Milky Way, Void.

The Indomitable Truth.

……

Leon Johnson, the genogen of the First Legion, is going through one of the greatest and most difficult wars of his life: a war that leaves him with no hope.

Although the best of the Lions' offspring, Coswayne, Astrand, and Arachows, are now by their genetic father's side, the father-son duo who can kill back and forth on the battlefield of the Apocalypse can now do nothing more than swallow the bitter fruit of their ordeal together.

After all, the [enemy] in front of them is too strong.

Warfare, politics, materiel, sector-spanning fronts and astronomical logistics, divine orders from Terra and regular reports from countless sentinel worlds, the rebuilding of over a hundred Inner Ring Orders and the rise and fall of at least twenty expeditionary fleets, and thousands of letters for help, reports, accountability, or anything from various imperial worlds, interest groups, and partners.

Oh, and Luther.

Damned Luther, Honorable Luther, Brilliant Luther, Hardworking Luther......

"Alas......"

Why are you so capable?

After a long sigh, the lion left the last of the data reports from Caliban, hung his head, and covered his entire face with his massive front paws, as well as his eyelids, which had become puffy from exhaustion, and he was silent, then sighed again.

Discarded documents swirled around old wooden tables and chairs, and eventually slipped to the feet of the genoplasm and became part of a miserable white mountain range: the corrected documents were piled up here, waiting to be picked and filed later, this [document mountain] was about half a meter high, and most of them were from Caliban, from Luther.

The uncrowned Governor of all Kaliban, the Imperial Governor personally appointed by the Progenitor and endorsed by the Emperor, has been working diligently in his post for almost twenty Terra standard years, taking over and doing everything possible to make up for the chaos left by the Terra bureaucrats, re-stabilizing the restless people of the planet, patiently protecting the new generation of Calibans as they grow up, and selecting heroes among them to serve as their lieutenants or the fresh blood of the First Legion.

Under Luther's careful rule, the home planet of the Dark Angel is regaining its former vitality and vitality at an incredible rate, and the knightly governor has overturned the reckless policy of total industrialization and radical promotion of the Terra system promulgated by the Terra bureaucrats, and instead adopted a more moderate approach: the factories were built in the designated special zones to protect the original ecological and economic environment of the Caliban, while at the same time ensuring the inheritance of the local culture as much as possible, listening to and respecting the voices of the people. Develop a series of step-by-step reform plans.

He enacted several laws to protect the remaining great forests of the dead world, allowing the Calibans to return to their familiar farms and fields; At the same time, the children are raised in school, and Yurun teaches them about Terra and the galaxy like everything; He also put the declining Grand Order in order, and set out on a crusade against the wild beasts that showed signs of resurgence after Johnson's departure.

The results of these adaptable policies have now been gratifying: a steady stream of Caliban recruits has once again poured into the First Legion's fleet, their numbers, loyalty, and physical fitness have led to the nods of the most demanding Knights, and the changes in the home planet are becoming known to the Dark Angels, as well as confirmation from the Legionnaires who have returned to their home planet on their missions.

This rare piece of good news has more or less boosted the morale of the Caliban fighters, who have truly felt that their bloody battle in the galaxy is not unrewarded: their home planet has been better for the better because of their efforts, and this visible result soothes the weary hearts more than loyalty and dedication.

As a result, the return of errands to their home planet became sought-after again, and each group of Dark Angels who returned was warmly welcomed by the Luthor and Caliban people, and when they returned to the Legion with pride, the praise of the Gene Protogens became more and more in the corridors and chambers of each warship.

Of course, these voices and changes did not escape the ears of the Lord of the Dark Angels, and Johnson's control of the Legion was all-encompassing and never weakened, but he did not rejoice in these benign tendencies: in fact, the Dark Angel's genetic prototype may be the only unlucky person in the entire Dark Angel Legion who feels more grief than joy in the matter of [Caliban Nirvana Rebirth].

Deep down in his heart, the Primordial would certainly love to see his home planet become a treasure worthy of the Legion's pride, under the rule of his most trusted elders, but unlike the Caliban warriors who only need pride, Johnson, as the Genetic Prototype, as the Dark Angel's supreme decision-maker in all matters, will get more pressure from Luther.

