“……”

"Quiet, too quiet."

"There was no crying, no death, only silence that was so abhorrent."

“……”

"I don't like that."

"The battleship has been quiet for so long that they seem to have fallen into a false sense of comfort, thinking that they are just a stack of cotton cloths that have nothing to do with blood, and they just need to wait for the big hands to pick them up and let them rub and pinch them."

"They're even laughing."

"They laugh so happily, so naturally, so stupidly, they are so relaxed, and my blood relatives who live in the world are so used to them too delicate."

"It's like she's indulged herself too lax, and lost her instinct and cruelty as a predator: the freedom I have at this moment is the best example of this, she is not unaware of the power and instability I have, but she still removes even the most perfunctory defenses, and gives me strength and minions."

"It's either a trap, a ridiculous self-confidence, or a stinking move out of so-called blood kinship: whatever the outcome, it's all wrong and needs to be corrected and revised."

"It's not right, it's stupid."

"This needs to be corrected."

"But before that, the ship was full of nothing more than her heirs and householders, who gnawed at the scraps of her charity like brainless insect repellents, and sang the praises of any of her decisions, without warning or urging her at all."

"But it doesn't matter, because now, I'm coming, the Midnight Ghost is coming."

"I'm here for her, for them."

"I was thinking it was time for her, and at the same time, for them, to be a little more serious."

"They need fear."

"And fear sometimes doesn't need real bloodshed."

——————

At times, Conrad even misses Nostramo: its stench and sins, its madness and darkness, the midnight ghost that evokes fear and murder at every trial.

It had only been a few months ago, but when he thought about it again, Conrad felt like he was years away from that moment, so long that he felt that his claws were gradually becoming rusty and clumsy.

How long has it been since he tried and intimidated those depraved crimes, months? Or a few years? Even the simplest calculation of time was difficult in the absence of this vocation, and he couldn't help but get upset.

After wandering around the nooks and crannies of the battleship like a true lonely soul for a long time, even the Night Lord had to reluctantly admit that this realm of the Void, which had been subjugated to his carrion and blood, did possess far greater stability and justice than his Nostramo, and that he had never seen a single bloody sin, and that the original sinful men on this battleship had concealed their sinister intentions so well that they could almost deceive his sense of smell.

The Midnight Ghost has found a number of sin carriers, but their sins are either small enough to require the most careful screening, or they lurk in the future that has not yet been reached, and cannot be regarded as evidence that leaves people speechless.

For example, he saw that the mortal officer in charge of repairing the engine room deck would become a traitor in a future horrific gang-jumping battle, and that he would collapse under the mental control of intimidation, despair, and semi-compulsion, opening the door he would pass through every day and placing the invading alien into the core of the battleship.

Of course, he also saw a different kind of ethereal future: a nameless mortal who would become a hero, mortally wounded in a desperate resistance in the same battle, but closed the gate with his own hands, carrying a bomb large enough to kill him and the invaders, whispering the names of his family, and quietly waiting for the invaders' footsteps to approach.

The two diametrically opposed outcomes came to his mind at about the same moment, but the Midnight Ghost was accustomed to it: he knew that Prophecy was a bad friend, and that it would always hand him two identical cups of poisoned wine, pretending that one of them contained the antidote it had accidentally put in, in order to lure him into the pain of hesitation.

Conrad already had a solution to such a situation, and he knew that his blade was the only answer to such a multiple-choice question: if he knocked over the stone table, then naturally there would be no need to worry about which cup of poisoned wine to drink.

In the same way, as long as he plucks off the head of that mortal, then that mortal naturally has no possibility of betrayal and sin in the future: how can a person who died in the past continue to harm the world?

If it had been before, the Midnight Ghost would have done it a long time ago, but not now, now he had to curb the urge in his heart so that these small evils could continue to go unpunished right under his nose.

There is no other reason: even the arrogant Midnight Ghost knows very well that if he once again carves the private possessions of his blood relatives into Turkish kebab or Picasso statues, then what awaits him will not be the "gentle care" that he did last time, and the Night Lord is not one of those idiots out there, he knows better than anyone else in the galaxy what kind of monsters his blood relatives are.

