his trident, he thought of another story about Li Xing, he recalled that his son had been defeated at the hands of Morgan, and his dignity had been truly damaged.

The Iron Lord snorted, his unkind gaze rising again from the events of sixteen years ago, and unreservedly struck the bodies of the two dazed tridents, more lethal than a million cannonballs, making the two ignorant tridents tremble, and in the desperate situation of their hearts, they bowed down to the moodiness of their genetic father.

And just when these unfortunate people were full of confusion and trembling, with obvious displeasure, the gaze of the genetic prototype was removed in time, and his anger came and went quickly, like a strange demonic wind, rising from the ground, destroying and decaying, but it disappeared silently in the blink of an eye.

Once again, Perturabo fell into his memories, leaving only the two tridents in a daze, and the expectant stares around them: just because of the anger of the genetic prototype, too many Iron Warriors eager to climb to the Trident position, eager to be closer to their genetic father, saw a golden opportunity for them.

And the Genogen didn't care about that: in his eyes, the Trident was just a tool more in line with the current situation, they were no different in nature from the ordinary battalion commander, and when the Genogen came to a new environment and needed a new method, or if he found a new star that could make his plans go more smoothly, a Trident would definitely leave his post and go to the new position assigned by Perturabo.

Right now, for example, the Iron Lord is casually thinking about whether to let a warrior named Danteoc replace one of his tridents as his new advisor: as for those original tridents, except for Flix, who has always been powerful, the remaining two are nothing more than generals, and they are by no means irreplaceable.

Calculations like this were running in Perturabo's mind, but it didn't stop his brain from retrieving those memories and contemplating his happiest times.

——————

It wasn't long ago that the Iron Lord had learned that Morgan, the mortal who had become synonymous with some special wisdom in his heart, was actually the same genetic prototype as him, with the same interior, the same origin, the same talent and power.

It was the Lord of Humanity, his father, who had told him that the First Expeditionary Fleet, which was part of the Lord of Humanity, had happened to pass through a world that had been reclaimed by the Iron Warriors, and that the sons of Perturabo had destroyed the Alien Pirate Alliance entrenched there, stopping their imminent raiding frenzy and ensuring the safety and stability of the four surrounding sectors, even though the sectors themselves were ignorant of it.

The victory of the Iron Warriors was disastrous, especially the six battalions that were invested in landing operations and urban warfare, and paid an unimaginable price for other legions.

A large battalion failed to fully comply with the Iron Lord's plan, and was wiped out by their furious Father of Genes because it went too deep into the battle, stripping them of all honor and monuments.

Three other battalions suffered more than 60% casualties, the result of their forced assault on the last fortified group despite the densest network of fire, when the support fire could not be deployed in time: for Perturabo could not accept that the alien remnants would have the slightest possibility of escape, which would make his victory a complete joke.

Even the Iron Lord, who felt a hidden sense of shame at his decision after the battle, approved the rest of all the troops involved in the battle, and then ordered more recruits to be recruited from Olympia, and then sat in silence for a long time in front of the alien fortress that had killed thousands of his heirs.

He watched in silence at the formidable fortress: more Iron Warriors had died trying to force it down than even the defenders of the fortress.

No one dared to disturb the Iron Lord: until the arrival of the Emperor.

The Lord of Humanity is here to help: When the Emperor heard that the Iron Warriors had responded to the call of the Holy Terra and launched an offensive against the alien pirate alliance, he only hesitated for a moment before ordering the Emperor Dream, which happened to be not far away from the Fourth Legion, to change the direction of its march and support his children.

Because the Lord of Humanity knew very well that it was not a powerful enemy that a single legion could easily deal with, and in the original plan, this alien alliance would need at least two legions to respond one after another before it could be truly put on the agenda to destroy them: this had already been highlighted by the War Council of Holy Terra.

But Peturabo didn't see it.

Perhaps, he did not see it.

And when the emperor arrived, everything was already over, the Iron Warriors destroyed their opponents in the shortest possible time, and almost destroyed themselves, and the battle report proudly presented to the emperor by the genetic prototype was enough to make the most respected victorious general be dragged directly to the court-martial.

