A month later.
As countless orders were sent and received, the massive Golden Expedition Fleet continued advancing toward the Eye of Terror.
After finishing a day's work, the Lord of Tyran left the bridge and headed for his private quarters.
He walked with an expressionless face, calm demeanor, head held high, and chest out.
To everyone he passed, every step he took exuded poise.
"Governor." A Space Marine from the Fleshrender Chapter approached the Lord of Tyran and bowed. "Could the synthetic plasma ration for our Chapter be increased?"
Perhaps afraid of being refused, or perhaps realizing his own rudeness, the Space Marine added, "I know I should be asking the crew responsible for logistics, but I happened to run into you, and this need is simply too..."
"It can." The Lord of Tyran nodded expressionlessly and ran a hand across the bulkhead. A projection capable of providing office functions anywhere appeared, and he issued an order through the logistics rationing display.
"Thank you." The Space Marine bowed again and turned to leave.
The Lord of Tyran continued down the corridor.
Every crewman and officer he encountered along the way saluted him, and he nodded without expression.
The Lord of Tyran was like a machine leader devoid of emotion, steadily handling every person and matter he encountered.
At last, the ruler of all 544 worlds in the Tyran Sector entered his private quarters.
"You're late."
The moment the door closed, a familiar female voice sounded.
A smile appeared on Qin Mo's face before he even turned around. He turned to look behind him.
Mimic, dressed somewhat unusually, stood in the center of the room and smiled at Qin Mo. "I've been waiting for you for a long time."
"Why didn't you come by yesterday?" Qin Mo smiled, walked over