Sometimes, he even wondered if the resurrection of the Lord of the Second Legion was the work of their common Father of Genes, or perhaps some of the Human Lord's plans required the use of an original sin seed that could make the entire galaxy burn? So, he pulled this lonely soul, who should have died a long time ago, back to the ignorant real world?

Conrad wasn't sure if the idea was sufficiently likely, but an innate predator instinct warned him not to anger the silver-haired beast easily, she was far more terrible than he saw.

And this is also an important reason why Conrad chose to temporarily open his face to the countless criminals on this battleship: but he has remembered their smell, and none of these people can escape.

Just let him get a chance......

"Knock knock!"

“……”

The rude clash of steel ruthlessly interrupted Midnight Ghost's musings, and the dark eyes hidden in the hood lifted up to look at the door where the sound sounded: the only connection between his room and the outside world.

Conrad slowly rose from the corner of his room and walked to the door, where he saw an acquaintance at first sight as he pulled open the heavy steel door.

"Your lunch, Lord Conrad."

The pink-haired maid of the Lord of the Second Legion pushed her second dining cart in front of the Midnight Ghost, her somewhat tall double ponytail barely reaching Conrad's waist, but that didn't prevent her from meeting the famous Night King with eyes and tones that were almost glacial.

Midnight Ghost knew that the small, mortal-like bizarre creature in front of him was anything but a normal lifeform, because he didn't feel the slightest fear or awe from her, and her logic was more like a machine with the only core of seeking advantage and avoiding harm.

So, he didn't bother to say anything to her.

Conrad grabbed the dining cart, his eyes casually swept over the heavily armed Dawnbreaker Guards not far away, and the door sealed with terrifying power: the room of the Midnight Ghost and the Spider Queen's private lounge were almost next to each other, no more than ten meters in a straight line, and his three meals a day were all from the realm that belonged to his blood relatives.

Conrad's gaze swept casually over the two guards guarding the door, which in an instant attracted him to a great deal of hostility, both overt and covert, which he turned a blind eye to, and even smiled sarcastically in his heart: these fools did not know what kind of place they were guarding, and they certainly did not have even a similar guess, for in their pathetic thoughts it was undoubtedly blasphemy.

But the Midnight Spirits are much more savvy and daring than they are.

The pleasure of disdain caused Conrad to hum an unknown ballad and drag his lunch back into his room, where he sat on the bed, ignoring the neat fork beside him, grabbing the hot food and throwing it into his mouth.

The food was delicious, and it exuded a palpable delicacy, but the Midnight Wraith was always absent-minded about it, disgusted by the possibility that he might be too accustomed to eating the delicate stuff to nibble on the rancid stench.

As he ate, Conrad thought about the plan he had been planning for a month: tired of seeing the guilty roaming freely in front of him, the Midnight Ghost gradually got used to locking himself in his room instead of sneaking around the nooks and crannies of the battleship, and it was in the process that a hidden longing in his heart was gradually unearthed.

In the long wandering, the majesty and magnificence of this Void Realm, or the darkness and coldness, have long been seen by the Midnight Spirit, and for the so-called [Vault Area] heavily guarded by the Dawnbreakers, the Night Lord does not bother to explore the mysteries of destruction therein, except for this, there is only one place for this battleship, in his blind spot.

That's the private realm of his blood relative, that's Morgan's kingdom.

Through the blueprints of the Glorious Queen-class battleship that he had spied upon and his constant exploration during this time, Midnight Ghost had been able to imagine what kind of private realm the Lord of the Second Legion possessed, a hidden realm that no one, not even her most trusted heir, could ever set foot into.

So, what exactly is she hiding in there? Majestic enough to accommodate such a vast territory, important enough to be protected by such exacting standards: could that be her true secret, the truth that she can once again walk the galaxy, or the malevolent nature of her indifferent skin?

……

Conrad smiled.

Just think about it, it's exciting.

He should have gone in and had a look, shouldn't he?

When such a thought first crossed his mind, it lingered, even suppressing the Midnight Ghost's resentment, allowing his mind to devote himself to the effort to make this fantasy a reality.

