As a member of the Dawnbreaker Legion, Bayar rarely fought with these aliens known as the [Ark Spirit Clan]: the Dawnbreakers and these rare remnants often couldn't get along, and naturally there was no good chance to fight.

But now, having cut off the slender heads of two bishops, four prophets, five warriors, and dozens of tribal warriors such as Asurman, Howling Banshee, or Assault Scorpion, and tying them around their waists, the champion swordsmen of the Dawnbreaker Legion felt that these alien opponents were not as godly as the legends suggested.

Their average was much weaker than that of the Comoroan slabs who had died under the starry stele of Yemenga, but they were still formidable enemies: after all, they had managed to leave the two-hundred-year-old champion swordsman with a hideous scar on his left arm, and half of his shoulder armor shattered to the extreme.

The scar came from a strange combination: two tall Nether Lords and several Nether Blades that followed: no one knew how the defected Primordial got hold of and drove these alien toys, after all, these things were theoretically to be activated and controlled by soulstones filled by dead spirits, but it was undeniable that the fallen enemies of the empire were indeed able to drive these alien creations, and even make their movements tacit and cooperative to the point of extreme sophistication beyond the reach of the Ark Spirit Clan itself.

It was as if these guys, all abiding by the same will, were tightly bound by a voice that crossed race and civilization, and even soul and life and death, to the maximum extent of their theory: the thought of this kind of thought was just a slight sweep over the meninges of the Terra veteran, and his spine began to tremble unconsciously.

But the tremor of the soul could not shake the despair of reality, and in the face of these freaks who were marked with dreadnought mechs and terminator armor, but far superior in performance, even the most powerful Astarte warriors were weak, and several companies of the Dawnbreaker temporarily united for this, and only after paying a huge price did they clear out this group of opponents: the casualties were undoubtedly painful, and Bayar's company alone paid a huge loss second only to the war of extinction in Randan.

But the Morgan Sons weren't the unluckiest of the attackers, and on another massive corridor, the shrill metallic roar resounded through almost the entire Ark, awakening the ancient fears that came from the blood of every human being.

The warriors under Johnson's command encountered a far more terrifying opponent than the Nether Lord: a terrifying monster that was twenty-five meters tall and was called the [Spirit Clan War Witch Titan], which forced another ancient order of dark angels to release the bloody secret they had painstakingly hidden, and it was from this moment that no one was allowed to enter the entire battlefield.

But Bayar was in no mood to care, for his next opponent was already in the shadows: before the fallen Dawnbreakers had their precious genetic seeds removed, the smell of blood and corpses had attracted hordes of new opponents.

The Champion Swordsman has seen first-hand how these enemies emerge: the Ark World in front of him was originally magnificent and magnificent, the remnants of these ancient Xenomorphs use their homes to tell the greatness of the past, and the vast regions and intricate ecosystems are far superior to the human nests, making the Dawnbreakers sincerely admire the wisdom of the Xenomorphs.

Frankly, everything was good in this place, but the only problem was that it was too quiet and too tidy for the battlefield: there was not even a trace of smoke or blood in the huge cities that resembled the ruins of Atlantis, there were only traces of clean water in the wide corridors, and the only noise was the sound of firefighting between other Imperial soldiers and their opponents in the distant areas.

There were no corpses or blood, no roars or twists, as if the inhabitants of this world had simply vanished, as if they were an expedition walking through ancient ruins, rather than a group of warriors trying to survive on an apocalyptic battlefield.

But Bayard didn't dare to let his guard down: almost ten hours had passed since he landed on the Ark World, and he and his team had already fought dozens of battles, to say the least, and he knew what they were going to face.

Now, it's here again.

First, there is a chirp from the bird, and then there will be multiple biological reactions and even pure energy reactions, through the display mounted on the armor, clearly appearing in front of the eyes of the Astarte warriors, but few people will believe what they see in the first place, and will think that this is a sign of broken display.

The reason is also very simple.

First, when these energy reactions caused screams, even the most sensitive warrior could not use his naked eyes to see any enemies in front of them, they could still only see the calm and clean corridors and walls, and only the most old warriors could smell the slightest bad breath in the air, so as to feel something similar to [Killing Intent].

Second, in the display, the objects that should have taken on the form of a general outline appear in an unimaginable way: they are not regular individuals, but appear before the eyes of the warriors, or on the ceiling above their heads, in the walls on their sides, and under the floor beneath their feet, they have no outlines at all, but like a rushing river flowing inside a battleship, a river of flesh and blood.

Therefore, the monitors could not project the outline of any enemy, as they could only project a large number of energy reactions that surrounded the Dawnbreakers from all sides, and there was no boundary or distinction between them, they were completely one: as if all the Dawnbreakers had been swallowed up by a huge enemy.

