Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 206 Imperial War Marshal Horus Lupecal

I am the most powerful, the most domineering, the most Waaaagh Orc Emperor—Urghard!

In terms of the damage inflicted on the empire, the Ulanno Empire may not be as great as the Randan Empire, and in terms of the degree of harm caused, it is not as great as the dark secret of the Randan aliens that originated from its very nature.

But without a doubt, we, the Ulanor Orcs, were indeed the first alien force to successfully invade the Sun Starfield, and we preserved our hidden points in the Galactic Battle Royale Tournament, making a name for ourselves as the second brother of the "Gao Mao" (a nickname for a powerful or powerful force).

But today, I suffered the greatest humiliation of my life. A despicable, shameless, big, golden guy actually beat me to my knees.

Although victory and defeat are common occurrences in war, we orcs are not afraid of death, but we are afraid of not having a fight. We should be excited to raise our flags when we can fight against such an unparalleled powerhouse.

But this bastard has absolutely no sense of honor as a warrior; he actually treated me as a tool to please others.

Hey, Second Brother, why don't you chop off my head, you little fat shrimp? Chop off my head, you bastard! Is all you know how to do to stab people with that big sword?

Urg, the hulking orc, was now wishing for death but unable to, frantically thrashing his body, trying to crash into the greatsword in Perturabo's hand.

But the Emperor would not allow him to have his way. No matter how Perturabo swung his sword, the Emperor's sword would always avoid the orc's vital points.

In addition, orcs are known for their thick skin and tough flesh. Even though Urg had been stabbed seventy or eighty times and was barely alive, he still didn't die.

To prolong his life, the Emperor, that dog-donkey, even used psionic energy to heal the orc's wounds. Often, for every stab Perturabo made, Urg would heal a wound.

Glancing at the bewildered Perturabo, and then at Mordred in the distance, who was taking pictures of him with a lewd expression, the Emperor felt for the first time that his parenting had somewhat failed.

In particular, the meaningful gazes of each Primarch deeply pierced the Emperor's heart.

But in order to ensure the smooth progress of his plan, the Emperor decided to be shameless and started rolling around wildly while Urg was barely alive. He rolled for a full half kilometer until he reached the Primarch's feet.

"No, Father, don't run away! I'm going to kill him right now!"

Only Peturabo was kept in the dark, but that didn't matter anymore. Plankton was great in every way, except his legs were a bit short, and he couldn't keep up with the free-spirited, big, golden guy.

The Emperor, who was rushing in, seized the opportunity and used the momentum to press the orc's power claw against his own neck, pretending that he was about to die.

To boost Horus's battle record, the Emperor even secretly activated psionic energy to remotely control the power claws on Horus's hands. If Horus were to crash into them, Urg would surely die.

But despite his meticulous planning, the weasel hadn't anticipated Mordred's presence. Seeing the emperor's shamelessness, Mordred kicked him in the buttocks.

"Oh, isn't this my dear father? Why does he look so weak after just two days? Oh, so he was being choked. No wonder he can't speak."

"Your body has become as lithe as a crane's, you're not afraid of orcs strangling you. They didn't kill you even after three whole hours. Don't worry, I'll help you."

With a cold smile, Mordred channeled the spirit of the German football team, feigning a fall in front of everyone and rolling wildly on the ground. But whenever the Emperor tried to get close to Horus, Mordred would kick him hard in the butt.

Because Master Mo had two more arms and a tail than the Emperor, who had one head and two arms, the Emperor was unable to break through the encirclement and was kicked several times.

This tormented Urg, who was caught in the middle; the large orc's eyes welled up with tears.

Unable to bear the public humiliation any longer, he seized an opportunity, perhaps truly defying the chosen one, and broke free from the Emperor's control, crashing headfirst into... Guilliman's short sword—and died!
This terrified Guilliman, who immediately shoved the short sword in his hand into Horus's hand with all his might.

Unexpectedly, the 13th prince was so sensible. Seeing this, the emperor stopped pretending, pulled away the orc's arm that was choking him, and hugged Horus, who had a bitter smile on his face.

"My child, thanks to you, I was able to defeat this great enemy of mankind. I hereby declare that you are the third Imperial War Marshal."

"No, Father, I..."

