Although Jofir de Mukia never mentioned the dream to anyone, he was accompanied by screams every time he woke up.

This is certainly not something to be mentioned casually, and anyone with any shame will be ashamed to wake up screaming from a nightmare, let alone him, an Astarte.

Despite the disability, the self-esteem of the beheader has not diminished in the slightest, but the relationship has become stronger because of the disability. He was reluctant to mention it, just as he was reluctant to mention the name 'decapitator' to anyone else.

Before Roger Dorn mentioned it today, no one had called him that for six years.

Accepting disability may be simple, but what is really difficult is accepting loss.

Limb mutilation is just the simplest part of the process, you can easily get used to bulky legs, and it only takes a few days to figure out how they work, but what about the rest of the process? That's hell.

Back in that dream, Joffil didn't lie to Roger Dorn, but he didn't finish it either. He was tempted to tell the Terra Guards how horrible his dreams were, but the latter didn't give him the chance.

They made their way out of the heavily guarded building, changing between three different means of transportation before arriving at their destination—three hours and forty-one minutes had passed since their conversation ended.

Terra is huge, vast, and inaccessible. Day and night, the sky is crowded with airships, not to mention the ground.

The recent cold wind, which lasted for more than a month, made matters worse, and its intensity was clearly beyond what the barren nature of Terra could do, and it had almost become a natural disaster.

Jumping from the flying boat, the Emperor's Son struggled to gain his footing. He refused to be supported by the guards, and instead stared at the fortress in front of him—he had been in Terra for six years, but he still didn't dare to say he knew anything about it.

Joffil knew that all he could see of Terra was a drop in the ocean, nothing more. It was like this fortress, something he had never seen before.

It was pitch black, but it reflected a faint purple in the light of the night, and looking at it, the emperor's son even felt a tingling in his eyes. He didn't know what this was all about, but he didn't think it was something that ordinary minerals could do.

Roger Dorn spoke to the two Imperial Fists in the cold wind before turning back to him, only to have a bright power scepter in his hand. Joffil was slightly stunned, and Dorne had already handed over the scepter.

"On the next occasion, a warrior deserves to carry a sword. But I don't know what style of sword you prefer, and it's a bit difficult to find a power sword with the right center of gravity for you on the fly. Therefore, I hope you will accept this power scepter, Jofel. ”

"Thank you, sir."

Dorn nodded calmly and strode forward, not expecting to wait.

Joffil gripped the scepter and saluted an Aquila to an empty Imperial Fist. The latter raised his right hand and lightly hammered his chest, and they stepped into the depths of darkness.

It's hard to catch up with a primordial, especially if he doesn't want to slow down and wait for you. But Joffil had no objection to this, and he struggled to move his iron legs, biting down tightly on Dorne's back.

They descended until they soon reached a gate made of pure pure gold with the insignia of the Midnight Blade of the Eighth Legion.

The emperor's son couldn't help but be a little puzzled.

Why is there a quate gate inscribed with the Mark of the Eighth Legion's Blade beneath a fortress of Terra garrisoned by the Fist of the Empire? He swallowed the question silently and began to wait.

Roger Dorn stepped forward and stood in front of the door, and without seeing any movement or call, the door opened on its own—to be more accurate, it looked like it had been struck open by something.

The loud noise echoed throughout the underground passage, creating an eerie whimpering sound. They walked in, and Dorne's leather boots and Jofel's steel feet made two very different sounds on the ground.

Once they were fully inside, the adamantite door slammed shut. At the same time, a sudden burst of light immediately lit up, illuminating everything inside.

It's a huge space, but there is only one contemplative. The data servant looked up sluggishly in the complex processing cables, looked at Dorne, and spoke.

"Request?"

"Meet."

"Object?"

"Fogham."

"Searching. The target has been retrieved to exist. Time? ”

Dorne glanced sideways at Jofel, lifted his hand around his shoulder, and spat out two words.

"Now. Separate delivery. ”

A blinding blue light struck, and in the freezing chill, Jofir de Mukia quickly opened his eyes to find that the room had disappeared.

He looked around, and judging by the energy delivery pipes and portholes on the walls, he came to the conclusion in disbelief that he was on a ship.

But how is this possible?

The Emperor's Son finally couldn't hold back and looked at Roger Dorn, trying to get an explanation, but Dorne wasn't on his side at all. It was only then that he remembered what the Terra Praetorian had asked of the servant.

