When had the Galen people developed a large-scale unit of this size?
This was the common question among the onlookers.
In their impression, although the Galen people's military weapons were powerful, their unit technology was not very advanced.
To put it plainly, there were not many humanoid monsters that could be mass-produced, were above level 80, and had boss panels.
An army of all citizens did not mean that every citizen had become a boss. Those were two different things.
Some spies from third-level civilizations immediately saw that this was not a Metal Executioner cultivated through elite mode, but a genuine mass-produced warrior. That enormous golden-skinned figure was covered in countless signs of customized genetic cultivation.
Every movement of that huge golden-skinned figure stirred up small-scale spatial storms. The surrounding warships had no choice but to evade them; otherwise, being caught in one meant certain death.
Its combat stance was actually five parts similar to that of the Son of Kun.
Meanwhile, the Son of Kun fought with an expression so gloomy it seemed water might drip from his face.
He had seen through it. Whether it was the enlargement or the technique of stirring up space, they were all Leviathan's techniques!
When had his own race's genes been stolen by the other side?
These third-level civilizations that ate people without spitting out the bones!
"Sir, long time no see!"
The High Engineer held his cigar, eyes narrowed to slits as he puffed out clouds of smoke. His gaze shifted back from the Son of Kun and landed on the row of golden skins opposite him. One of them looked inexplicably familiar.
He pondered for a moment.
"Are you Guilliman?"
The one opposite flew into a rage. "You're Guilliman! Your whole family is Guilliman!"
Why was he cursing now? He