But even so, looking at the alien fortress that was completely destroyed by the Iron Warriors and would not have any possibility of threatening the Human Empire again, and at Perturabo who puffed out his chest in front of him, and at the scarred but equally proud warriors under the command of the Genetic Prototype, the exhortation of the Lord of Humanity lingered around his mouth again and again, but could only dissipate gently into the air with a silent sigh.

Even the emperor can only sigh from the bottom of his heart that Perturabo has not lived up to his trust, nor has he lived up to the promises he made to himself on the summit of Olympia on the day of the reunion of father and son.

He who can never be tired, who can never give in, who can never have feelings......

Perturabo did it.

The Lord of Mankind sighed so with emotion.

Perhaps for the first time: the Emperor walked up to Perturabo and patted him on the shoulder, asking his heir what reward he wanted, in the most tactful tone possible.

A new conscription world? A specially approved recuperation, or a triumphant?

But these euphemistic promises were shattered in the face of the unequivocal declaration of the original genome, and the Iron Lord lightly skipped the casualties of his heir, and assured his father as much as he could: what was in front of him was far from a drop in the bucket for the Iron Warriors, and that such a victory was only part of the duties of the Fourth Legion, and did not deserve any additional rewards or special treatment.

The Emperor nodded.

He believed his child's words.

So he didn't say anything about the monument or the Triumph.

The Emperor turned around and began to give Perturabo new tasks and instructions, and when he turned his back to his heir, even the Lord of Humanity certainly could not see the somewhat stunned eyes of the genetic proto, the trembling corners of his mouth, and the rolling Adam's apple and clenched fists.

——————

"Hmph-"

At the recollection of this, Perturabo couldn't help but let out a soft grunt of indignation, causing countless uneasy eyes to quietly gather on his armor and quickly disperse.

In his heart, Perturabo was dissatisfied: even if the object of his dissatisfaction was the lord of the human race, whom he absolutely respected, the genetic prototype dared to vent his dissatisfaction in his heart when no one was around.

Again, always.

He thought.

His efforts have been ignored, his exploits have been forgotten, and the heroic sacrifices of his heirs have been undone time and time again: the Iron Warriors have protected four sectors at once, saving dozens of worlds from the captivity of the Xenomorphs, what a great feat, could it be that those Shadow Moon Wolves and Imperial Fists can produce such efficient and important achievements?

What made his heirs rush to the fortress one after another? What made him lose an elite battalion? What made his legion so defeated?

Shouldn't his plan, his devotion, the sacrifice of his sons be remembered and celebrated? Isn't it worth a triumphal ceremony or a monument?

Why didn't anyone see it, why didn't anyone care, why even the emperor, even the father of his genes, did the same, and ignored these things in the same way: if the emperor really cared, then he should have arranged a triumphal ceremony directly in those star sectors, then he should have sent a monument directly, instead of giving a meaningless multiple-choice question, so that the honor he deserved turned into the greed he took the initiative to ask for.

Perturabo was dissatisfied, in a corner where no one was looking, he was heroically dissatisfied, his fists clenched and creaking.

He took a heavy breath, one, two, three times......

……

……

Never mind.

Finally, he sighed heavily.

All the dissatisfaction and anger disappeared imperceptibly in front of that golden light and shadow.

It's not time yet, it's just that he hasn't been discovered yet, it's just a short period of darkness for the time being of that deceitful guy.

It has only been more than 30 years since he returned to this great expedition, and he has just poured his talents and abilities into the galaxy to achieve true victory and honor.

The days ahead are still long, and this expedition will be a long time: fifty years, a hundred years, or even longer.

As long as he continues to work hard, as long as he continues to exert his talents, as long as he continues to work diligently with enthusiasm and faith, to bear the burden of those who no one dares to challenge, to touch those ignorant mortals with his noble spirit of dedication: one day, all will see his great deeds, and one day, these bloody battles will become a thing of the past, and one day, even the most despicable villain will have to admire and admit that Perturabo is the greatest of all the emperor's heirs.

It's all going to happen.

Because they are rightfully true, because he will continue to bear and overcome those difficulties that no one dares to touch, until his devotion shines into even the darkest corners.

