Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 257 Another Father (Two Chapters Combined)

"Dad, you're not dead?"

Old Thomas remained silent, thinking to himself that this domineering kid hadn't changed at all; he'd grown up without being beaten to death, so it was no wonder he was so strong.

"You're dead, but not completely dead. That's why some coward dragged you out of the dead and sent me to check on you."

Hearing this, Mordred felt a mix of sadness and relief. She was saddened because her adoptive father was indeed dead, since she had dug the grave herself when he was buried.

Fortunately, my childhood wasn't a fantasy; old Thomas wasn't that dog-headed man on the brass throne. If he were, it would be hilarious.

What do you mean by "enemies and allies share the same origin"? This isn't some dark Kamen Rider story, so don't pull this stunt.

"Then, Dad, are you a god?"

"..."

His fist suddenly hardened, but after much hesitation, the not-so-gentle old Thomas finally loosened his grip and replied:
"I am not a goddess!"

"But don't be too happy yet. You probably understand now that the dog-people are inseparable from that guy. Although we have long lifespans and can live for 10,000 or 20,000 years, once we die, we're dead."

Everything has a price, and I've lived for countless years, always by the side of the dog-people. Guess how many of the last few years before I died were I lucid?

Mordred seemed to understand, but it was unlikely that he truly understood, so he eventually plopped down on the grass and gave up trying to think about it.

In fact, Mordred had long suspected that it was completely illogical for Old Thomas, a dog-man who was about to die of old age, to be able to use strength comparable to that of Old Huang to pin him to the ground and beat him up.

There is no love without a reason. If we put aside the faction, the kobolds could be said to have treated him very well. It's just that fate did not set a price in the future, but in the past.

Seeing his adopted son's low spirits, and looking at this giant who was once so small but can now stand as tall as him even when he squats down, Thomas couldn't help but feel a little sad, but even more proud.

What's the outside world like?

"It's not good. It's not as peaceful as our grasslands. Or rather, it's just a cesspool."

"I remember your biggest wish when you were a child was to go out and see the world. You would even seriously explain to other dog people that our world is a sphere, but behind your back you would steal Rambo's food."

You've been a clever and lovable child since you were little; even those stupid and dull-witted Oglins are willing to obey your commands.

Do you still remember what you said that day when you recruited all the clans and became the chieftain of all the clans by winning 88 battles in Mak'gora?

As Thomas inquired, the surrounding environment gradually changed. Under the illumination of the two moon mothers, the dog-man clan, separated for countless millennia, gathered together to celebrate the birth of their only great chieftain.

Rare and precious fruit wine was brought out in barrels, and everyone received a share of the fragrant roast chicken. The celebratory atmosphere was infectious, and children sang dog songs that had been passed down since ancient times.
"That land of lush pastures is our homeland."

The azure grassland carries the hopes of every dog ​​owner.

Under the starry sky, the flags fly high; wherever you look, our empire will prosper forever.

The emperors of the past were blinded by bloodshed, but the hymns of courage still resonate.

Our indomitable rage burns fiercely, and even the gods cannot defeat us.

Come back, come back, the grasslands cherish every wolf cub, where there is sweet fruit wine and tender lamb.

Even with our claws and teeth worn down, the grasslands will always be our home.

The lullaby hummed by the toddler reminded Mordred of that night when he was at the height of his glory, speaking of his dreams by the blazing campfire and promising to lead every dogman to a bright future.

"Did you do it, my child?"

Mordred can deceive anyone, but she cannot deceive herself. Once a dog-man living in a remote corner of the galaxy, she followed in Atlas's footsteps and traversed the entire galaxy.

No longer do they have to struggle to survive. Every dog ​​owner is now on government pay. People have accepted these seemingly large but very easy-going dogs.

Even the unified currency of the Tranquil 50 World was a dog-man head adorned with fine gold.

When one person attains enlightenment, even their chickens and dogs ascend to heaven. Nepotism is not a flaw; the core members of almost every legion are those who initially followed the Primarch.

Without any deceit or power struggles, the optimistic and simple-minded dog-man and the dull and simple-minded Oglin immediately integrated into the Atlas group.

Without a doubt, Mordred fulfilled his promise, leading the canine race toward a bright future, and he didn't even forget those dim-witted Oglins.

But looking at Thomas's old face, with its white hair and beard, Mordred hesitated.

"I can do better."

"No, you've done enough. Do you remember Gotha?"

Mordred was astonished, thinking, "How did you know this? Don't tell me you're Gotha, living from 6500 million years ago to the present."

As the saying goes, no one knows a son better than his father. Knowing that this unlucky kid was overthinking things again, Thomas slapped him across the face without any hesitation.

