As a genogen in the service of the Human Empire, Conrad-Coulz has never tried to hide his visceral distaste for the Indomitable Truth.

Although he did not deliberately discredit the ship, he did not mind expressing his contempt for the ancient flagship, the legion and the original body to anyone whenever he had the chance, which even caused trouble to others in many public appearances, but Midnight Ghost still did not care.

In fact, Conrad's dislike of Johnson is unbelievable, and the Lion of Caliban is third on the list of the most disgusted things of the Midnight Spirits, ahead of him by Nostramo, and the man above Nostramo: given the irreplaceability of these two options, Johnson can almost be considered number one.

But the Midnight Ghost never explained why he hated the Caliban brother so much, just as he had never really resisted coming to and walking on the Dark Angel's flagship: under the cover of Alfaris, intentionally or unintentionally, Conrad easily tricked the Dark Angels into the vast warship's network of ventilation ducts, even though he had never been here before, but now it was the realm of the Midnight Spirits.

With his instincts, and the slightest wind direction in the pipes, Midnight Wraith roamed the darkness of the Indomitable Truth like a sturdy lemur, passing through the top secret areas from time to time, passing over the heads of the hottest Terra veterans, who had been in the service for over two hundred years, instinctively uneasy, but could not catch any evidence other than the cool air of the stalk.

This long-lost play even made Midnight Ghost feel a little happy.

But this almost mischievous relaxation does not change the fundamental problem, which is that the ship itself makes Conrad think of himself as a dead and gloomy cage: unlike the more relaxed and active atmosphere of the Aurora, the Indomitable Truth is a Knighthood Fortress floating in space, and as the brutal war continues, it becomes a Knighthood Fortress overflowing with the smell of death.

In the most remote directions of the most remote ventilation ducts, the Midnight Ghost could feel strange auraes: these auras made even the protogenitor aware of an instinctive threat, as if in the shadows of the deepest rooms, some brutal creatures that had been trapped in ancient history were constantly being awakened by the Dark Angels.

There, Conrad smelled the old hatred, the smell of destruction, the existence of blasphemous things that should never have been tolerated by the emperor in his subconscious as a genetic protogen, and he even felt horrified: could it be that Johnson had been imprisoning these things on his flagship until then?

Why did he do it?

Who gave him these things?

And what right does he have to have them?

As a reluctant prophet, Midnight Ghost was certainly aware of Johnson's peculiarities in the progenitor, but he still couldn't understand what he was probing: after all, even for a progenitor, the things that Johnson had really crossed certain red lines.

If these things were allowed by the emperor, then it can only be said that his trust in Johnson is simply beyond ordinary people.

And if the Emperor didn't know anything about this, then this lion of the Caliban would not be much better than the blood relative they were about to defeat?

……

Could it be that Morgan has lost his eyes? Her trust and friendship have been entrusted to a hypocrite who has nothing to show for herself?

Thoughts like this flashed through Conrad's mind, and Midnight Wraith felt a little sad about it, and after a brief moment of hesitation and struggle, he suppressed his desire to find out what was going on, and instead went to the more mundane corridors, where he could not find the deadlier weapons, but could listen to the communication and thoughts of the most ordinary Dark Angel warriors.

Conrad knew very well that at this moment, these people were actually more important than any weapon: the concept of humanism had finally planted a small seed in Conrad's heart after being forcibly taught by Morgan for several years.

And just like that, the Midnight Ghost made some distance further through these loose nets, and he soon found a perfect spot: it was a vent, the balustrade of the hair at the right angle to the shadows on the side, enough to completely hide his figure from the warriors below, and directly in front of the railing, three or five warriors of the Dark Angel seemed to be chatting.

Conrad was able to recognize the signature traits of these warriors, but he was soon bewildered: there were both meritorious knights of great merit who even Conrad had heard of, and lowly warriors who were unrecognizable when thrown into the crowd, but they were all mixed together as equals, with different accents from Holy Terra, Lamayagh, or Caliban, discussing seemingly unrelated topics one after another.

Whenever they abruptly end a topic and quickly move on to the next, the order of initiative and dignity in the conversation seems to be subtly reversed: the Meritorious Knights will ask the low-level warriors for advice, and the Terra Veterans will be respectful to a new Caliban.

Even Conrad couldn't help but fall into a long silence after seeing this strange scene, and the scene in front of him completely exceeded his previous preconceived impressions: even in the Legion of the Daybreakers, where the order of the upper and lower levels was not so obvious, the change of rank between soldiers and soldiers did not seem to be so ......

Frequent?

