"It looks like we're being thwarted."

"Yes, Lord Dorne, maybe something has gone wrong with our tactics."

"Don't be so tactful, Guidores, it's my tactical decision-making that went wrong, my sloppiness that created the predicament in front of us, and you and the rest of the guards didn't point it out in time: we all made mistakes."

"There's no point in discussing these issues now, my lord: give the order, are we going to hold here and wait for reinforcements, or are we going to break out of the siege while they haven't attacked?"

"If it's the latter, then please leave the task of the queen to me, my lord."

“…… No. ”

"I'm coming personally: you're with me."

……

Frankly, Rogdorn was vaguely aware that something was not quite right four hours after the war began: not only the original himself, but also the warriors around him who were already aware of it.

Not only the two companies in charge of the rearguard have gradually been unable to keep up with the pace of the original body, but even other relevant units that need real-time data cannot adapt to the rapid advance of the original body.

Watchtower after watchtower and small stronghold fell with seconds that seemed to never jump, and Rogdorn watched as the fallen warriors turned to ashes, their rusted armor peeling away until they were overwhelmed by more aliens, and the original could only grit his teeth and continue to fight, while desperately suppressing his desire to raise his greatsword and rush forward to avenge his heirs.

"We just need to hold on here for a little longer, maybe only five minutes, and then we can wait for the Imperial Fist behind us, and we can join them and break out, instead of choosing ...... now"

"We can't leave our allies there alone."

It was a failed attempt, as Dorn had tried to lead the team to reclaim a vital watchtower, but then they discovered that the Heruds had launched their heavy weapon, and the strange waves it emitted could have a lethal effect on the Primordial: despite only a slight rub on the arm, Dorn still felt that his biological age had disappeared for at least twenty or thirty years.

(Note: I like Dorne very much here, but don't think that he is a perfect saint, he also has many shortcomings, including paranoia, but Dorne is usually very well suppressed, and there are also a lot of paranoia in the Seventh Legion, Sigismund and the Black Templar are not even the most paranoid in the Seventh Legion, and those who are more paranoid than them were later taken to the steel cage by Dorne himself.) ）

So, when the Lord of Inwitt was rarely trapped by his paranoia, and he lacked the advice of his heirs, he was to run through the battlefield blindly until everyone was trapped in the tide of the Heruds, and they did not intend to retreat, but repaired the fortifications in the alien fortress that had just been laid, and raised the double-headed eagle battle flag, which symbolized the empire, in its place.

Do their original bodies still need Iron Warriors to break the siege? Even a single Iron Champion on this team would frustrate the entire Seventh Legion: nothing would have made this group of Astarte warriors thunder like the inability to protect their Genetic Father.

Rogdorn's voice was once again unapologetic as he commanded his warriors, fending off simultaneous attacks from three directions, frowning and muttering something in the midst of the bloody battle: Guidores could hear clearly, the original was complaining about his weakness.

But even so, Dorn, who had regained his senses, still turned the tide of the battle, and the Heruds never touched the edge of the fortress again, although their offensive became more and more violent, because just behind Dorn and the others, the large forces of the Imperial Fist had tried their best to get closer to the original body, and the frantic explosion and fire were not far from the position of Dorn and the others.

Maybe in fifteen minutes, or twenty minutes, they'll be out of the predicament in front of them, Guidores thought, and didn't forget to glance at the original body carefully: he instinctively felt that his genetic father, having dodged the fatal blow, seemed to have figured out something in the moment of life and death, but now was clearly not the time for him to ask.

"Our support has arrived."

But he quickly stood up and, as always, commanded a non-stop defensive battle: only Guidores, who was standing beside the primordial, could see that when the Lord of Inwitt returned to his post, the paranoia and stubbornness that had occupied those pupils for the past few hours had unconsciously disappeared for the most part.

Unlike his sons, Dorne looked in the direction of the fire, and then calmly looked at his guards, not at all feeling humiliating to be rescued by another brother.

He knew he couldn't do that, and the scar on his left hand reminded him that there was an ugly wound on the original body's immaculate golden armor, only the place of his left arm, and although the flesh inside had long since healed, the melted metal on the outside was still terrifying.

Stay put! Another warcry in the bloodline of the Fist of the Empire.

No one can tell.

As for the reason?

Perhaps, it's because Peturabo and the Iron Warriors on the other side of the battlefield have never stopped advancing.