Documents, data, reports, forms, memos, red books, annual summaries and development prospects, education policies and economic growth, environmental protection and diplomatic needs: contrary to the imperial governors who aspire to cover the sky with one hand, Luthor, as the uncrowned king of the Caliban, is eager to record every action, every achievement, and every plan in his heart, in every detail, and then faithfully display it before the true lord of Caliban.

At first, this behavior moved the original body a little, and Johnson would carefully read, think, and feedback each letter, but as time passed, Luther's report began to be no longer limited to the military, but involved all aspects of Caliban: at this time, cold sweat began to break out on the original body's forehead.

To tell the truth, Johnson really didn't care where the Caliban's economic development would focus in the next twenty years, and he didn't have any opinion on Luther's idea of promoting tourism in Caliban, and he didn't even want to see diplomatic activities with other imperial worlds, as well as political games with the Holy Terra government: but Luthor repeatedly emphasized that these things were very important, and he would only implement them after obtaining Johnson's permission.

The sensible old knight, however, was particularly stubborn in the matter, and he did not hesitate to write a tirade with his own hands, using a sea of truths and examples to make the genoplasm bow his head and relent: Johnson could only passively endure the bombardment of more documents, and hardened his head, and began to learn about the economics or governance that he had never cared about before.

The Lord of the Dark Angels didn't understand why Luthor was so obsessed with this matter: maybe the old knight was provoked by someone, maybe he couldn't be?

But Johnson thought for a while, and couldn't understand which of his enemies would retaliate against him by forcing him to study management and how to review documents: he simply stopped thinking about it.

After almost a decade of being bombarded with Luther's various official documents and reports, the current head of the Caliban has been able to deal with these bloodless troubles in a tired but skillful way, without dragging down other things: and at the cost of being very careless.

For example: this one.

Johnson frowned, and with a gloomy expression, pulled out a brand new paper from the messy desk in front of him, with Luther's personal logo on it: it looked like it was not the last one he had just thrown away.

The cumbersome and flowery language in the document seemed to be intended to be used directly as a diplomatic document, and at a glance the original body knew that the real core of it was only one sentence: Luthor wanted to establish a partnership with some of the imperial world around Caliban, and he wanted the Lord of the Legion to give him power in this regard.

After all, this kind of thing is to be done in the name of the Dark Angel.

"The old tune is repeated."

Johnson muttered, then gave his name without looking at it, and then tossed it aside, waiting for the Caliban documents to be fed back centrally.

Luthor had discussed this concept with Johnson several years earlier, and he would write in various letters about the need for a deeper relationship with the imperial world around the Caliban, and covertly probe the Primordial's attitude towards the matter.

Although Johnson didn't understand the use of Luthor's asking for these partners, he didn't think his old buddy could give him any big trouble: if Luthor wanted privileges, he knew it.

It can also allow him to send fewer documents in the future.

Johnson rubbed the corners of his brow with some distress, he cautiously checked his desk, and after making sure that there were no documents from Caliban, and important legion business, but only a bunch of daily reports that could be delayed slightly, this imperial general, who had been able to survive several Apocalypse wars, only dared to sit down and breathe a sigh of relief quietly.

Thankfully, it's over.

The primordial body's pupils became active, and he raised his head from the sea of books in front of him, and began to look into another corner of the room: his three most powerful heirs were there, suffering the same pain as him, and for now, they could not get rid of the pain.

Coswayne, Astrand, and Arachos, the three champion swordsmen who had been invincible on the battlefields of the Great Expedition, were now imprisoned at three desks, facing their respective mountains and books with sad faces: those were small problems that did not need to be dealt with by the original body himself.

The Lion of Caliban was reminded by his beloved and close brother, the Midnight Ghost from Nostramo, that he came up with this genius idea: as a genetic agent, he was not alone, and he had several legionnaires who could be trusted in both loyalty and ability to endure the bloodless pain with him.

As a result, this system of joint sitting was not only very useful, but even brought some surprises to Johnson: considering that both the original body and the three dark angels were now grasshoppers drowning in the papers, the originally intimate or rigid relationship between them was passively warmed up.

Even the representative of the Terra, who has always been stubborn, does not regard the father of genes in his eyes, and even admires Morgan more than Johnson, after intimate contact with the documents in front of him, there is even a trace of sympathy in his eyes when he looks at the male lion.

#奇怪的父子情谊增加了#

Johnson rubbed his face, let himself work hard to cheer up, he glanced at the several heirs who were still struggling to write, and then swept through the documents that had not yet been approved, and couldn't help but sigh: What kind of attitude and ability did his Avalon blood relatives have to fight a bloody way for their First Legion in the more cruel sea of literature and books a few decades ago?

