Forever.

Angron thought.

Forever.

I will never forget today.

His mind was screaming, and the whirlpool of pain was condensing. The pain came from his gift, one of his instincts, the emotions of the dead, that permeated the air and was eventually possessed by him.

Every corpse, every bit of pain, the struggle and repentance before death, the unwillingness to be forced to become a slave, all these all converged in his mind.

The original mountain-like body was trembling slightly, his face twisted, nails creaking, they didn't drill, they just squeezed his skull, sending a terrible tremor on the cerebral cortex and spine.

He threw down the Power Sword, the precious weapon that would have been coveted by many warriors, now stained with dried blood, and it had traveled many worlds to reach Robert Killiman's private arsenal. In the end, it was in Angeland's hands that it had completed the mission for which it had been made.

Leaning against the cold wall, Angron slowly closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he heard a heavy footstep that he knew was his brother without looking.

Angron did not involve him in the killing.

You don't have to get this blood on it. He said then. It's my duty.

So Robert Killiman fell silent.

He didn't attend, he had to sit on the sidelines.

Angron opened his eyes and saw a calm face. Kiriman stared at him and spoke slowly, his tone calm, sounding even a little akin to a strange provocation: "Are you alright, brother?" ”

The gladiator shook his head slowly.

He could sense the turbulent emotions beneath Robert Kiliman's calm exterior. Killeman was forcing himself to calm down, and realizing it made Angron feel the urge to smile and comfort him back.

He tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he couldn't laugh, his canines poking out his lips, looking strange on his face covered in blood and black dust.

He didn't make it.

"I hope I'm okay." Angron said, accepting his own small failures. "I sincerely hope that."

He crossed Kiliman and looked into the darkness not far from the promenade. Broken light refracted through the blood-soaked portholes, ashes floating, blue-white armor looming in the darkness. Forty-seven breaths waited there quietly.

Angelon smiled.

"How long are you going to stand there?" He suppressed the pain, and let his terrible voice be deliberately rough, and with a little deliberate comical, as Oinomouth had comforted the others.

A few seconds later, there was a sound of footsteps in the darkness. A group of warriors came out of the darkness, all of them wounded, and no one's armor could be called barely complete. Blood, dust, mutilated limbs, but their eyes were not blank.

They stared at Angron intensely.

Robert Killeman stepped back slowly, he didn't want to bother with the moment—but, if asked, he would admit it.

He will admit that he felt a thrill because he witnessed this moment, but he couldn't stop grieving.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

How cruel it is to meet my father in the corpse of my brother.

"Isn't anyone going to introduce himself to me?" Angron asked hoarsely, still with a forced smile in his voice.

His pale blue eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the squeezing of his skull was still noticeable to the supermen present. The war dogs didn't understand what it was, but they could see the pain that their genetic father was hiding at the moment.

From the trembling of the body, from the spasm of the muscles, and the bitter smile that squeezed out to comfort them. They can see it.

Why can't they see it?

So Barron Benson stepped up.

"I'm a company commander of your legion." He tilted his head and said. His mutilated left hand and charred armor looked so awkward, but his expression was still proud. "My name is Barron Benson, Proto."

"What's the matter with your hands?"

"Just a small injury."

'Regret', 'Sadness', 'Shame', 'I will be disabled and will no longer be able to hold a sword with both hands', 'Will the Mechanists heal me?' We've always had a bad relationship with them', 'I hope you don't look down on me, Primordial'

Angelon lowered his head and exhaled a breath of cold air from his throat.

His talent was operating paranormally, and such a specific perception had never been seen before. Maybe it was because of some kind of blood connection, he thought, or maybe it was because the war dogs were completely defenseless against him

Either way, it saddened Angelang.

"Okay, Barron Benson, I remember you, Company Commander." Angron threw a snort out of his throat. "Tenacious warriors."

Benson tilted his head back into the group.

"Next?" Angron stared inquiringly.

"I'm Karn of the Eighth Company, Primordial."

"Karn—I have the impression that you left your brother and rushed into the midst of the enemy." Angron said softly. "Reckless, but also brave."

Killiman saw that the young man who had stepped out of the line was rapidly turning red.

"I was carried away, Primordial." He lowered his head, showing his uneasiness obviously. "I, I violated military discipline."

"What military discipline?"