The Primordial walked on the fortress, throwing himself into the war all the time, where the front was in danger of being lost, Rogdorn would be there, and within ten minutes of the attack, he and his children and grandchildren had killed an army of Xenomorphs a hundred times their size, but that was only a drop in the bucket of a long tug-of-war.

The Lord of Invita had only now discovered that he seemed to lack a means of long-range attack, and he found himself in the face of the Heruds, who were unable to engage in hand-to-hand combat, with whom he could not use them all: even inferior to his Olympian brothers, armed to the teeth.

It's just that in normal times, Dorn suppressed this defect very well, and he tied the wild soul with a calm mind, until there were too many factors in this expedition to make the chain of thought of the genetic prototype no longer so strong: whether it was the long command and dispatch, or the army of Hexenomorphs, which was far more troublesome than expected, or even the battle with Perturabo in a brotherhood, it became the last straw that overwhelmed Calm.

Twenty or thirty years was a very short time for the Primordial's almost never-ending long life, but when this change abruptly happened to him, Dorn fell into silence and shock: he was forcibly dragged back to the fortress by the frenzied Imperial Fists, and spent more than a dozen seconds in his unspeakable self-consciousness before the attack was repulsed.

Unfortunately, it turned out to be far worse than Guidores had predicted: just seven minutes later, the rumbling of reinforcements reached the ears of Dorne and the others, not from behind them, but from their positions in front of the left.

Dorn and his guards marched in silent rage, the Imperial Fist he had chosen at his side was none other than the most violent of the Seventh Legion, compared to whom even Sigismund was a pacifist who hated swordsmen and disliked fighting.

The Lord of Invita was certainly a great warrior who was sincere and reliable, but he was not a perfect man without flaws: he was haughty and stubborn, and he also had a paranoid warrior soul in his bones, and the bravest warriors under his command were not much worse than the green-skinned orcs who were happy to hear battle, and these people who also inherited the blood of Dorne are proof of the character flaws of their genetic father.

"Father."

While the Sons of Dorne have always been regarded as calm defenders and fortress builders, let's not forget that a combative man like Sigismund is also a warrior with Dorne's blood, and they are by no means a minority in the Seventh Legion.

Dorn noticed all this, he noticed every problem, and the warriors around him were no exception: neither the original himself, nor the warriors around him, chose to stop themselves.

The faces of several guards beside Dorne were delicate for an instant, and they knew that it was the direction that the Iron Warriors were responsible for: in that position, how could reinforcements come?

Several of the guards looked at each other, even Guidores, and they showed the anxiety in their eyes: after all, if their current predicament was solved by the Iron Warriors or even Perturabo himself, then it would be too ......

“……”

The silence was followed by a muffled echo, and the attendants and military attaches of the original body took orders to leave. Only Guidores stood beside Dorne, licking his lips a little reluctantly, he looked into the pupils of his genetic father, and reaffirmed that the trip to the ghost gate just now seemed to have made Dorn figure out something, and the Lord of Inwitt seemed to have some new ideas.

No one knows what Dorn has experienced in the past ten seconds.

"Tell me to go down and get ready to fight."

Guidores couldn't remember the name, and he hoped it wouldn't be this unit: after all, the Iron Warriors would always make the removal of the Imperial Fist seem awkward and useless.

The tragic offensive and defensive battles followed, and the waves of the Heruds swept from the sky, occupying all vision in the blink of an eye, and even the dead air was distorted by the many temporal forces on them, and from a distance, it was like a rising purgatory, and under this purgatory, there were countless explosions and alien roars.

"Choosing to accept my brother's help?"

Whether it is the naval artillery support in low-earth orbit or the fire cover in the rear, they are all throwing rat bogeys because of the frenzy of the original body and others, they are afraid that the artillery fire will accidentally hurt the soul of the entire Seventh Legion, as for those teams responsible for logistics support, they were left far behind at the beginning, and many Imperial Fists began to lack ammunition.

Perhaps, it is because the lands they have conquered have long been planted with the banner of the double-headed eagle, and the Fist of the Empire does not have a tradition of hastily abandoning the soil.

He spoke tentatively.

Or maybe it's just that they simply don't want to retreat, and it's the flaws in their character that lead to extra stubbornness, or rather, paranoia.

After seeing that his most trusted assistants still seemed a little shocked, the Lord of Inwitt even frowned and said the next sentence urgently.

