Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 205 Having trained to resemble a crane, I am no longer afraid of orcs strangling me.
Comparing people is a recipe for disaster; comparing goods is a recipe for disaster. The true extent of the emperor's power has always been a mystery.

According to warp rumors, the Cursed made a secret deal with the Four Gods even before the Primarch was born.

The details are currently unknown, but ever since the Emperor returned from the Warp, he has been implementing the Primarch Project, inexplicably bringing back 20 Lesser Gods.

There are also rumors that this is not the case at all. I am the true and upright Demon Lord of Change, and the cursed one only succeeded in financing by selling hooks. Otherwise, why would the Four Gods trade with him?
However, this insider who called himself the Eternal Demon Lord was soon exposed; he was not a Tzeentch demon at all, but a Slaanesh witch who had infiltrated the Crystal Labyrinth.

Rumors spread like wildfire. All sorts of unofficial histories emerged, a veritable new era of flourishing literature and art.

But among these bizarre and unofficial histories, there is one thing that everyone, demons, and all sorts of strange things acknowledge: the emperor was strong enough.

Regardless of whether the giant golden figure can directly confront the four oldest beings, the Emperor is indeed standing at the table, and the other beings don't even have the qualifications to play against the four peddlers.

Indeed, even in the physical world, the Emperor could be injured by a direct hit from a naval cannon, and might even be blown to pieces. His strength lies in his psionic powers and in the warp.

Even if Mordred has stacked up all his stats, he will still be smashed to pieces if he is hit by a ship's cannon, just like a clueless villain thinks that Superman has low magic resistance.

An ordinary person's dual resistance is equal to one, while a superhuman's resistance starts at 10,000 and magic resistance is at least 3000. You want a mage who has just learned the fourth ring fireball spell and doesn't even know how to use charge slash or whirlwind to fight a superhuman?

Damn it! Not every mage calls themselves Holy Lord, how can they win? They definitely won't win.

Moreover, the golden giant is proficient in both physical and magical combat, wielding the Emperor's Sword with incredible skill, making it impossible for ordinary Primarchs to get close to him. Even Mordred was constantly being beaten down.

And then you're telling me that this incredibly powerful man, who can hold the sun and moon in his hands and pluck stars from the sky, and who wrestles with kobolds in their locker room all the time, is being choked by an orc and is about to die?

"They've really lost all sense of shame!" The outspoken Angron finally uttered these heartfelt words.

"Hush! Angron, how dare you speak so disrespectfully about our father! Do you have any desire to live? Horus, is that it?"

The one who spoke was none other than Horus, who was feigning ignorance while knowing the truth. Upon hearing this, all the Primarchs looked at Horus, who had arrived before them, putting him in an awkward position. In the end, he could only manage to utter:
"That's not true! I haven't betrayed the Second Reich! Mordred, Johnson! And you, ambitious Guilliman, you must believe me!"

Saint Gilles, why are you just staring? Say something!

"..." The archangel remained silent, but his cunning gaze swept over Zhuang Sen, who looked utterly dejected. The meaning was crystal clear: Brother, you've been tricked by Old Man Huang.

While the Primarch was slacking off, the Emperor wasn't having an easy time either, thinking, "Why aren't my good sons here yet? If I wait any longer, I'll kill this orc."

"My good brother, please don't die! Just hold on a little longer and it'll be over!"

Insult, the ultimate insult. The orc emperor Urg had never been insulted like this in his life. Why don't you die, you despicable and shameless human alien?

In terms of individual strength, Ulgri, as the chosen one of the Golems and who is on the verge of reverting to an ancient beastman, is not afraid of the Emperor. In fact, with the support of the planet's energy, he is even slightly superior.

But the Emperor had no martial virtue whatsoever; instead of deceiving and ambushing this 800-year-old comrade, he unleashed his ultimate weapon, the Eternal Night Labyrinth, directly cutting off the internet access of the entire Ulanor world's greenskins.

Instead of engaging in direct combat, they launched an orbital bombardment while the planetary shields were ineffective, using the combined firepower of the Imperial Dream and the Vengeance Soul to thoroughly ravage the entire planet.

You chase, I run; you run, I chase. I wiped out 80% of the green-skinned orcs on the planet on the spot.

Even so, the Emperor did not fight Urg alone. Instead, he led the Imperial Guard and Shadowmoon Wolves in a guerrilla war, targeting the green-skinned kids who served as Wow's energy batteries.

It wasn't until the expeditionary force arrived that they pretended to find Urg, who had been weakened to the extreme.

Ulger would swear on his own impressive teeth that the shameless man in front of him had injured himself. Even though he was currently choking the Emperor, he couldn't move him at all, and the Emperor had even been deprived of the ability to speak and expose his lies.

Others might not notice, but Mordred could. He was so angry he almost laughed. Seeing that Horus was reluctant to step forward and the rest of the legions were carrying out their final cleanup, he didn't move either.

Anyway, whoever gets anxious will be the one who feels awkward.

"Brothers, we didn't expect that green-skinned orc to be so powerful. He was fighting Father to a standstill, and we are seriously injured and unable to come to the king's aid."

