Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 138 An Angel Descends to My Side

"Commander, the entire fleet has safely departed Mandeville Point and is expected to arrive at Baal Prime in three standard Terra hours."

As the Red Tear's armored railings rose, Radoron, standing on the Red Tear's bridge, sighed helplessly. He felt no joy at learning of the Primarch's return, only a deep unease.

“Azcalon, how many times have I told you to use your job title when you’re at work? How many times do I have to say it?”

"Also, Father has confirmed his return to the Empire, and the War General is waiting for us in Baal. Do you know what we need to do?"

The guard captain nodded, indicating that he fully understood: "Don't worry, company commander, I've already sent men to inject those unstable guys with sedatives. They've all been placed in the Death Squad, but..."

"But what?"

As the commander of the Ninth Legion, Radoron was quite an anomaly. Unlike the others, he was not manic at all. Instead, he was as calm as an iron hand, which put all the soldiers under great pressure.

After a moment's hesitation, Azcalon finally spoke:
“I believe they deserve the honor of witnessing the Primarch’s return to the Legion. They are my brothers in arms, even though they are assigned to the Death Company.”

"So you mean we're going to expose our legion's biggest secret in front of Father, in front of the War Master? Azcalon, are you awake?"

The nearly two-and-a-half-meter-tall giant lowered his head, like a naughty child being scolded by his parents. Physiologically, the captain of the guard, who had the Ladoron gene seed implanted, was indeed of the son generation.

Knowing it would turn out like this, Radoron pressed down on the shoulder opposite him, his tone softening as he comforted him, "You know the current state of the Legion. Our reputation isn't good. What would happen if Father saw those brothers who are obsessed with bloodlust?"
Besides, there's the War General here. You know what kind of people Atlas are; they kill without blinking an eye.

"But Zhan Shuai is a very nice person! Company Commander, are you overthinking this?"
"When I went to Ningjing for rest and recuperation last time, Zhan Shuai personally performed surgery to save me. Apart from the gene seed being removed due to damage, I received the best medical treatment. He also gave me a small gift."

To prove his point, Azcalon pulled out a chibi-style figurine made of adamantite, modeled after himself. Its weight made Radoron envious.

"That's true, but every family has its own problems. The War Commander will definitely not tolerate any faults. No matter how kind he is, that person cannot go against the truth of the Empire. And we are that pile of faults. Just listen to me."

Unaware that he had already been stigmatized and labeled a ruthless killer, Mordred rubbed his eyes. The radiation in Baal was a minor issue; the real problem was the sandstorms. Even drinking the northwest wind would inhale a couple of ounces of sand.

The archangel was quite embarrassed as he looked at the long lines of people around him, who were gathering the Baal people by distributing relief food and conducting a rehearsal for them.

Especially now, with Mordred's maids pressing her down on the stage and adorning her wings with numerous ornaments, there's a sense of artificiality about it.

"Second brother, isn't this a bit much? With so many accessories, I feel like I can't even fly."

"Pah, you don't know anything! This is called fashion, this is called style. How can you conquer the legion if you don't make yourself look cool?"

While what he said was true, Saint Gilles still couldn't accept Mordred's aesthetic sense. He was covered in at least half a ton of shimmering gold, had a leopard-skin vest over his shoulders, and his hair was permed into big waves, making him incredibly flashy.

But you can't fight city hall. Mordred herself got a perm and was wearing a red scarf, cosplaying as a dandelion.

This isn't Mordred trying to fool people; that's just how the Empire's aesthetic is. Even Marshal Waldo of the Imperial Guard sported a spiky, flamboyant haircut. If your hairstyle isn't eye-catching, people will mistake you for a background character when you go out.

"As for not being able to fly, that's a joke. How big is the wingspan of these chicken wings? They fly entirely using psionic energy. How dare you talk about science?"

Stop complaining here. Remember to follow the procedure later. I'm backing you up. As for how to correct things later, that's up to you.

No sooner had he finished speaking than Thunderhawks began to fall from the sky. This showed that the Ninth Legion was exceptionally poor, as they rarely even had Stormbirds and had to make do with Thunderhawks.

Soon, with the sound of hatches opening in unison, Space Marines clad in red stepped onto the land of Baal and assembled below the platform. The soldiers of the Ninth Legion also saw their Primarch and Atlas, who was squatting on the ground, munching on his boxed lunch.

Of course, these are all minor issues. At this moment, the canned boys only have eyes for the glittering, winged progenitor.

Forty-two thousand one hundred and twenty-three people, a full thirteen hundred fewer than expected. Combining this with the information Mordred had given him, the archangel easily figured out the reason.

This broke his heart and saddened him so much that he knelt down on one knee and said to his offspring:
“My children, I am Saint Gilles, the ninth son of the emperor, and your father. I know of your suffering.”

There is no need to worry about this, nor to be afraid of it. From this day forward, there will be no more ghouls despised in this world, only proud Holy Blood Angels.

And I will be with you!
Now, I will issue my first command: I will see each and every one of my offspring, until I have seen each and every one of them.

The bond of blood allowed all the Holy Blood Angels to feel Saint Gilles' sincerity. The Primarch did not despise them, these ghouls, but instead called them proud angels.

Even with outsiders present, no one would refuse the Primarch's orders. Soon, the 1,300 Death Company soldiers guarding the Red Tear came before the group and saw the Primarch kneeling and weeping for them.

Black represents misfortune, and red crosses represent the desire to submit, but in the eyes of the archangel, these less-than-honorable warriors are also his offspring.

Mordred captured this scene perfectly, and feeling that the atmosphere was set enough, he immediately signaled Brian to begin the operation.

Accompanied by a rousing background music, Mordred walked up to the platform and, in front of everyone, helped the archangel to his feet:
“Brother, I have seen your determination. The Holy Blood Angels will be the new designation of the Ninth Legion.”

I, in the name of the War General, guarantee that as long as the Holy Blood Angels regain their glory, all rumors will vanish, and Atlas will be your strongest support.

Upon receiving the signal, Brian pressed the button, and countless flowers rained down from the sky. Accompanied by thunderous applause, everyone chanted the name of the archangel.

Even the subspace echoed with four satisfied exclamations. The two SSRs they desired most had both arrived, and now it was time to see who would win the game.

However, the four gods were not the only ones participating in the great game; there were also many up-and-coming talents who wanted to get on the table. Countless eyes were on this sacrifice called humanity, hoping to follow in the footsteps of the big shots and get a share of the pie.

But none of this is relevant to the two Primarchs of the physical universe, because Sangilius, who has just finished his return ceremony, has encountered a very critical problem.

He was utterly incapable of curing the thirst for blood, and to make matters worse, the Holy Blood Angels were so poor that even rats would scoff at them, and Baal didn't even have a rat.

"Um, Mordred, could I have this set of jewelry?"

"Give it to you? Dream on! I've been saving this up for ages by skimming off the Imperial Guards. Do you know how long it takes to accumulate just by touching it with my hands each time?"

"However, on the other hand, I do have a job here that's perfect for you, guaranteed to help the Blood Angels accumulate wealth quickly."

Have you heard of the Atlas Park?

For an angel who had spent his entire life dealing with mutants in this godforsaken place called Baal, he couldn't quite understand what Mordred was saying. However, seeing the malicious look in her eyes, he felt that this was a trap.

But for the sake of the legion's development, Saint Gilles still asked:
"Does this mean I'm going to be a farmer and manage the farm?"

"Pretty much, it just means you have to sacrifice some of your looks."

w(Д)w(￣m￣）
(End of this chapter)