Angel.

Archangel.

St. Giles.

The Divine Son of Baal, Lord of Hosts, the genetic prototype of the Ninth Legion, and at the same time, the best, most perfect, most holy, and most desired heir of the Human Emperor.

Hardly anyone can refute this slightly over-the-top fallacy, for even the most demanding critics will unsurprisingly become fanatical followers of the Archangel's nobility and perfection.

All the praise, all the worship, all the quest for idols and allegiance to the king, and even the act of putting this archangel on the altar as if he were a real angel under the premise that the atheism of the empire of mankind was prevalent: everything that could be called "blasphemy" seemed unusually reasonable in the light of St. Giles.

It can even be said that it is so reasonable that it is almost weird, and anyone who hears these deeds will feel deeply incomprehensible.

And Morgan, is one of them.

In fact, although she had never met the brother known as the Archangel, Morgan was by no means ignorant of St. Giles: not to mention that she had systematically and tried her best to collect information about each of the genotypes, and that St. Giles was the most abundant and extensive group of information among these genotypes, and the hymns and propaganda articles written by the narrators of the various legions on the theme of this archangel alone, It's already filled with three memory storage drives for Virgo.

Not to mention, when Morgan talked or cooperated with each of her brothers, they were always fond of mentioning the famous archangel in their words: and whether it was Magnus as arrogant, as strict as Perturab, or as unsmiling Johnson, as playful and angry as Riemanus, and even Conrad, who was fair to every brother, their reaction was astonishingly unanimous when they mentioned the name St. Giles.

At first, they may fall into an eerie calm, and then, on each of these distinctive faces, there will be a strange and indescribable look: a strange mixture of irrepressible admiration, eager comparison, and a flash of appreciation at the base of the pupils, and then the original will drink it in one gulp, and in a calm or difficult voice, give the archangel Morgan had never seen a positive, if not high, evaluation.

Even Peturab would have affirmed the character of St. Giles, and Magnus would have put the archangel on a par with himself, and as for Killiman, he admired St. Giles as much as he admired a fully automated government processing robot capable of autonomously resisting subspace pollution.

And it wasn't until in a very intimate sibling meeting, when the Midnight Ghost from Nostramo was also forced by Morgan to secretly and unwillingly affirm the character and abilities of a certain archangel, that the Spider Queen finally realized something extraordinary.

The fact that a genetic protogeny can reasonably be praised by other genetic protogens behind it is already a very unreasonable thing in itself.

Even Morgan did not dare to claim that she could do this, after all, she knew very well how stubbornly Motarian hated her, and knew that although she and the Chagatai Khan were like-minded partners in the matter of think tanks, there was no possibility of developing a personal friendship.

She would never be able to make everyone feel kind to her.

So, how exactly does St. Giles do this?

For a long time, this was a question in Morgan's mind, and she was puzzled by it, but she did not have the energy to find the answer to the question: it was just that today, the answer to this question seems to have found itself at the door.

【……】

Morgan subconsciously took a deep breath as she clasped her fingers on the door, ready to push away the gorgeous dividing line in front of her, she had never imagined that she would meet this weirdly well-rated Barr Archangel here, and naturally she had never thought about how to have an initial conversation with this primordial who must have great social skills.

This is naturally not a happy thing for Morgan, who is cautious first and accustomed to taking things step by step.

【……】

Let's hope nothing goes wrong.

The moment she pushed the door open, Morgan prayed to herself reverently, and as the crystal statues that filled the hall gradually revealed themselves to her, Morgan stepped into the room.

She felt the cold.

——————

The room was bigger than Morgan had imagined, and it could have been called a palace of art.

The walls are lined with paintings, frescoes and gilded paintings, all monumental masterpieces, each perfectly connected to the last, but more stunning than the former, but these paintings still pale in comparison to the real protagonists of the room: the various crystal statues are the masters of the place, they may be hundreds, but they are not duplicated with each other, these rare quartz crystals, set together just right, with their gold stone, or pale pink, Or the color of tea mud and bright purple makes a hero, god or giant beast of different shapes come to life in the world.

There is no doubt that they are beautiful.

But at the same time, they were all cold, a cold enough to make Morgan's hair and skin feel a faint tingling sensation, as if a harsh king was walking in the midst of these beautiful dazzling colors.

Morgan slammed the door behind her shut, walking slowly among the beautiful yet chilling works of art, the shawl in her ear and the heating system in her armor providing her with the only warmth she had to withstand the invisible cold wind.

For a moment, the Lord of Avalon even felt that she had some kind of delusion: she seemed to be like a tireless and hard-working minister, about to cross the difficult and bitter cold road to meet her emperor.

This is a very ridiculous but very real thing, and when it appeared in Morgan's heart, the Spider Empress even felt that there must be such a character in the galaxy at this moment: a conscientious Wenchen who was loyal to her emperor, a person she may not have seen yet, but it would definitely overlap with her at this moment, [another Morgan].

They are going to meet their own king, the king of light and cold.

