Just as the sun moves on the horizon and the moon moves below the horizon, so does the blood of the emperor when all the Astarte warriors talk about their respective genetic fathers, and the Emperor's bloodlines are happy to discuss and compare their respective offspring.

It seems to be some kind of tacit understanding and habit, some kind of common hobby, some kind of instinct engraved in their genes, just as Astarte's fanatical attention to their own original body shows their loyalty from the side, and the Legion Lords' devotion to their respective children is also the best expression of the endless fatherly love in their hearts.

The vast majority of primordial beings cannot escape this law, and only those very few, extremely indifferent and even crazy exceptions, will use pure oppression and violence to treat those blood heirs who chant his name and fight to the death.

And at this point, Morgan undoubtedly belongs to the majority of the primordials.

Leaving aside whether her so-called maternal love was a vicious bile that had been concealed too well, a stream of affection that she would not admit, or possessiveness and pathological greed that had been twisted to the extreme, or an organic combination of all three: in any case, the Lord of the Second Legion did care for every dawnbreaker under her command as much as he loved the luster in her pupils, a fact that no one could deny.

She can be proud of their achievements, worry about their prosperity, and let the rain fall in her heart for their successive declines: but then again, what primordial would not be proud, toiling, and weeping for their offspring?

You must know that even a ruthless arbiter with a heart of steel, when he sees the corpses of soldiers scattered all over the mountains under the victory, he will still give birth to a moment of guilt, sadness and emotion, as well as endless grievances and anger in his heart.

Compared to this complex Olympian emotion, the Lord of Avalon raised her glass, intending to fight for the honor that the Dawnbreakers had left in the mouths of the Progenitors, but it was the simplest form of competition.

Just as every Astarte feels that his genetic father is the strongest and the most suitable to become a war commander, each genetic prototype also has the same or even higher expectations and positioning for his warriors.

Johnson, Riemanruth, and Morgan are no exception: after a brief hesitation between Rana and Bayar, the Spider Queen singled out the latter as a compliment in her mouth.

As one of the earliest and most powerful Terra veterans, the Perfect Knight's prestige didn't even need any more embellishments to penetrate the bonfires that burned more and more in the primordial space, temporarily suppressing the other two Legion Masters.

Johnson looked tormented, chanting names like Coswayne, Arachos, Astrand, and the obscure veterans of the Inner Ring: each of them had performed feats that would have awe-inspiring the entire human empire.

Obviously, there were so many veterans like Bayard in the First Legion, that even after the bloodbath of the Randan War, Johnson could not even pick out the most representative figure among them: from another point of view, it was a happy annoyance.

On the side, Riemanruth presented another kind of embarrassment: the wolf king of Fenris kept chanting the names of the wolf lords under his command, and counted a long list of Terra-style titles, but he never came up with a strong and well-known figure that made him feel sure of victory.

And so, when Morgan raised her glass and stepped into the battle, she was greeted by the silence and frowning brows of the two genotypes, and even the sound of coal crackling in the campfire could drown out their constant whispering.

The Spider Empress pursed her lips, feeling a little bored, and her gaze shifted to the light of the fire: on the other side, in the darkness, a midnight ghost seemed unconcerned about the debate about the heir, and was enthusiastically practicing how to use the large dagger in his hand to cut off the pieces of flesh as fanciously as possible, and to preserve as much as possible the clotted blood that remained.

Obviously, in the face of such a scene, there was some kind of bloody association in the little brain of the Nostramo people: fortunately, this kid did not forget to add coal to the fire.

[Don't you want to participate in a contest like this, my little parasite: through your vision of the future, you should be able to see what your children look like, right?] 】

Morgan left her seat, and she stood in front of the fire, her tone teasing.

"Ah...... Of course you can see it. ”

Conrad grinned.

"The product of a bunch of criminals, garbage, cowards, and pretentious sociopathic personalities, mixed with the thick juice of the decadence and depravity of the aristocratic class, is my legion, and I don't even know where to start purging them."

[The Eighth Legion's current reputation is not bad: they are cruel, but no one will deny their value to the Empire. 】

"That's because they haven't been really tested: in fact, the sheer majority of them are unyielding, and to name them will only save my face."