“……”

Midnight Wraith blinked, he couldn't figure it out, but that didn't stop his ears from catching valid information all the time, especially when words like "war" and "Luthor" began to be spoken among these warriors, and Midnight Wraith stopped thinking uselessly and listened intently.

He could hear clearly that the topic was opened by an accent from the industrial world of Granaille.

"The order from the Primordial was sent to my Order three hours ago: we are sending twelve senior members to follow Luthor back to the Caliban, all of them Terra or Gramaille, and I never thought they would leave the battlefield in this way."

The warrior from Germayer spoke of his ordeal in an uncanny tone, as if he were explaining something about someone else, and his voice sounded rather hoarse.

"Are you unhappy about that?"

The first person to respond to him seemed a little rude, but it was undeniable that he was a dignified man from the looks of his appearance, and the intricate coats of arms hidden under his cloak spoke of his identity as a Terra veteran, or even more ancient.

When he spoke, the rest of them felt more respectful.

The warrior from Gramayer shook his head, he didn't get angry.

"You know, that's not what I meant, Astrand, I'm just explaining my situation here, and from an objective point of view, I can understand the Primordial's actions, and the deep meaning behind his actions: it's a necessary contingency, isn't it?"

“……”

Astran didn't reply, he just snorted heavily, but the two Caliban recruits looked at each other, still unable to hold back the doubts in their hearts.

One of them stepped forward.

"But two hundred people are not too little: I have no doubt about Lord Luther's ability, but any ability requires certain hard conditions to support, if the situation is really bad enough to need Lord Luther to carry the banner, then at the very least, we also need to give him more support in advance."

"More support?"

Before the smoky Gramaille could reply, Astran's disgruntled voice echoed in the hallway for a long time.

"He took two hundred men, two hundred veteran warriors who came out of the Holy Terra and Gramaye, these people are enough to turn the tide of any war or any battle, enough to conquer a world, to shake the entire galaxy, and if that is not enough, it only shows that the trust that our primordial has given to Luthor is fundamentally wrong."

"And I wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised at his wrong decision."

“……”

Perhaps the rebellious spirit in these words was too obvious, and for a while, no one reacted to Astrand's words: even Conrad, who had been squatting in the ventilation duct, couldn't help frowning, although he didn't like Johnson, it didn't mean that he would be happy to see Johnson's children speak ill of him.

Apparently, there were people in the hallway who shared the same notions as him.

"There's something dangerous in your words, brother."

The two Caliban fighters screamed almost at the same time, while the other two, the Smokey Ghalaille and another veteran from the Holy Ty, maintained an eerie silence.

"Danger, where do you mean?"

Astran glanced at the two Caliban fighters in front of him, and did not hide the contempt in his pupils: it seemed to him that if he wanted to, in the next moment, two human heads would fall to the ground.

These Calibans are still too tender.

Astraan's eyes narrowed, and he continued the words without hurry.

"Am I wrong, pinning the hopes of the entire legion on Luther, a man who is not even a dark angel, is itself a wrong decision, even if this decision was made by the original body, it is also wrong, but this mistake has been raised to the level of the original body: it is no longer a mistake, but a possible disaster."

"Luthor isn't even our fighting brother, if he hadn't fought alongside Johnson, do you think he would have had a chance to stand on this ship? I don't deny his ability, but what has sustained him to this point is more luck, and we can't pin the fate of the legion on luck. ”

"Or rather, why should we pin the fate of the Legion on someone who is not even Astarte?"

Astraan's words were like a swinging blade, cutting a rift in the union of the two Caliban fighters, and the Caliban warrior who had struck first was clearly moved by the conclusions about Luther in the words, his silence symbolizing his own retreat, and it was the Caliban, who had maintained his silence, who suddenly spoke.

"You don't know Luthor at all: I'm from the same world as him, I've seen him fight in the Grand Knights, maybe Luthor did need some luck to get to where he is today, but his ability is better than the vast majority of people in the galaxy, and he may not be able to carry the heavy responsibility entrusted to him by the original body."

"Moreover, the original must have pinned all this on Luce for some deeper reason, and I believe in the foresight of our genetic father."

"Deeper reasons?"

Astran smiled contemptuously, glancing at the two Calibans in front of him, who had already diverged in opinion, and was silent for a moment before spitting out a more weighty conclusion.

"I don't think there's any deeper reason, after all, Johnson is only a commander appointed to us by the Emperor, and not a superior being than us: can't he make a mistake? For example, because of that outdated trust, you have given the wrong responsibility to the wrong person? ”

“……”

If the previous words were still a little vague, then this point of view is too obvious: not to mention the two Caliban fighters, even the Grammayes and the Holy Terra, who had been silent, involuntarily raised their heads.