【……】

Morgan frowned, she didn't like it, so she quickly stopped looking at it and began to follow her instincts, weaving between the equally brilliant crystal sculptures.

Out of caution in the interior of Terra's Palace, and the need to exercise restraint in the face of psionic agents like St. Giles, Morgan did not unleash her wave of psionic energy unscrupulously, she just used the keen senses of the protogenus itself to slowly move in one direction: it was the depths of the room, and there was a faint light that was not reflected by crystals.

In a blink of an eye, Morgan reached the end of that light: it was an unusually large statue of an angel, perhaps even greater than the original genome itself, and on the body of this sculpture was a myriad of beautiful and dazzling patterns casually carved out of pearls, precious stones, and gold, making it as gorgeous as a god.

This [angel] dwells at the end of the crystal crops, like an emperor in the middle of the court, and his beauty and artistic attainments are naturally needless to say, at least Morgan has never seen in his own heirs that can match the artistic aesthetics.

The Lord of Avalon stood in front of the statue, her eyes narrowing, feeling the opposite of what the other sculptures had imagined: the statue seemed to glow, not a reflected light, but a glimmer of light from within, which drew Morgan here.

After feeling the spectacle, Morgan stretched out a hand and stroked the statue made of crystal, and after feeling the cold in her palm, the Spider Queen just blinked her eyes and said in a low tone.

Her voice pierced the cold and silence.

[Are you used to radiating light: like now?] 】

【……】

……

“……”

"Nope."

"I can't get used to that."

The sound was light and agile, but without losing the necessary heaviness, and when it exploded in Morgan's ears, it was accompanied by the sound of wings brushing against the solid stone.

The genoplasma's turquoise pupils widened slightly, and in Morgan's astonishment, she noticed that the light inside the statue in front of her was gradually dissipating: or rather, leaving.

And in the next moment, the reason was revealed: the archangel, known as St. Giles, gathered his wings and slowly walked out from behind the crystal statue in front of Morgan.

【……】

[St. Giles? 】

Morgan was not confused, she faced the brother who was slowly walking out with a calmness that she had not expected: the smile of the Lord of Avalon was not bright, but it was real enough, and when the archangel of Baal smiled and nodded, in response to the inquiry from Morgan, the Lord of Avalon frowned in his heart.

She looked at St. Giles, and out of the corner of her eye, glanced at the crystal statue of the angel in front of her, and an absurd contrast was immediately established in her heart: the contrast came from the real angel and the false angel, each giving her the first impression.

She confirmed something strange.

Angel.

St. Giles.

Her most perfect brother.

……

He was cold.

——————

He's colder than these crystal statues.

——————

"Morgan, my sister."

"I've heard your name for a long time: they've been mentioning you to me all the time, your name, your experience, your legend."

With a golden cup in one hand, St. Giles gathered his wings and stepped out of the shadow of the crystal statues with an elegant, but not slow: the moment he stepped out, the sun shone up the already splendid palace like the palace of Apollo.

Morgan even had to squint her eyes slightly to get used to it, and she felt uncomfortable: the Lord of Avalon hated extreme light more than extreme darkness, because the harsh light shone into the darkness of the soul.

【……】

Before answering the archangel's words, the Lord of Avalon was silent for a second to take a closer look at the brother, but only after the first observation, Morgan had to admit one thing: if she only looked at her appearance and natural temperament, she would only make the same comments as other primitives.

St. Giles was indeed the most perfect of them all.

Although the archangel's outfit at this time did not have much aesthetic color: in fact, he was almost fully armed, but he still showed the bearing of the perfect one, although the perfect one looked a little too heroic.

The main color of pure gold, the bright red embellished armor makes the animal skin on the archangel's shoulder look more hideous, in that flawless face, although there is a hint of a smile, but more, it is a majesty that makes people not have the slightest sense of resistance.

The slender fingers, although they were only holding a wine glass, seemed to be able to crush Morgan's neck at any time, and as for the ceremonial saber at his waist, although Morgan knew that it was not lethal, when St. Giles's other hand wandered around the hilt, Morgan felt that the blade was enough to split mountains and stones.

St. Giles was perfect, but beyond perfection, he was even more powerful, so powerful that Morgan couldn't even resist it in the first place: in the face of the sculpted and delicate face that would make the world bow willingly, the Lord of Avalon only felt a sense of extreme danger for the first time in a long time.

The person in front of him seems to be more dangerous than Johnson: even more dangerous than Johnson, who is on the star of Sisyphus, leading the crazy iron man, to have a [frank meeting] with her.

At this moment, Morgan even felt that he could understand why every primordial was so admired by the archangels: the worship of the strong is naturally the instinct of every creature in the blood.

She could feel herself swallowing a large breath of air in the midst of the struggle, followed by an equally flawless smile: while Morgan felt that he was far inferior to St. Giles in terms of perfect disguise, he was not completely helpless.

