"Look, Dantyok: something seems to be going on with the primitives."

"Sounds a bit of a riot: like those Tridents and the War Blacksmith?"

"What are they doing? What a bunch of useless bastards! ”

Kylvallen gritted his teeth and creaked his iron fist, his neck stretched out like a reckless youth, his only remaining eyeball as wide as a brass bell, trying to see more clearly.

But unfortunately, both he and Dantiok were only standing at the edge of the Iron Warrior Array at the moment, far away from where the primordials were, and they could neither see what was going on or hear the detailed words, but could only watch the blurred scene in the distance, standing there in a hurry.

This made Kylvallen can't help but choke: if it weren't for the fact that he and Dantiok were transferred to the rear front by the original body a few days ago, giving priority to replenishing troops, and wasting a few days from going back and forth, based on the performance of their two battalions in the sentry world, they would definitely be able to stand by the side of the original body, which turn would it be the turn of those indiscriminate war blacksmiths?

And those trenthals of corpse vegetarian meals!

Kyle Valen gritted his teeth.

Except for Frix, Perturabo's trident is all bastards and soft eggs: all Iron Warriors think so, and Kylvallen is no exception, looking at these soft eggs and not himself, to be able to stand by the side of the original on such an important occasion, which makes the war blacksmith hate it.

"Don't worry, Kyle isn't a big deal."

Of course, the other war blacksmith didn't think so: although Dantioc was also blocked from a place where he could only catch a glimpse of the Primordial from a distance, he seemed to be at ease, and instead had the leisure to comfort his fighting brothers, and as for the riots that happened with the Primitives, the dark-faced Legion General did not seem to be the slightest worried.

"You know, Lord Morgan is there now: I haven't seen anything in the galaxy that she can't handle, be quiet, and it will be back to normal in a while."

“……”

Kylvallen didn't respond, he just turned his head and glanced at his brother, muttering an incomprehensible complaint, but he also retracted his steps, no longer looking anxiously in the direction of the primordial: after the fierce battle in the Sentry World, the war blacksmith seemed to instinctively believe Danteok's point of view.

As if to prove the unpredictable prophet of Danteok, after a dozen seconds, the commotion in the distance suddenly stopped, and was replaced by the Iron Warriors who hastily restored the array under Perturabo's rough orders: the warriors who had been probing their brains because of the Trident's riots were driven back to their original positions, and with the roars and whistles of the commanders, they continued to retreat to the sides, until in the center of their array, a wide road was squeezed out enough for the primordial to pass.

Kylvallen and Dantiok were at the end of the passageway, near the thirteen-story tower, and this time, they were squeezed into the front row, and they could clearly see the three primordials and their respective guards approaching from a distance.

The expressions of the three emperors seemed to be worth savoring: the Iron Lord had nothing to say, it was still a classic stiffness and coldness, but his steps were heavier than before, making the Iron Warriors standing on both sides of the passage hold their breath in unison, and even the trident and a few war blacksmiths behind him looked eager to replace the iron boots under his feet with soft and silent silk insoles.

It was hilarious and pitiful that the higher-ups of the Legion had to move cautiously and at the same time that they had to keep up with their striding Genetic Father.

On the Iron Lord's side, the Dawnbreaker's Mother of Genes took the middle place, which was not appropriate, as if she had forcibly intervened to prevent her two brothers from sitting side by side: Morgan's masterful micro-expression control allowed her to maintain a stunningly perfect smile, and if you only looked at the Spider Queen's pupils and lips, it would almost make everyone forget the oppressive atmosphere in front of them.

But Dantioc still noticed a few things different: when he was in the Far Eastern Frontier, he had seen Morgan's usual posture, so he could be sure that the current Lord of Avalon was accurately controlling his every move, like a tightrope artist in the air at an altitude of 10,000 meters.