[Do madmen care about face? 】

"Sometimes."

Midnight Ghost answered the question sullenly, not even Morgan could see the real face in the low hair, so she took a few steps forward, swept the Nostramo side, crouched down, and let the nearby campfire turn her face red.

[Does this make you feel inferior?] 】

Morgan directed her psionic powers and poured a glass of wine for Midnight Ghost, which Conrad took in silence before slowly moving from his place, squatting as he squirmed to Morgan's side, like a gloomy mass of seaweed.

The Spider Empress even felt a little worried about his words: if Conrad was really a primordial who had lost pride in her legion and offspring, then her education would be a complete failure.

In the midst of this apprehension, the Nostramo handed over a piece of roast that was perfect in terms of both heat and knife skills, and after seeing Morgan put it in his mouth, Midnight Wraith munched on the leftovers of the roast and muttered his blood relative's words in a vague voice.

"Not really."

[Why?] 】

The Spider Queen asked, picking up her second glass: the one in Morgan's hand was noticeably more cloudy than the one she had poured for Conrad, and she pecked in small sips, the psionic glow that was used to dispel the toxins made her hair flutter unconsciously.

"Because ......"

Midnight Wraith grinned and smiled.

"Though my heirs are just a pile of rubbish that should be burned to ashes, it is precisely in the ashes of such heat that true pure gold and diamonds are revealed: compared to the greatest sons of the future, the people they speak of are nothing more than gargoyles under the rain of acid, and sooner or later they will be overshadowed by the real contrast."

"I have the best son, the best warrior, he is a Nostramo, he carries out my philosophy, breathes my blood, and even commands my legions, so that I can be proud of him, and he is even greater than me: although he is the only one who can do this."

Midnight Ghost's tone was even arrogant, and when he looked up to speak of the son of Conrad from the future, his pitch-black pupils, even in the light of the fire, reflected a certain hope that Morgan admired: the appearance of this scene shattered the Spider Queen's fears.

She could retract the preface, and her tone reverted to teasing and joking.

[The true master of the Eighth Legion? 】

Morgan touched Conrad's shoulder with his shoulder, making innocuous jokes, while the Nostramo man puffed up his cheeks with a roast and baguette, thought about it very seriously, and then nodded very seriously.

"Yes, he is."

【……】

[A little ambitious, Conrad, you are the genetic prototype of the Eighth Legion.] 】

"But he's the Lord of the Eighth Legion."

Conrad's words can be called innocent.

【……】

Morgan frowned.

[Don't be like this, Conrad, you just make me feel that I have raised you to waste: no matter how corrupt any primordial is, it is impossible for him to degenerate to the point where he cannot control his own legion, and that will become a galactic laughing stock.] 】

Midnight Ghost's eyes widened at him, and he listened carefully to Morgan's words, and then, he chopped another piece of meat, carefully peeled off the best part of it, and stuffed it into Morgan's hand, before grinning, smiling and whispering, told a secret.

"When did you hallucinate like this, Morgan: There is no shortage of laughing stocks among our dozen brothers, and if it is a laughing stock to lose some of its grasp of the legion, then the father of our genes has given birth to at least a dozen galactic comedians."

Morgan blinked.

Well, a dozen are twelve......

Tsk, that's a worrying number.

"If You Don't Believe ......"

Midnight Ghost rubbed forward again, and on his pale countenance, the drunken red that had been born from continuous drinking, touched Morgan's knee with his elbow, making the Spider Queen, who was also crouching, almost unable to stand still.

The slender fingertips of the Nostramo man pointed somewhere behind the flames.

"I can tell you right now."

"One of the brothers present will be knocked to the ground by his warriors in the future."

"Guess who?"

【……】

[Don't guess.] 】

"Guess what, if you're right, I'll tell you what my best son will be called: it's not hard to guess, isn't it, I think you've already figured out the answer."

The Midnight Spirit's pupils flickered with danger and sarcasm, so evident in the light of the fire, Morgan looked at her brother silently, then turned and grabbed a brand new baguette beside him with lightning speed.

[Shut up, you. 】

The Conrad, which had been hit through the mouth by an armor-piercing bullet, was shattered, and he simply sat down on the ground, roasting the fire while covering his cheeks with bread.

