Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 227 I'm sorry for being born.
"Father, do you think this pressure is acceptable?"

"Hmm, not bad! A little higher, yes, right there, put a little more effort into it. Didn't you eat?"

Mordred, who was told he was weak, chuckled, seemingly cursing under his breath, but ultimately he increased his strength and massaged the weasel's shoulders and legs.

Glancing at Corax, who was also being beaten to a pulp beside them, the two big guys sighed in unison.

Mordred lamented why he couldn't beat the weasel! Corax sighed because he was caught reading porn during his first meeting with his father, and the beating was well-deserved.

Corax was unlucky, being the penultimate Primarch to return to the Empire. Neither Mordred nor Old Man Huang had the patience they had when they were searching for the Primarch.

Horus was the first son of the emperor and served by his side for 30 years. Vulcan even took him under his wing and personally guided him. After that, everyone had more or less a long-term interaction with the emperor.

Mordred, despite being a seasoned artist, still fell into the trap of poor quality control. He failed to explain the Weasel's personal strength to his younger brother, leading the latter to believe that the Emperor was just a weakling.

Raised by laborers, the Crow King was not lacking in rebellious spirit. Seeing his good second brother being beaten, he immediately rushed in, and then...

"Father, please have some tea!"

"Well, from now on, stay away from that bastard Mordred and learn more from Horus. Father, I no longer ask you to be ambitious, I just ask you to act like human beings, even if you are Horus? Just don't cause me any trouble."

Corax nodded in agreement, saying he would definitely be a good person. At such a young age, he had already learned to smile obsequiously. Indeed, Seven Wolves was the best teacher.

As a must-try dish for every Primarch upon their return, the Weasel began his long and tedious speech again, which Mordred estimated would last at least eight hours.

Sure enough, perhaps he got carried away with the conversation, the Emperor broke his personal record this time, speaking for a full 23 hours, leaving the two of them dizzy and lightheaded.

And that wasn't all. Feeling it wasn't quite enough, the Emperor summoned the 19th Legion, now renamed the Raven Guard, to hold a Primarch Return Ceremony on Lycaea, which was also renamed the Salvation.

"The winds are rising and the clouds are flying. This great expedition must be fought no matter what. If we don't fight, the aliens will kill your friends and family."

They'll be caught one by one and enslaved!

No one knows the Xenomorph better than me, no one, and we humans only have this one chance to be great again.

The emperor, standing on the high platform, moved his hands rapidly. If he were given an accordion, he would surely play it very well, showing the style of the ancient Terran sages.

While listening to the Emperor's voice and acting as a background character, Mordred's thoughts gradually wandered. To be honest, he sometimes wondered if this weasel was playing a trick on him.

You could say he's socially awkward, because he can talk nonstop on stage, but if you say he's a normal person, he starts playing dead at crucial moments, sometimes acting like a person, sometimes like an anthropomorphic person, almost like he has a split personality.

Master Mo tried to find some patterns in the emperor, but no matter how hard he thought, he couldn't figure it out. In the end, he gave up thinking and his mind went blank, so he started babbling.

Compared to Mordred, a seasoned veteran, Corax was much simpler. He hadn't learned how to fool fools yet, and actually believed the Emperor's lies, unaware that his good second brother was already standing and asleep.

Meanwhile, as everyone was enjoying the Imperial Voice, in the subspace far to the side of the curtain, a dark and filthy figure was kneeling on the ground.

The power of the dark gods surged within him, causing the soul that should have been shattered and burned to ashes to be reborn once more.

Without anyone noticing, fragments of time were quietly stolen.

The wasteland of Colkis, the moment of death of the test-taker in the small town, the nighttime slaughter outside the nuclear town, and the echo of a sharp blade piercing flesh and gushing blood.

Erebas, or rather the villain who stole Erebas's name, opened his eyes to listen to the dark secrets told by the gods, and he will once again become the mouthpiece of chaos in a new identity.

Back to reality, the Emperor's speech finally ended, and the miners who had been waiting for a long time began to receive Atlas relief food. What the big golden man on the stage said was not important; what mattered was that they had dinner.

Perhaps it triggered some of the weasel's underlying logic, because seeing the local people's enthusiasm, the emperor even wanted to work overtime, which frightened Mordred so much that he quickly pulled him down.

"Old Huang, don't push your luck! I've said a few words, are you still not done?"

"Yes, yes, Father, we can handle it, but ordinary people can't!"

The emperor was slightly displeased, but didn't say much. After giving some instructions, he decisively started the process. He came and went in a hurry, and no one knew what he was busy with.

However, before leaving, the weasel still acted a little more human-like, not letting the Raven Guards join the Great Expedition directly, but giving them a three-year adaptation period.

It's called an adaptation period, but what it really means is that you all need to get out there and become interns with his great-son Horus.