For a moment, Bayar even remembered a book he had read, a work from the art genre of ancient Terra, at least dozens of millennia, known for its fear of science and technology and absurd descriptions of ancient gods, the title of which the champion swordsman had forgotten, but he still vaguely remembered a certain concept mentioned in it.

In an ancient castle, inside all the walls, ceilings and floors of the castle, there are countless thousands of rats, constantly rushing, roaring, and advancing eternally in a certain direction, and the humans in the castle seem to be the owners of this castle, but they have long been swallowed up by the crazy rat tide.

Now, the Champion Swordsman only felt as if he was facing the same problem, but instead of the rats, they were surrounded by more ...... than they could have imagined Creature?

Can they be called living things?

Or is it a blasphemous creation that even science and technology can't explain?

Bayard couldn't feel the breath of subspace in it, but it made him feel even more creepy, because subspace is at least a qualified explanation, and if it can't even be explained by subspace, what kind of unknown will it involve?

Bayard didn't have time to think.

Because the enemy has come.

After several times of such confusion and panic, the Champion Swordsman had learned to calmly turn off his ornith, which had been almost useless in this war, knowing that his enemy should appear in the next moment and attack from the perfect direction.

And the reality is no different from what Bayar imagined.

Almost the next moment, in the blind spot of the champion swordsman's vision, the tightly knit steel floors began to moan, as if a broken cage could not hold the flesh beasts lurking within, and countless wisps of biomass began to pour out of the cracks that only existed theoretically, like insects in the soil in the hot air of the rainstorm, constantly climbing up the low steps.

In the time that no Astarte warrior could react, the biomass had already finished to the point of emerging, twisting, devouring each other, and finally merging, in the blink of an eye. The next opponent appeared alive in front of Bayar's eyes.

The flesh-colored biomass will first twist together, break free from the constraints of gravity, and condense into a vague figure in mid-air, and then, the grayish-white pale flesh will cling to the figure one after another, and quickly begin to condense, solidify, and carve those rough or complex patterns.

The gorgeous helmet and the rune-engraved Stygian Bone Armor were imitated in an instant, and the sharp wizard's blade and the chanting spear also appeared on both sides at the same time, and even the runes on it were extremely clear, capable of condensing a powerful psionic matrix: only at this time, those disgusting flesh colors would gradually fade and gradually degenerate into their original colors, but they could still hear the sound of those tentacle-like pieces of flesh constantly rubbing and intertwining in these figures, and the metal blades were swinging, There is also the dullness and trembling of the flesh exposed in the air without the protection of its skin.

The time it took for these enemies to appear and take shape could not even make the best Astarte warrior wield his blade, and in this way, under Bayar's cold gaze and somewhat heavy breathing, the biomass in front of him turned into a spirit war witch that looked indistinguishable from the real from the fake, and the killing aura and destructive power on his body were even more real than ordinary spirit war witches.

And when this new opponent swung the first sword at Bayar from the most tricky angle and with the most perfect posture, the champion swordsman could even swear that in his impression, no one of the Spirit Race could do such flawless movements, and after this strong enemy, more and more flesh and blood began to condense into one new opponent after another, they were all famous and powerful military units in the Spirit Race, and any one of them was a deadly shadow that was extremely difficult to capture.

But that wasn't enough for the champion swordsman to retreat, not to mention that his surviving comrades had come to his side, tacitly shielding him from distractions from all sides, and behind him alone, there were apothecaries who were hurrying up to recover their genetic seeds from the fallen battle brothers: for the Legion of Daybreakers in exceptional circumstances, any genetic seed was a vital strategic material worthy of the greatest risk.

Moreover, even without these important genetic seeds, the legion culture of the Second Legion is destined to not leave the corpses of their comrades at will, unless they are so desperate that they can't even protect themselves, otherwise, even if they are dragged, they must be dragged back to the battleship.

The Mother of Genes' love for her offspring received a negligible positive feedback at this moment: the Daybreakers now have a deeper brotherhood than any other legion, not only defending the bodies of their comrades for the sake of simple brotherhood, but also so that their Genetic Mother will not be saddened by the fact that there are too many offspring who cannot return home.

What's more, now, at least for Bayar, the situation is not hopeless.

As the champion warrior wielded his blade, he habitually listened to the sound of metal cutting through the air, and the sound of the heads dangling from his waist shaking and colliding with each other, all the trophies of his battle.

There is a division of the spirit clan inside. There are orc generals, there are the overlords of Randan, and all sorts of other creatures or warriors who have been enslaved by that fallen man.