"Be careful, Astran."

The smoky Grammayer warrior was the first to speak, and he seemed to have a personal friendship with Astrand, but the exhortation was only met with a merciless riposte.

"What is there to be cautious about?"

Astraan gritted his teeth, his opinion was so firm.

"Don't you think so, my brother: as a war commander, as our superior, our primordial body is completely unqualified: if he can really master the art of war, we need not stand here and discuss the most tragic future for the Legion, and whether or not to pin the future of the Legion on an old man who has only been half-transformed."

"Johnson is the one who caused all this, isn't it?"

Astraan's tone was arrogant, but for a moment, no one could contradict him.

“…… He's the original ...... after all."

The Gramaille warrior did not directly contradict him, he seemed to sigh, and this sigh itself seemed to be a tacit gesture to some of Astraan's views, and as for the two Caliban, they already looked a little shaky: if it weren't for the disparity in strength, perhaps a bloody fight would have broken out here.

"What about the original?"

Astran smiled.

"For us, for the Dark Angels, is the Genetic Protoplasm unattainable? Don't forget, we fought under the Emperor, honored by the orders of the Lord of Men, and we were on a par with the banner of the Empire, alongside the Forbidden Army: I had witnessed a glorious time, a time when only the first Astarte warriors had been killed. ”

"Although at that time, all the Astartes combined were only five thousand people. But we are far more glorious, noble, and worthy of the name of the First Legion than the current Legion: look what we have become now? All the legions are fighting for their honor and legend in the center of the Great Expedition, and we can only be in the shadow of the galaxy, worrying about the fate of our entire legion, and whether the next war will kill us. ”

"You have to admit it, my brother, we have been going downhill since Johnson's return, he has not yet become a commander who can adapt to the Galactic War, and we are using our blood and future to make up for this heavy tuition."

The warrior of Germayer shook his head.

"Alright, brother, I've always known that you have a dissatisfaction with our genetic protogen, but this is a public place after all, and you should still pay attention to the impact of your words: stability is the most important thing in the current war."

"You're thinking about Johnson too?"

“……”

Hearing this, the smoke-throated Gramaye people were silent for a moment.

He didn't deceive his heart.

"I confess that Johnson may not have been the best commander we have ever experienced, and I have been concerned about the current state of the Legion, but the current situation is such that all our fears, however correct, are meaningless: if you do not win the next war, your complaints will be as useless as the words of the Speaker."

“……”

Astran was silent for a moment, he didn't continue to fight back, but glanced contemptuously at the two Caliban fighters next to him who were suppressed and silent, as if looking at two rusty old swords.

"You should confess your sins now, Astrand: you are using your words to desecrate the sanctity of the Primordial, and this kind of behavior of yours is not allowed in any legion: neither the Emperor nor the Primordial will forgive you for your offensive words!"

The Caliban fighter who had previously expressed support for Luthor's arrangement now roared in a low voice towards Astran with an angry face, while beside him, the Caliban, who seemed to have little faith in Luther, did not continue to support his fighting brother from the same world as him: the difference in position and concept was clearly expressed through this subtle gesture.

"Confession? What sin to confess? ”

Astran smiled.

"Admit that I'm telling the truth, or do you have to use this impotent anger as a riposte to me when you can't knock me down with a logical weapon?"

"You ......"

"That's enough."

A fifth voice from the shadows interrupted the argument: it had been silent until now, and another warrior from Divine Terra had maintained a certain amount of respect in front of him, even Astran, let alone the others.

"Now that this order has been issued, there is no point in arguing about it, and we should think about when the next war will break out: the conscription order of the original body must be given soon, and your attitude towards this matter should be more important."

"What's not to be attitude?"

The smoky Gramaye warrior shook his head, his voice a little bitter.

"We've come to this point, do we have any other choice: Johnson may not be that perfect, but that's not a reason for us to rebel against the order, don't you think?"

He asked the Holy Terra warrior who had been silent, and received a nod.

"I don't care about these things: whether under the Emperor or under the Primordial, I only have my duties in my eyes, and I don't care about anything you say about anything other than how the next battle should be fed."

"Amazing attitude."

Astran briefly responded.

"And what about you, Astrand: what is your attitude towards the Primordial Call-up Order?"

"What attitude can I have?"

Astrampi coped with it without smiling, he just patted the sword at his waist and replied to his fighting brothers in a tone full of helplessness and arrogance.

