The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Ain Glaspel, Death Pioneer, the commander of the Black Legion Expeditionary Fleet, was standing motionless on the command deck of the Unending Rage.

He ignored the noise of the crew on the bridge, but looked out toward the last bulletproof observation window that was still intact.

He straightened his waist, as if reviewing some ship queue, but what he was looking at was not a fleet, it was part of the remnant fleet-the reimbursed ship was made up into a scrap full of fine things. The field, drifting idly in the void.

The colorful violent wind enveloped the Pandora Galaxy, with its tentacles inlaid with a circle of borders, as delicate as the ice sculptures on the glass.

Of course, it is not impossible to treat this as a pleasing and intoxicating beauty. Anyway, he thinks it is very beautiful, even though Ain Glaspel himself is not touched by the word "beauty". .

Even if the opacity of the observation window is adjusted to the maximum, the dirty light produced by the subspace will still blind his eyes.

Despite this, he remained motionless, looking away, past the twisted tendrils of the storm, into the distance, and into the night beyond the asteroid belt.

He didn't know which god-killing mentally handicapped wizard in the legion created a small-scale subspace storm at the critical moment of their battle. He didn't know how much the empire had suffered. He was almost destroyed anyway, literally.

There are very few boats that can reach here without delamination, and most of them turn in early.

He won't blame them, after all, he was the one who lost the war.

Since the loss of the first naval battle, the situation of Pandora has changed.

It is now full of the poor warships of the empire. It is no longer a pool of stagnant water. Once a small battleship of the Black Legion enters this galaxy and hibernates in the shadows, what comes to their eyes is the endless stream of spaceships going to and from the planets and new clusters. Between the rail platforms, and the messy traffic lines——

Then, most of the warships belonging to the Black Legion battle gang would flee back to the subspace with their tails clamped.

Those who have the courage to stay in the galaxy don't pay much attention to him as the commander.

Ain Glaspel has been trying to reshape his authority. He will continue to circulate in the galaxy with the imperial fleet with the remnants of defeat. At first, he achieved certain results through sneak attacks, but as the imperial fleet's power has repeatedly increased—— Now the empire has four battleships and 21 cruisers in the galaxy. The rest of his days are basically squatting around.

Even just now, he was attacking an imperial supply fleet, but was ambushed, and finally managed to escape with the fleet in chaos, but hit a subspace storm.

Now there are only five broken ships left in his poor fleet.

The last people who stayed here were hopeless people, Ain Glaspel thought reluctantly.

In these days, he has survived many sleepless nights, waiting for the wailing of the enemy's alarm, but the imperial fleet did not come to his door.

He became tired of waiting for them, just as he was tired of everything here.

At least for now, the area covered by this asteroid is still a safe and secret place.

Of the five remaining ships, only the flagship Endless Rage, the large cruiser Divine Corrosion, and the later-added strike cruiser Wild Howl showed signs of activity. The rest were basically extinguished with their reactors and plunged into complete darkness. Escaped.

Since all the lights were no longer active, they all turned into silhouettes under the stars.

Ain Glaspel wanted to know what terrifying scandal happened in these icy hulls, and what kind of earth snakes would ride on them after the servant’s master ran from the dark broken deck. superior.

Will they hoard dwindling food, water and air to maintain their short-term dominance?

Ain Glaspel thinks things must be like this. If he has learned anything in his long career as a traitor, it is that humans usually return to a certain type, and this type is always unsightly. .

Touching the irony that all this brought, it amused him to a certain extent.

At least, it helps to pass the boring time.

Due to the lack of sincere control, these damned ships are slowly sliding towards each other, and their huge attraction drags them slowly through the quiet space.

There, they will soon finish their ending with a broken mast and a pulpy hull.

He didn't like this idea.

Ain Glaspel has been here for half a month. He counted in his helmet timer, doing it almost magically, calculating with more and more troubles every day. Time for things to be done.

It's incredible.

But there is no way, they have basically lost their combat effectiveness. Before the arrival of new reinforcements, if they are found, there is only one dead end.

Hiding here, at least the empires will not come for a while.

Ain Glaspel has been able to construct a picture in his mind: the imperial admiral in funny uniform ~www.wuxiaspot.com~ is in the command post full of minions, violently driving all the small ships full of galaxies. Look like they were hunted down.

In a sense, he at least won.

The Legion can always win--

Of course, when a person is alone, he will also reflect on whether he is a little dazed by successive failures.

To be honest, the situation of the Endless Rage is only a bit better than those of the ships in the dark. After all, it has been in the center of the battlefield so that there is really no fun here, even if Ain Glaspel is. A person who can find fun in things that everyone finds bad.

The crew worked non-stop to heal it. This was an unreasonably long wait, and today will be a day to prove that their efforts are far from qualified.

His authority was almost reduced to the point of being inferior to a slave at this moment, so that the rest of the ship planned to abandon him.

Ain Glaspel felt a moment of anxiety, thinking about his own destiny.

When he freed the ship from the battle with the Dark Angels, he realized that the warlord would be in a state of isolation and helplessness, so he had proposed that regardless of everything else, the warlord should be taken from the planet first.

Ain Glaspel cares more about glory than some of his blood relatives, but in the eyes of others, it is a kind of self-destructive glory, and other people in the fleet don't want to take themselves in.

Therefore, what he saw was maintenance workers doing tedious tasks with plasma torches, rather than scum criminals lining up to send themselves into the cremation pile.

I can only blame myself--

He thought with a wry smile.

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