Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 219 Grant Me a Dream Called the Great Expedition
Mordred never came to a conclusion, but that didn't stop him from slacking off in this era, since peanut butter always runs out eventually.

After fighting for so many years, can't we enjoy ourselves a little? Horus, for one, wholeheartedly agrees.

Upon learning that the dog wouldn't leave immediately, Makala happily put on the black dress and, quite vainly, flaunted the necklace in front of the two of them.

"So, what do you think? My natural features are pretty good, aren't they?"

To be honest, Mordred couldn't appreciate it at all. He was basically indifferent to normal humans. Since he was essentially an amorphous lump of flesh, his appearance was meaningless to Mordred.

If it weren't for his desire to integrate into society and his unwavering belief that he was human, Mordred might have stopped being human long ago. The life he most wanted was to be a good-for-nothing like his pet Morgan, just loafing around and waiting to die.

Only Horus, acting like a sycophant, kept praising Malaka, but who exactly was he praising? It's hard to say.

"Stop being so vain. Since we can't leave anytime soon, why don't we go on a trip and collect some seeds while we're at it? I'm really fed up with those weird, genetically mutated fruits."

Perhaps recalling some unpleasant memories, Horus and Mordred couldn't help but grin.

Mordred was thinking of Dorn, but that bastard insisted on pointing to a cube called Lemon, claiming it was the authentic Lemon that they, Inwitt, had recreated based on ancient records.

Whether it's square or round, as long as the taste remains the same, it's fine. But the problem is that this thing smells just like the horrible odor under an old man's armpit on a bus in the summer. Mordred absolutely refuses to admit that this thing is a lemon.

Horus, on the other hand, was thinking of Saint Gilles. The archangel was known for his voracious appetite and fighting prowess, and his favorite food was all kinds of fruit. He could always devour the entire stock of the Vengeance Soul.

Conversely, the Holy Blood Angels would present Shadowmoon Wolves and their companions with red wine produced in Balt.

Honestly, even a deep-thinking person like Horus spat it out on the spot when he first drank that bastard stuff, cursing that he would rather die of thirst or die outside than ever touch it again.

Alongside Baal's Red Wine, there is also the Death Guard's specialty poison wine, which, according to Mortarion himself, is brewed from the corn stalks of Barbaros.

How to describe the taste? Clean and hygienic, but a bit smelly. It even hisses and smokes when poured onto ceramic steel! As a result, many legions buy Barbarus liqueur at high prices to use as a biochemical agent.

To paraphrase a widely circulated Imperial joke, in the Dark Ages, a human was eating a banana when a passing Iron Man saw him, immediately knelt before the banana, and asked the Federation citizen if he had been persecuted by aliens.

Although it's a joke, it also proves the abuse of genetic modification by humans. After all, in Mordred's mind, potatoes grow in the ground and can never grow on trees. And if a potato can explode, then it's not a potato.

Makara, who was living a life of luxury but didn't appreciate it, couldn't understand the bizarre lives that 30 people led. But when she heard that she was going out to play, she jumped for joy.

"Where shall we go? I've never left Us City before. Should we buy a carriage? But carriages are too expensive. Let's rent one instead."

Ultimately, her mindset hadn't changed. Mordred took out her wallet and, under Makara's longing gaze, handed her 13 Ore, saying, "This is your allowance. I need the rest to buy materials. Let's take the plane!"
"What is an airplane?"

Mordred loves this kind of straight man; it fully showcases his extraordinary wisdom. No wonder the Emperor will always have the Imperial Guard with him wherever he goes in the future—he has to show off his status.

But Mordred, as a member of the Imperial Order, believed in mutual progress and immediately gave this opportunity to show off to his good friend Horus. Upon hearing that they could soar freely through the sky like birds without the aid of psychic powers, Makara instantly became interested and urged the two of them to get started.

Interest is always the best motivation for learning. In this day and age, you can't possibly create an airplane, but Mordred and Horus have a cheat code!

Even as dogs, the two are still incredibly powerful super dogs, comparable to industrial mother machines. If conditions allowed, Mordred could create a lithography machine on the spot.

If you don't have enough materials, use the power of the Star Gods to make up for it. If you don't have fuel, then just use the Fel Furnace. It's all about using sheer force to make bricks fly.

As for whether future historians will go bald because of this, Mordred said it doesn't matter. You'll just question the meaning of life and lose your hair. At worst, you'll shout that history doesn't exist and get locked up in a mental hospital.

We can't let them break their promises and disappoint that unlucky little guy, Makara, can we?

As for your question about where to obtain the soul fuel for the Fel Furnace, sorry, please don't ask such a dark question to StarCraft Superdog. Even if the color is wrong, you should still believe in the light!
When this wooden airplane, named Gatangia, with its perfect aerodynamic shape, burst off the ground and soared freely in the sky like a bird.

Sitting in the open-air cabin, Makara roared excitedly, "I am the king of the world! I have conquered the sky!"

It was clearly just a crude toy, and both of them had powerful fleets capable of annihilating an entire race.

But some things simply cannot be measured by material means.

The absence of the Primarch in his childhood manifested in Makara. Seeing the unfortunate fellow's delighted expression, Horus and Mordred felt that perhaps this was the meaning of their visit.

"Charge! Giant of Light, Gatanothor!"

Meanwhile, standing on the Martian wasteland, watching his father, who had lost 20 years' worth of wages due to his spear being broken by a dragon, transform into a berserker and frantically beat the Void Dragon, Gao Zhanma, who was called Lightning but was actually Chagatai, also felt the same way.

"If you can't be there for my childhood, then let me be there for your past!"

What a young person cannot obtain will ultimately haunt them for life.

Clad in the armor of dominion and wielding the Emperor's sword, Guilliman pushed open the palace gates. There stood his least outstanding son, his brother who had fought with all his might but was ultimately late.

The Ultramarines, the thirteenth son of the God Emperor, the Regent of the Empire, the heir to Atlas, an ambitious man, the compiler of the Astartes Codex, and the hope protected by his brother until the very end.

Robert Guilliman finally arrived in Holy Terra and met the human ruler who had lost everything and was firmly trapped on the golden throne:
"Father, I'm back! How are you?"

"Death, tool, traitor, number 13, ambitious, Gatanothor, centaur, second son."

"Talking device!!!"

(End of this chapter)