Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 255 The Trial of Mordred
Nicaea, a frontier world located in the solar system, but known as the frontier world.

Since outer space is not a flat map in the conventional sense, the five star regions that the Empire divided themselves can actually be seen as five pieces of cake pieced together from each other.

It's not that just because your hometown is in the Sun Star Region, it means it's right under the imperial city. The Sun Star Region is vast, so vast that countless areas have not yet been successfully explored, and the empire has only occupied a small part of it.

This extremely remote world, a small world that even Star Speakers would normally have to consult a roster to remember, has now attracted the attention of the entire galaxy.

Whether it was the Terra Council at the pinnacle of the empire, the Ministry of the Interior as its central nervous system, or even the Navigator Family, which usually remained relatively unknown, every powerful group with a name sent its envoys.

To hold this conference, the surrounding world's taxes were completely drained, and two Imperial Titans were used as guards.

Looking at the lavish venue before him, Angron believed it was a shameless waste. If these supplies were replaced with ammunition, they could save many more soldiers.

Angron's ideas coincided with Mortarion's; one was a gladiator raised in Nukelia, the other a peasant nurtured by the barren lands of Barbarus, and both legions were quite frugal.

On the other hand, Forgrim, like a flamboyant peacock, roamed among the guests, freely spreading his irresistible charm.

Even Perturabo, who had been pulled over by the Phoenix, felt helpless and joined Angron and Mortarion, who were showing off their food and looking like ordinary people.

"Pepe, it seems even you can't stand our nagging brothers anymore."

Peturabo, who was enjoying a small cake, sighed and gossiped:

"Shut up, Xiao Mo. Eating won't shut you up. If you like, I'll introduce you to their little family."

"Forget it, I have my pride. Look at that third brother, he's even wearing lipstick, and it's purple!"
I suspect that Father made a mistake about our gender when he created us. Look at you, Fourth Sister, with your messy appearance and all those wires in your hair. You should really switch places with Forgrim.

"Fourth Sister, you should eat less. You're already short and fat; if you keep eating like this, you could become a dwarf chieftain."

Perturabo hated it when people said she was fat, especially when they said she was short. As a result, the Fourth Legion was the shortest of all the Space Marines on average, which earned the Iron Warriors the nickname "Short Iron Man".

"Shut up, Mortalian. Don't force me to slap you when I'm in a good mood. Go and call over the real commander of your Death Guard. You, a company commander, are not qualified to participate in this kind of meeting."

As a legion with just as many flaws, the Death Guard is good in every way, but they just coast along!

From the Primarch to the Legion's new recruits, they all exude a strong sense of complacency. They don't even like to take the initiative in battle, but instead choose to release poison gas to drag the enemy into an environment where they lose health rapidly, and then use their outrageously thick health bars to grind the opponent to death.

Even after reaching a certain level, Mortarian went to new heights, saying he wanted to focus his energy on military affairs, and then handed over all political affairs to his good brother Karas, who was about to die suddenly.

So much so that whenever I think of the Death Guard, my first impression is of the company commander who is pale all over, with dark circles under his eyes, and looks like he's about to die suddenly.

Seeing his two brothers still bickering, Anglong, who was engrossed in eating, couldn't help but feel a little contemptuous. What good is being good at fighting? In this world, it's all about power.

We World Devourers are not only brave in battle, but also adept at farming and management. Before long, the area around Vigilant Star will become another peaceful world. Maybe I will be the next War Commander!

"Don't you think so, angel?"

Saint Jerez remained silent, only relentlessly flaunting the fruit, but his cunning nature was still evident as he stirred things up, saying:

"Stop arguing, we're all brothers, it doesn't matter who's the war commander, right Zhuang Sen?"

"Yes, I don't care about the position of War General at all."

Upon hearing this, the entire venue was filled with a joyful atmosphere. Even Horus came over, took off his laurel wreath and placed it on Zhuang Sen's head, saying, "Big brother, you will always be my dear big brother. Next time, I will recommend you to be the war commander."

"really?"

Looking at Zhuang Sen's arrogant yet eager eyes, Horus nodded vigorously:

"Absolutely. I've been a war commander for 25 years. I didn't feel anything before, but now when I open my eyes, tens of thousands of mouths are staring at me expectantly. It's exhausting."

When 30 years have passed, I will nominate you as the next War Master. After that, if you feel tired, you can pass the baton to Feralus.

As for Angron, you get in line, I guarantee you'll get your turn. Wouldn't it be wonderful if every one of us brothers became a War General?

Regardless of their relationship, the Primarchs always stood alone. Although Horus wanted to enjoy the Emperor's favor exclusively, he looked down on mortals even more.

But what can you do when the emperor only loves mortals? This position of War General is the only seat that the legion can have, and it must remain in the legion's hands no matter what.

Just as the Warmaster's crown was circulating among the Primarchs, giving birth to Warmaster Leon, Warmaster Felus, Warmaster Angron, and even Warmaster Coz, a man exuding an aura of composure walked over.

This imposing man, clad in golden armor and sporting a white buzz cut, extinguished the lively atmosphere with just one sentence:
“Brothers, the War Commander position requires a vote in the council to be approved by Father. You can’t become War Commanders this way.”

While he was right, Dorn was clearly a mood killer, talking to himself about the standard procedure for the Warmaster election, instantly silencing the previously lively meeting room.

Dude, are you serious?

Dorn was clearly serious. Everyone was staring at this unyielding rock, listening to his blunt and scathing remarks.