The Lord of Avalon struggles to balance the speed of the two blood relatives so that they don't fall out of touch completely, while at the same time having two parallel talks with Dorne and Perturabo in just the right amount of parity: the former answers him calmly, while the latter has only silence and the occasional muffled grunt.

This scene looks embarrassing, but with the continuous efforts of the Spider Queen, it is only embarrassing: thank goodness.

The guards behind Morgan also maintained the same pace as the Mother of Genes, and they unloaded the huge sword box and held it in their palms like a private carrying a gun, forming a moving high wall, preventing the two primordial guards on the left and right from making any contact.

No one disputes this: Peturabo is not in the mood, and Dorne does not care.

The Fist of the Empire's protogenogen seemed to be more interested in the Iron Warriors on his side than in the details, listening carefully to Morgan's words, giving short and to-the-point responses, while keeping his eyes fixed on the Iron Warriors who caught his attention: after discovering that such an act would cause trouble to the sons of Perturabo, Dorn simply withdrew his gaze and looked straight ahead, like a walking statue.

Behind him, the most senior Imperial Fists warriors were a row of small walking statues, and only the few [recruits] at the very end, who were not wearing helmets, would sweep over those Iron Warriors with their eager gaze, making people feel a little bit of rare activity.

Such a strange team passed through the line of Iron Warriors at such a rapid speed that many could not even see their pace, and it was not until they advanced to the thirteen-story tower where Perturabo used to meet the guests that the speed of the procession slowed down: the position of Dantiok and Kylvallen at this time happened to be right next to the gate of the tower, and it was a blessing in disguise that the two war blacksmiths were able to see the faces of each of the team clearly.

They held their breath and didn't let go until a second later.

……

"It's the first time I've seen that legendary ...... of Dorne"

"He doesn't look like much: no better than our genetic father."

It wasn't until the figures of the three primordials disappeared inside the tower that Kylvaren, who was standing beside Dantiok, wiped the sweat from his forehead and lowered his voice, his words were extremely weak, and he couldn't even convince himself, making Dantiok just want to laugh.

But the blacksmith's laughter came to an abrupt halt before he could squeeze out his teeth, for at the very end of the line of guards passed in front of the two blacksmiths at the end of the line, and at the end of the fist of the empire were two newcomers without helmets: they had apparently heard the wild words from the mouth of the Kelvaren.

A pair of arrogant eyes and a pair of calm pupils fixed on the faces of the two war blacksmiths almost at the same time, making their slack disappear in an instant.

Dantiok grimaced, and he took a closer look at the two sons of Dorne: the one who was more hostile to them was an incomparable tough guy, and Dantiok only had to look at him to be sure that he must be extremely hot-tempered, he had short blond hair, a sword mark crossed his left eye, and his ravine-ravine countenance was not so much handsome as a bloodthirsty fighting dog.

He stared at the two outrageous fellows, Kylvaren glared back without fear, and as for Dantiok, his gaze only lingered on the blonde swordsman's face for a moment, and then instinctively moved to another, grander target: it was an extremely large Emperor Fist warrior who was only slightly shorter than the Commander Hector of the Dawnbreaker Legion, who also had short hair, but was noticeably calmer than his companion, and even nodded when he noticed Dantiok's gaze, As a polite response.

The irascible one is a Terra, and this one is an Invitu.

The war blacksmith quickly made a judgment in his mind, and when he looked up again, the two Imperial Fists had also gone away, leaving Kylvallen standing beside him and licking the corners of his lips unwillingly, looking like he had lost in that invisible encounter.

"That guy."

Kyle Valen gasped.

"That blond-haired, bastard-like guy must be a good guy: I bet with the rest of my eyes that he's absolutely deadly on the battlefield and in the arena, you can feel it in his eyes."

"Maybe he's as strong as you, my brave brother Dantiok."

In the end, Kylvallen even laughed rudely, and even he thought it was a little incredible: in fact, if he hadn't witnessed Dantiok's unrivaled fighting posture and superb swordsmanship in the night battle in that sentry world, Kylvaren would never have believed that his combat brother had become one of the best in the entire Iron Warrior Legion after decades of training in the Far Eastern Frontier.