And in the process, all the bloodshed and sacrifice, all the casualties and losses.

are all necessary.

When he opened his eyes, the loving father, who had just been heartbroken for his heir, was already ruthlessly looking at the chips in front of him.

Then, he heard footsteps.

It was the sound of Kelly-Fenny's footsteps.

——————

Compared to when she first arrived, after many days of rest and serious decoration, Kellyfanie is now radiant, and even Peturabo can't help but take a look.

The slight appearance did not matter, but what really caught the attention of the Iron Lord was a certain inner nobility revealed by the bright eyes and sincere joy, which was something that Perturabo was somewhat inscrutable, but he only glanced at it and crudely defined it as useless.

"Morgan is already here?"

Kellyphine walked to Perturabo's side, standing very close, a privilege that the Iron Lord acquiesced to.

"Five minutes and thirteen seconds left."

The genetic protoplasm urn replied to his sister angrily, and he gave another look before solemnly admonishing.

"I have allowed you to meet her here, not because of the so-called friendship between you and her, but because I have allowed you to join the official meeting of the two legions as an official representative of Olympia."

"I don't care how you're going to get along in the future, but here, you have to recognize your position, Kellyfanie, and don't do anything meaningless."

"I'm sure you understand."

"I know."

Kellyfanie waved her hand, she never showed even the slightest cowardice towards Perturabo, which even made the Genoplasm feel some degree of frustration.

So, with a gloomy face, he simply closed his eyes and mouth, and said nothing.

But soon, the words from Kellyfanie made the progenitor's ears move involuntarily.

"When did you know that Morgan was actually the original?"

Perturabo was silent, as if searching for something in his mind and memory, and when he finally opened his eyes, his pupils glowed with precision.

"Fourteen Terra Standard Months ago."

"Fourteen Terra standard months, twenty-two Terra standard days, five Terra standard hours, plus thirty-seven seconds: I heard this accurate news with my own ears before the numbers of this time slice were added up."

"Your memory is still so amazing."

Kellyfanie sighed softly.

"I remember when you were in Olympia, you drew countless drawings, most of which no one even understood, and when you first saw iron ore, Damex thought you were going to plan an indestructible set of full-body iron armor, and what happened? You write and draw, what howitzer did you make? ”

"But despite this, despite the countless drawings you have made, and the fact that you can copy them exactly the same at any time, you are still not a prolific artist, and your elaborate calculations remain on paper, but you do not let the world see more of the finished product."

"Because I don't have time."

Perturabo's eyes were closed, and his voice was muffled.

"There's always more, more important things for me to do."

"Don't have time?"

Kellyfanie chuckled softly, her laughter so unbridled and sarcastic that even the bravest Iron Warrior involuntarily shrank into his own iron armor.

"Are you sure you don't have time?"

"You could have done this meeting in Olympia, or another imperial world with culture and theater, than in a temple here that will only be used once: how many ideas on the drawings can you complete with the time to build this one-off spectacle?"

“……”

The Iron Lord gritted his teeth.

"You don't understand! It's not something you'll understand, it's too complicated! ”

"I don't even bother to explain it to you!"

Kellyphany smiled, and instead of taking advantage of the victory, she fell into a silence of courtesy and slight pity, but the silence stung Perturabo's heart, and he stared intently at his sister with round eyes, until Kellyfanie sighed softly.

"When you know she's the original."

"What do you think? Peturabo? ”

Catching Kellyfanie's gaze, Perturabo's breath faltered, and the words caught in his ears instinctively stirred up his memories and thoughts, interrupting even the resentment that was surging up.

When you know that Morgan is the original body?

The Iron Lord blinked, he didn't answer, and Kellyfanie didn't expect his answer, she just looked up and began to look forward to the arrival of her close friend.

On the sidelines, there was only Peturabo, who fell into an eerie silence.

——————

[My Iron Lord, she is actually your blood relative, your kind. 】

[Morgan, she's a primordial.] 】

When the Emperor's unquestionable voice spat out these words, the Iron Lord could clearly feel that somewhere in his heart, he was being attacked and shocked in an unimaginable way.