He laughed.

"His name is Sevita, Morgan, and you need to remember that."

"He's from Nostramo."

——————

The identification of the Spider Queen and the Midnight Ghost was quiet and swift, unnoticed by the other two Primitives, and as the Spider Queen munched on Conrad's fed flesh and stood up, she heard the Caliban and Fenris again arguing.

Beside them, two huge barrels had been emptied, and they had disappeared into the darkness with a grunt: this undoubtedly made the debate even more intense and unyielding with the addition of alcohol, and the Legion Lords grinning their teeth and arguing.

"Coswayne is the best warrior, and Arachos is on par with him, they are the blades of the Dark Angels: what about you, Riemann, do you have any barely qualified warriors from among the wolf cubs under your command?"

Johnson's arrogant posture ushered in a fearless counterattack, and although the wolf king was stuck in his shell at the moment when the words left his mouth, he still roared with pride.

"Jorin! Yorin—Blood! My best wolf lord, my shield guard, I've fought alongside him for eighty years, and I know where every scar on his face comes from! The soul of Fenris is on top, I tell you, even if he burps after drinking! the fart! You can turn the mysterious tin cans under your hands upside down! ”

The roar was followed by a long stream of gruff laughter, and another angry roar from Caliban, and in the midst of his laughter, Riemanruth grabbed the barrel beside him and drank the wine that had made Morgan's eyelids pop in the blink of an eye, the remaining liquid lying down his beard, corroding wantonly on the hard steel floor, and making a sizzling and uneasy chirp.

On the other side, the face of the Lord of Caliban turned dangerously red from humiliation and oppression, and he did not make a move after all, but snatched the largest barrel from Riemanrus with a heavy face, and drank provocatively in the face of Fenris's curses, which was not inferior to his wolf king brother in the slightest.

After draining a barrel of what could hardly be called wine at a faster pace, Johnson tried to maintain his serious countenance, wiped the corners of his mouth, and spat out a defiant word.

"Jorin? Ah, I remember him, the guy who was in Duran's orbit and almost messed everything up? If he had been in my dark angels, he would have been court-martialed. ”

"O whole father! Are you going to fucking hold on to this? It's been a fucking year, big deal, let's fight here again! ”

"I don't even want to bully you, Riemann, seeing how drunk you are now, defeating you is a vaudeville with no difficulty or glory, even the lowest servants can do it."

"Fart! Do you think you can take down Fenris's man casually! ”

Johnson burst out laughing, his countenance hidden in the shadows, making it impossible to see how much alcohol had affected him.

"Of course! I'm the best swordsman in the Empire! The best hunter in all of the galaxy! All that little bit of hunting trick you're talking about is just a bunch of jokes: Come to Caliban! I'll teach you what hunting really is! ”

【……】

But the impact should still be there......

Riemanrus's roar was exchanged for Johnson's muffled and terrifying laughter, and the silent forehead of the Spider Empress, the Dark Angel and the Space Wolf's genetic protoplasm confronted each other like this, they glared at each other like a game, tore the largest piece of meat from the Howling Ox like a game, and drank barrels of ominous wine with the momentum of treating the enemy, and they didn't even want to show the slightest backwardness.

Maybe it was a competition, or maybe it was a different kind of drinking party: who cared about the real outcome, after all, even Morgan and Conrad were drawn to the side of the lion king and the wolf king, and they drank in silence, snatching the pieces of meat from the minions of the two beasts.

For the next hour, the three howling oxen were devoured with hatred, barrels and ashes mixed with the incessant cursing and competition of lions and wolves, and the constant clashing of armor and hides on their shoulders, but fortunately, nothing escalated into more intense conflict, and the greatest tragedy was only when Riemanlus's half-drunk, half-sober gaze inadvertently caught a glimpse of Conrad, who was snickering on the side, who did not know when he slipped here, using the-for-tat and ugliness of his brothersAs a condiment for your own meal.

“……”

“……”

For a moment, the air was somewhat quiet.

Then, the Fenris smiled with a smile that made Midnight Wraith's eyelids flutter.