"In the Arena of the Daybreakers, I have practiced a few times, but I can't take it seriously: I just learned a few tricks from the real masters, such as Lord Lana, Lord Abaddon, Lord Bayar, and Lord Aliman, just in case you need them.

Dantiok smiled, still humble, and did not tell anyone that the direct reason why he had become so powerful in the Far Eastern Frontier was that during a library renovation work, he had a slight conflict with His Excellency Aliman, who had come to conduct art direction, in terms of architecture, so that the helpless Qianzi had to spend more than ten seconds empty-handed to knock Dantiok and his six battle brothers to the ground.

Although this conflict eventually ended with no fighting, no acquaintance, but since then. Dantiok plunged headlong into the Dawnbreaker's arena and honed his near-obsolete martial arts as an Iron Warrior.

Originally, he only planned to avoid being as disgraced as he was in front of His Excellency Ahriman in similar events in the future, but who would have thought that the [good] level of the Far Eastern Frontier, placed within the Fourth Legion, would be enough to make him, a war blacksmith, stand out from the crowd.

However, the war blacksmith didn't care about these things, just as he didn't care about the provocative blonde swordsman: the war blacksmith was more interested in the unusually tall Imperial Fist than the other, as if there was some kind of invisible bond between the two of them.

“……”

So, what's going on?

The Son of Perturabo was lost in thought, and beside him, only the murmuring of Kylvallen continued, and in the distance, the silence and dead silence of sixty thousand Iron Warriors: but this dead silence did not delay the muttering of Kylvallen from flowing into his ears.

"Dantiok, brother."

"You say, those two guys ......"

——————

“…… Who is it? ”

"You know what, Pracx?"

"Don't ask me, Sigismund, I've never had anything to do with the Iron Warriors."

“…… Hum! ”

"If you can......"

——————

[I don't want to have anything to do with these two guys.] 】

After rejecting the last Imperial Fist guard who insisted on entering the room, Morgan casually closed the heavy door and leaned against the only crack, straining his sigh as he was about to fall out.

The Lord of Avalon only repeated the words in her own heart, but she didn't have time to feel sorry for herself, after all, less than five meters in front of her, Perturabo and Dorn were already standing on either side of the conference table, locked in a silent confrontation: these two guys combined were much more difficult to deal with than an entire Khrudian in the sector.

In a sense, they are the real opponents Morgan will face in this Kraken Abyss Expedition: those Heruds with their heads and tails are a piece of!

With a slight hint of guilt in her mind, the Spider Queen felt a little better, and her optimism surged up to the heights again, which made her courage, stride to the conference table, and rightfully occupy that neutral position: this created the illusion in her pupils, as if the Lord of Avalon was the leader of the strategy meeting.

Morgan first glanced at Dorne, who made her feel more at ease, only to see the genetic prototype of the Fist of the Empire, and did not show the slightest expression of all the embarrassment and panic in the outside world, he concentrated on his own business: he took out one document after another from the tin box he carried with him, which was all the intelligence data and detailed explanations of the Kraken Abyss Expedition and the details of past battles that Dorn had collected before going here.

But in Morgan's vision, this is the mountain of ammunition that the Lord of the Emperor's Fist has piled up.

Her mood darkened a little, and she turned to look at Perturabo on the other side: the Iron Lord hadn't prepared the papers, as all the paper materials he needed had been there a few hours earlier.

Perturabo stood there with his arms crossed, staring at Dorne's every move, his face as gloomy as the sky that made the world, as if it could drip unhealthy polluted water from his rough jaws.

Until now, Morgan actually couldn't believe that such a gloomy person who was visible to the naked eye could really swallow Dorne's [humiliating words] for him in front of everyone: although Morgan had also persuaded him, the Lord of Avalon was sure that her unprepared words to save the scene certainly did not play a key role.