"No matter how much I am dissatisfied, war is coming: now that it has come to this, is not my only choice but to draw my sword and fight, and then defend what little honor we have left?"

"Choose?"

"What other choice is there to play?"

Astraan's soft, bitter words echoed through the corridors, and he was greeted by a common silence, not of rejection, but of approval: after a brief quarrel and onlookers, the five Dark Angels had finally reached a tacit agreement on an issue.

These five warriors, whose positions, mentality, and evaluation of the original and Luthor are not exactly the same, these five microcosms of the entire First Legion, may only be able to maintain the same attitude on this issue.

Whether they agree with the war that follows or not.

No one will choose to run away from it.

——————

"After all, for these Astarte warriors, the courage to face war is only a basic standard, and the Dark Angels are especially important in this regard, they are not much more cautious than the mad space wolves."

"They were born for war."

The Lord of Hydra pronounced these words in poetic words, but all that drew a deep frown and disgust from the Midnight Ghost began, and Alpharis did not mind it in the slightest, and he even felt a long-lost pleasure: any character who had been with Conrad for a while would unconsciously use the discomfort of this Nostramo as a source of his own happiness.

After all, he was too underwhelmed.

"But then again."

Alpharis touched his smooth forehead.

"Five warriors, a strong anti-Original, a Gramayan who is responsible and disappointed in the Original, two Caliban, but one trusts the Originals and Luther, the other has other ideas, plus a Terra veteran who cares nothing but war......"

"It's just five people, but you can distinguish five points of view?"

"Johnson can be regarded as self-inflicted."

Hydra whispered.

Conrad snorted softly and sat down beside Alfaris, leaning against the wall of an outer corridor with a porthole leading to the galaxy behind them: by the faint light they could see the forerunners of the fleet as they continued to pass through Mandeville Point, and the order of the Indomitable Truth was about a day later.

"Do you know where Morgan is, Alpharis?"

"She's going to find Luthor after she's finished her meeting with Johnson, otherwise why do you think Luthor got everything done so quickly?"

Hydra replied briefly, his face furrowed throughout, the oppressive air of the Indomitable Truth making him feel uncomfortable: at this point, Midnight Spirits were in rare agreement with him, and they didn't want to say a word again after they had communicated the necessary things.

That was until the familiar sound of footsteps that Conrad felt manifested on the other side of the hallway.

Following the voice, the two Genomorphs saw only Morgan's Praetorian Guard, Laner, leaning against the wall in a contradictory gesture that could be described as swift and cautious: he was clearly looking for his own genetic mother.

"Hey, who is this?"

The bored Midnight Ghost laughed at the sight of Lana, and he leaped to his feet, with a hint of kindness in his voice.

"Where have you been? My dear nephew, shouldn't you stay with my sister? ”

The Midnight Ghost grinned over to Lana's side and patted him on the shoulder: both the overly intimate gesture and the wolf-like title in the words made Alfaris behind him frown, not knowing what to say.

"Your Excellency Conrad."

Rana quickly stood still, saluting Conrad and Alpharis, but the way he saluted was strange: it was because a steel box that seemed to be quite heavy and secure, was being held tightly in the arms of the Praetorian Guard, distorting his movements.

The Midnight Ghost naturally noticed this, and one of his claws reached out curiously towards the box, and then, with uncharacteristically toughness, Lana directly stopped the temptation of the original body and protected the box in his arms.

“…… Lana? ”

"I'm sorry, Lord Conrad, but there is something important in this box, and I must keep it safe and hidden at all times: this is not disrespectful to you, please forgive me."

“……”

The genoplasm narrowed his eyes. He hesitated briefly between giving up and snatching the box directly, until he realized that one of the Praetorian Guard's hands had touched the power sword at his waist, and a certain stubborn attitude took over the original body's heart.

So, with Conrad silently bending over, a battle of disparity in power seemed to be about to be staged in this corridor.

"Alright, Conrad."

But the next moment, someone interrupted all this: Alfaris had come full circle at some point, and patted Rana on the shoulder from behind, causing a small shock to the chief of the Praetorian Guard, and also containing some tensions.

"Don't bother him."

Hydra paced to Midnight Ghost's side and grabbed his brother's shoulder, while Kant gave Alfaris a look of surprise and a hint of anger in his gaze.

“…… Okay, let's go, Lana, go about your business. ”

"Thank you, Lord Conrad."

The Praetorian Guard looked relieved, and he bowed to Conrad, keeping his steady stride as he froze, and soon disappeared at the end of the hallway.