"Even the skeletons that the fear of death turned into might not have lived for 6500 million years, so how could Gotha have survived until now?"

"Huh? Father, you even know about the Fear of Death, what else are you hiding from me?"

"Guess?" Old Thomas grinned, revealing his teeth. With his white hair and beard, he looked just like a dog-headed old sage.

Perhaps it was the mention of a name that cannot be spoken, and some being began to exert its power, a crimson light permeating the dream, trying to force its way in.

This action enraged old Thomas, who, with crimson flames flickering around him and accompanied by wolf howls, slapped at the scarlet light.
"Where did this dog come from? Get lost!"
I am also his father. If you still have any sentimentality, then you should at least show some respect, Your Majesty! This is what you owe all of us dogs. Do you intend to do the same thing as the weasel?

In such a setting, being called a weasel is incredibly insulting; even a dog-headed man wouldn't want that.

The crimson light vanished without a trace, and Mordred felt a sense of unreality looking at the old Thomas who appeared to be a hermit.

Where did I leave off?

"You said the weasel is an idiot."

Thomas nodded, indicating that his biological father was indeed an idiot. He was not confused when he should have been, and he made mistakes when he shouldn't have. Between being a human and a god, he chose to be a god-human, which is beyond the scope of carbon-based life.

Mordred nodded vigorously, indicating that this was exactly the case; Old Huang was like a terrible teammate, and anyone who teamed up with him was doomed.

I've been working so hard, even though I'm the second oldest, I'm acting like both father and mother to myself, afraid that some genetic prototype might have a problem.

Angron is sick, I'll treat him; Coz is in a bad mental state, I'll find him a stepmother; the brat still has unfinished business, I'll personally teach him how to shoot his adoptive father...

Every single one of you, if you have no money, we'll give you money; if you have no food, we'll give you food. Our home planet is poor and remote, so it's full of unruly people. Second Brother sent people to rebuild for you from scratch. Even when he was the War Commander, he didn't forget you. He made sure every legion was well-fed.

"Dad, do you think I wanted to be both father and mother? I was forced into this situation. If that weasel had been more capable, I wouldn't be in this state."

You wouldn't believe it, but Atlas may seem wealthy, but aside from normal consumption, 80% of his resources are supplied to those yellow-skinned creatures.

Now look what's happened! My brothers are all looking at me strangely. When I needed him the most, that idiot weasel just turned around and ran away! He actually ran away!

Looking at Mordred pouring out his grievances, Thomas knew that his son had no one to confide in. Suppressed for so long, he had lost all the joy he had felt on the grasslands.

"So what are your plans next?"
Or to put it more bluntly, will you still remain loyal to this empire that you dislike?

Upon hearing this, Mordred stopped talking and sat there blankly, like a lost person who couldn't find a future.

Although they didn't care, the four vendors' move did create a crack in what should have been an impregnable fortress.

The emperor can use offspring, brotherhood, responsibility, and everything else to create bonds that make Mordred and even Atlas part of the empire, becoming the lifeblood that supplies the Great Crusade.

Ultimately, Mordred remains a wanderer, and if he's unwilling, loyalty is nothing but a joke. Although raised by the Dogmen, Mordred isn't a sycophant; one-sided devotion without reward would make even Rumble scoff.

The four gods were extremely fond of this precious treasure, which they could not obtain even with great effort. In their view, it was simply a matter of the emperor's good luck.

If Kou can go, so can I! Since you weasel don't know how to cherish things, then don't blame the brothers for sabotaging us.

They are watching, watching the rift grow wider and wider until the covenant is completely broken, at which point everything will fall into place.

And also watching from this side was the desiccated corpse that had sat alone on the golden throne for ten thousand years.

Seeing his father talking to himself again, even though Guilliman claimed that he was not having an episode and had just found a long-lost brother, Calgar saw it as a sign of his father having a split personality.

After all, according to his father, his brother was a super big dog with jet-black fur, smooth skin, and eyes that sparkled with extraordinary intelligence. Moreover, he could stand on his own two legs and speak human language.

What else could it be? It must be the Wolf King Lemanrus!
Perhaps it's a hybrid of the Fire Dragon Lord, a vision created by the father after he had been asleep for ten thousand years, helplessly witnessing this cesspool empire.

Whenever he thought of this, Calga's two hearts would ache.

Especially when she discovered that her father would wake up in the middle of the night, his eyes gleaming like a different person, and he would run to the statue of the emperor to steal offerings.

That cautious, timid look, as if afraid of being discovered, while frantically gnawing on the roast chicken, must have been incredibly painful!

If that were all, it wouldn't have been so bad, but as time went on, Guilliman's condition worsened.