To be sure, Perturabo's calm and logical thinking saved the precarious fraternal meeting: he at least remembered that such an occasion could not end with a violent outrage on one side or a brawl between the two sides, especially in the presence of tens of thousands of Astarte fighters.

So, with a lot of resentment, he forcibly ordered himself to return to this [private occasion], to the occasion where only blood brothers were present: this is the place where debate and opinions can be exported.

As for the price......

It can be seen from the eyes of the Iron Lord that the frost is almost burning: the touch and gratitude that he was born from the fact that Dorne poured all his strength into his support has now dissipated, and has once again returned to the hostility and indifference that arises for unknown reasons, as evidenced by the cold aura between the two genetic primitives.

This icy aura is like a whirlwind torpedo in the cabin of a battleship, under the coldness, it is able to destroy the boiling of everything, and what is missing from its final roar is that little flickering flame.

"So, let's get down to business."

Dorne looked up, his eyes blinking like a lit flame.

“……”

Perturabo did not respond, like the Spider Empress who was struggling to compress her presence, and the Olympians only replied with silence and gaze to the Lord of Invit, who had picked up the heavy dossier.

Dorn didn't care, he held his papers in one hand and searched the huge star map on the conference table in the other, and in less than a second, he pointed out his goal: it was to send out the seven battalions of the fortress world in front of Morgan.

This move was like Peturabo and Morgan's brows jumping at the same time: the Spider Queen's face was filled with a trace of worry, and the last trace of luck in her heart vanished, and as for the Iron Lord standing opposite, a trace of weakness flashed in his pupils, as if some pigtail had been caught by the other party.

Obviously, no matter what they say, the Olympians who are proficient in war and logic are actually very clear in their hearts: this battle is not beautiful at all.

"I'll start here, two."

Dorne paused

"This fortress world is the starting point of this expedition, and such a narration guarantees continuity of conversation: moreover, your first, second, and subsequent mistakes were also made in this battle, Perturabo."

"Some of these mistakes are unavoidable, but many more are low-level and ridiculous, blameworthy mistakes: since I was not there to know how the battle was going on, I will point them all, brother, and point out the places where you didn't do well enough."

“……”

The Iron Lord's eyes narrowed, his thick eyebrows drawing a dangerous arc, and his thin lips pursed, but he didn't smile, just exhaled ironic heat, responding to his blood relatives in a gloomy mist.

"Start here?"

"I've won here, Fist of the Empire, and it took me only ten hours to destroy this fortress world, so that it can no longer threaten the Expeditionary Force and the Empire: are you sure you want to use my victory to start slandering and attacking me?"

"I have no intention of denigrating or attacking you, Perturabo, it has nothing to do with me."

Dorne's words didn't even pause in the slightest, he ignored the growing despair in Morgan's eyes, and just put his five fingers together into a fist and slammed it on the table, using it to add invisible chips to his words.

"I'm just pointing out the problem."

"The problem in a victory?"

Perturabo's voice grew rougher, he obviously didn't want to discuss these things, but the genetic prototype of the Fist of the Empire didn't bother with the Olympians at all: he wasn't Morgan, and even if he did, Dorne wouldn't follow Perturabo's wishes.

"No matter what victory, it is not a fig leaf for the problem, brother: if you have won a war that was originally desperate, through great sacrifice, it is certainly worthy of all praise, but this victory of yours is not the case."

"It's the adversaries who are standing opposite you who are really in a desperate situation, and you don't have the right way to deal with them: you didn't have enough troops in the initial landing operation, and after realizing this problem, you didn't make timely reinforcements to the front-line troops, just watched as if your two large battalions were depleted, as if it weren't a battle, but a deliberate punitive operation."

"In my calculations, those two large battalions were enough for their task! It was their incompetence that caused the situation to spiral out of control! You should be able to see that, Dorne. ”

Perturabo frowned, and Dorne was the head.

"They did not perform well."