"Since things have come to this, let's play a game of cards first!"

"That makes sense. To be honest, I have a flare-up of paronychia. I tripped over a small pebble just now, and now I'm seriously injured and can't be cured."

It's a damn thing that genetic material can cause paronychia. Even if you get paronychia, it's impossible for it to be so severe that it's incurable. But that's just a pretext. Nobody cares whether it's reasonable or not. Everyone is talking about their own intractable diseases.

Mordred pulled out a tablecloth and spread it on the floor, along with a lot of snacks and fruit. After everyone was seated, they all looked at Horus, who was still standing there dumbfounded. "I..."

"Stop talking nonsense, are you coming or not?"

Looking at his good brother sitting with him, he glanced at his father in the distance, who was still being choked by an orc and screaming for help.

The emperor has a thousand faces. In Horus's eyes, the emperor's image may not be that 5-meter-tall golden giant, but more likely a benevolent being with half a braid on one side.

After a brief hesitation, Horus finally sat down:
"My father probably won't die anytime soon. Actually, I told him a long time ago that this was not good, but he just wouldn't listen."

"Zhuang Sen, didn't you most want to be the War Commander? Why don't you go over there in a bit?"

Zhuang Sen definitely wanted to become a war commander; he dreamed of it. But that was because he wanted to prove himself, to prove that he was his father's proud son, and also to give an explanation to the Dark Angels who had been doing such dirty work for so long.

Glory and favor are what all Space Marines pursue throughout their lives, and they are also the goals pursued by Primarchs.

Looking at the Emperor, who had been suffocating for half an hour but hadn't died yet, Lion King felt that if he went over now, he might be looked down upon by all his brothers, which was unacceptable to him, who considered himself the eldest brother.

“I will not go. I want to become a War General with dignity. You, Horus, are a gentleman, and I, Zhuang Sen, am neither a villain nor an ambitious person.”

Seeing everyone instinctively looking at him, Guilliman, who was comparing the differences between Tranquil Coconut Milk and Kos Coconut Milk, raised his head, surveyed the area, and then looked at Chagatai, who was the last to return:
"Why are you looking at me like that? So you think I'm the only one with ambition? Or should I leave now? Mother is waiting for us to eat."

The Khan who was offended was numb. So you think I'm easy to bully? Someone like you would be burned alive on the grasslands.

Guilliman's words were like a whisper, instantly breaking the defenses of some Primarchs. Johnson immediately pulled out his knight's insignia, declaring, "I have a mother too! What are you doing pointing fingers at Chagatai? Come out and fight me one-on-one!"

"A one-on-one fight it is. Don't think I'm afraid of you just because you have a big beard. I'm incredibly strong now."

……

And so, an extremely bizarre scene unfolded: the Space Marines were carrying out the final cleanup of the Orks, the Lord of Man was locked in a fierce battle with the Orc Emperor in the distance, while the Primarchs gathered together were feasting and drinking around Johnson and Guilliman.

Even the honest, unassuming black man sat on the ground and started playing cards. He was playing Atlas's latest Monster Heroes game, and it seemed like he was in a winning position.

"Item Card: Victory Flying Swallow. When used in conjunction with my character card 'Death Pilot', it activates the skill Crash and returns to the Great Tomb. According to the rules, I can summon a monster named Tiga from the Extra Deck."

6+ Special Protection, activates Red Happy Form, attack power doubled. I won this round, pay up!

Without giving Vulcan a chance to be arrogant, Forgrim played his deck:
"Field Card: R'lyeh's Great Tomb, use Time Rewind to summon the spawn monster Camilla, paired with the weapon Particle Whip, and I win!"

"Impossible, my summoned creatures are so powerful, you can't even break through their defenses."

Despite his seemingly honest and unassuming demeanor, Vulcan is a man of principle. When it comes to games, he's all about winning, and he's not one to give up easily.

The two argued back and forth, but neither could reach a clear conclusion. In the end, they could only look to Mordred, who was acting as the GM, standing to the side.

After glancing at Vulcan's dark skin, Mordred took out calipers, calculated the attack range according to the military chart, and finally announced the result of the battle:
"Camilla uses a whip, which has a double effect on Vulcan. Fogg wins!"

"Great!"

"What? This isn't fair."

"Protests are invalid. Fugrim is a factory owner, or a farmer in ancient times, which inherently gives you a damage bonus. The past is the past, and the present is the present. Don't underestimate him; accept your loss."

Vulcan felt that Mordred was discriminating against him, but Mordred set the rules, so he had no choice but to reluctantly toss the gold dog coins in his hand to Phoenix.

Before anyone could even switch players and start the next round, a loud shout suddenly came from afar: "Father, I'm here to help you!"

A flash of lightning appeared, and Perturabo, who had appeared out of nowhere, leaped onto the Emperor, snatched the Emperor's sword from his hand, and plunged it into Urg's chest without a word.

For some reason, the orc emperor Ulgr suddenly wore a relieved smile, as if he were saying something to Perturabo, who wanted to kill him:
"Thank you, you unknown fat shrimp. I hereby bestow upon you the title of War Marshal of Ulanno. Behead me, behead me!"

(End of this chapter)