The captain of the Huskar Guard wondered which unit would join them first, the Imperial Fist companies that were desperately advancing towards this position? Or is it the hybrid force that is rumored to be fighting in conjunction with the Iron Warriors? What's their company commander's name? He remembered that it was called Placs?

Dorn smiled, his face not very clear from the gloom of the war, but Guidores could still see the smile: brief, but also full of Inwitt-esque restraint.

The Fist of the Empire's genetic protogenone just looked at his most trusted heir and muttered to himself.

"You know what, Guidores."

"Just now, I suddenly figured out a very simple truth."

“…… What's that, father? ”

"A mistake, my mistake."

Dorn looked up, and he saw the Iron Warriors' reinforcements firing at the Heruds from afar: Perturabo's secret weapon was thrown into the battlefield again, and the aliens at the edge of the field of vision were falling in patches, forcing Dorn to admit that his brother had done a better job of slaughter than he did.

"Guidores, my warrior, you should remember what I have thought of my brother Perturabo's previous plans since joining the Kraken Abyss Expedition?"

"Criticism, sir."

"That's right, criticism."

Dorn shook his head.

"Actually, until now, I don't think that the battle plan that Perturabo has chosen before is correct, and I still have reason to persuade him from a more reasonable point of view: but it is this condescending posture of persuasion that has begun to make me arrogant, to make me look into nothing, to ignore the virtues of my brother that still shine, and to focus all my eyes on those faults."

"You should have noticed one thing, Guidores: before that, every conversation I had with Perturabo was accompanied by an argument and a time when I pointed out his problems, but I don't know when it seemed that I only cared about pointing out his problems, and I seemed to only sharply criticize his shortcomings, pushing every conversation we had to the forefront."

"It also affected our blood relatives."

"I only saw his shortcomings, but I chose to ignore the advantages in him."

"That's not right, Guidores."

"Adult ......"

"Because I only saw the shortcomings of Peturabo, I took it for granted that I would not be worse than him, so I became reckless and blind in this war, thinking only about not falling behind Peturabo, and ignoring the calmness and planning that the war really requires."

"But until that shell grazed my side......"

Dorne sighed.

"It wasn't until then that I realized that I couldn't really do anything with these aliens, that I wasn't any more dominant on the battlefield than you, because I lacked weapons to attack from range, I was good at holding a shield or wielding a sword, but I wasn't good at fighting opponents who couldn't get me to fight in close quarters: the lack of such a long-range attack was my weakness compared to what I was good at."

"So, in those few seconds, it dawned on me that if Perturabo was in the same position as me, what would he do?"

"He must have a way, he has so many long guns and cannons that he carries with him, and an endless reserve of ammunition, he alone is a firepower output platform that can easily slaughter large swaths of xenomorphs, rather than being afraid and struggling like me."

"In this respect, Peturabo is far better than me: an absolute victory."

"And since that's ......"

The original pursed his lips, and he let out a chuckle, as if mocking himself.

"If my brother is unequivocally superior to me in this respect, how can I assume that I will outperform him in other areas? Perhaps, I just didn't see him shine in those areas. And blindly think that I am better than him. ”

"It's undoubtedly a fool's errand: that's what I figured out in that brief moment, Guidores."

The original body laughed again and patted the captain of the guard on the shoulder, Guidores did not seem to have come out of the tirade, he was not sure if his father's heart was turned upside down, or if he had only broken through a small part of the gloom: according to these words, he felt that it was the latter.

"So, my lord, you were there laughing because of that?"

"Nothing."

The Primitor shook his head.

"I only briefly reviewed my rivalry with Perturabo during this time, and then asked myself the question: What is my reason and motivation to fight with my blood brothers?"

“……”

"Then I realized that I couldn't actually answer the question."

“…… That's it. ”

Dorn picked up his chainsaw sword, and the best warriors were drawing closer to their original form in the distance, waiting to join him in striking a new blow at the aliens in front of them: the Heruds were shaken by Perturabo's attack, and now was the perfect time to crush their wave once and for all.

"Alright, Guidores, we'll talk about more things later."

The primordial's gaze became serious.

"Now, let's see why Peturabo came to help.

"Do you want to thank him, sir?"

Guidores was still a little unwilling.

"Maybe."

Dorn was silent for a moment.