The Night King fell silent for this, and instead of wandering aimlessly, he spent a great deal of time planning, and his steps became purposeful, staying near the places he would use.

Thanks to his blood kin's connivance, the Dawnbreakers were less wary of his elusiveness, seeing his identity as a natural sign of credibility, which made Midnight Wraith even more determined to give a little warning to the lazy lackers.

This goal does not conflict with his desire to explore, and both goals can be pursued at the same time.

Conrad worked hard to do so, carving a twisted map of the Glorious Queen into the walls with Morgan's claws, calculating the gaps between the patrols over and over again, overturning countless schemes, avoiding countless traps, racking his brains for ways to escape the terrible web of psionic energy.

It had taken the genogen a few days, and by the time he came to the ugly piece with his lunch again, the Midnight Ghost knew it was time to start his plan, because the best time was coming.

Well, the first step is......

Conrad grinned, and he casually glanced around the room: the large footprint and the full range of facilities showed that enough attention was paid to the genetic protogen, but on the other hand, the room had no windows, no second door, and the only ventilation duct was a narrow passage from the main pipe, so narrow that even a dwarf could not pass through.

It was a cage, a house arrest cage worthy of a genetic protogen, and while Morgan had never insisted that he stay here, her message was clear: don't make a fuss in this room.

Unfortunately, the Spider Queen's cage was not a perfect building, and after some patient investigation, Midnight Ghost was able to determine that the main ventilation duct that could accommodate his body was not far from the wall he was facing at this time.

The only thing he had to do now was to get there without disturbing the guards, so that he could put on a good show for his blood relatives when they all thought he was still honestly squatting at home.

As for the way to break through these metal walls without a word......

Midnight Ghost raised his head and poured his lunch into his mouth in one gulp, swallowing the exquisite food that had taken the Spider Queen's long thoughts, squeezing it into his stomach pouch in a hurry.

He waited quietly until he realized that his stomach acid had been completely mixed with the food, and then he raised his fist and slammed it into his abdomen.

The next moment, large streams of gastric acid debris flowed out of the mouth of the Midnight Ghost, and he caught them and slowly smeared them on the walls, these delicacies of the previous moment became the weapon of this moment, and for a moment, the room was filled with only a humming sound that was so low that it was almost impossible to detect.

Midnight Ghost smiled.

The plan, here it begins.

——————

When the 23rd Expeditionary Fleet arrived in the Hellettin system southwest of the Far Eastern Star Field, they finally met the Ultramarines who were here for a short rest.

Fifteen minutes later, the holographic projection of the Lord of Otlama appeared in front of the Spider Empress: Killiman was more serious and silent than he had been on the Maculag, and his armor was not spotless, but had a few traces of the dust of war.

"Thank you for coming, Morgan, but it was a bit of a surprise that you were able to respond so quickly to my invitation, and I thought I would need to fight alone for a while."

As always, the smile of the Ultramarines is indiscriminate, and in Morgan's memory, the smile on Killiman's face is one of the few things that can match her hypocritical façade, but the difference is that his smile is more majestic on the surface and more sincere in substance.

[After all, your army is so powerful and magnificent, my Killiman, I am afraid that if I come a little later, then I will only be greeted by a pile of alien ashes. 】

Morgan was entrenched on the throne, and the simple flattery in her words made Killiman a little embarrassed, and the Lord of Otramar took care of his somewhat messy blonde hair, and seemed a little guilty of living up to the expectations of his blood relatives.

"I'm afraid I've disappointed you, my Sister Avalon: my fleet still hasn't found the whereabouts of those psionic aliens, some of them have penetrated deep into the Storm Domain's Blame Sector, but have only found a few clues around Motante."

[Rest assured, Killiman, no matter how quickly a race migrates, it will certainly not be as fast as our two all-out fleets, and from now on, my think tank forces will also join the search team, and they have unique research on these alien races. 】

Killyman smiled.

"Speaking of think tanks, I think I'm going to say hello to you, Morgan: Not long ago, our brother Dorne discussed your training manual on the basics of think tanks in a conversation with me, and he read it himself and spoke highly of it."