"What cup to drink! ! ”

With a strange scream, Riemannus lunged at the midnight ghost who wanted to escape: the Nostramo man's escape route was blocked by one of his ruthless sisters, leaving him in the hands of the Fenris werewolf, who slapped Conrad's glass away and grabbed the barrel at the side.

"I heard that Morgan is teaching you: Our little sister is indeed good, but there is one thing she will definitely not teach you, and that is how to be a real man! But that's okay! Your brother Riemann Ruth is here to teach you today! ”

"First of all! A real man! You should fucking drink a lot! ”

The incoherent Nostramo cursed and screamed as Riemanrus burst into laughter, and the two genogens immediately engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand fight, leaving a terrifying shadow next to the firelight, as well as the unanimous laughter of Morgan and Johnson, until Conrad's ferocious elbow knocked Riemanruth to the ground.

"Beautiful!"

The wolf king covered his face, and did not forget to praise this one in a vicious tone.

But before Midnight Wraith could catch its breath, a certain of Caliban's big cat silently left its place and approached Conrad's back, alcohol burning with a fire of concentration in his pupils.

With new curses and blows, the Dark Angel's genetic protogens managed to knock his brother to the ground, and Johnson's cold smile even had a hint of revenge amid Riemanruth's laughter and Conrad's madness to the point of almost illogical cursing.

"I told you, Conrad, that trick of yours won't be useful anymore."

"I ...... Grass"

"Hold him down! Brothers! ”

The roar of Riemannus Ruth made the whole hall tremble, and the wolf king grabbed the barrel again, slapped the lid off, and rushed in front of Conrad, turning the whole barrel over and pouring it on the face of the Midnight Ghost.

"Come on! Drink! That's what you should do! ”

"Riemann is right: you should learn to do something decent, Conrad."

“……”

The Midnight Wraith's curses were drowned out in the waterfall-like pouring of strong acidic liquor, and his entire face and hair were wet, making Morgan on the side want to laugh out loud, but also feel a kind of heartfelt helplessness and disgust.

But in any case, when the two mighty Legion Lords worked together and poured four or five barrels of flowing manly energy into their little brother in one go, it was only a brief moment of effort, and the mutual roaring, swearing, and unbridled laughter in the room changed from two to three, and they were intermittent, accompanied by the sound of roast meat being torn and barrels being opened, like a break in a boxing match.

The Midnight Wraith roared, and mingled with the laughing Riemanrus, and the pieces of flesh and liquor flew in their storm, so that Johnson returned to his lair with disgust, groping for new barrels, and continued to drink, and the Spider Queen handed him new meat, and he only took it in silence, like a stone statue that was too unforgiving: but if you looked closely, you would see that his bladed hand already had a slow shaking that emerged from drunkenness.

【……】

Morgan sat on the edge, close to the fire, silently responding to the increasingly chaotic dance of demons in front of her, sipping on wine and roasted meat, diligently defending the meaning of the feast.

[So, as long as you drink it slowly, this wine is actually okay.] 】

Patting the freshly drunk barrel beside her, the Spider Empress defended the last glass in her hand as she surveyed the stormy battlefield in front of her: the three primordials had wiped out most of the barbecue, but the wine they had brought was enough to keep the mad feast going.

【……】

Suddenly, Morgan pursed the corners of her mouth and suppressed a burp in her throat: she didn't know if it was a full burp or a wine burp.

A new, shrill voice began to torment her eardrums, and when she looked up, she saw that Riemannus and Conrad were both half-lying on the ground without an image, cursing and chatting with each other on some incomprehensible topics, but Johnson was still holding himself up, sitting upright in his seat, his body leaning forward from time to time, and a pair of sluggish pupils on his stern face.

They have already drunk two...... Or three hours?

Morgan blinked, realizing that she couldn't remember, she patted her head, got up from the ground, joined the temporary rest of the primordial community, and sat down in the place where Riemanrus had been.

To her left, Johnson was eating the meat so intently that he was carelessly chewing off the blade of his sword, and at her feet, Riemanrus fell to the ground on all fours, his bearded face covered in scars and wine stains, grinning and seemingly enjoying the air, while the Midnight Ghost rested his head on the seat next to Morgan, muttering curses.