"Weird, isn't it?"

Alfaris stared at Lana's vanishing back and smiled.

"You know, Conrad, he gives me the same feeling as the Guterra literature I used to read: the leader of a criminal organization sent a group of men to steal jewels from a heavily guarded treasury, but the men messed things up, causing the crime boss to go into a rage, grabbing the only jewels and making a quick trip to his hiding place."

“……”

"What are you trying to insinuate? Alpha? ”

"I'm just telling a story, don't you think Lana's behavior is weird?"

"It's weird, but it's not as weird as you, Alfaris."

Conrad left his brother behind, and he broke free from the Hydra's kindness.

"After all, it was an eye-opener for a genomorph to use such a trick and steal as a trick when dealing with an Astarte warrior."

"I've always believed that there is no such thing as a high or low means."

Hydra let out a grim smile, and his free hand reached into the half-draped robe, and with a light flip, he took out a box, which was the one in Lana's arms.

"It's also the little guy's bad luck: this kind of box is not a precious commodity on the Indomitable Truth, although the safety factor is indeed high enough and easy to use, so I usually have a few of them."

"You don't want to see what's inside?"

“……”

Midnight Ghost's eyes narrowed.

"I don't want to be your accomplice, Alfaris."

"It's not a crime, great Judge Conrad."

Hydra smiled sinisterly.

"It's just the suspect Alfaris revealing his incriminating evidence in front of you, and all you have to do is keep everything in your eyes and in your heart: perfect justice, isn't it?"

“……”

Midnight Ghost's silence was exchanged for a Hydra's micro, and then. Alpharis opened the box without hesitation, and the eyes of the two genetic protogens involuntarily looked into the mysterious space.

The next moment, their eyes were shaken by some kind of consternation.

“……”

“……”

"What is this?"

Alfaris let out a bitter smile as he reached in and picked up a shiny item.

It is a seemingly priceless thing, but in fact it is priceless, a thing that even if the brain of the genetic prototype is used for logical operations, it is impossible to think of any added value on it.

Yes.

It's crystal clear.

Capture the sky.

It shimmers with crystal-like colors.

But......

It's just a goblet.

It's just a mediocre goblet.

“……”

"Do you think there's any secret in this cup that we can't find out yet? A kind of hidden text? Or a history that should be dusted. ”

Hydra was still a little unrelenting, but he looked left and right, and still couldn't see what was worth caring about about this ordinary goblet: except that its size was perfectly suitable for a genetic protoplasm, it looked no different from what was in the hands of a mortal.

"I don't care about that."

Midnight Wraith grinned and glanced at his brother: it was evident that Alfaris's deflated meal had made him feel in a good mood.

"There's one other thing I care about: Alpharis."

"Morgan should be in Luther's office right now, and Luther's office is about five minutes away: Rana kid is going to go to Morgan. That means you only have five minutes before he finds his genetic mother and opens the box, and you're done with your crimes. ”

“……”

"Is this an early judgment? Judge Conrad. ”

"I'm not a judge, for I don't have the power to enforce the law here, but I have a fundamental right as a citizen under the laws of the Empire: so, if the circumstances allow, I'll gladly be a Conrad witness to charge you."

“……”

"Then I'll be happy to drag you overboard, Mr. Conrad's accomplice."

"You can't threaten me, Morgan doesn't think I'm an accomplice, no matter how hard you try to talk about it, it's just going to be in vain in the end."

“……”

"Why?"

Alphares furrowed his eyebrows, and for a moment, he was really thinking seriously about the question: could that Morgan still be able to spread her eyes and ears on the Indomitable Truth? Or is there any tacit linkage between her and Conrad? Some missing information that is not between his intelligence networks? ”

"The reason is simple."

Midnight Wraith smiled maliciously and leaned over to Hydra's side, making sure that his whispers would be embedded deep in Alfaris's mind.

"The reason is ......"

"Morgan trusts me."

"But she's never going to trust you."

"It's that simple."

“……”

“……”

Alpharis blinked, barely able to control his bruised forehead and the swear words that had come to his lips, and the myriad of intricate ideas and reasoning in his mind were torn to dust by the midnight geist at this moment with a rogue trick.

“……”

He really can't handle this kind of scoundrel.

——————

In the midst of the Hydra Lord's clenched teeth, a quiet roar was echoing on the tarmac somewhere on the Indomitable Truth, and in a low-key manner that no one noticed, Luthor was already planning to leave the First Legion flagship that had carried him for decades.

Johnson didn't go to see him off.

After all, there is nothing left between them.

(End of chapter)