But thankfully, one person saved the day. The door was kicked open from the outside, and an arrogant Mordred entered the venue with Guilliman and Luo Jia. As the saying goes, red and green are a perfect match, while blue and purple are an absolute disaster. Mordred wore a military green coat with a red vest, blue beach shorts, and purple plastic flip-flops, topped with a huge, fluffy afro.

The large, thick gold necklace around her neck, along with the antique watch that was casually revealed, exuded extreme luxury.

This image would be extremely abstract on anyone else, but on Mordred, the exceptionally high standard of modeling perfectly blends everything together.

Even Fogrem, who was at the forefront of the Empire's fashion, couldn't help but sigh inwardly, "His domineering aura is truly impressive! This is what a real man should be like!"

Upon the arrival of the last three Primarchs, Macardo, who had been dragged in to serve as scribe, immediately announced that the Nicaea Conference had officially begun.

As expected, the Emperor did indeed announce decrees restricting the use of psionic powers and curbing the emergence of all religious groups except Mechanicus.

Upon hearing this, everyone turned to look at the red giant.

"Why are you looking at me? Second brother, look at them! How dare they slander me! These muscles are the result of scientific training! This is discrimination!"

"That's right, that's right. If you're blind, go see a doctor. Look how angry Magnus is. I didn't see any psionic energy. I only saw hard work and sweat."

Although psionicists are an unstable bomb, if you want to sue Magnus, you must first admit that the muscle-bound barbarians in the Thousand Sons who are obsessed with protein powder are psionic wizards in the conventional sense.

Anyway, Magnus refused to admit it, saying that what we did was not psychic energy, but martial arts. He asked why the people of the Thousand Sons could unleash lightning with a single punch, and why there was thunder when it was windy and rainy. He then asked why the clouds were psychics.

Unlike before, when they were weak and isolated, the Second Empire, which was previously regarded as a joke, has shown its power for the first time. Even Mortarion, who vehemently despises psionicism, has begun to support Magnus.

The entire hall was ablaze with noise as Magnus stood in the center of the hall, engaging in a heated debate with the assembled scholars, leaving them speechless.

He even challenged a white-haired Terran councilor to a duel, saying he wanted him to personally experience whether his powerful muscles were psychic.

Heavens behold, that white-haired Congressman from Terra was so thin he looked like a stick; a gust of wind could easily send him sprawling and crippled.

Magnus, with his perfectly proportioned body, red and shiny, and glistening with oil, was 5 meters tall just standing there, a head taller than the Emperor.

It's supposed to be a one-on-one fight, but Congressman Terra is about to retire, and he still wants to have a peaceful end.

If it were a real duel, Magnus could crush him with a single finger; only a fool would accept the challenge.

As a result, under the Emperor's deliberate arrangement, Saint Jeres and Chahtai stepped forward and proposed that while restricting psionicists, the position of think tank could be established.

The Legion's psionicists, who had previously grown wildly, were formalized. Wild psionicists were also required to register, or they would be considered illegal psionicists.

The proposal passed unanimously, and the next item on the agenda was to curb religion.

Because Atlas and the Ultramarines had blocked news of Perfect City, the congressman did not target this issue, but still looked at Luo Jia.

Luo Jia, who had prepared in advance, also had something to say: "Don't slander me. I believe in the truth of the Empire. Do you dare to say that the truth of the Empire is wrong?"

Within the Empire, Imperial Truth is inherently politically correct. Since the Emperor has already decided to send the Word Bearers to handle logistics, he certainly won't hold onto it.

As for who the biggest victim of this issue is, it is undoubtedly Mechanicus.

The Empire has never been a monolithic entity. When it launched the Great Crusade, it was just an emperor of an ordinary technological warlord on Terra who promised countless benefits to many factions, and that has continued to this day.

The Great Crusade was not as bloody and cruel as later generations imagined. Unless you were an alien who harmed humanity, the Empire's first method was always negotiation.

As long as you believe in the truth of the Empire and are willing to contribute to the future of humanity, then you are a part of the Empire. This is how many demi-human races came to be.

The advantage of doing this is that the empire has perfectly formed a united front strategy, rapidly bringing any world with human existence into its territory. The disadvantage is that the empire is riddled with factions.

As one of the two-headed eagles, the oil tycoon is rich and powerful. Now that the spearhead is pointed at them, no one will pass up this opportunity to kick them while they're down. Everyone wants to take a big bite out of them.

Not to mention that it is also internally divided into factions, including the Emperor faction, the Warmaster faction, the Iron Hand faction, and even a two-faced faction that is loyal to Atlas.

The Olympia Agreement, which had been signed previously, was brought out, and looking at the numerous clauses that had been added to it, the fundamentalist tech enthusiasts could only grit their teeth and swallow their anger.

The entire conference lasted a full week, and the Emperor's objectives were clearly achieved: he regulated the psionicists, curbed any religious fervor, and even dealt a blow to the somewhat unruly Mechanicus.

According to the Emperor's plan, he could then step back from the limelight and fully implement the Internet Road Project.

Just as the meeting was about to end, a figure covered in burns stepped forward, and Hill, who had come with Guilliman, immediately felt uneasy.

"My name is Cyrene, the sole survivor of the City of Perfection."

A list suddenly appeared on the holographic projection, containing a total of 114514 entries, encompassing all of Atlas's heretical acts to date.

The first one is Atlas's stolen gene seed from another legion.

(End of this chapter)