Dedicate loyalty to the good empire

Chapter 425 The Dark Side of the Empire
The Damocles left Octavius, and the days in this shabby place were finally over.

Green skin? Bug?
It was almost nightmarish.

Taylor doesn't like either of them anyway.

At least I dislike it very much.

He just wanted a nice place of his own, with enough space, a comfortable bed and seat, and considerable privileges.

Now he has it all. He has a large room of 120 square meters. In fact, most people advised him to get a 280-square-meter one, but Taylor was afraid that it might be haunted.

After all, traveling in subspace is probably equivalent to playing in a sci-fi version of hell. It would be unbearable to have some wandering ghosts living with you for a year or two.

But what makes him most different from other battleship governors is that he really has no taste.

He replaced all the expensive furniture in the house with various Imperial Guard decorations.

Such as sirens, radios, weapons lockers and strategy map racks.

Frankly speaking, this place no longer looks like an accommodation area, but rather a model of a war zone or conference room. Apart from a single bed that looks out of place, everything else makes it look like it's not a place where people live.

But for Taylor, the communicator allows him to obtain intelligence and escape at all times, the tactical map can tell him how to escape quickly, and the items on the weapon rack can clear the enemies on his escape path.

high efficiency!

In other words, everything here is what is called "necessities".

At least, for Taylor, he cannot sleep in a room that does not have such capabilities, otherwise he will definitely feel very uncomfortable.

But to use the judge's words, this place is not a place that is interesting or suitable for sleeping.

But Taylor didn't care. Now he could stay at home, eat dinner in his room and watch the current situation on the front line.

Although by Imperial standards, this was considered loyal and meant he was fully committed to his post, for Taylor, if he relaxed, he might be faced with several plasma torpedoes.

Cowardice and vigilance are always his core qualities, just like an octopus, who can expand his body to intimidate the weak, or hide and ambush when necessary.

The most important thing is to cut off one's arm to survive and spit out ink to cover it up when dying.

This kind of survival science is Taylor's core concept. Just as the Catachans always have the last laugh, their spirit is also fully displayed in Taylor.

Taylor didn't realize that this temperament would get him into trouble.

As the Damocles arrived in the war zone, the Ultramarines' flagship, Macragge's Glory, began urgently summoning Taylor.

When Taylor saw the Primarch in armor, holding the Emperor's Sword, standing by on the bridge, ready to fight at any time, he couldn't help but ask the blue giant.

"Where is the vacation you agreed on?"

Not many people dared to speak to the Primarch like this, and Guilliman immediately noticed that Taylor had grown slightly larger, but those muscles were really inconspicuous to an ordinary mortal.

The Primarch said with a hint of concern, "You need medical assistance or testing. From what I can see, your condition isn't normal."

Taylor said. "Look at your dark circles and tired bags under your eyes. How long have you been awake?"

Guilliman replied. "Ninety-eight standard Terran hours."

Taylor said. "That urgent?"

"When facing the catastrophe of Macragge, even you, who had just awakened, were not so embarrassed by the Black Legion."

Guilliman replied. "The war has now become an ever-increasing stalemate, a war of attrition. It's not about speed of attack, but about resources, supply lines, and how to replenish manpower." "I cannot rest."

"If the resource gap widens, the Black Legion will find a flaw and tear through the empire's defenses..."

Taylor asked. "I'm curious, what does the enemy have that can rival the Primarch?"

Guilliman replied. "The wizard has divined, and the answer is simple."

"Wizards, iron men, witchcraft and divination."

"The think tank composed of the forces of chaos is providing information all the time, so their computing power is enough to rival my careful consideration."

This statement was somewhat arrogant, as it was equivalent to saying that it took a reinforced company from the other side to match one's own wisdom, but it came from a Primarch after all.

Now, it is the wizards and runesmiths of the Black Legion who should be praised.

To be able to produce the same effect as mankind's greatest creation and to hold its own against it is a moving honor.

However, they probably no longer have the energy to enjoy those honors. The competition with the Primarch has reached a white-hot stage. The Primarch is just tired, and they are likely to die.

Whether it's the spread of Iron Man AI, controlling battleships to betray, requiring Rune Blacksmiths to suppress, or the predictions of Chaos Witchcraft abilities, all require a lot of energy.

Even if someone can be replaced, it doesn’t mean that their trailer is without flaws.

Guilliman said. "I can orchestrate an attack at the expense of manpower and resources, and the chain reactions it unleashes will paralyze the enemy's ability to predict."

"The enemy's control systems will be temporarily shut down, and even the Chaos Gods will be weary and slack off for a moment."

"I hate to admit it, but that moment is crucial. I need a fleet as a messenger to the dark side of the empire."

Taylor sighed. "Me? Why me? There are so many capable generals and powerful figures in the empire, why me?"

Guilliman didn't mince words. "Because you are vigilant and careful, like a timid rodent foraging on the surface."

"But the most ironic thing is that your front teeth are strong enough to kill a hound, or even a more formidable enemy."

"Normally, when an Imperial warrior has enough power, their savagery will swell, and they will become dissatisfied with the current tactics."

"Just like a creature with a sharp enough weapon, it always becomes the largest in its weight class."

"They need blood and flesh to sustain their weapons and equipment, engaging in an endless arms race."

"And you don't. You're like you're frightened by something and can't move. No matter how much you sharpen your claws, they're still that small."

Taylor frowned. "Boss, those adjectives you picked up there are both apt and irritating."

"I'm not an animal."

"A battlefield isn't a forest either."

Guilliman replied. "But we can be, too. The battlefield can be a forest."

"The strong prey on the weak, and only the fittest survive. These are my brother's words."

Taylor's body trembled. "Boss, you're not being possessed by the Wolf King Russ, are you?"

(End of this chapter)