Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 185 My name is Happy Superman, and when I'm happy, I think of Superman.

Holy Terra is not a good place.

The Ultramarines would say that it's not as good as Macragge, Atlas would say that it's not as good as Serenity, and Iron Warrior would say that it's not as good as Olympia.

Aside from those legions whose homeworlds are too overpowered, anyone who comes here will be greatly disappointed, since Terra doesn't even have an ocean, just a small ditch.

The environment is poor, the air is polluted, nests are everywhere, mutations are rampant, and even the Terrans are more insane than in other worlds. The population density is arguably the highest in the entire Empire.

What's even more ridiculous is that, despite the fact that modern-day nest cities are more like cesspools than latrines, back in the expansion era 1 years ago, the purpose of humans building nest cities was actually to protect the environment.

Back then, Nest City, with its intelligent AI control, was a true paradise. While not everyone lived in peace and contentment, it was certainly not like it is now, where anyone daring to enter the bottom nest without a gas mask was a tough guy.

Given the harsh environment of Terra, why doesn't the Empire consider moving its capital?
The answer is no, relocation is impossible. If even the slightest mishap occurs to the Holy Torch of Terra, the Empire will instantly fall into a vegetative state. More importantly, Terra is, after all, humanity's homeworld, which carries another layer of meaning.

Since the dawn of civilization, humanity has called Terra the mother of its race, and this is no exaggeration.

Throughout the galaxy, right and wrong are self-evident.

Terra has always been a battleground for humans and other derived races. Whoever conquers Terra is qualified to represent the true human race.

In other universes, this statement might just be a pretext to win people's hearts, since those with strong armies and virtuous people should rule. But in this world where even a single screw can give birth to a machine soul, it is a lesson learned through blood and tears.

Don't you see the Eldar Empire, which once ruled the galaxy with humanity? Because its home planet was blown up, leaving only a few survivors, the Eldar are now on the verge of extinction, their sustainable development crumbling.

Even the Human Federation, which was once trapped in the Old Night Era, would try every means to flock to Terra to raise worms, all in order to seize the rightful human lineage.

Unfortunately, one of the tech warlords in the first Holy Terra Battle Royale tournament was a psychic caveman, and this guy even drew three SSR gold cards, forming the Nemaroo combo, which blew up the whole world and directly won the Terra title.

Because of these connections, Terra is given a sacred title and is at the very core of the human empire. Even if she doesn't live as well as Ningjing the dog, she can still hold her head high and proudly declare:
Terrans are the bosses, don't be so smug! Guess what? We Terrans just love this kind of thing.

Although it may be a stereotype, it is true that as the political center, Terra's nobles are a grade above those in the countryside, and even the prices of goods can give a prince like Lemanrus a real headache.

However, this good life didn't last long. The sky fell on the Terran nobles when the great Prince Mordred became the Imperial Warmaster.

Trying to reason with me? We're just country bumpkins from Ningjing, we don't understand any logic. Go talk to my explosive gun instead!

For 30 years now, every Terran who is still alive today will burst into tears at the sight of Mordred's picture. Even though Mordred is no longer the Warlord, he has developed the healthy habit of raising his hands and shouting his gratitude every day.

Even educational institutions would have students gather in the square during their long breaks to perform the third set of Imperial Gymnastics – "The War General is Calling".

No one dared to speak, no one dared to ask; in short, everyone was afraid of being burned to death by the moonlight.

Thirty years passed by in this bustling and carefree manner, and guess what? Terra actually became wealthy, and even better news was that the second moon was removed and Atlas was gone.

When the news came, the entire Terra was slightly damp with tears. Everyone wept uncontrollably; half of them were genuinely grieving, while the other half were celebrating the departure of these plagues.

Especially when they heard that the Emperor would be sending legions from the world of Altera 500 to help defend Holy Terra, officials throughout the solar system were all celebrating and longing for that patch of azure.

"Damn it, which bastard said that the Ultra Warriors were coming? I'm going to kill him! He's not even as good as Atlas."

In the government hall, the symbol of the center of imperial power, in a secret room undetectable by any detector, all the Terran councilors sat around a round table, discussing amongst themselves:

"Rosmandersen? Was it you, you bastard, who said that?!"

The senator named Ross shrugged, ripped open his shirt to reveal a large tattoo, and sneered:

"You're talking nonsense! I'm M30, a councilor personally promoted by His Majesty over 403 years. I have the Emperor tattooed on my right chest, the War General on my left, the Shadow Moon Wolf on my chest, and the Fist of the Empire at my waist..."

Do you see who's on my right arm? Let me tell you, this is the Marker Macardo, and the one on my right arm is Marshal Waldo of the Imperial Guard.

What, who are you pointing at with that little finger? Answer me!

Should I yell something to make that midnight…?

"Shh, don't mention that name. I must have been blind to let you in back then. Now you're trying to associate me with BTS? I have BTS too!"

"Pah! Old Pete, you think you're the only one with that? We all have it."

As soon as the words were spoken, the Terran councilors all tore off their clothes. Even if the Imperial Guard came, they wouldn't dare to reprimand them for their lack of decorum, since they were simply not eligible to be chosen. There was even a Martian guy who, taking advantage of his size, had the entire set of Imperial Truths tattooed on his cybernetic body, and even had an Imperial double eagle embedded in his forehead.