The Spider Empress observed the scene quite carefully, and though it was chaotic, savage, sluggish, and filled with the pungent smell of wine and the smoke of the flames, it was in a sense so precious: they were brothers, leaning against each other by the fire, and they did not have to think about anything but eating, drinking, and bickering with each other, and when they were silent at the same time, the four pairs of pupils looked at the burning fire at the same time, like the planets watching the sun in silence.

They could see the white gas of coal dancing in the flames, and the residue that remained on the iron frame fell from time to time with grease, making the steady red flame tremble like a splash, and the fire struck from the deepest depths, into their pupils and hearts.

In this moment of silence, neither drinking, nor eating, nor fighting and competing with each other, they looked at the fire and at each other, and talked about the day: no one knew what the first topic was, who caused it, and no one knew how long they talked about it, and how many topics they talked about, they simply responded to every word that came out of their brothers' mouths, from their children to the world, from their hometown to expeditions, from their fathers to other brothers......

All irrelevant words were thrown out and quickly forgotten, and the differences that had once been capable of fighting became irrelevant in the paralysis of alcohol and languidness, sitting or lying down, some going on and on, others only dullly, Conrad muttering Johnson's words in his monotonous voice, and Morgan responding to Fenris's vulgar ancient legends with her drunken smile.

Sometimes they were silent, sometimes they talked, and no one could be sure what they were doing, for more often than not, they just watched silently at the campfire, at the darkness around them, at each of their brothers, taking everything into their pupils, greedily longing to perpetuate the moment in front of them.

Morgan is like that, Rieman Ruth is like that, Conrad is like this, even Johnson is like that: when the Caliban looks at the fire, at his brothers, a hint of an instinctive smile appears on his face, and then it is replaced by an endless seriousness, so earnestly he stares at them, at everything in front of him, and spares no effort to harvest every breath of air, as if he were dealing with the greatest battle.

When he smiled again, Johnson realized that the barrel in his hand was empty, and after a whispered curse that might not have existed, the Caliban groped in the darkness and dragged out two new ones, one he kept, and threw it to the Wolf King.

"Thank you."

The Fenris grinned, he barely got up from the ground, opened the lid, and looked at Conrad and then at Morgan.

"How much did you drink?"

[Not drunk.] 】

Morgan smiled, and Riemanruth smiled back, sipping from the barrel and sitting cross-legged on the floor, saluting his Caliban brothers.

"Seriously, Johnson: I used to think you were a bastard."

"It's ...... now, too"

A half-drunk, half-awake murmur came from the Nostramo man beside Morgan.

"I've never expected your judgment, Riemann."

Johnson's eyes narrowed, and he looked at the Fenris, but he didn't get much anger at the provocation: it might have emboldened Riemanlus, and he held his barrel aloft like Hercules lifted the Atlas Mountains that supported the firmament.

"But seriously, Leon: I think there's something else to be done about you, at least you're more worthy of admiration than many of your brothers, and it's a pleasure to fight with you...... Father, if our Father of Genes really wants to be that commander, I want to vote for you, you are more suitable than Horus. ”

“……”

【……】

Morgan swore that at that moment, she saw an incomparably bright light in Johnson's pupils, and that light even temporarily defeated the submission to alcohol, making the Dark Angel Legion's genetic protoplasm subconsciously straighten her sitting posture.

"You...... What do you say, brother? ”

"I said ......"

The Wolf King let out a long hiccup.

"If only the whole father...... It's really anxious for us all to go over, if you choose that Rausch commander, I will vote high and low...... If nothing else, I'm like looking at Horus's face when the time comes. ”

"Hahaha......"

Fenrisn laughed, and he slumped on the ground, not sitting, not lying, muttering bits and pieces of words, leaving only the earnest Caliban.

Johnson looked at Morgan.

【……】

[Don't look at me like that, Johnson, you know: the moment the word battle commander comes to my mind, it is one with you, no matter what, I will always be your first vote. 】

“……”

The corners of the First Legion's mouth twitched, not knowing if it was the effect of a hangover, but before he could see the gentle smile on Morgan's face, another hoarse voice sounded from the Spider Queen's side, and in the darkness, it was like a tattered violin, frightening.

"Commander? Battle Marshal! ”

Conrad rolled down from where he was leaning, raised a hand, staggered, and fell again.