"The first article of military discipline, the original body." A man with half of his face vanished replied in a muffled voice. "And the most important one, we call it the Law of Death, not to leave the army without permission and go into the enemy group to fight alone."

Angron looked at him, "What's your name, soldier?" ”

'He's looking at me', 'I wish I had a helmet', 'My lord, I beg you to look away'

Angron didn't look away, he gazed at the warrior with only one eye with gentle eyes, and waited for his answer.

"My name is Harronkosen." The mutilated man muttered, his jaw shaking. "I'm from the 3rd Company."

"Thank you for explaining it to me."

Angron looked back at Karn, and the young man he was gazing at nodded in shame. "Yes, I violated discipline."

"As for the punishment for your infraction, we can talk about it later, Karn of the Eighth Company. Now the point is to tell me what happened. Angron turned his gaze to all of them and repeated. Everything. ”

"Before that, I have one thing I would like to report to you in advance, the original body." Karn said.

Angron frowned slowly, this was the first time he had shown such an expression in front of the war dogs. Barron Benson thought he was blaming Karn, and even though he tried to pull Karn back into the group, Angron raised his right hand to signal that he didn't have to.

The War Dogs wouldn't know that their Primordial was frowning only because of a name that flashed through Karn's mind, and a cold noun.

'Karil Lohals'

'Death'

——

After two and a half hours of Terra, Robert Killiman returned to Glory of Maculag alone. There was not a single trace of blood on his armor, only black dust.

Marius Gage was anxious to see his original in his study fifteen minutes later, and he wanted to question—at least a little irony of his original body's dangerous behavior—but he couldn't.

Because there was an indescribable heaviness in Robert Killiman's face.

At this moment, the Lord of Maculag was turning his head to stare at the stalled ship that had stalled in a vacuum, silent.

It was a moment before he spoke.

"Send medical aid, Marius, the war dogs have suffered heavy casualties. In addition, a number of maintenance mechanics and technical sergeants will be transferred. We need to repair the Steadfast Resolve in the shortest possible time. ”

".Primordial?" Gage looked at Killiman blankly.

"Just do as I say, Marius."

His original body lay back, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, his tone tired. He had already taken off his armor, his uniform was disheveled, and he didn't even wear a laurel wreath.

"It's back to its original state, can't you see it? A glorious queen ship belonging to the empire, of course, should remain in service. As for today's events, I will draft a notice later that this matter will be treated as top secret and will not be allowed to be disclosed or mentioned in any way. ”

"But, primordial, why? No, what about Lord Angeland? ”

"He's with his legion." Kiliman said. "Less than half of the legions, to be exact. It's ironic, Marius. The war dogs emptied their ships, laid down all the mortals, and the whole army came to meet their genetic father, but not even half of them were actually seen."

"Can I know what's going on aboard the Steadfast, Primordial?"

"No, you can't." Killiman opened his eyes. "This matter should not be mentioned by anyone anymore, listen to me, Marius, this matter."

The Lord of Macurag fell silent, then sighed heavily, a deep sadness flashing across his countenance.

"This should no longer be known to anyone." He said slowly. "That's it, Marius, that's all I can say."

The Commander of the First War looked at his original body almost helplessly—Robert Killiman had never spoken in such a tone in his memory, and for the first time today, for the first time.

He didn't understand why, and at the same time felt almost hard to breathe.

"Also, there's one more thing." Killiman sat up straight and placed his hands on the table. Marius Gage saw that his hands were clenched, and he was trembling slightly.

"Anything, Primordial." Gage replied quickly.

"I'm also going to draft a copy of the Eighth Regiment with Conrad Coetzes. Apologize, repent, I-"

"-Proto?"

"Karil Lohals is dead." After five dead minutes of silence, Robert Killiman spoke slowly.

He concealed his emotions with extreme restraint, not allowing Gage to see any clues, his false countenance of a statesman overlay his real face, Gage could not see that he was bleeding, but he could smell it.

"Karn of the 8th Company of War Hounds saw with his own eyes, and his bones were gone. I have already consulted with Angelon that we will rush to Nostramo as soon as we can after dealing with Nukeria's affairs to personally apologize to our brother Konrad Coz. ”

Marius Gage did not answer, he did not know how to answer. Half a minute later, he left Robert Killman's study and office in silence. The door slowly closed.

It's like business as usual.

There is one more chapter.

(End of chapter)