Bayar left behind their heads, which was both a record and a redemption: as they rushed alongside him in the next battle, he could even hear their souls shouting to him in encouragement, their shouts of joy to get out of the last hell, and the great brass bell ringing for him in the high heavens, which seemed to be only separated from him by a thin veil, and at least a whole twisted legion roaring at the blade of his sword, Even the blood-red throne seemed to cast a silent and approving glance at him.

He didn't care about that, though, he didn't care about the whispers and roars that preached blood and courage, after all, he never fought for blood and courage. He knew that his victory would be nobler, so noble that these blasphemous voices were unimaginable.

But even so, when his Chanabal blade collided with the Eldar's sorcery blade for the first time, the champion swordsman had a little energy to worry about an additional problem amid the grinding of metal.

Bayar didn't know if it was his own delusion, but he could clearly feel that the roar of blood seemed to be getting closer and closer, and the creatures in those subspaces no longer seemed to be as far away from them as before.

They seem to be rushing in.

Soon, it's about to rush in.

——————

"Are you really not going to go for yourself, Apocalypse?"

What are you worried about? My friend Macardo? Worried about the war in the North? 】

"Don't go around in circles here, you and I both know very well what that rebellious son is up to, and although I've said it like this many times, I still have to point out the mistake you made in this regard: you are too arrogant, Apocalypse, you shouldn't have taught so much knowledge to the Eleventh Instance."

[Your accusations are always so arbitrary and absolute, my friend, it is sad. 】

[Although Eleventh did have a problem, it doesn't mean that I had the wrong intentions for him, nor does it mean that the initial configuration I designed for him was wrong: the problem was that after I created him, not before, and if I had to do it again, I would still have created Instance Eleven as originally planned.] 】

"The right configuration you're referring to is to put the so-called Dark Tech Age stuff in his head, even some of the technologies you don't fully understand, let alone the messy products that should have been thrown into the incinerator a long time ago."

"It's not that you don't know what a crazy race humans were in that so-called age of dark technology, and those self-righteous scientists and modders, only the most corrupt ancient spirit race can compare with them."

"Not to mention them, even if you and your former friends did something terrible in that era, even if Entity Eleven only put these things in the current galaxy, it is not a mess that we can easily clean up."

"I know it in my heart. 】

[At the end of the day, that's what I've left over from the past, and I know how dangerous they can be, and I know that the lineup I've sent is enough to deal with him, or rather, three legions plus five primitives, what else can you expect, Machado?] 】

[Even from a realistic point of view, this is indeed all the troops that the empire can squeeze out now: no matter how many people there are, I can't send them, but I don't feel at ease with them. 】

"Including your Horus?"

【……】

[The best person does not mean that he can withstand the deepest darkness, Horus should be an existence standing in the center of the stage, the less he knows about such things, the better. 】

"It may hurt him, maybe you can't protect him for the rest of your life."

[A hundred years is still possible. 】

"Well, you've always been so partial to your commander, but don't blame me for not warning you in advance: those beings in the subspace won't be absent from this like you, and their presence will most likely cause serious problems with your arrangement: for example, if one of the participating primordials falls under their whispers, it can be a big problem."

[Some? Which one? 】

[Johnson and Morgan, if they were to fall, they would have fallen long ago, and Riemannus is the one I don't need to worry about, as for Alfaris: You have so little confidence in your own level of education? 】

“……”

"Did you forget one?"

【……】

[Oh, Conrad. 】

What's wrong with him? 】

"Aren't you worried that he's going to fall?"

[Compared with the fall, the possibility that he will collude with Morgan in the future and divide the entire Far Eastern frontier and the ghoul stars is greater, if Killiman is added, half of the Far Eastern star field will completely disappear from the empire's ruling system, which may be a problem. 】

"No, maybe, my Ministry of Internal Affairs can't collect taxes from the Five Hundred Worlds or the Far Eastern Frontier at all, do you know how serious the problems this is for the current operation of the Empire's tax revenues?"

【……】

Do you want me to be able to stand up for you on this issue? 】

"Killiman was able to do it through formal political means. Protecting the interests of the Five Hundred Worlds from the hands of the Empire's Ministry of Internal Affairs, as for Morgan, she has much more means than Killiman: In the limited rules, I really can't deal with these two good heirs of yours. ”

[Do your best, neither of them will do anything anyway: it is my other son, who is doing something more troublesome to me than Morgan and Killman.] 】

“…… The perfect city? ”

【……】

#叹气#

[Yes, the perfect city.] 】

"How are you going to solve this problem?"

[Send Killiman.] 】

"The two of them are separated by the entire galaxy, and they can't meet at all."

[It's okay, they'll meet it.] 】

“……”

"So, why don't you send Morgan? Obviously, she can handle it better. ”

#微笑#

[Good question, Machado.] 】

[On this issue: Killiman's choice may be the same as yours, and it may not be clear.] 】

(End of chapter)