Dedicate loyalty to the good empire

Chapter 78: Me, to be a Space Marine?

"Macragge?" Taylor asked in confusion.

The name was very familiar to him. It was the core capital of a huge power entity called the Five Hundred Worlds, and also the home world of the Primarch Roboute Guilliman.

It is the home world of the Ultramarines and a jewel of human civilization with a history of tens of thousands of years.

There are no giant metal nests as complex as tumors on it, and no damn poisonous gas that kills people without compensation. It is located at the core of five hundred worlds and is tightly surrounded by five hundred star systems.

People said that there were palaces made of gold and countless great, Roman-style buildings erected on the earth, which were beautiful beyond measure.

However, the capital of the Five Hundred Worlds is also one of the few true holy places left today. Unless you are extremely lucky to be born there, the only possibility of setting foot there is if you are a trader or a space marine.

Taylor was a bit amused by this. "Why, traveling there or staying there permanently? I'll consider it when I retire, but you'll have to find me a job as an instructor or something."

But the sergeant just walked forward quickly and answered them seriously after leading them out of the dangerous area.

"I want you to become a Space Marine, an Astartes."

These words were like thunder piercing the ground, causing those who could hear them to glance sideways, including the cultists who were charging.

Taylor was stunned for a moment, then replied, "No way, absolutely not!"

The Master Chief didn't expect him to answer so straightforwardly, and then the giant smiled slightly.

"I know, but I also think you're capable enough. If you were born in the 500th world, we would probably be comrades in the same chapter."

Taylor replied. "Now we are comrades too!"

The giant nodded slightly, then quickly moved forward. The Fenris Wolf glanced at Taylor and said.

"Don't worry."

Taylor sighed. How could he not want superhuman strength and a long thousand-year lifespan?

What is missed is missed.

When the girl Leitlin looked at Taylor with amazement and asked, "Boss, why did you refuse?"

Taylor replied immediately. "The success rate of Space Marine surgery is historically low, and ideally, the subject must be under 16 years old."

"The older you get, the greater the rejection of gene seeds becomes."

The Lightling girl emphasized. "That's not impossible!"

Taylor replied tremblingly. "The success rate for adults is less than 10 percent!"

The girl swallowed. "I understand..."

Taylor won't become a space warrior, and it's not just because of this, but also because those superheroes are destined to never retire.

While the Imperial Guard's retirement age is 4-10 years of service, a Super Soldier's retirement age is unlimited.

They are the Emperor's angels and will not leave until they are completely burned out and dried up. If you ask Taylor to become a superman and fight on the battlefield for the rest of his life, it is obviously unlikely.

For him, becoming a Space Marine is actually a curse!

As they gradually returned to the vicinity of the camp, people began to welcome them, orcs or humans, big and small, all greeted them with joy.

Frankly, it felt pretty good, but ignore the numerous traces of cultists' blood or brutal battles on their bodies.

Taylor, almost fed up, ran to the cafeteria to get some breakfast, after all, the stars were rising.

At the same time, the Ultramarines Master Chief, who had sensed the betrayal, walked into the human camp and captured several officers with obvious physical mutations a few minutes later.

After being interrogated by the Madam, they confessed almost without reservation how they had been bewitched, corrupted, and their bodies had changed, until they were threatened with becoming spies.

They were finally cremated in the Imperial style, the kind that burned them alive. Amid the officers' screams, the army began to be deployed in the morning, and a counterattack was launched once again. Under the impact of the Armageddon Legion, the enemies who had lost their poison blades fell like ridiculous straws.

As expected, Taylor was eating breakfast in the back, enjoying a massage from Ms. Katie, and looking at the battle report on the data tablet, and he understood everything.

At the same time, Roland, the machine gunner, mechanic and master of technology, installed the core of the Thinker system into Frenstein.

This thing has been approved by Ferenstein for better operability. It is not the so-called artificial intelligence, but an auxiliary computing device that can use technology to reduce operational errors and increase the accuracy of actions.

In simple terms, it will automatically lock onto the enemy slightly when you aim, and slightly adjust the angle when you collide to increase the damage.

To put it inaccurately, it's like installing a device on a car that increases its critical hit rate and hit rate, but the specific effect is still unknown.

Roland wiped the oil off his hands and said in a bored tone, "Boss, I don't know if this thing is compatible with Frenstein. We should get a member of the Mechanicum to take a look."

Taylor said bluntly, "He'll tear us heretics apart. This thing was taken from a hacked poison blade, so it's good to have some use for it."

"Try starting it!"

Roland manually turned on the spark plug, and after the clicking sound of the engine, Furlanstein began to run normally. However, the effect was not visible at the moment, and it could only be said that it seemed to have no effect.

Taylor said. "By the Emperor, at least it's not broken. It's always good to have something extra, isn't it?"

The master of skills, Roland, said inaccurately. "Probably..."

At the same time, after more than half a day of rest, good news came from the front line, and victory arrived as expected.

Those damned cultists and Space Marines finally couldn't endure the war anymore and chose to retreat. Most of the mortal cultists were left on the ground, and the Space Marines left on gunboats.

Naturally, Taylor's next job was to clean up the mess.

The rest of the garbage.

At the same time, the orc tribe was almost wiped out. They happily disbanded on the spot at Taylor's words. Several leaders immediately fought with each other and continued to dream of the return of the Bonebreaker.

And the Space Marines are busier than the Imperial Guard.

Now, at the celebration party at night, Taylor watched as old Tychus took out the purple Amsett and opened it amid the boys' laughter.

The faint bubbles and alcohol create a taste that ordinary people cannot afford, it is bitter and intoxicating.

Taylor missed the fungal beer a little bit. He was just like a wild boar who couldn't get used to eating fine bran.

When the victory banquet reached its climax, Taylor was pushed to the front of the stage to give a speech, and a familiar blue giant walked in front of him again.

The angel took off his red helmet, revealing his delicate face, which was covered with wounds, as if they were cut by knives and axes, which was awe-inspiring.

He asked again. "I hereby invite Mr. Taylor to join the Ultramarines Chapter."

Amid the clamor, Taylor gave a clearer answer.

"Sorry, I'm not that cut out for it."

“There are a number of reasons for this, but generally speaking.”

"I can't bear to leave my stupid comrades."

The Master Chief smiled, as if he already knew the answer. "Even so, we will always be friends."

He stretched out his hand and clashed with Taylor's hand, which was small compared to his.

This is the difference between Space Marines and mortal warriors...

The highest courtesy.

　No push position
　　But it's already amazing
　　Next is the smooth launch.
　　Lie flat
　　
　
(End of this chapter)