"However, I don't think that his side has already settled the matter: if Perturabo did not do his part, he would have casually left the command to someone else, and then rushed to me......"

"I'll thank him."

"And then point out what his problem is."

"Like, what I did before."

“…… I see, sir. ”

Guidores breathed a sigh of relief, he finally saw the familiar feeling, and quietly returned to Dorne: a moment of emotion was fleeting, and eternal indifference was the true nature and soul of the Invites.

The Imperial Fist smiled.

Fortunately.

Dorne, still the same Dorne.

——————

It's still so annoying.

Is...... Bored.

The Lord of Steel watched coldly at his blood relatives walking towards him, and even forgot to wipe the dirty alien blood from his armor: after less than twenty minutes of slaughter and assault, the two primordials finally met on the corpse heap of the Herud mountain reclamation, and their combined strike had already crumbled the alien army in the area, leaving only a few remnants to serve as a foil to the sound of bombs out of sight.

Despite this, the resistance of the Heruds had not completely disappeared, and the remnants of their party were still hoarded in the farther fortresses, which required the combined efforts of at least two legions to shake the fortified city: although Perturabo had ordered Frix, the leader of the trident he trusted, to lead an attack, he had just learned from the communicator that Frix's offensive had not yielded the desired results.

The Iron Lord didn't say anything, he just indifferently ordered Frix to continue the attack, and then left his guards behind and walked straight to his Invita blood relatives, and the two primordials finally met on the alien corpse mountain, neither of them accompanied by their heirs.

"Thank you for your assistance, Peturabo."

Before the Lord of Steel could take his feet, Dorne spoke, a blunt gesture of thanks that raised the Olympian's brow, and his heart brightened briefly, but quickly. The stubborn guy snorted coldly, and didn't spit out the corresponding good words from his mouth.

"I'm just worried that the situation on your side will affect the overall situation of the battle, Dorne."

"I have that concern, too."

The Master of the Emperor's Fist nodded, ignoring the sarcasm of the blood relatives, but looked with some curiosity at the scarred team behind Perturabo, who looked no more glamorous than the Imperial Fists behind Dorne who had fought a long and persistent battle.

"How's the battle line over there?"

"One last step to go."

Perturabo laughed, viciously showing off his victory to his blood relatives.

"I've led my legion to eliminate all obstacles that stand in my way, and if it's not for the fear that the situation on your side will affect the overall development of the battle, I've planted the banner of the Empire on the Alien Fortress."

"However, even if you delay a little time, it will be no problem, even if I rush back now, I will complete the final battle in an hour: you better move quickly, my brother, I will not wait for you at this stage."

"You don't have to wait."

Dorn frowned at first, listened carefully to Perturabo's description, sketched out the situation on the battlefield on the Iron Warriors' side, and after making sure that Perturabo had not delayed any military operations because of his support, Invet nodded, and then he patiently and calmly answered the question of his blood relatives.

"That defensive operation just now made me realize that I have a problem with my tactical deployment, Peturabo, so I intend to shrink the line for a while, regroup and adjust my troops, and then launch an attack in the area under the actual control of the Heruds, which may take me two to three hours."

“……”

Perturabo was silent, but the silence was filled with suppressed anger.

The Iron Warrior listened to Dorne's statement in astonishment, then bit his lip and stared at his Inwitt brothers, their resolute faces twisting in spirals, and the hands behind his back trembled until he squeezed the word of accountability out of his teeth.

"You...... What is the meaning? Dorne! ”

“…… What? ”

Dorn blinked in confusion.

"What are you talking about, Perturabo?"

"I said, what do you mean!"

For no apparent reason, Perturabo suddenly yelled, and his voice even drowned out the artillery fire in the distance, causing the Astarte warriors on both sides to look at it with a little nervousness.

The Lord of Steel, on the other hand, stared at his blood relatives tremblingly, his unwarranted anger causing the Lord of the Imperial Fist to frown, but Dorne's confusion in turn angered Perturabor.

"What is this?"

"Give up? Or abstention? ”

"I've led my army here and spent hours in this damn war, just to see who of our army can take that alien fortress first! Now, the competition has reached the final step, and now, seeing that the victory has been clutched in my hands, are you going to back down for me here? Dorne! ”

"What do you mean? Do you want my victory to be no longer perfect? ”

“……”

"I don't mean that, brother."