You know, because of its overly complex and strange power structure, as well as the scattered fronts scattered throughout the galaxy, as well as the supply system completely independent of the empire, it is even more difficult to manage the Dark Angel Legion than the other legions combined: even today, twenty years after Morgan left, Johnson does not dare to guarantee that he can command every vein of the Dark Angel Legion as his arm.

He had to be forced to work while actively maintaining a learning attitude.

Thinking of this, the Lord of Caliban's gaze drifted to the other side, as if looking for something, and his large hand pulled open the decorative legion flag behind him, revealing a one-person-tall locker with scattered [personal belongings] of the original body.

A few slightly ornate goblets that didn't seem to fit Johnson's style: before the war with Emperor Randan, he had drunk with the Morgan and Vulcan brothers and encouraged each other.

Next to the glasses were trivial gifts from Riemanrus and Conrad, all of which looked very rough and small, such as Fenris's wolf tooth necklace and Nostramo's lion bone ring, which were hand-polished by the two primitives, and Johnson also carefully treasured the gifts of these brothers in the same way as priceless treasures.

But the real treasure was placed in the deepest part of the locker, where the power of the original could not be broken at once: there were three frames in turn, the middle one was taken in front of the royal palace of the Holy Terra, Morgan and Johnson stood in the middle of the frame, and Johnson's brothers and children were flanked by them, behind them was the symbol of the eternal glory of the First Legion, the pure white statue that only they would know.

On either side of this frame, there are two other photographs, the one on the left taken by Caliban a few years ago, sent by Luther, in which the elder of Johnson is standing on the castle of the Grand Knights, and in the high platform that bears Johnson's memory, Luthor is pointing proudly into the distance: it is a neat array of recruits, the Caliban forest that is flourishing again, and more cooking smoke in the distance, everything is as beautiful as a bright fairy tale.

The only light in the frame is a bonfire at a dinner party, and the illuminated faces of several primordials next to them, their complete relaxation and wanton laughter seem to be frozen in the moment: whether it is the smiling Morgan, the noisy Johnson and Riemanrus, and the drunken Conrad, they all seem to be ready to come out of the photo at any time.

Next to this photograph are several swords, the same ones used in the not-so-successful bonfire, which Johnson carefully cleans to ensure that they are as bright as ever for years to come.

“……”

Little by little, the primordial gaze passed over these priceless treasures, a relaxed smile appeared on his face, and the fatigue from the long hours of work had melted away, and the Lord of Caliban breathed the iron air greedily as if he were inspecting the Grande of his vault, feeling the kindness that the past had bestowed upon him.

But Johnson didn't allow his slack to last long, and the primordial's eyes were quickly focused on his target: it was a stack of books that had been studied countless times, which Morgan had left for him with advice on governing the Legion, and underneath this stack of books was the [Special Edition of the Psionic Sacred Codex] written by the Lord of Avalon himself, specially prepared for him.

The Lord of Caliban carefully took out all the books, and just as he was agonizing over which one to read first, his eyes were drawn to a few abrupt rays of light: it came from his desk, from where Johnson could reach at all times, and it was a portable holographic projector.

Only one person can enable it.

“……”

The original body was silent for a moment, and then, quickly and discreetly, he put all the books back again, grabbed the projector, and cautiously glanced at him as the heirs, and after making sure they didn't notice this, Johnson stood up silently, and in a few arrow steps, disappeared into the secret door behind the office, and burrowed into a secret room that almost no one knew.

The room was not large, and there were simply a few tables and chairs, and the original body took the opportunity to sit down, activated the projector system, and the light bloomed around him, and the tall figure on the other side of the instrument was captured, gradually focusing, looming, until it completely recreated Morgan's perfect face enough to amaze anyone.

In the next moment, the Spider Empress's head, hair, neck, and half of her upper body were projected, and the flesh and armor seemed to have real density and weight, and when she smiled, every tiny expression of her was not out of tune in the slightest, and the familiar voice that had not been seen for a long time echoed in Johnson's ears.

[It's been good lately, Johnson. 】

[You look tired? 】

While making a simple polite gesture, Morgan only needed a glance to see that her Caliban blood relatives were not in a state, and it took less than a moment to guess the specific reason: when Johnson nodded to Morgan, the Lord of Avalon took the opportunity to ask a rhetorical question.