"Alright, alright, stop making a fool of yourselves here. We are all loyal ministers, not treacherous ones, okay?"

Speaker Pete slammed his fist on the table, stopping the unsightly scene from continuing, and began to ask Ross if he had sent a telegram to the Second Prince. If he didn't return soon, they would really be doomed.

"Tch, don't worry. In any case, we're all in the same boat. I care about this more than any of you."

The story of how these Terran councilors were driven to this point begins with the welcoming ceremony that day.

When the petition signed by thousands of people denouncing Atlas's atrocities was brought out, everyone wondered why the 13th Prince had black hair. But soon they no longer needed to wonder, because it wasn't Guilliman who came, but Mordred's adopted son, Koz.

To be fair, Mrs. Euton's education was quite effective; everyone participating in the welcoming ceremony had to kowtow to the First Mother of the Empire.

In the past, the entire Terra Starport would have been slaughtered by the Midnight Lord, leaving no survivors, and all of them would have been hung up like kites.

Even so, of the 12 Terran council members who went to greet them, only Ross and old Pete, the speaker, remained. As for why Ross was able to survive...

Anyway, Mr. Luo will never tell anyone that he is an outstanding student who graduated from the third class of the first training camp in Catachan, and that the Midnight Lord is the one I, Rose Mandelson, brought here!
My body is in Terra, but my heart is in Ning. I, Rose Mandelson, am a hero walking in the night—loyalty!
Since that day of shuffling, every day after sunset has been a night of long knives in Holy Terra. At least Atlas would categorize the events and take different measures depending on the situation.

But the Midnight Lord doesn't care about that. By learning from the Ultra Warriors' advanced management experience, the Midnight Lord has been fully upgraded and has directly transformed into a benevolent and just official.

If you dare to violate the Imperial Law, you'll end up in a private room on the Nightfall. Those with good physiques will be turned into machine servants, while those with poor physiques will be skinned and made into paper. Be careful in your next life.

And don't even think about making excuses. If you fall into the hands of us Midnight Lords and can withstand torture and forced confessions, then we'll start to doubt whether you're even human. We'll all turn you into chicken feed.

In just a few years, the dozens of nests of Holy Terra alone produced hundreds of millions of human skin kites, and not a single one was wasted; they were all twisted into human skin paper for the use of officials.

The thought that the paper they use to write official documents might very well be the same colleague they were laughing and joking with just two days ago puts the people of Terra in a state of perpetual fear, to the point that they don't even bother to pick up lost items on the street.

In response, some nobles pleaded with the Seal Keeper and even the Emperor, but Macardo stated that every country has its laws and every family has its rules, and legally, even he could do nothing to Coz.

As for the Emperor, there's no need to even mention him. If the Yellow Weasel were to put any effort into managing things, Mordred would be the first to suspect that his account had been stolen.

"Sigh—to be honest, I really miss the days when the War General was around. At least as long as the share was paid, Atlas would turn a blind eye."

"Who says otherwise? Although the War General has a bad temper, under his leadership, the Empire is thriving. Even those despicable oil makers don't dare to fool us anymore. What are you looking at? I'm talking about you bunch of swindlers."

The Great Sage who was offended had nothing to say; I wasn't the only shady merchant from the Mechanicus. But I was a disciple of the Great Sage Rand. She had the best time when Mordred was a Warmaster; she made a fortune just by reselling contraband.

Can she tell others that she has a share of assets in Rizza, and that her best friend is still called Krag? I am the most loyal.

Unlike that Imperial Navy commander next to him, that's a real traitor. No matter the battle, big or small, the Imperial Navy just slacks off like a fisherman, with warships sinking one after another, and in the end, they're all just missing.

"Shut up! How dare you use such a discriminatory term as 'engine oil guy'? When you're at work, use your title. Call me the Great Sage of Kannis Forging!"

However, the Imperial Navy Commander also had something to say: How am I supposed to support my subordinates if I don't receive a salary without actually working? Am I supposed to rely on that bunch of useless people in the Ministry of Military Affairs? Besides, we didn't aid the enemy; all the missing warships were sold to Atlas.

Otherwise, with Atlas's meager production capacity, how could they possibly build so many merchant ships? This is truly for the country and its people. If we really wait for the military department's incompetent soldiers to distribute supplies, my soldiers would be fighting the aliens shirtless.
The empire has finally gathered this group of brilliant minds, but it is very likely that the fact that each of them possesses unique skills is what allowed them to avoid the Great Purge.

After all, regardless of their background, these Terran councilors are still loyal to the Empire and want to do things for it.

"Sigh, stop talking. We've been gone long enough. If someone finds out, we'll be ruined."

Peter, the initiator of the meeting, was the first to leave, but before he could even step out the door, he slammed it shut.

"No, I'm getting worse and worse from being ruined by alcohol and women. How could I be having such a hallucination? No, I need to take another look!"

As the door opened a crack, old Pete met a pair of dark eyes. Staring at each other, the old councilor, who had followed the emperor since the Terra unification war, almost had a heart attack.

The reason was that behind the door stood a tall, pale-skinned humanoid figure who looked exceptionally sunny and cheerful—practically Happy Superman himself.

"Hello everyone! I think I smell a secret."

　I want to reverse time little by little; I don't want to be a useless dog.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)