The Emperor’s Angel of Death

"This painting, with its exquisite brushwork, fluid lines, and vivid spirit, truly lives up to the master's name. It perfectly captures our ancestor's essence and heroic spirit."

In the chaotic bridge, Rozim, wearing a floral shirt and large shorts, exposing hairy calves and a thick neck, stood akimbo, admiring a portrait held up by Klen. It depicted a handsome, refined man with soft black hair styled in a short bun, wearing a light purple robe, holding an extravagantly feathered red fan, with sword-like eyebrows and bright eyes.

At that moment, Loken approached, holding a teacup.

"Isn't that the Chapter Master's ancestor? How did he become your ancestor, Rozim?"

Rozim retorted with a sharp rap on Loken's head, producing a crisp metallic sound.

"My brother's ancestor is naturally mine! Any problem with that?"

"The problem... isn't there, but the difference between you two is too vast. He's called Phoenix; you should be called Ostrich... Hey, hey, don't hit my head! I just installed a hormone sensor. Rozim, how are you planning to impersonate him?"

"A big difference?"

Rozim walked to the side of the portrait, stretched out his neck, brought his head close to the image, squinted, and tried to imitate the man's expression.

"Dogo, what do you think? Does it look alike?"

"Huh?"

Dogo, taking a big gulp of alcohol, turned his head. He had been vehemently opposed to coming with Rozim, but Rozim, taking advantage of his drunken stupor, had the Eldar magically transport him, bed and all, onto the ship. When Dogo woke up, he was already in the Webway, infuriating him to the point where he could only drink himself senseless.

"I'm asking you, does it look alike?"

"Uh—"

Dogo extended a thumb.

"It's alike, too damn alike! You can tell he's a direct descendant at a glance!"

"Loken, get the camera. I want to take a photo with the old man before we reach Commorragh."

Loken shook his head, put down the cup, and picked up a camera from the side.

"Come on, look at me."

"I'm not looking; I'll look wherever the ancestor looks."

Just as Loken pressed the button, he heard Khaw Qwelo's scream. Rozim turned his head and saw that Dogo only had two legs left, and most of his body was already inside a mouth full of sharp teeth.

"Damn it, Nānāwē! How many times have I told you? You can't eat that! Do I need to stuff you into the power plant coolant!"

Seeing him storm over, a huge shark-man, two and a half meters tall, abruptly spat out the slimy Dogo and retreated fearfully, scratching his butt.

"He tell, chew, chew."

This was a Satha-Duin, with dark blue skin, a sturdy body, strong limbs, and a huge head—topped with a pair of emotionless eyes and a bloodthirsty mouth filled with sharp teeth. Two respirators were installed on the sides of his cheeks, connected to a round, fishbowl-like device filled with transparent liquid on his back, inside which a small red goldfish with a long tail could be seen swimming around.

He wore only a simple set of protective gear, and many scars were visible on his head and limbs, including gunshot wounds, burns, and cuts, indicating that he was a battle-hardened warrior.

His name was Nānāwē, a very famous Pisces warrior among the Satha-Duin, and a prince of a Satha-Duin clan. His strength was rare even among the Pisces warriors known for their power. The only problem was that his mind was "a bit childish," possibly due to radiation exposure when he sneaked into a forbidden area as a child. He was always curious about things and liked to make strange friends, but he would unconsciously eat them.

The only friend he would never harm was his "Little Daisy." Even his family didn't know where this little fish came from, but Nānāwē had been carrying it since he was a child, even taking it to the battlefield. And this little goldfish did seem to bring him some unique luck; he had survived countless deadly situations.

This time, when Soth Yang personally asked the Satha-Duin for their "most warlike" Pisces warrior, they threw this troublemaker out without a second thought. After all, he was indeed very capable in battle, although his brain was a bit lacking. But since he was hired, his brain belonged to the employer anyway, so it wasn't a big problem.

"Burp—eat! Me—eat!"

Dogo wiped the saliva off his face and continued to howl. Rozim went up and kicked him over, cursing:

"Damn it, dwarf, what the hell are you doing! I brought you along to help, to be a foil, not to sell your ass in Commorragh! If I knew a second dwarf, would I have called you!? All you do is howl, complain, complain!"

Dogo was stunned for a moment, then lay down on the ground, grabbed a wine bottle from the side, took a big gulp, and shouted:

"To hell with it! I'm Dogo! I came with Rozim! Not some Aurod! You can't manipulate me! Not even fate! To hell with fate! To hell with Wotan! To hell with the Gilded Saint!"

With that, he jumped up.

"I'm going to take a shower."

Rozim watched the other's back and nodded.

"That's right, if you're unhappy, just shout it out. What's the point of holding it in and drinking? Although I don't know what you're cursing about."

After speaking, he turned his head and saw Nānāwē sitting back in his chair, holding a book in his hand. The cover of the book read, *Ironclad Proof—A Factual Account of the Great Rebellion*.

"What are you doing again? Isn't that my book?"

"Book, like read, good look, chew, chew."

"Don't you know you're holding it upside down!? How can you understand a damn thing in High Gothic? How did the Chapter Master give me such a treasure?"

Shaking his head helplessly, he walked to his position, and on the way, he saw someone hanging in mid-air, or rather, sleeping in mid-air.

It was an insect-like person, wearing light, jade-green spiritbone armor, with four arms crossed in front of his chest, his left leg resting on his right leg, and both legs seemed to be sharp blades from the knees down. His only support was a metal wire, probably only as thick as Rozim's little finger.

This was a young Aracni male, from the Wind Sect within the Aracni order, and the youngest master in the history of the Wind Sect, with a record of ninety-four undefeated duels, so he simply changed his name to Undefeated. However, his personality was a bit eccentric, and he seemed unable to adapt to living with female Aracni, which was unacceptable in the female-dominated Aracni society, so he spent most of his time living alone in the uninhabited wilderness. After Soth Yang's recruitment request was conveyed, the Aracni patriarch took the initiative to contact this person, and he was happy to see a wider world.

"Hey, Undefeated, aren't you uncomfortable sleeping like that? Aren't you tired?"

Hearing Rozim's shout, Undefeated slightly raised his left hand, and the translator emitted its unique electronic High Gothic voice.

"U~sed~to~it~"