"Johnson!"

He roared.

"If you're going to be a commander...... I...... I'll vote for you...... When you get a little more people, I want to see Horus's face when the time comes...... Hahaha......"

Nostramo's voice faded into hoarse laughter, and he barely stood up and began to fight with Riemanrus for the barrel of wine in the latter's arms.

“……”

The Caliban raised his eyelids, and he stared at them intently, the corners of his mouth unconsciously raised, but he was pressed down with great effort, and in this constant struggle between instinct and dignity, his countenance became rather comical.

Until Riemanrus slapped Conrad, who had robbed him of his wine, and looked at his brother drunkenly.

"That's right...... I haven't asked you yet, what do you think about that commander all day long, Johnson? ”

"Aside from Horus and Ferrus, there are still people who are worried about that broken position."

The midnight ghost lying on the ground let out a night owl-like laugh.

Johnson straightened his mind.

"Because I'm the most suitable person for it, my brother Riemann."

"Commander?"

"Of course."

"Why? How did you fit into that broken position, you got a poke on your ass? ”

Conrad still didn't speak, but Riemanrus's words obviously made him laugh almost out of breath.

“……”

The barrel creaked as it was held.

"Because I'm the best hunter! I'm the best general in the whole empire! I'm better suited to the post of commanding war than Horus! I am an absolute loyal! I will not let this position have the slightest possibility of tarnishing the dignity of the emperor! ”

"I am his sword! His best hunter and killer: it's that simple! ”

"Do you understand? Riemanruz! ”

“……”

The Wolf King was stunned for a second, and Johnson's abrupt roar silenced the air around him: Then, the Lord of Fenris lifted his head wrapped in golden beard and looked straight at the stars overhead.

Laughed.

"Hahahahaha......"

"You...... You're right...... But one thing is not right. ”

Just as Johnson's face flushed with Riemanruth's laughter, and he was even fumbling with the sword beside him, the Fenriss stopped laughing, gave a thumbs up, and slowly twisted towards himself.

"Me!"

"Riemanrus!"

"I'm the fucking greatest hunter in all of the galaxy!"

"Fart!"

Before Johnson could say anything, a roar came from behind the wolf king, and the Midnight Ghost raised an arm high, soaking his pupils with drunkenness, causing him to bare his fangs at the two brothers unscrupulously.

"I'm the best hunter! I'm hunting criminals across the galaxy! Litter! Pollution and idealists! What qualifications do you primitives who only wear the heads of wild beasts on their heads compete with my hunting! ”

"You have left behind the dead land, and I have left ...... Justice!!! ”

"You're fucking big!"

Riemannus mercilessly lifted his barrel over Conrad's wet head, and the Midnight Wraith's ambition quickly drowned in the new waterfall.

“……”

“……”

【……】

In the sound of gurgling, the three primordials fell silent.

Then they laughed again.

[We seem to have messed up?] 】

"Didn't we make a fucking mess at any time!"

……

Then laughed.

"Johnson, divide your wine with me."

"No."

"Please, I'm rooting for you to be the commander! You can't even get some wine! ”

"Unfulfilled promises are just a blank slate!"

"Fuck you!"

Fenris's wolf king's roar sparked a new war, and the two genoplasms were in a mess in the next second, pulling each other's hair and shoulders, and quickly rolling into the darkness, leaving only the empty barrel, which gurgled to Morgan's feet.

The Spider Empress stepped on her, and she swept the empty barrel with a mocking grin, and at her feet, the snoring of the Midnight Wraith shook the earth from the barrel poured over his head.

【…… Three drunks. 】

The only one who remained awake, the Queen of Avalon, taunted each of her brothers with impunity, and she raised her glass, the last of which she saluted, and saluted the stars above her head: they were imprisoned outside the dome, but they still sprinkled their dim light on the Spider Queen.

Morgan reached out to catch the unseen light, and she sneered, spilling the drink down her neck.

She wasn't drunk: she was sure.

Because......

[These three fools. 】

……

……

[Obviously I am the greatest genetic protologist!] 】

Because it's an interlude, the character's personality has little to do with the text, so it's normal to collapse a little, just watch it for fun (cover your face)

(End of chapter)