[They? 】

Morgan asked softly, the question that made the smile on St. Giles's face even more obvious, and almost instantly, the heroic god who had suffocated Morgan had gradually transformed into an archangel who instinctively wanted to go close.

"Some brothers, more specifically, a lot of brothers."

St. Giles casually shook the golden goblet in his hand.

"They all have a good opinion of you."

【……】

[Some of the brothers I met, they also have a good opinion of you. 】

Morgan blinked, and answered the question almost without thinking, and her answer seemed to surprise the archangel, who took a sip of the wine in his glass, then took two steps in Morgan's direction, and stopped: there was still a distance between them that was more than a handshake.

"I can probably guess that what they say about me might make you exaggerate, but that's not what I want: a lot of the time, they flatter me."

The angel's tone sounded sincere, while Morgan tilted his head slightly.

[I can understand your thoughts: I hope that the evaluation of your brother will not be the same as the evaluation of my brother.] 】

"It's supposed to be the same batch."

St. Giles took another sip of the wine in the glass until it was dry.

"After all, most of our brothers are not so forgiving."

"A lot of times, when they judge me in front of me, I feel like they're just commenting on a statue in their mind, a symbol of [perfection], not myself: you know that feeling?"

"A perfect statue, perfect but unreal, a false work, like a ......"

[It's like an emperor.] 】

“……”

【……】

Almost at the same time, the two genogens fell silent, and they looked at each other for less than a second: and then, a light laugh filled the room.

The murderous aura on St. Giles vanished in the blink of an eye, and a smile rose into Morgan's lips, a real smile, as the two protogens stepped forward at the same time, crossing the distance between them.

The next moment, two equally slender hands clasped together casually.

"First meeting, sister."

【First Meeting...... St. Giles. 】

There was a moment of hesitation in Morgan's greetings, and for no other reason: when she shook the archangel's hand, she was shocked to find that, unlike the cold on the outside, this genetic protogen of the Ninth Legion had a pair of fiery hands.

His hands were hot.

Morgan blinked.

——————

Her hands were cold.

St. Giles lowered his eyebrows.

——————

[I never expected to see you in Holy Terra, St. Giles, and the last time I heard rumors about you, you and your legion should be on a new expedition in the northern part of the Far Eastern Star Field. 】

"The expedition is over: my son ended it in the best possible condition."

The angel's voice was filled with pride.

"Originally, I wasn't going to return to Terra anytime soon: I was invited, Horus was going back to Terra to do something, and he invited me to come with me."

[I've heard of a good relationship between you and Horus. 】

"Perhaps a lot of what you've heard is a rumor, Morgan, one part truth and nine parts falsehood: just as I've heard a lot of rumors about you, they're not trusted, and some of them even contradict each other."

[This is what Horus himself said.] 】

"Oh, that's even more unbelievable."

The angel laughed.

"After all, he always likes to praise me."

St. Giles's words were full of warmth, slow and passionate, and seemed to have nothing to do with the cold and heroic god just now, but Morgan did not relax, and in her heart, she felt a different kind of coldness under these warm words.

St. Giles was indeed smiling, but his smile was the same as Morgan's: bright and perfect enough to be faulty, but the smiles were also faint, so faint that they did not penetrate into their respective pupils.

[What kind of person am I among the rumors you have heard? 】

"I don't think you'll want to know the answer to that question, Morgan, and I don't want to rely on this answer to get along with you, I trust my eyes more than my ears."

As he spoke, the Archangel of Baal blinked his eyes. It was as if to testify to the truth of this sentence: and for some reason, when Morgan saw St. Giles winking at her a little mischievously, she actually subconsciously wanted to believe the angel's words.

【……】

What a horrible guy.

Morgan smiled a little reluctantly.

So, do your eyes tell you the answer? 】

"It's telling me."

St. Giles casually placed his golden cup in the hand of a statue, and he turned to look at Morgan, his unspeakable pupils speaking great words that were hard to resist.

He laughed.

"Morgan, my sister, brother of the same blood as me: you have long silver-white hair and blue-blue pupils, and you look natural, but you don't seem to have any grooming habits......"

The angel spoke eloquently, his words like flowing water in early spring, which was refreshing, and Morgan soon understood that something was not quite right: St. Giles seemed to be describing her as she really was, and not in the other original title. Those who see it as perfection.

Something went wrong with her abilities?

Morgan's confusion did not go unnoticed by St. Giles.

"Yes, Morgan: when I ask those brothers about your impressions, they are always able to give me different information, and the most straightforward point is that they always have different descriptions of what you look like, and the only thing they have in common is that your appearance is the most comfortable feeling in their eyes."

[But with you, St. Giles, the situation does not seem to be the same?] 】

Morgan ordered himself to smile.

"No, it's the same."

The angel laughed.

His smile was irresistible to Morgan.

"I just want to see what you really look like."

"Morgan."

"You are my blood relative, no matter what you really look like, when you unfold your truth before me, when there is nothing false between us."

"In my heart, you are perfect."

(End of chapter)