[Dorne's high rating? This is a rare treasure. 】

"Indeed, it is said that the Seventh Legion is experimentally training the Think Tank in the Imperial Fists using your manual as a rough standard, and Dorne believes that your manual contains a wealth of valuable examples of rational speech and practice, which makes it far more valuable than the rest of the psionic books."

"He also mentioned that Fogham is said to have spread your manual to the other brothers, especially Horus, and Horus, after reading it, recommended it to more people, and I have heard that the Chagatai Khan and Riemannus even took the initiative to ask Horus for a copy each."

"Congratulations, Morgan, you actually took the initiative to make Riemanrus intersect with psionic energy, which is much more difficult than going down to the next star sector, or destroying an alien, like planting a flower on the head of a stone."

An indifferent smile crept up the corner of the Spider Empress's mouth, and she felt a calm pride at Killiman's words, and even remembered an interesting little thing because of it.

Not long ago, a veteran of the Dark Angels, who was working on the flagship of the Second Legion, made a special visit to Morgan, and the Spider Empress made an impression of him, as they had fought side by side in the Randan War.

The dark angel's words were vague and evasive, but the Queen of Genes calmly picked up the overtones between his words: in short, a certain Lion of Caliban bypassed Luthor and asked a question through the words of an heir.

Why didn't he have such a book?

This trivial matter came to an end in front of the dumbness of the Lord of the Second Legion and a handwritten psionic manual, and the Spider Empress also compensated for the Dark Angel's booklet on how to fight against the Randan's psionic based on her memories of Ran Dan and the in-depth exploration of psionic energy during this time.

[So, are you using the book I wrote, Killiman?] 】

"Of course...... However, I have made some minor changes to make its content more relevant to the actual situation of Otrama and the Ultramarines, such as the special organization of the Think Tank Force that you advocated in the book, but I canceled it in practice, because such an organization is likely to create a gap between the Think Tank Force and the main force of the Legion, which is not conducive to internal unity. ”

"Just like those casting sergeants."

Morgan's brow furrowed imperceptibly: it was one of the proudest and most innovative parts of the book, and when she looked at Killiman's unconscious smile again, she couldn't help but feel a trace of uncontrollable dissatisfaction and indignation.

[Well, my blood relative, only time will tell if your modifications are truly worthwhile, but for now, let's set our sights back on the galaxy, after all, we still have a race to exterminate.] 】

Killiman nodded, he didn't notice the faint edge of the Second Legion's master's words: before that, he had experienced a much more obvious edge than that.

The Master of the Ultramarines pressed the mechanical keyboard next to him, and a detailed star map appeared next to his projection, and Killiman briefly explained his progress to prepare the way for their detailed interview to follow.

"We are now near the dividing line between the Far Eastern Star Domain and the Storm Star Field, but this dividing line is relatively vague, only a rough division of the Terra Council, and most of the worlds here have not yet submitted to the rule of the Human Empire, maintaining their respective independence and barbaric customs."

"The system we are in now is called Heletin, and it is connected to the Ndraga system to the southwest by the Mandeville point: it is the home port of the Imperial Navy in this area, and if we continue to advance southwest, it will be the world of a knightly family that is subject to the Empire and has some autonomy: Jadasra."

"By the time we get to Jadasra, we will only be one sector away from the Storm Star Field, but the worlds beyond Jedasra are all savage wildernesses, and they lack enough value and importance, so the Empire has not immediately recovered them: neither will we, after all, this place is far away from your and my management, and we have more important things to do."

[These have not yet been recovered...... Is there any unified name for the wild world? 】

"The locals will call them gladiatorial stars, because this generation has a cultured gladiator that is hopelessly savage, and even the technology on the planet is tilted because of it, and the rulers of almost every world are slave owners, and they rely on bloody performances to curry favor with the masses at the bottom and maintain their rule."

"Nowhere is the world more famous than Nukedia, where the culture of gladiators is deeply ingrained and their military power is not to be underestimated."

【……】

Morgan was silent, her pale eyelids obscuring the bewildered instinct in her pupils.

I don't know why, when she heard the name of this world, her mind was swept by a strange wave, as if the instinct in her heart told her: that savage world, maybe there is some important connection with her?

Have you been to that world, my Killiman? 】

The Lord of Otlama blinked in some dismay, then shook his head.

