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Morgan's view of her offspring and the Legion had always been simple.
They were her possessions.
Merely temporarily entrusted to the Imperium.
"Ah, Hector, I've seen him before."
"That was on the Imperial Fists' Eternal Crusade flagship. He was with Lord Kairon, a quiet recruit. But even though he didn't talk much, he certainly had strength. Back then, in the Seventh Legion's arena, he was quite well-known. Many Imperial Fists admired his combination of savage power and calm mind."
"He even fought Sigismund."
[The Black Knight?]
"Yes, I was there at the time."
"Hector lost quite honorably. His strength and physical constitution were indeed impressive. Even veterans would find it difficult to directly withstand those heavy, savagely powerful swings. But his combat experience was too weak compared to the renowned Black Knight."
"Of course, so was mine."
"I didn't even clearly see what happened. The Black Knight accomplished everything in an instant: he first parried Hector a few times, then with an unimaginable method, parried that most powerful blow, and before anyone could react, he disrupted Hector's balance with a backhand, making Hector's own strength pull him to the ground."
"But to us, it looked like Sigismund merely waved his sword casually, and everything was over."
Zahariel's voice was filled with emotion, envy, and endless yearning. It was a new warrior's most genuine adoration and hope for a long-established battlefield pulverizer. He believed that no one could remain as calm as before after witnessing the Black Knight's combat.
Towards the renowned Sigismund, Zahariel's attitude was actually not much different from that of other ordinary Astartes recruits: curiosity about his fame, admiration for his martial prowess, reverence for his achievements, and infinite ambition to surpass him in the future.
Thinking of this, Zahariel suddenly felt a sense of irony about his own arrogant ambition: he wasn't even a true Dark Angel Captain. If the [Lion] weren't currently preoccupied with the schism between the Terran and Caliban factions, he wouldn't have become the leader of these new recruits, becoming a [Captain] with an awkward status.
How many years had it been since he officially became a Dark Angel? Perhaps less than ten years.
[Hector... Second Legion...]
Then, he heard Morgan's soft murmur.
"Yes, those [Fangs]."
Zahariel echoed the topic.
"They were once a great Legion, fighting alongside us, but now they have fractured. They no longer operate as a single entity, but have become a loose federation of several fleets, each centered around its own will and ideals."
"It is said that Terra once considered reassembling them to send them to the battlefields of the Rangdan, but this attempt ultimately failed. So, the [Witch-Slayer] and his Eleventh Legion took their place. Now they are fighting fiercely in the northern galaxy."
[The Eleventh Legion, are they the purest Primarch and his sons?]
"Do you mortals call him that too?"
The Dark Angel chuckled.
"For you psykers who connect with the Empyrean, he might indeed be an ominous presence. It is said that even the most seasoned navigators find it difficult to survive in his fleet, let alone navigate it."
Zahariel wanted to say more, but it was clear his identity and duties did not allow such laxity. The Dark Angel captain soon strode briskly towards the center of the fortress under construction. He did not ask Morgan to accompany him, nor did Morgan ask.
Just as she also did not ask where the vanished Dark Angels in the camp had gone.
As Morgan stood alone in the hazy wind, beginning to ponder by herself, the Dark Angels and even Ahriman were already cast aside in her mind.
Compared to her [offspring], they were insignificant.
Very early on, Morgan realized that she possessed a group of offspring: specifically, when she was researching the spacecraft piloted by the Word Bearers, carrying her cultivation pod, and successfully left the crash site covered in Aeldari corpses, she had a strange feeling in the unseen.
During her drift through the void, besides routinely controlling the spacecraft, all she could do was peruse the knowledge within the vessel, or lean by the viewport, gazing at the endless gloom, or close her eyes and cautiously explore the ocean of psychic energy.
She wasn't even concerned about her safety, for she deeply knew how terrifying the beings in her mind were. And until they obtained what they desired from her, they wouldn't let her die.
Such a thought was somewhat self-destructive, but she knew very well she had no other choice.
It was precisely at this time that she detected the existence of her [offspring]. It was a pure psychic sensation and trace. She seemed to hear, and also seemed to see, tiny lives active in another part of the galaxy. Their joys and sorrows, their life and death, were all clearly reflected in her mind.
She could even, with just a thought, easily discern how many of her [offspring] there were now, and how many they would become the next moment.
Morgan even had a premonition, a very strong, very real premonition: given time, when she truly mastered her power, and when she stood with her [offspring], she could even decide the life and death of all [offspring] with the will in her mind.
She was unsure if this was her own power, and she also couldn't fathom whether her illusory [brothers] could do the same to their offspring.
No, they shouldn't be able to.
Morgan was so certain because when she saw that power, she also saw the surrounding distorted, ominous light.
That was not her power.
But it didn't mean it couldn't be used by her.
And arriving with this power was a series of echoes from the deepest part of Morgan's heart. It was the dirtiest, most direct, most domineering, most insane possessiveness.
Those were her [offspring].
Those were her [possessions].
They belonged to her, naturally.
She loved them.
But what was love?
She didn't know, and she didn't want to know.
Because she felt it wasn't important.
She loved her [offspring]. That was enough. They rightfully belonged to her. Perhaps it didn't seem that way now, but at the moment everything came to an end, at that moment of choice, they rightfully stood behind her.