"Teleport alone." He muttered to himself. "Where the hell am I?"

Naturally, no one answered his question, so the decapitator gripped his scepter and began to proceed cautiously.

His steps were slow, his back and hands bulging under his robes, and his grip on the scepter did not seem rusty, but rather familiar. Obviously, even with his disability, he has not neglected the training he should have for a single day.

Slowly, he heard some voices. It's like talking, or arguing. The decapitator silently raised his vigilance, slowed down his movement again, and began to move in that direction, the power scepter already raised high.

A few minutes later, he peeked around a corner and saw two maintenance workers busy. Frowning, he left behind his chosen cover, deliberately making some noise, and began to move towards the two maintenance workers.

One of them glanced back—and it was then that Joffel sensitively noticed that there was palpable sympathy and respect in the worker's eyes.

I don't need your mercy! The beheader cried out in his heart. Put that respect away for me, I'm just a damn cripple!

His sequelae-like emotions came and went quickly. Joffil pursed his lips, and after forcing himself to remain calm, he was about to speak, but the worker was one step ahead.

"Your Excellency." He shook his head, sweat on his forehead running across his dirty face. "I thought you were all leaving Nirvana."

Again—Joffil was visibly stunned.

"We?" He repeated. "What do you mean? We? ”

This time it was the worker's turn to stare at him in dismay, and his companion turned around, and he was much more vigilant.

The man clenched the long wrench in his hand, which could be used as a weapon, and looked him up and down: "No offense, my lord." But, where did you come from? Who are you? ”

"I am Jofir de Mukia, son of the Emperor." The decapitator replied subconsciously, his mind now feeling like a mess.

"But you shouldn't be here, sir." The worker who spoke first scratched his head in confusion. "Lord Fogham, the original body, said that you are all off the ship."

Immediately, there was a buzz in Jofel's head, which exploded like thunder. A few minutes later, he dragged his body to the boarding deck of the Nirvana.

Batches of power armor and weapons in need of repair were waiting to be hauled away, their familiar colors and insignia causing the decapitator to stop his steps and even breathe carefully.

He stood there for another ten seconds before he remembered what he was supposed to do. With his scepter in hand, he squeezed past the servants and hordes of workers who were carrying the goods, and walked out of the Nirvana.

A group of people stood not far from him, one of them was particularly tall, with gray hair scattered behind him.

The decapitator opened his mouth wordlessly, his voice converging in his throat, eventually forming a cry that was broken to an almost comical tone that echoed through the dockyard.

They immediately turned around.

——

Carlil had expected today's events, and since he had known the truth, he knew that this day would come.

Sooner or later, it's just a matter of time. But he still feels a little confused about where he is at the moment. Luckily, it doesn't make a difference to what he's doing at the moment.

The breeze blew through the stone pillars of the palace, crowding the place with many pilgrims, but the cold still lingered.

Except for those who were extremely pious and only cared about prostration, most of the others noticed him, an excessively tall black-robed man. There was a lot of talk, and some were even scared enough to go to the guards.

Seeing this, Carlil couldn't help but speed up his pace - he knew that this ordinary way of getting around would get trouble, but he didn't expect it to develop so quickly to the point of calling the guards.

Regret it? Not really, just a little bit of a pity. He didn't have much chance to see the current Terra and get along with the Terra people of this era.

Maybe you shouldn't do something stupid. Carlil thought. I'm just borrowing them to preserve my humanity, it's hypocritical

"Sir?"

A voice sounded in front of him, and Carlil looked down to see a child in a padded jacket with a face purple from the cold. She stared at him, her face full of curiosity.

"What's the matter?" Carlil asked gently.

"Are you a primordial?" She had the audacity to ask, but Carlil didn't have time to answer.

One of the women in the crowd let out a terrible cry and rushed to carry her away, not forgetting to continue to kowtow to him.

Her forehead kept bumping against the stone bricks with her name engraved on it, making a dull echo, and the people watched the scene wordlessly, and even began to bow down.

The negative that should have been blurted out swallowed back into his throat, Carlil sighed, and had to speed up his pace and move on. Only this time, he disappeared as he passed a stone pillar, like a breeze.

In the night sky, it blew towards a dock.

And pinching.

(End of chapter)