Dedicate loyalty to the good empire

Chapter 142 Pastoral?

The agricultural world is the core of the star zone, and countless ships come in and out of it. After experiencing the brutal war against the Zerg, the agricultural economy of this world has begun to recover rapidly.

It has regained its due production, and therefore has the possibility of being involved in the war again.

The Emperor was merciful and could not bear to see such cruelty, so a yellow battle barge quietly stopped above the starport.

She was an Imperial cruiser-class battleship, and where she served, the Space Marines called her "K'krull," which was roughly translated from Low Gothic.

"Spirit".

But what is most special about her is not the large number of firing holes designed for Space Marine combat, nor the densely packed gun muzzles on her huge body.

Instead, it was the chapter icon in the shape of an iron fist on the top of the golden ship, representing her service in one of the Empire's founding chapters.

When a capable middle-aged man with short white hair walked down, his standard square face and yellow armor on his body revealed his identity.

He has an inexplicable resemblance to his primarch father, whom he has never met, such as his sense of responsibility, appearance, and ability to excel in engineering.

He is the captain of the 7th Company of the Imperial Fists and a man of justice.

At the same time, an elderly political commissar came over. "Sir, what is your mission?"

He was Tychus, and a loyal man, but the warrior simply glanced past him, his eyes first looking at the vast and fertile soil of this world.

He said in a thick, muddy voice, "I'm here for only one thing."

"I want to make this place harder than steel."

On the other side, in the boundless countryside, a few small shadows were busy.

The scorching light of the stars shines on the ground, the temperature is neither hot nor cold, and on the nutrient-rich soil, the green crops look different almost every day.

Looking at the rich fruits of his labor, an idea flashed through a young man's mind.

How should life be?

Now, Taylor pondered the answer, gently putting on a straw hat woven from hay to avoid the sun, and then fiddling with the things growing in the soil.

There were small tomatoes, small potatoes, green leaves and unripe fruits. Although he didn't know why the potatoes grew on the branches, Taylor tried his best to ignore it.

Two months ago, he was still curious about the potatoes growing on it and what its seeds would look like. It was not until he saw the seeds of the imperial crops, which were all identical genetically engineered products, that he suddenly realized.

It’s all about technology and hard work…

But compared to the canned food from the Imperial Military Affairs Department or those damn corpse starch blocks, the fresh food here is already attractive enough.

Tomatoes with sugar, Grogs bacon and butter-roasted potatoes, those days were so beautiful that it made people forget that they were still in the cruel, ruthless dark years at the end of human civilization.

However, this piece of land is not big. Firstly, it is because the land inside the camp is very expensive. Secondly, the main job of Class 15 is to be a soldier and they need to be on duty most of the time.

Now it seems that two months are neither long nor short, and it is so comfortable that Taylor is not sure if he is dreaming. He now likes to make some handicrafts to sell to residents in nearby cities, and also spend money within the team.

After a few visits, he earned the income of one throne coin in two months, and even some local nobles began to take an interest in Taylor's small handicrafts.

Of course, whether they came here to smell the scent of their so-called imperial heroes or whether they really like handicrafts is a question mark.

Now Taylor wears a straw hat when he has nothing to do, holding his hand-rolled chainsaw sword made from the Lord of the Swarm, and lives the retirement life he has always dreamed of.

Of course, the universe was full of turbulence. Taylor had accidentally heard that forces were gathering in the Cadia sector, and Chaos was gradually approaching. The most prominent of these forces were the Death Guard and their Captain Typhon, who had spread the "Plague of Faithlessness" across Cadia.

Of course, this has nothing to do with Taylor. The adults can just let the adults deal with their own affairs. His only responsibility is to eat more dinner.

When the day's work was over, he returned to the hut he had built with cloth and stones, planks and hard work.

After washing my face with hot water, I saw that dinner was already prepared.

The ten brothers from Class 15 sat at a long table like a big family, each with a bowl of hot buttered potatoes and bacon.

A pot of hot soup is steaming, and anyone can get a portion. For those hard-working soldiers, this is a great happiness. Resting on the soil they protect is like taking root, which makes people feel at ease.

Now, Taylor is not only the head of the family, but also their eldest brother, but he doesn't put on airs, just says quickly, "Eat!"

After saying that, he picked up a piece of greasy potato with a fork, paired it with bacon and gently put it into his mouth. It had a salty and fresh milky flavor, and was crispy on the outside and glutinous on the inside.

This made Taylor deeply realize that the existence of life is not to shout for the Emperor or the God-Emperor every day.

He sighed in relief. "Very good..."

But before he could finish his evaluation, old Tychus walked into his small room quickly without knocking and without any sense of boundaries, and said with a stern face.

"Meeting."

These two words are almost curses, vicious, and even disturbing.

A meeting? What situation would require a meeting? War, or a more troublesome and disgusting nightmare, Taylor said almost frantically.

"Hold a meeting?! Absolutely not! Hold a meeting..."

"No, don't, let me stay in my dream... my little tomatoes, my little potatoes, my little sweet potatoes and the charcoal fire buried under the autumn maple leaves."

"And the little girl next door with the sweet smile, she should have tasted the charred brownness of my grilling skills and the delicious sweetness of the sweet potatoes."

Tychus rubbed his temples. He recognized this condition. It was called vacation syndrome. Every soldier would get it, and he knew an excellent treatment.

"Captain!" he said seriously.

“How much do you make a month?”

Taylor answered automatically. "Fifteen throne coins, sir!"

Tychus said quickly. "Where did they come from?"

Taylor replied. "11 taxes, sir!"

Tychus said seriously, "The Empire is giving you taxes just so you can grow sweet potatoes?"

Taylor shook his head. "Probably not..."

Tychus said sternly, "Are you awake? Get back to the meeting room now, or your salary will be the average for an Imperial peasant!"

Taylor immediately thought of his dreams, the countryside, the villa, and the one and a half acres of land that belonged to him.

Emperor! He almost ruined those things, and now he ran to the conference room in fear, completely forgetting about the sweet potatoes.

(End of this chapter)