Dedicate loyalty to the good empire

Chapter 407 Return to Macragge
Traveling in the warp always makes it difficult to tell how time passes. "God bless you, the Emperor," Taylor said, looking at the beard on his cheek and lost in thought.

Did he really only sleep for eight hours?
Looking at the reflection in the living window, under the unpleasant blue of Geller's position, Taylor stroked his hairy chin and fell into thought.

This is not difficult to solve. Just find a fart guy, give him a razor, and those green hands can easily make his chin smooth as new without shaving foam.

The real question is, did they experience a warp storm, or temporal turbulence, and thus missed the opportunity and became lost?
Taylor's habit of daydreaming returned, but the alarm clock linked to the real world still showed that they had traveled half the galaxy in just half a week.

Obviously, this subspace journey was very successful, but for some reason, everyone on the ship had grown a lot of body hair, just like Robinson Crusoe who returned from a desert island.

It's okay for women, but men need to call the fart spirits to their rooms, take care of their sideburns and beards, trim their messy heads, and then hand over the dirty clothes to those green skins.

I have to say that those greenskins are still in high spirits and even happier.

They worked tirelessly and resolved the crew's concerns about the aliens as quickly as possible. In particular, the aliens could easily enter small places that were difficult for the crew to enter and fix them with a screwdriver.

This allowed many dangerous and damn jobs that only children could do to be shared. When the workers and crew on those ships first realized how useful the greenskins were, they chose to have an extra fart follower without hesitation.

And those little green things are not only hardworking and require only a little salary, but most importantly, they are dexterous and obedient.

But this is just a kind of exploitation. Taylor doesn't know whether this is a good thing, but when the fart-god master who serves him cleans his beard with a blade.

Taylor had to admit that these green elves were the best servants.

His skillful hands seemed to be attached to blades. With a shake and a poke, the hair fell down.

The blade trembled and shaved off the temples, and the buzzing sounded like heavenly music.

Taylor said. "It's pretty good."

The fart spirit grinned and said with a smile.

"It's an honor for me to work for the boss."

He wore beautiful single-sided glasses and had a pair of impressive little leather boots. Like a gentleman, he looked more noble than human nobles.

He has a shrill, raspy voice and speaks High Gothic with a distinctive accent.

Finally, he emphasized, "Boss, I have an idea."

He wiped his fingers and said, "There have been quite a few demon boys here lately, those things that the devil spits out. They're fun, but too much trouble to fight."

"Then I discovered the Blackstone Obelisk. Those black bumps on Vigilance were really interesting, so I copied a little bit of it."

"It works well."

Taylor asked, rubbing his temple. "What the hell? A demon? An obelisk?"

The fart kid replied. "Boss, you guys slept a bit too long, but a lot of demons came aboard during that time. Although they were immediately destroyed, the damage has been repaired."

Taylor said in disbelief. "What kind of subspace conspiracy have we fallen into?"

"Why are the greenskins okay?"

The Fart Boy said, "We don't need to sleep. Besides, we can't even fight those demon boys ourselves..."

"Then I wanted to test my equipment."

Taylor tried his best to follow the greenskin's train of thought and asked, "What was the result?"

The fart spirit replied. "It's not nearly as efficient as Pai Gu's creation, but it's enough to cover a battleship, about three kilometers without any problem..."

"I'm not very satisfied."

Taylor couldn't help but grumble. "Not very satisfied?"

"You've replicated an ancient race's creation, and it's working successfully. This technique is enough to change the course of many tragic battles, and you're telling me it's a failure?" He said without hesitation. "Of course it is. A device like this can't be shut down, and it doesn't have the same capabilities as those black creations, so it's naturally not perfect."

Taylor said, "Not really. You are a genius comparable to, or even surpassing, Belisarius Kaur!"

"Draw the design first. I'll submit it once we get to Macragge. Even if it's not approved, your design must be used within the Legion."

"Equip those devices with mobile power sources and tracks, and preferably two cannons."

"We can send those things from the subspace packing and going back!"

Taylor said seriously now. "This thing is your creation, so you have the right to name it."

"What are you going to call it?"

The fart spirit replied seriously, "Boss, I've already thought about it."

"Just call it [I think the hell is the best]!"

Taylor's face hardened.

He regretted it.

Luckily, the fart spirit was quite perceptive and quickly changed his tune. "Well, the real name is 'Random Action Standpoint'."

"That device can mimic the obelisk's frequencies to disrupt psychic energy and the Warp."

"At the same time, I asked the green-skinned psychic boy to calculate it. The frequency of this device will not hinder the waagh psychic power and faith..."

Taylor said in disbelief. "The Emperor must have pried open your head and forced those things in there!"

At this moment, he asked the greenskin to prepare the design drawings early, and at the same time he saw the Geller force field gradually dissipating.

A blue planet appeared before him. It was the great world called Macragge, the home of the Primarch.

Even though Taylor had experienced the ancient Terran years when Terra's environment was at its best, he had to admit that Macragge's environment was better than Terra, or Earth.

It’s not bad at all.

This is people's ideal hometown, with sufficient defense, powerful soldiers, a long coastline, and a beautiful continent like broken cookies soaked in blue milk.

The warships were anchored in the huge star port, and Taylor saw the manager here, the Archon of Macragge, Guilliman's subordinates as he wished.

The middle-aged man was very imposing. If the Primarch had not existed, he would most likely be the King of Macragge.

When the hero saw the document written by the Primarch himself, he approved of what Taylor said just by looking at the handwriting without even seeing the content.

Half a day, and half a day of scheduling time is required.

Swift and loose.

Taylor was quite relieved about this. After all, being out of trouble was the best thing right now.

He also gave the greenskin's design drawings to the Archon, and felt that he could be trusted.

Finally, he left the starport of Macragge with his brothers, ready to see the land that Guillimanduno had given him.

As soon as he went down, he was surrounded by soldiers of the Macragge Guard.

Those warriors cut the only passage neatly and methodically, completely different from the idle people that Calgar complained about.

Then an old, angry voice called out. "Tyler! Look what you've done!"

(End of this chapter)