Mordred rejected the suggestion outright, saying that having Horus lead the way would only produce another gay man with an Oedipus complex, and that he had a better candidate. Fortunately, due to preconceived notions, Corax didn't become another Horus; instead, he thought the Emperor was good in every way, except that his words were a bit pretentious and empty.

An emperor's speech is not some kind of hypnotic potion; no matter how much you talk, it's not as practical as a steaming bowl of minced meat porridge.

Looking at the factories rising from the planetary construction ships, looking at his sister distributing relief food to the people among the Atlas, looking at the people who were no longer numb, Corax thought that this might be the meaning of his joining the Great Crusade.

Seeing that the time was right, Mordred also took the opportunity to propose that Corax join the Second Empire. After all, the proper procedures still needed to be followed, even though the Second Empire was no longer a secret.

In the same secret room, with the same gilded statue, three thick sandalwood sticks were lit. Without saying a word, Corax immediately prostrated himself before the imperial statue.

"Second brother, why do we worship our father? According to our local custom, people are only worshipped after they die and become immortals."

"Silly child, don't ask too many questions. You'll understand later. Our Second Empire is a legitimate organization, not some thugs. Of course, we should worship those with high prestige."

Corax thought it made sense, but he didn't know whether the Second Empire was legitimate or not, but this statue was definitely not legitimate.

You're obviously a country bumpkin who's never seen the world. If your figurines aren't made to look cool and polished, how are you going to sell them?

Do you really think glue vendors are inhuman? It's one thing to steal a lot of glue, but at least make the designs look nice. Otherwise, how can they rip people off? No, how can they make customers feel at ease buying from them?
Corax nodded repeatedly upon hearing these heartfelt words. No wonder his second brother was so wealthy; it turned out he had acquired it through swindling and deception.

Now that the process was complete, Mordred didn't show favoritism; Corax had to be given the same treatment as his other brothers.

The first is the specialized Space Marine modification service, which is a Space Marine modification program modified by Mordred using life alchemy. Its main purpose is to provide customized services for VIP clients.

These so-called VIP clients refer to special groups like Mrs. Eudon, Luther, and Kellerfenney, who cannot be modified by Space Marines.

At this point, we need to raise a rather old question: the theory of lifespan!
In theory, the Primarch is immortal. After all, it is essentially a fragment of a sub-god in the warp, which is desirable no matter where it is placed. One of the purposes of many races to become gods is for this immortality.

As the Primarch's supporting army, the Space Marines were theoretically designed to be immortal, but it should be noted that this was only in a theoretical sense.

Don't assume that there are many so-called veterans of the eternal war in later generations; in reality, there is a great deal of exaggeration in their numbers.

Ninety-nine percent of the time is spent grinding experience in the subspace, a place where there is no concept of time. In the blink of an eye, 3000 years have passed, and in just a couple of days, you become a veteran of the Eternal War.

Only a very small minority of people are truly capable of playing the entire game.

No matter how you look at it, a Space Marine is still a soldier. In any war, people will inevitably die. And the battlefields where Space Marines appear are always the toughest nuts to crack, the kind that ordinary auxiliary forces can't handle.

And don't think that the mortal auxiliary army sounds low-class. Those who can act alongside the legion are true elite soldiers, the cream of the crop among the world's soldiers.

These ordinary people, who die in large numbers, and the Imperial Navy, which is always late, loses, leaves early, or gets lost in battle for various reasons, form the cornerstone of the entire Empire and are the precursors to the future Star Force.

Therefore, very few Space Marines actually die of old age, unless they are lazy like Atlas. Even Atlas often suffers casualties, and the ways they die are all sorts of bizarre.

Like accidentally finding a landmine while scavenging for trash and blowing yourself up, or being discovered and killed by aliens while digging graves because of greed.

There was even an unlucky guy who went fishing in the wilderness, but because he came up empty-handed every time, he jumped into the water and drowned himself.

It's fair to say that a large portion of Atlas's casualties were self-inflicted.

In short, driven by various reasons, Mordred developed this knock-off technology that copied the Imperial Guard, but he banned it after its successful development, allowing only a few people to use it.

The reason for the ban was simple: the emperor forbade it.

Despite Mordred's blasphemous experiments and abstract inventions, and even though he cloned the Yellow Rat Emperor using the Yellow Weasel's genes without saying anything, there's one thing he absolutely cannot touch: the slippery slope.

This modification technology has a fatal flaw: the subjects can stably inherit their genes. If left unchecked, it will inevitably lead to the formation of a new human race.

Seeing Evelynia's successful surgery, the implantation of the Corax gene sample, and the absence of any rejection, Mordred couldn't help but think of another person—Luther.

Mordred wasn't worried about Peturabo, nor about Guilliman, and although he hadn't known Corax for long, his younger brother had a high moral standard, so Mordred was at ease. His only concern was the Lion King.

"Zhuang Sen, you must never do anything unethical."

But soon, a voice interrupted Mordred's reverie:
"Second brother, I'm fucking here!"

(End of this chapter)