[Are you reviewing documents again?] 】

Johnson nodded.

[Luther's? 】

Nod again.

[Does he still report to you in every detail as before?] 】

“……”

Johnson was silent, and after a while, he rubbed his forehead.

"yes: I don't know who I learned it from."

[Who knows......]

The Lord of Avalon muttered: the distressed Calibans didn't notice, his blood relatives seemed to smile a little more, their pupils hiding a hint of teasing and vengeance, and Morgan didn't seem surprised by what Luthor had done.

"So, what's the matter, Morgan?"

After only a brief moment of distress, Johnson raised his head, he didn't think that Morgan would contact him for no reason, after all, even for the Lord of Avalon, maintaining this holographic projection across the entire galaxy was a difficult thing: it was clear.

But the situation is not as he thought.

[It doesn't matter. 】

Morgan yawned lazily, looking like she was leaning against something, her eyes half-open and half-squinted, a kind of laziness that she hadn't slept through, and her words were casual and vivid as she licked her lips.

[If there is no matter, can't I simply contact you? 】

"Hmmm......"

[After all......]

"I miss you, Johnson. 】

One of the Lords of Avalon's hand was against her neck, her face turned slightly sideways, a smile, and a soft brow revealing an unquestioning gaze that convinced the Calibans of the truth at once.

We've been apart for too long, haven't we, brother? 】

Morgan laughed again.

“…… Truly. ”

Johnson nodded a little smugly.

"Fifteen years, or twenty years?"

Time doesn't matter. 】

Morgan sighed.

Importantly, as I walked alone in the Empire, when I spent time with our other brothers, I found that I missed the time I spent with you more than all of them. 】

[Separation makes me start to miss you.] 】

[The longer I separate, the more I miss being with you, the farther your steps disappear in my vision, the deeper your shadow will be left in my heart: every brother I have met can make me more certain of this, Johnson, I miss the time with you. 】

“…… Me too, Morgan. ”

This time, the Lion of Caliban was silent for an unusually long time, and his response, after a sigh, was so strong that it could almost be taken as a truth: even so, the perceptive Johnson still found some information in Morgan's words.

"Why, don't you get along well with our brother?"

[Yes.] 】

Morgan nodded.

[You should know that I'm on an expedition with Dorne and Pertulabor here in the Kraken Abyss: this alone makes you know the hardships, after all, it seems like you've been through something similar? 】

[Right?] 】

“……”

I don't know why, it was obviously a simple question, but some wild instincts in Johnson's bones began to scream out of fear of the unknown: he realized that this sentence did not seem to be simple.

He needs to think about it.

#庄森开始了思考#

“……”

#庄森停止了运转#

"You...... Are you angry, Morgan? ”

By the end, the thoughtful Calibans squeezed out the phrase.

[Nope.] 】

Morgan's eyebrows were lowered, and her swift response made Johnson nod.

"That's good: I thought you were angry about something, Morgan."

【……】

"But then again."

The Caliban frowned, pondering Morgan's words.

"It's not a pleasant thing to work with Dorne, I worked with him a long time ago, and it was very unpleasant: although his unwarranted slander against me ended in failure, and the incident itself was not a big deal."

[Really not a big deal? 】

Morgan's rhetorical question left Johnson wondering: she seemed obsessed with the question.

"That's right, it's nothing, it's just a dispute and a duel, it's normal."

【……】

“…… Are you angry? ”

[yes, I'm angry. 】

Morgan pouted.

“？？？”

Johnson was stunned for a moment, but wisely did not inquire about it, but instead grasped what Morgan had just said: the cooperation with Dorne seemed to make his blood relatives unhappy, so if that was the case......

Johnson began to think again.

His wits were swollen and he was quick to contribute a good idea.

"If Dorne is displeasing to people, why don't you go to Peturabo?"

【！！！ 】

[You say...... What? 】

"Peturabo."

Johnson smiled.

"Peturabo is very good, he is calm enough, sensible enough, admirable enough, and it would be a pleasure to play alongside him, because he knows the art of war very well, and he has his own unique perspective on human interaction."

"Even ...... No less than me. ”

【……】

"What's more, if Dorn is stubborn, Peturabo can help you convince him......"

[Shut up, Johnson.] 】

"Morgan, I mean ......"

[You! Give me! Shut up! 】

(End of chapter)