The Lord of the Emperor Fist's voice changed.

"But, is that why you threw them on the ground and sent them to die?"

“……”

The Lord of Steel had nothing to say, but Dorne didn't stop at all.

"Punishment, atonement, court-martial: the Empire has a well-established system for dealing with this incompetence in the front-line trenches, brother, you can't be angry at two full combat units because of the incompetence of two officers, it's as ridiculous as tearing down an entire castle because a brick doesn't suit your heart."

"They're my big battalion!"

Perturabo lowered his voice like the roar of a tiger.

"I have the power to dispose of them as punishment for their failures."

"They are not your big battalion, they are the army that belongs to the human empire."

Dorne frowned, his accusations so quick and sharp.

"They can't be consumed on the battlefield for no reason because of your personal anger, and the Iron Warriors who shed their blood for nothing because of your casual command are more Iron Warriors than our enemies can kill: so in a sense, Perturabo."

"Your actions are a disservice to the Empire and the Great Expedition, and a different kind of enemy."

【……】

Morgan took a deep breath.

She had planned to take control of the situation when the situation between the two men became a little wrong, taking advantage of the fact that the powder keg was not lit: but now it seems that this idea can be said to be completely wrong.

Because Dorne skipped the stage of becoming, he lit all the powder kegs in the first minute of the meeting.

"Bang!"

The response to this action was the Iron Lord's iron fist slamming into the conference table, causing it to shatter and scatter countless scrolls to the ground, causing Dorne's brow to furrow even deeper: they could all hear Petrabo's trembling voice.

"You're saying I'm an enemy?"

"You say I'm not good for the Great Expedition?!"

There was no anger in the Iron Lord's countenance, and instead of a furious one, it was a chuckle of rage: in this strange laughter, the words of the genoplasm sounded more like a roar.

"Say whatever you want, Dorne."

"But the victor is me!"

The fist slammed into the breastplate with a thumping sound.

"I conquered that world! I razed that world to the ground! I turned those permanent fortress communities into burning ruins! Even after 10,000 years, that world will no longer be able to be used by the enemies of the Empire, just like the sector centered on it: they are all in ruins! It has become a completely harmless rubble for the Empire, for humanity and for the Great Expedition! ”

"And that's why the Lord of Humanity ordered me to come here."

"I don't think I can agree with that, brother Peturabo."

The Lord of Steel seemed to want to roar more, but before he could vent his emotions for a moment, he was interrupted by Dorn's coggy-like voice: the Lord of Inwitt just looked at his Olympian blood relatives calmly, his voice no different from the one at the beginning of the meeting.

But his words, unconsciously, became sharper.

Because it's all true.

Because it's all from the bottom of my heart.

"The Emperor does want you to use an expedition to erase this threat to the Human Empire, but he definitely doesn't want you to reduce all the sectors to wasteland: this world needs this, it doesn't mean all worlds need it, Brother Perturabo."

Dorn shook his head.

"If the Great Expedition leaves behind only ruins all that is scattered across the galaxy, then what good is a galaxy full of ruins for humanity and its empire?"

“……”

"Again, Perturabo."

Dorne stared at his brother, his words piercing straight into the heart of Olympia.

"You are the original body of the Empire."

"Will your talent only be used to create patches of meat grinders and ruins?"

“……”

Simple words turned into sharp arrows, which seemed to penetrate someone's heart.

Perturabo, silent.

“……”

He was silent for a long time.

Until Dorne hesitated.

Until the conference table creaks.

Until the air in the whole room, there was a smell of gunpowder.

Until Morgan began to roll up his sleeves.

——————

The Lord of Avalon has decided to make a move.

Go for special patience.

Go and wait for the right time.

Morgan gritted his teeth inwardly.

The Spider Queen knew very well that if she didn't make a move......

Then someone, probably going to be funeral.

Who is it......

……

Anyone is good.

Can't die in front of her anyway!

(End of chapter)