Transparent and useless tears were flowing from his resolute eyes.

He never uttered defeat or begged for mercy, and now he continued to murmur weak words.

He wept, groaned, prayed, questioned, begged for an answer, and humbly begged for the slightest answer.

Six hours and sixty-six minutes had passed since Danat Lessander woke up again, subsequently refused to speak to anyone, and allowed himself to kneel alone in front of the icon in the chapel.

In the smoke of ritual candles and incense, he muttered prayers, whipping himself with the painful electric whip of nerves.

Despite—he had been—oh my God, oh my God, he didn't know, his genetic father had told him—commanded what he was going to do—

A sharp bolt of electricity and whiplash sliced through the strained skin of the Space Marine, and blood dripped down the marble floor with sweat.

He looked up in pain and sweat and tears that blurred his vision, and the highly skilled imperial face looked down at him solemnly and coldly from the alabaster.

"I beg your pardon...... I ......"

Lysander still did not receive any response.

"I ......"

"Then I'll ......"

————————————

Twenty-two hours ago

The infirmary of the Destiny Steel

"You vile and shameless heretic! How dare you blaspheme our Holy Father before me! ”

After dozens of Terra seconds of shock, terror, madness, distraction, and gaffes, the divine rage burned more than ever before, burning hot and raging in the chest of the Fist of the Empire.

"I will kill them!!"

The tip of his elbow lifted and slammed into the face of the Iron Warrior who was laughing suspiciously, ignoring the cracked skin and exposed bones, he kicked his opponent's strong, broad thighs apart, and with the help of the reaction he was ready to pounce on the dare, daring, dare

The being with Roger Dorn's face moved.

The basic tactical maneuvers of this being were so simple that everyone could know what he wanted to do, but he was so fast that even the altered eyes of the Space Marine could not discern it, let alone resist.

The wealth of combat experience that Lessander had gained over the course of his centuries of loyal service was as clumsy as a toddler in the face of the simple actions of the opposing side.

"Don't move."

The distance between them had been so close that it almost offended the gods, and the eyes that had always been calm, pale iris made contact with the gaze of a company commander again.

In an instant, the genetic spiral was written, and the induction of dark bioengineering or something else—the relentless truth and the more ruthless natural overwhelming dominance of the offspring, pierced Lysander's entire soul.

At that moment, the attacker realized in despair that he was indeed preparing to attack the Iron Warrior in armor - Roger Donne, the father of his genes, the noble seventh son of the Emperor, the Terra Praetorian Guard, the true master of the mountain formation, the ultimate wall that will never be betrayed.

[He] has betrayed and rebelled, and has chosen, chosen, and chosen.

From the moment he boarded the pilgrimage ship to Holy Terra in his infancy, all the firm faith, the last reason, the love and instinct for his father that had been accumulated over a thousand years of prayer, battle, and desperation were wrestling in his body, and the thick rolling veins of the Tao burst from his forehead and neck, and the heat was steaming and sweating down, and he clung to his skull, which was about to explode, and let out a cry of pain, "No——!!! （NO——!!!!! ）”

With this cry of despair that would have broken the hearts of any mortal listener, the company commander was simply knocked to the ground - not only was the opponent far superior to him in strength and speed, but what broke him down was the visceral familiarity of the opponent with the most basic details of the actions and actions of the Imperial Fist.

Lysander, who had rigorously trained the Third Company as an instructor and had been rebuilt by his hands, few of the surviving Fist of the Empire veterans had the depth of understanding of what Rogdorn had given his children when he returned 10,000 years ago.

This profound understanding of the power of the Father of Genes and the pride of the Legion, which had now been a symbol of his purity, sacredness, and glory, was turning into a myriad of vicious cursed blades that cut Lysander to the point where he was bruised and shattered, and even the Fist of the Empire would not be as sad and heartbroken as Lessander was at this moment.

He felt his two hearts and his entire soul turn into sharp, poisonous crystal shards as more details of the words and actions of the man in front of him with the Iron Warrior insignia revealed, piercing deep into his guts.

"Why...... You...... Why ......" Terra Praetorian Guard, one of the solid cornerstones of the Empire's final walls, finally crumbled and fell to his knees, weeping bitterly.

"O my father! Our noble and glorious Father! O Roger Dorne! You and the Emperor have abandoned ...... We...... ......"

Behind the curtain, the long-awaited gluttonous gods and their families were enjoying the wine of the most bitter of the despair of the most loyal at a lavish feast for the occasion.

———————————

At the same moment, on the other side of the galaxy, Galaton, who was guarding the Mountain Formation, frowned deeply and worriedly.

On the hand bones of the sacred genetic father, who was already like a candle in the wind, the bone representing the thumb has finally disappeared completely.

The Fist of the Empire can no longer be clenched into a single fist.

———————————

After being knocked to the ground by the incomers, Lysander fell to his knees on the ground, muttering to himself like some broken servant, repeating the upside-down words, listening to the utterly illogical prayers and more confessions, and everything he was proud of was broken, and everything inside Danat Lessand was now taken out and spread out on the ground and trampled over—

Shanto, who had been silent on the side, shook his head slightly, and was about to step forward to help Lysander.

"Get out of here." The cold, noble voice of the Inwitt snowfield in the sun made the blacksmith's movements stiffen. "What's next has nothing to do with you."

Shanto suddenly realized his casualness and trust.

It's so strange, how can you forget...... Is it really a blade that has been dulled by the life and getting along here......

He shook his head with a wry smile and bowed to the Advent with the minimum necessary courtesy for an original body, exiting the infirmary, leaving space and time inside, Father and Son.

The golden Garuda spread its metal wings and flew silently and deftly down from somewhere high, perched behind the neck of the white power armor.

"Heads up, Lysander."

"Don't give up at this time."

The first company commander looked up blankly, his lips trembling.

"Your service has only just begun."

The poisonous juice of despair that was more hopeless than the end engulfed Lysander's soul.

Wail.

The second chapter is in the yard, eat a meal first

The air quality has been terrible these days

Take Pepe out at night, it's like Silent Hill outside

Ah, even though it's all like this, I'll still argue for Shanto,

Although he really doesn't have a gay man, any vivisection and storytelling are all things that the original text has done...... It's all space Ma Run's brotherhood [

(End of chapter)