It was so powerful, so clear, so unforgettable: he remembered it now, remembered it clearly.

It was a kind of anger, a kind of shock, a kind of confusion, a kind of sudden realization, a kind of hindsight, a kind of grief and inexplicability, a kind of shame and gloom......

Countless completely different thoughts burst out in unison the moment he understood the Emperor's words, and the powerful brain capacity bestowed by the Lord of Mankind himself, which was better than any computing device, made it a real possibility for them to go hand in hand, and the ocean of thought, which had never had any panic and confusion, rolled up an earth-shattering storm in an instant, making the orderly flow of water a turbulent rush that chose people to eat.

She's the original?

Is she a blood relative?

Is she of the same kind?

She...... She's not mortal!

She......

She......

She's cheating on him!

She's deceiving him!

She's hiding her identity, she's obscuring her powers, she's using the real information and his trust to accomplish something in her heart: it must be despicable!

She's right-handed! Her dedication! Her selfless comments and sincere words! The resonance she evoked in his heart! The footprints she left in his memory and soul!

No! No! No!

That's false! That's vicious! That's the golden apple of Eris! That's the big Trojan horse of Troy! That's the saddest, the most contemptible and the abominable......

[Peturabo? 】

[What's wrong with you?] 】

The Lord of Humanity frowned, looking at his descendant with his head bowed, feeling a genuine sense of confusion.

Is there anything you don't understand? 】

The emperor smiled, and he quickly thought of a possibility.

Since he is his Lord of Steel, he must be worried about ......

Efficiency?

[If it's about Morgan's abilities, then I don't think you need to be overly worried, my Lord of Steel. 】

[Your blood relative Morgan, although she woke up very late, and it was not until the time of the Randan War that she realized her essence and completed the cognitive transformation from a mortal to a primordial, but she is still a qualified genetic primordial, with enough strength and will, and will not delay the pace and progress of the Great Expedition. 】

[You don't have to worry about the efficiency of the Great Expedition being affected, my Peturabo, that won't be a problem.] 】

The Lord of Men smiled, patted his son on the shoulder, and whispered praise for his victory and effort, though only a few words: for even the Lord of Men could not think of anything to boast about in Pertulabo.

But the Emperor was pleased to see that Perturabo quickly raised his head after a clear stunned and stunned look, and he looked at the Lord of Mankind, anxiously asking a question.

"She's here! Awakened during the Randan War! ”

"At that time, she only knew that she was a Naymor?"

【…… Yes, it does. 】

I can swear to you with the trust I have in my sons and my heirs, my Perturabo. 】

The Lord of Humanity is a little dazed.

But he nodded.

That's exactly what Johnson told him, anyway.

What Johnson said......

Surely this is the truth.

——————

"She's coming."

Kellyfanie's voice had become visibly active, and the joy of joy interrupted the Iron Lord's thoughts, pulling him back to reality once more.

He looked up and saw a dark cloud of storm birds, slowly heading towards the end of his vision.

The Iron Lord blinked, his mind quickly skimming over the question before his blood relatives stepped off the plane.

After knowing that Morgan is actually his blood relative, after the impression and memories of Morgan have crossed that watershed, what does he think of his unique blood relative?

The Iron Lord's eyes narrowed, and he watched the largest storm bird carefully until it slowly came to a halt in front of him.

……

……

He didn't know.

He didn't know.

He couldn't come up with an answer, because the impressions of the past were shattered, and the fragments of those memories could not support any of the arguments that would convince him again.

He needs ...... Again, corroboration.

Look again, feel it, figure it out.

To use the right way to build a rational platform.

The genetic prototype of the Fourth Legion narrowed his eyes like this, and when he saw Morgan again after more than six thousand days and nights, in a trance, he actually felt a somewhat cold light first, obscuring his vision.

His pupils, like his heart at the moment, were obscured.

He thought so, but without the slightest hint of panic.

Because, as soon as the Lord of Steel blinked his eyes, the light was gone, and he could clearly see the silver hair, the blue pupils, the just right smile.

Everything that is familiar and strange.

He saw it again.

He's going to be ...... again. Know.

(End of chapter)