The Emperor’s Angel of Death

"The Emperor's Angel of Death (

Thick smoke billowing in the sky enveloped the landing field, blurring the trail of stars and filtering the moonlight into a dirty gray.

The continuous falling dust attaches everything to a smooth and greasy surface.

Campfires were scattered everywhere, soldiers huddled together to keep warm and promote feelings, and some worked **** defensive positions, pulling the destroyed sentries and Chimera armored vehicles back to their positions.

At intervals, there are bunkers that are dug out for the placement of automatic artillery, heavy bombs, and laser cannons.

If Greenskin speaks again, then they will definitely come from this direction.

But everyone knows that the green skins will not come. They have all been wiped out in the orbital bombing not long ago. There are probably not many green skins on this satellite.

But the daily routine work is not less.

Arek stood by the tracks of a Chimera parked in the bunker, searching for any traces of movement on the horizon.

But there was nothing left except the orange flames swaying in the distance.

The dim cold light bathed the former battlefield in black and white, and Yarek sat listlessly on the side of the armored car and fell into deep thought. Finally, he sighed and shook his head and touched his pockets to try to find a cigarette.

Finally, he found one in his left breast pocket.

The young Zheng Yi rhythmically knocked a cigarette issued by the Military Ministry on the armor, and then lit it.

He twisted the cigarette, took a deep breath, filled his lungs with the smoke, trying to make a judgment about what happened today.

At the same time, he could hear the soldiers of the 4337 regiment working behind him.

Most of them have recovered from the shock and are preparing for the transfer tomorrow.

Some of them were still whispering excitedly about the arrival of the interstellar warriors, and exclaimed from time to time to hear the incredible accomplishments of these legendary warriors.

Rumors and legends swept across the camp like an infectious disease, rejuvenating everyone and trembling with excitement.

But strictly speaking, it's not everyone.

For example, Captain Miller sat alone, looking at the corpse in front of him.

These soldiers still fell to the place where they died in battle, and there was no time to collect their bodies for a whole day, because the green-skinned corpses were mixed in between, and the mixed blood soaked the ground-in the best case, a fire would kill everyone. The corpses were burned.

In just one afternoon, more than half of the 4337 regiment was killed, and Miller's company was reduced by two-thirds.

Arek sighed.

These are also his fighters, good people who were born and died.

But because of his duties, he had to call some of them cowards.

After taking another sip, Yarek exhaled a thin strip of smoke into the night sky.

For a moment, he felt that he tasted the smell of blood seeping into the soil.

coward.

The word stuck deep in his mind, like a continuous block of hot carbon.

Something did happen, some soldiers did turn around and fled, and he solved everyone by himself-it made his head aching.

Glancing at the line of defense, Arek also saw several people sitting silently alone.

They obviously had something on their minds, so they temporarily left their comrades in arms and stared at the place where the massacre took place during the day.

Those glorious stories about star warriors are of no use to them. The small flames on the cigarettes in these people's hands mark them out in the dark, like fireflies on the line of defense.

Yaryk didn't want to punish them for stopping work.

Most people work with enthusiasm, driven by optimism, and he is very happy that his subordinates can handle everything that happens on their own-they least need to be politically yelling for their cowardice and apostasy.

Everyone knows what happened.

Some people choose to forget to smooth out their fear of the coming battle.

Others rely on themselves to discover the last trace of tenacious will in the body.

Suddenly, a voice called Arek came from the bunker behind him.

"Sir? Is everything all right?"

It was his orderly again, probably still holding a cup of Tanner tea with a smirk.

"All good, soldier."

Arik turned his head, his tired face forced a smile.

"Everything is fine"

"Do you want more Tanner tea?"

Arek laughed, and as he expected, the soldiers were also worried about him.

"No, thank you, I'm fine."

When the orderly climbed back to the bunker to rejoin his comrades, Yarek shook his head again, threw the cigarette on the ground, stomped on his boots, and pressed down the previous anxiety.

Star warriors are gifts from the emperor. They are the most powerful warriors in the empire. They are carefully selected from thousands of planets and have undergone decades of training.

If it weren't for the interstellar warriors, the position would definitely fall. Compared to these legendary warriors, the mortal's slight flaw seems understandable.

He believes that their performance today will never leave the impression of cowards in the hearts of interstellar warriors. Some soldiers are afraid, but more are brave and good people.

There is no need to fault everyone.

Just as the battle on Fron 5 stopped, the astral knights also joined the long-fighting Ascetics group, who invited the former to be a guest on the battle group's flagship Evernight.

The two battle groups met again in a banquet.

The Eternal Night is a large battle barge with a separate assembly hall, which is full of original flavor-flames leap between stone stairs, sparks from incense, and the curling cloud of smoke is lifted up high. Wooden ceiling.

The long scarlet silk in rolls hangs down from the top of the iron flagpole, telling the great achievements of the battle group in formal poems.

The waiters brought a large plate of food and drink, and each of them was dressed in various national costumes on the battle group's mother star Supole~www.wuxiaspot.com~ The music from the ancient piano floats among the noise of conversation.

"what!"

The two battle group leaders sat down on the high platform, flanked by the command layers of the two battle groups.

In front of everyone is an open space made of stone slabs, each of which is taken from the ancient mountain range of Supole.

On three sides of the venue stood warriors in ceremonial robes, their faces showing bronze in the firelight, and the trays on the table were piled with almost unprocessed raw meat.

In the clearing, the two fighters circled each other, each holding a dull cast iron blade.

One was dressed in a black tight-fitting leather jacket, and the other was silver-gray.

Their faces are fixed by pure concentration.

The silver-gray warrior is slightly shorter, the black upper body is slightly taller, and in other respects, they are almost the same.

Soshyan looked at them carefully, leaning on the flat chair, chewing.

Lord Magyar was sitting next to him, throwing an empty glass in his hand, beckoning the waiter to get more.

"Humph!"

The silver-gray warrior first moved his hand, swinging and swiping a blow.

The person in black immediately responded, pulling away and launching a counterattack.

They collided with each other, their limbs blurred, their blades dim, and they looked like two differently colored ceramic shards under the swaying blood red light.

The fighting took a long time, the conversation between the soldiers gradually subsided, and the music was over.

Soon, the only sound left was the panting after struggling, the sliding of the leather-covered feet between the floor, and the whistling of the intersecting blades.

Sweat splashed everywhere, and the heavy blade once clanged.

The purpose of the competition is only to deepen the friendship between the two battle groups. It is a test of concentration and agility, not brute force.