A figure stood in the open ground outside the shelter.
Both hands rested on a Chainsword.
The civilians gathered around him, while the squad of soldiers stood not far away.
The fleet that blotted out the sky was still carrying out orbital bombardment.
But the moment the lances descended into the atmosphere, they vanished.
Other than the auroras and craters caused by the massive amount of plasma from the bombardment, nothing could prove that the orbital strikes had ever damaged this world.
The same was true of the other worlds in the entire star system.
Lante remained in his mother's arms, holding the keepsake that had been treated as a talisman and comparing it to the figure before him.
Everyone had already removed their protective helmets.
Yet Lante still could not clearly see the figure's face, even when his visor was not blurred.
It was as if a haze covered that person's face.
A roar came from the sky as Zhao Chen, who called himself a Custodian, descended into everyone's view in his armor.
His body was covered in shattered gaps. One arm had even been torn away, exposing an incomparably complex and precise wound.
And that crippling injury was gradually repairing itself.
When Zhao Chen saw the figure, he froze for a moment, remembering the person from his memories.
But Zhao Chen did not dare confirm it, because over the long years, quite a few people had pretended to be that once-great person.
"Sir..." Zhao Chen drew a deep breath and trembled. "Could you... let me see your face?"
In Zhao Chen's eyes, that face was also a blur.
The figure stood there, as steady as a vast mountain range.
Then he responded.
The Chainsword was raised in one hand, slowly lifted toward his face.
The blade rose above