Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 137 Fruit is so delicious!
If you had to describe the Ninth Legion in one word, then "ghoul" would be the most fitting.

As superhuman warriors designed by the Emperor and Lady Astartes, each legion possesses its own unique talents, which in turn develop unique legion "habits".

Habits are the most fitting word Mordred can think of. The 20 Space Marine Legions are less of a military organization and more like 20 different races.

The Emperor's Sons are swift and precise, the Space Wolves are cunning and ferocious, the Iron Hands are extremely rational (questionable), and the Dark Angels are all-rounders. Each Astartes has its own characteristics, and each legion has its own cultural philosophy.

What are the characteristics of the Ninth Legion? Just as their nickname suggests, they are a group of berserk ghouls who never pick and choose their food.

On the bridge of the Abomination, the archangel, slumped on the Mordred sofa, looked conflicted. Even though Atlas's unlimited supply of fresh fruit had satisfied his appetite, the anxiety in his eyes remained undiminished.

"Brother, perhaps you should be prepared. The Ninth Legion is not as wonderful as you imagine. In fact, it's the complete opposite. It's a space vampire legion full of Dio Brando."

"Who is Dior?" The angel, who always seemed to have a knack for finding strange blind spots, was a little curious. After spending the last few days with his brother, his opinion of him had changed dramatically.

In his view, Mordred was not a complete idiot, but rather an extremely intelligent and pragmatic person. Apart from being a bit extreme, they got along very well.

Even though he was strapped to the operating table and had his blood drawn on his very first day, Saint-Gilles believed there was no malice involved and treated it as a routine medical check-up.

Looking at the archangel who had already mastered Atlas's slacking techniques in less than a week and was becoming increasingly lazy, Mordred handed him another plate of grapes:

"Dio is a vampire who doesn't act like a human, the kind of mutant who eats people like they eat bread rolls. Don't worry about the details. Just know that the Ninth Legion, the offspring of the Blood Angels you mentioned, has a bad reputation."

While Saint Gilles observed Mordred, Mordred was also observing his brother. Without a doubt, the archangel possessed true golden spirit, completely overwhelming Mordred and Ryan, who also belonged to the dark will.

Because of the complex composition of the Second Legion, with acquaintances in each legion and the fact that its main business is logistics management, there are many secrets.

Atlas might be the only legion that doesn't look down on ghouls. After all, in terms of individual combat strength, Atlas, who are considered big guys even among Space Marines, aren't afraid of going crazy. Even if the ghouls are idiots, they know to get along well with the supply officers.

Pressing down the archangel who was still trying to steal a piece of fruit, Mordred squeezed onto the sofa, took out his latest design, the Pip-Boy, which combined a data board, a game console, and a bird divination device, and projected the information he had previously collected.

As the live dissection footage played, Saint Gilles subconsciously tucked his wings in, and Mordred's explanation echoed in his ears:
"Thanks to the high compatibility of its genetic seeds, the Ninth Legion is not picky about its members. Many of its initial members came from mutant tribes during the War of Unification."

However, what's peculiar is that no matter how severe the initial mutation, as long as they are still human, after the gene seed is implanted, they will become handsome men in the conventional sense.

"Isn't that great? All the Baal people suffer from radiation sickness, so we can treat them."

"It certainly looks that way, but there's a price to pay." Mordred switched the screen and played a precious battle video.

In the scene, the Space Marine, clad in blood-red armor, appears to be a madman, single-handedly breaking through the enemy's defenses. After tearing a human apart alive, he squats on the ground and devours him.

This wasn't an isolated incident. The Ninth Legion acted like madmen, grabbing any blood pack they could and devouring it indiscriminately, friend or foe. Cannibalism is always disturbing, regardless of the era. Saint Gilles was already starting to feel conflicted, while Mordred continued his explanation with a blank expression:

"That's why your offspring are called ghouls. They really eat people, and not only that, they like to drink blood. Unlike me, I know how to eat in secret."

Upon hearing this, the archangel shuddered, losing two feathers in the process. He thought to himself, "Why didn't you say so sooner? Why are you so close to me?"

"Slurp~ Don't be afraid, brother. I treat everyone equally. I mostly eat aliens, and as long as you don't mess with me, I basically won't bite you." Mordred's words of comfort did not reassure Saint Gilles, who instead shrank further into the corner.

"There must be a reason, right? I don't believe that my offspring would bite people for no reason. That's completely illogical."

"Good eye!" Mordred put his arm around his good friend's shoulder, and under Saint Gilles' slightly resistant but helpless gaze, he plucked two feathers, putting one in his pocket and holding the other in front of his eyes:
There are two reasons for all of this.

First, thanks to the Ninth Legion's incredibly high gene seed compatibility rate, which I greatly envy, your offspring are never short of people. This results in them always being deployed to the worst battlefields to fill the gaps.

Putting everything else aside, before I returned to the Empire, the Ninth Legion had virtually no supplies. They often relied on fighting to sustain themselves and conquering the world. So guess what they ate when there was no food? Two-legged sheep, of course!

Mordred's words were extremely cruel, but they were the truth. The Ninth Legion was the most cannon fodder of all the legions, so much so that even Horus felt a little sorry for them and kept feeding and resupplying them.

If the Shadowmoon Wolves, who employ cannon fodder tactics, could feel such pity, one can only imagine the dire state of the Ninth Legion. They were practically thrown to the ground, left to wait until the planet's three stars were all dead before they could be retrieved.

"As for the other aspect, there is a disease unique to your offspring called Blood Thirst. When this thing flares up, it's just like the strong son Nie Feng, who transforms into a berserk fighting beast."

Seeing that the curious white-feathered chicken was about to ask another question, Mordred quickly pulled out a can of pineapple from behind his back and shoved it into the chicken's mouth, silencing the fruit-eating man.

"Don't ask who the standard equipment of the strong is, and don't ask who Nie Feng is. Blood Thirst is a watermelon knife hanging over the head of your offspring. If you are not careful, you will turn into a madman."

Moreover, this thing isn't a genetic disease; it's most likely related to some kind of subspace mystical mechanism, causing everyone in the Legion to be a space vampire, and drinking blood can actually suppress this complication.

In short, these two factors combined led to the birth of the ghoul army; you're lucky in this life.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse was unclear, but Saint-Gilles knew he had taken over a complete mess.

Even so, the noble archangel did not back down; instead, her fighting spirit was ignited, and she swallowed the can of fruit in her hand in one gulp.
“My fate is in my own hands, not in the heavens. I will show everyone that the Ninth Legion is not a ghoul, but my proud Holy Blood Angels.”

Second brother, another can!

(End of this chapter)