"No, I have sent envoys to persuade the rulers there to submit to the Empire, and although they are unwilling, they have not shown excesses, and the value of the place is not worth sending a military force to the Empire."

"What's the problem?"

[It's nothing, I'm just a little cranky...... Then again, did your envoy report to you about what might exist in that world...... Anomaly? 】

"Are you worried that one of our blood relatives will fall there?"

Killeman instantly understood what the Spider Queen was thinking, a reassuring smile appeared on his face, and then he shook his head again, his blonde hair fluttering.

"Rest assured, Morgan, each of my legations will keep an eye out for the young talents of that world when they are on their missions, and their vision and judgment are worthy of recognition: they have reported to me that there is nothing special about this world called Nuckadia, and the only news may be that a gladiator named Onomamus is in his prime of life, and the whole world is in a bloody madness over his streak."

【……】

[That may be me worrying too much. 】

Morgan blinked, banishing the confusion from her mind, but she still remembered the savage world called Nukedia, and put its name among the second-rate words that needed to be cared about.

[Well, Killiman, my calmest brother, let's talk about something else.] 】

[For example, our next military task assignments, and their respective routes.] 】

——————

The time has come, and now is the time.

The claws of the Midnight Wraith screeched through the wide, old ventilation ducts, only to fade in the next second in the eternal noise of the wind: the interior of the main pipes, which was the ventilation system of the entire Glory Queen-class battleship, was often filled with unbearable noise, and even Astarte could not stay in the vicinity for long.

And now, Noisy is an ally of the Midnight Spirit, a staunch pillar to help him carry out the plan in his mind, the Night Lord of Nostramo hangs himself from a smooth iron wall, hooks his massive body with his hard claws, and crawls little by little towards his destination with his head against the wind.

The waves of prophecy continued to churn through his mind, reminding him of how long it would be before the plan was leaked: his two overly comfortable blood relatives were already discussing the details of the meeting, and when they were done with it, the Lord of the Second Legion would rise up and look for him, only to find a corroded second door in his room.

He didn't have much time: but fortunately, his other blood relative, the Lord of Otlama with whom he had not yet met, was a man who would take care of the details, and he would make Morgan spend a rare amount of time in more questions and trivia to facilitate the Midnight Ghost.

Thinking of this, the Nostramo King couldn't help but quicken his pace, the conversation he couldn't see urging him to move and get him to his destination faster than he had imagined: a control room lined with countless jumping torpedoes.

Two or three Daybreakers were on guard in the control room, a large room overlooking the deck, and its garrisons, while preoccupied, were unlikely to be able to hold off a single Primordial.

The Midnight Ghost knew that there was supposed to be another person here, but he went out for the time being, and would not be able to return until later: this was why he chose to do it at this time, all of which was the best result of his long observation and deduction.

Conrad stunned them, not killed them more simply: he rarely knocked anyone unconscious, which led to his methods being even ridiculously naïve, but in the face of the progenitor's brutal force, several Daybreakers were forced into dreams of unknown length before they could give any warning.

So, Midnight Ghost got what he wanted: enough to accurately launch dozens of jumpers into the [Glory of Macurag] data board at any time, although he didn't know the password for the command yet, but he had another way.

Sticking out the long tongue that had taken the Lord of the Second Legion an hour to wash pink, the Midnight Wraith slowly licked across the entire screen of the datapad, once adorned with the Spider Queen's saliva, now covered with the disgusting residue of the Night King's mouth: the oral hygiene of the Lord of the Second Legion, which had been exhausted by Koz in just a few days.

He and all his blood relatives inherited the same genetic origin, so one brother's genetic sample was the same as another's.

The data board beeps.

Receive a genetic code.

Authorized torpedoes.

Midnight Ghost laughed, and he felt a strange noise in the room, and the outsider was hurrying back, so he returned to the ventilation duct and retrieved the goods that had been sitting there for days.

Now, he is about to start the final step of the whole plan.

He was already looking forward to the expressions on the faces of his blood relatives.

Among the battleships, the abrupt alarm bells sounded.

Inside the room, a shadow lurks.

(End of chapter)