"A piece of iron, yet it can float, run faster than a leopard in the grasslands."

    Aaron Welles was lying on a chaise longue in the courtyard, staring blankly, and he really wanted to understand the technology required for this supposed power motorcycle.

    He believes his IQ is good, but he has not received education in this knowledge.

    His father always acts like a riddle teller, and nothing substantial can be asked out of him.

    Marrum did bring a big broom, and he started writing and drawing on the ground, with various numbers and symbols piled up together, forming what was called a "formula".

    With his native Makulag's solemn speech tone, he was sincere and considerate, but it hurt the ears to listen to.

    The listener couldn't maintain the same level of formality as the narrator at all times, so Aaron put a stop to Marrum's "love of teaching others," and didn't let him explain what a power motorcycle was.

    Why would there be a hover effect, and why would Zhasai have to adjust the brakes to the lowest sensitivity...

    Those voices flooded his brain, Aaron felt a tingling sensation on his scalp, as if there were five hundred Marrums lecturing him at the same time.

    He sort of understands why Kilieman couldn't find his father's humanity in the future, aside from the old thing's own reasons, his own factors as a good younger brother Kilieman also played a significant part!

    It's hard to say, but Kilieman's incredibly stubborn personality and the serious tone of voice made his father unable to bear it.

    Marrum could only look disappointed and lead the fifth one to wash his body.

    He finally had the chance to open his mouth and speak.

    This evening, they reheated the leftovers from noon, since the father was busy controlling his instincts to become mundane, he had little requirement for food and drink.

    He will go to apply for the craftsman of the Pharaoh tomorrow, and then Mao will walk some metal parts.

    After all, it wouldn't do to make a motorcycle out of wood for Zhasai; Marrum had emphasized that the wood material was insufficient, and Zhasai would experience disassembly while riding the motorcycle.

    The situation with the prototypes needs special treatment.

    Even in the rare instances when the Space Marines played American football with Kilieman wearing their personal attire, the Primal had blown up those special materials more than once.

    The Primal was hardly human.

    Early the next morning, Aaron sent his father out the door, who looked like he was ten years older than he really was.

    Marrum is protecting him from the shadows.

    In Aaron's view, this was quite normal, after all, if his father hadn't controlled his abilities, the workshop would be bustling with activity, and everyone would be barely dressed.

    That would be a disaster.

    As for what Aaron was going to do today——

    Of course, it's dreaming!

    But strangely, he couldn't sleep, and he didn't dream when he was asleep at night, but he slept very soundly.

    This means that the younger brothers haven't encountered any problems that need his help, which is supposed to be a good thing.

    He would rather spend some completely quiet time with the younger brothers, like accompanying Kilieman in a bath.

    He still has to deliver these gifts.

    With such a clear objective, Aaron looked at the wall.

    Perhaps, if I knock myself unconscious, it would be okay?

    Otherwise, wait for the Dream God to exert his power, who knows when that will happen. He still hopes that this ability can be controlled.

    Aaron made up his mind, touched his head and slapped:

    "Brothers, I've worked hard for you all."

    Then he charged headfirst into the wall.

    Under the strong will, he fainted before hitting the wall, falling down into the corner.

    Thud! Thud—

    Continuous explosion sounds echoed in Aaron's ears, and he tried to open his eyes, his vision was blurred.

    He was riding something, and when he looked forward, he saw a huge metal arm, with blue paint and gold ornate patterns engraved on the armor, covering even the fingertips.

    Below that arm, an endless torrent of anger was being poured out, a multitude of times more powerful than Marrum's explosive gun, spewing out fury to utterly destroy those loathsome creations.

    "You're not welcome, brother, we're cleaning up these bugs right now."

    Kilieman's voice came from behind, his other hand carefully grabbed Aaron's collar and lifted it up to rest on his shoulder.

    "Hold on to my helmet."

    Aaron quickly followed instructions, then the Primal removed his long sword from his waist and spun it around him with incredible agility, as if a scythe was being wielded.

    Soon, they returned to the ranks of countless Extreme Warriors who were very similar to Marrum.

    Even the Ast elites would need help from fortifications when dealing with bugs and Chaos cultists.

    Some yellow-painted Ast who Aaron had never seen were particularly eye-catching, their shoulder armor bearing a mark of a clenched fist rather than the symbol of the Extreme Warriors.

    "That's the Hand of the Emperor, descendants of Rog Dorn. We haven't found the traces of many brothers yet, but at least, their descendants are still defending the Empire."

    Kilieman put Aaron down and explained as he went on.

    At this moment, Aaron finally got a clear view of the whole world.

    Looking up, he saw an incredibly clear sky.

    As long as his gaze slightly inclined, he could see another sky.

    It was a mix of creatures with putrid flesh in a coral-purple color and networks, encased in the exoskeleton of electric purple.

    Any creature would be disgusted by the appearance of these beings, inevitably feeling an urge to vomit.

    There are too many of them, covering half the sky, tiny dots erupting from beneath those huge flesh sacks at any moment.

    When they cross the boundary of the clear sky, they are bombed by metal warships.

    So, this wave of dots so dense that they made one's skin prickle and tingle chose to dive straight to the ground.

    Only when their forms were exposed did the terrifying appearance shine under such holy sunlight, inspiring awe.

    "You don't need to worry about that, in fact, our battle is going well. This planet hasn't reached the stage of signing an extermination order yet, optimistically speaking, there's still half the sky for us."

    Kilieman turned and covered Aaron's eyes, leading him to a fortress built on a platform that had been cleared.

    Here, the most numerous Imperial Fists Space Marines are present, and the warriors have no interest in asking who Aaron is. They are all busy fighting.

    Busy killing those endless bugs.

    "Kilieman, your war is completely beyond my imagination."

    Aaron's face was pale, even though he wasn't a physical entity, he couldn't help but vomit a few times before regaining his composure.

    Fortunately, he remembered to hold tight to the pillow in his arms, and did not spray saliva on it.

    "This pillow was bought for you by your father, though it wasn't made by his own hands."

    Aaron handed over the pillow in his arms, which was actually a large reed mat wrapped in animal hair, a big pillow.

    It was actually a toy for the noble family's wild beast, and the fact that the father could still think about buying this for the Primal, who was already using most of his brain's limited capacity to communicate with his son.

    Kilieman took off his helmet and calmly took the pillow from Aaron.

    He didn't even have to put much effort into it, as long as he gently opened his hand, this "pillow" would be torn into pieces.

    "It seems that four thousand years ago, our father was much better than now, please thank him on my behalf. The situation is relatively stable, would you like to chat with me, brother?"