Dorn frowned, instinctively wanting to point out the Iron Lord's mistake in adding so much personal emotion to the war after hearing Perturabo's words about athleticism, but it soon dawned on Dorn that he was not in a position to accuse his Olympian brother on the subject, as he had been making the same mistake not so long ago.

Therefore, the Lord of Inwitt could only choose to answer cautiously.

"Although I did intend to compete with you before that, it was in the war that I realized that it was useless to compete on such a battlefield: I was ready to abandon this meaningless comparison."

"Meaningless?!"

Perturabo then roared.

"Do you think this contest between us is pointless?"

"For now, yes."

Dorne nodded, without the slightest compromise.

Then he saw Perturabo's face sink into a paleness that he could not describe in words: it seemed to be a sledgehammer forged from a mixture of consternation, humiliation, and anger, and slammed into the face of the Olympian, so that he could not even speak.

Perturabo stood there, as if Dorne had failed him, gritting his teeth, grinding and grinding, making a penetrating grinding sound, and looking at the pupils of his Invit blood relatives with reluctance: after determining that Dorne really had no desire to continue competing with him, the trembling Lord of Steel stood there, as if trying to destroy something to vent his anger, but in the end he only waved his fist in vain into the air.

"Whatever you want!"

He then roared.

"Since you insist on retreating to the rear and being your shrunken turtle, then abandon your glory, I will lead my legion to defeat that alien fortress, I will capture it in the shortest possible time in your presence, and then plant the banner of the Empire with my own hands: all the glory of this war will belong! I! ”

"Then I congratulate you, brother."

Dorn nodded, confirming that he was genuinely wishing for a blessing, but for some reason, it made Perturabo's face seem to be a little more angry.

It wasn't until then that Dorne realized something.

"Wait, Perturabo, you said you only led your legion to attack there?"

"That's right."

The Iron Lord sneered.

"What? Hearing this, you are not willing to be so glorious? ”

"That's not what I meant."

Dorn shook his head.

"I just want to say that with the strength of a legion of Iron Warriors, it is very difficult to take this fortress alone: I suggest that you better wait for my legion to finish repairing, and then we will take this fortress together, this is the option with the highest success rate, brother."

"If you insist on honor, your legion can go first."

“……”

Once again, the Iron Lord was silent.

“……”

Once again, Rogdor was bewildered to find that, despite his sincere efforts to propose the best solution, and having taken care of his blood relatives' wishes, the unprovoked anger was still burning from the Olympians, even more vigorously than before: even Perturabo's voice was trembling.

"What do you mean? Dorne! ”

“…… I ......"

"Are you saying that my Iron Warriors alone can't take that fortress?"

"That's going to be worth the cost, brother."

"Are you questioning my abilities!"

"I'm not questioning your abilities, I'm just pointing out the facts at hand......"

"Enough is enough!!"

The Iron Lord rudely interrupted his blood kin's explanation, staring at Rogdorn's face with no hint of malice, which made his anger unquenchable: at last, he roared in a low voice and made his declaration to his blood relatives in Invit.

"Go back with your legions, back to your comfort zone, and I will soon lead my warriors to take down that alien fortress before your eyes: as I said before, I will raise the banner of the Empire of Mankind in front of your eyes, Dorne!"

"Let me tell you, what is war, what is victory!"

"But ......"

Dorn was about to speak, but his blood relatives were clearly not interested in hearing any more, and Perturabo hurried with his warriors, but after a brief exchange he walked away, leaving the Invites standing in bewilderment, still not understanding which of his words had provoked the anger in the Iron Lord's heart.

When he turned his head and repeated the scene to the approaching Guidores, hoping that the captain of his guard would give an answer, the trusty Imperial Fist pondered for a long time before squeezing a vague answer from his brow.

"My lord, I think it's because of ......"

"Uh...... Because of that blood relative of yours......"

"His name is Peturabo."

"Yes, Master Peturabe, I think he has a little bit of ......"

Guidores just pointed to his temple, and he didn't say anything more.

——————

"Frix! Answer me! ”

"I'm here, Father, I've adjusted my strategy here, I promise ......"

"Whoever led you, get back to your old post! I'll be back and take my place in a minute! I'll take that damn fortress myself. ”

"But, my lord, if you follow your original plan, there are still a lot of supplies......"

"Execute the order!"

"Do you want me to say it again?"

"No...... No need to ......"

"I'll leave now, my lord."

(End of chapter)