This was natural. No one could defy this. They had no right.
Such an obsession and idea erupted while she was drifting in the void, but at that time, the circumstances did not allow this idea to develop further. She huddled in a corner of the cold galaxy, witnessing with her psychic senses how the power her offspring wielded at the other end of the galaxy slowly waned. Some new beings joined her possessions, but some also gradually disappeared, never to be seen again.
When she saw this, she felt as if she was holding a large handful of coins, and some of them were slipping through the cracks of her fingers onto the ground.
She felt some regret, nothing more.
And as time gradually passed, she temporarily lost the energy to watch them: her spacecraft eventually crashed onto a feudal world that was neither advanced nor backward. Controlling and modifying the minds of those princes and nobles with the supreme power of psychic energy took some time, but she eventually reshaped a false history in everyone's minds: a silver meteor from the sky, an infant adopted by the king, an extraordinarily talented princess...
When she completed all this and learned how to disguise herself as a mortal, the Imperial fleet also arrived in this world. Under Morgan's manipulation, they found no trace of the Primarch, only leaving with an extraordinarily talented psyker.
Ultimately, guided by instinct, aided by talent, and through cold calculation, Morgan personally wrote her early [past], waiting for the right moment. The Imperials, searching deeper, would naturally discover that they had once missed a Primarch.
And this [moment] was now in her hands.
Morgan still didn't want to lose her mortal identity. It was a useful outer shell that allowed her to walk freely outside the most intense gazes. But she also knew in her heart that when she met her creator, or when her mortal identity could no longer provide more, she would need to discard this identity.
But not now. Now, she must conceal it.
Even if it involved her [offspring], her [possessions].
Of course, nothing was absolute.
Morgan extended her fingers. In the dimensions invisible to mortal eyes, two strange flames burned on her fingertips.
Her fingers were long and slender, but also very thin, clearly bony. The strange psychic flames burned on her fingertips, appearing somewhat swollen.
Morgan stared at them. Within them were Salieri's and Ajax's memories of this event. She quietly blew a breath, and everything vanished.
At the very least, during this period, Salieri and Ajax, even if standing in front of her, would not sense a connection to the Primarch. They had been temporarily cloaked by Morgan. In fact, after a while, they would automatically forget this incident.
And in their memories, Morgan also found an individual named Kairon. Thus, the same operation was performed once again.
Now was not the opportune time to reveal herself to them.
But there was one person who was different.
Recalling Hector's face, Morgan smiled.
Hector was the first of her [offspring] Morgan had seen.
Although she had always observed them, like a leisurely rich man watching fish in a pond, she had never met any member of the Second Legion. She learned about her offspring through snippets of information: their long history, their unique bravery, and their shattered present.
And her meeting with Hector was sudden. Morgan survived amidst the layers of the First Legion, suppressing her instincts and thoughts, even for a time forgetting to observe her offspring and legion. So when she saw Hector standing far away, though she recognized him instantly, she still felt a touch of surprise.
But with the next leap of thought, this surprise was replaced by observation and scrutiny.
Hector's performance was swift, even among all the Astartes Morgan had seen: in the first instant, he clearly froze in place. Morgan could even see him blinking continuously, as if hoping to observe a fourth option in the dilemma before him.
But when Zahariel also turned around, Hector had already recovered. He maintained an unhurried pace, walked to the Dark Angels, and presented the urgent documents in his hand.
Morgan narrowed her eyes, meticulously observing this offspring of hers. She clearly remembered his appearance: his physique, which was too tall and robust even by Astartes standards, his emerald green eyes that flickered with steadfastness and a hint of longing for the future, and his chiseled face, his overly rigid features forming a serious expression. Encased by a head of silver-white short hair, he even possessed a hint of majesty.
For a moment, she truly doubted if this was a unique case among her offspring, one that didn't care about the Primarch.
If it weren't for the slight hesitation and tremor he showed when he turned, perhaps she would truly have thought that way.
Morgan's finger rose again. This time, the psychic flame on her fingertip was exceptionally large, and within it, Hector's face was vaguely visible.
She thought for a moment. A similarly dead silence passed through her lifeless pupils.
Ultimately, she withdrew her finger, choosing not to extinguish this child's memory.
She indeed needed a grasp, a representative, a confidant who believed he bore a great mission. She could not tolerate everything about the Legion continuing to exist outside her control for the foreseeable future. Perhaps she had never thought this way before, but from the moment she saw her offspring, this idea spread like wildfire.
After all, she loved them.
Then she had the right to control everything about them.
And this child named Hector might be a good breakthrough point.
But first, this required more observation.
Zahariel received the communication. On the other end were the captains of the Terran veterans, who were observing it near the rather large Mandeville Point.
"It's me, Zahariel."
"The 244th Patrol Fleet has returned from Mandeville Point? That's good, then..."
"What... what did you say?
"What do you mean their scale is a bit off?"
"What do you mean their actions crossed the default rules? What rules?"
"What do you mean... they're opening fire?"
"Hello? Hello? Please respond!"
"Hello, hello, hello!"
Zahariel wanted to say more, but at this moment, what pierced his eardrums was only the sound of war and gunpowder.
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