"Stop talking, you deserve it."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the Emperor turned around and grabbed Mordred, who was lying on the ground kicking his good leg. He was no longer the weak and helpless figure he had been just moments before, and immediately raised his hand to strike.

"You unfilial son, how dare you ruin my plans!"

"Pah! You dog, I'll let you off the hook once or twice. I was giving you face before, but now you've lost all sense of shame. You unfilial father, I'll show you what filial piety is right now."

Mordred, who didn't treat the Emperor like a human being at all, wasn't going to tolerate him. He cursed him, saying that he was not fit to be a ruler and that he should go sell his ass to increase the Empire's GDP. He added, "Brothers, let's go and beat this old bastard to death!"

Regardless, the Emperor was still the Primarch's father, and given Mordred's truly offensive insults, the Primarchs wouldn't dare to do anything so outrageous. They could only retreat to the side and resume their card game. Just then, Perturabo arrived, able to take Mordred's place.

As the sun set, the post-war Ulanoro was a scene of devastation. The allied forces, having wiped out the orcs, began to converge on the main force. Then, their worldviews were instantly reshaped as they witnessed a bizarre scene they would never have seen before.

The great Lord of Mankind, along with his former War Marshal, acted like thugs on the ground, even pulling each other's hair.

Perhaps it was because too many people gathered that the yellow weasel's underlying logic was finally triggered, and its social anxiety began to take over its mind.

Mordred, feeling somewhat embarrassed, turned and dragged the Emperor up the mountain, leaving Horus standing there dumbfounded.
"Oh, Father, you've caused me so much suffering!"

…………

Not long after, the Emperor, now fully recovered, dragged Mordred, who had been beaten to a pulp, back with good news: he would crown Horus here in Ulanor.

Under the watchful eyes of everyone, the Emperor took out the golden laurel wreath he had prepared long ago and announced his identity as the third Imperial Warmaster of Horus.

Horus felt immense pressure looking at the cheering soldiers below the stage and the clearly divided Primarchs in front of him.

In a daze, everything before Horus's eyes began to distort.

Death, war, fratricide, the raging flames of war sweeping across the entire galaxy, and his hands are stained with blood.

Luo Jia burst into tears. Mordred, in her arms, had lifeless eyes and kept muttering Guilliman's name before finally turning to ashes.

I could vaguely hear something about Guilliman being an amateur.

With his limbs severed, Angron collapsed in the rolling red sand, the pink musk-scented poisonous mist consuming his last bit of life, like a puppet without a soul.

But soon a shadow descended from the sky, tearing off Angron's braid. It was a terrifying monster with wings on its back and a giant club in its hand.

"Sanguinius?"

This twisted and horrifying scene startled Horus, who retreated but stepped into a pool of thick, sticky blood.

Looking down, Saint Gilles, no longer recognizable as human, had turned into a pulp, his white wings stained with blood, staring intently at him:

"Run! You can't beat him..."

Him?
Horus saw the reflection in the archangel's pupils; there was something behind him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see anything behind him.

Running, running with all his might, an instinct evolved since the first successful hunt by humankind, spurred Horus to take his first stride.

He didn't know why he was running, but he knew it was his brother's dying cry.

More and more visions appeared before Horus's eyes; he saw Magnus, and his brother, who had gone from a bookworm to a fitness fanatic, showed madness in his eyes:

"I am the Crimson King, you think you can kill me? Go to hell, break!"

A silent explosion destroyed everything, and the scene changed again. Horus saw Dorne, his brother as stubborn as a rock, gazing at the stars, while a blade piercing his chest pinned him to the palace gates.

"Who? Who did all this?"

Horus roared as he ran, tears streaming down his face. He didn't know why he was so sad, but he kept running.

Because he saw the blade clearly, and its name was the Emperor's Sword!

Horus, who was suddenly awakened, looked at the people in front of him. Everything was so beautiful. Mordred had not turned to ashes, nor had Dorn been nailed to the ground. The angels were still dazzling. Angoron was even huddled together with Mortarion, as if they were discussing some kind of numerology.

"It was just a hallucination! But why am I crying?"

Turning his head to look behind him, Horus did not find any terrifying monsters, only an emperor holding up a golden laurel wreath with a smile on his face.

"Father."

(End of this chapter)