After a routine report, Karga had just left the room when he heard his father muttering to himself, cursing everyone from the High Lords Council to the Legion's new recruits.

"Damn it, how did the empire become like this?"

"I clearly wrote that the data is for reference only. I said it was for reference only, but you fucking wouldn't listen."

Weakening the legion's power is not an option; you can't afford to weaken yourselves to the point of being reduced to dogs!

Calga knew that this must be a sign that her father was under too much pressure. Whenever she saw her father's increasingly thinning hair, Calga was filled with intense self-blame and couldn't sleep at night.

So much so that he had to seek psychological comfort by going to his cousin Black Sanctuary and borrowing their Pain Gloves, and then Calga discovered that these electrocution suits were indeed not for human use.

However, Father was in a good mood today, unlike when he last met the Emperor. Instead, he directed the Imperial Guards to install the ancient device called the Speaker on the Golden Throne.

According to the Wolf King in his father's imagination, this talking device could make the God Emperor speak. Karga believed that as long as His Majesty the God Emperor spoke, his father's mood would definitely improve.

Very quickly! With a snap, the speaker was installed on the golden throne, and everyone came before the throne, intending to listen to the divine emperor's holy voice.

With a crackling electrical noise, the speaker successfully activated: "Technology changes lives. No money to play games? Choose technology, choose Atlas! We are your wallet's forever loyal partner. Hey ha!"

For some reason, after hearing that "Hey-ha," Calga's right hand trembled uncontrollably, wanting to rise high, but he eventually forced it down.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-"

Damn it, I can finally speak! It's been 1 years! You bunch of exhibitionists who love applying essential oils, couldn't you have given me a talking device?
Don't push. I am the emperor now. What do you mean you are too?

Bah! I am the emperor! How dare these whining bastards call themselves emperor? Someone come and scratch my nose, it's so itchy right now.

What's that thing? It's yellowish and kind of cute. Come here and scratch my nose.

With a flash of golden light, a centurion of Imperial Fist, who had somehow appeared beside the throne, was dragged to the Emperor's side and began scratching the Emperor's nose with his power gauntlets, whose head was now just a skull.

Before the crowd could even cheer, Guilliman, sword in hand, strode forward:
“Father, it’s time to tell the truth. Second brother, what exactly happened to him?”

"Mordred? My second son, no, number 13, ambitious, traitor, you promised to team up with me for the Great Expedition for life, don't leave me!"

Looking at the Emperor who was rambling incoherently, flashing golden light one moment and black light the next, and occasionally drizzling, Guilliman was helpless. Only the centurion was still scratching the Emperor's nose.

Those sunken eye sockets were empty, as if countless consciousnesses wanted to break free of their shackles, transcend time, and watch over a descendant who was lost in confusion.

"Haven't you decided yet?"

Looking at Mordred, who was still hesitating, just as he had driven away the crimson flames, a black flame that had appeared out of nowhere was casually crushed by old Thomas.

Whether it's the courage to indulge in killing, or the destruction to end everything; whether it's stagnant life, or the chaos of unbridled change, or that insignificant desire.

Thomas would not allow anyone to influence his children, his master, their creator, or even themselves.

A meeting that transcends time and space unfolds. Gazing at the pitch-black sun that exudes a sense of destruction, the once mighty werewolf empire, though destroyed, still resonates in the sea of ​​souls.

His hunched figure gradually straightened, and the wildness he had abandoned for survival returned, his scarlet cloak bearing wolf claw marks fluttering behind him.

Not at the same time, nor in the same place, Old Thomas's figure appeared not only under the pitch-black sun, but also in the Four Gods Demon Realm.

"So what if they're gods? Even an old dog has a few teeth."

The countless, unstoppable skeletons of werewolves, blotting out the sky, emerged from the void, causing the Milky Way to burn fiercely and the stars to tremble.

"War spirits in the endless abyss, I grant you the right to burn once more, to be enemies in all that you see, and to slaughter the stars."

"Evil God, let you witness our unyielding wolf claw battle flag!"

Crimson lights shone from the withered bones, and in the eyes of the dead, it was as if they had returned to their own era: traitors, star gods, undead, ancient saints, spirits, orks...

It's back, everything is back.

Your Majesty, let's charge one more time!

He gazed at the scarlet hound standing atop the dead, its head adorned with a navel orange, its fur dyed a strange pink, wielding a ridiculous spear, and even riding a bizarre mount as it charged toward him in a desperate attack.

That Dark Lord, who should never have appeared, perhaps also remembered his former self.

But my spear has long been dulled by the heavy rain, and even my warhorse has rusted. Oh, the great windmill of the empire, can you still recall the dream of that great expedition?

The boy who slayed the dragon has become the dragon. Both are fathers, but the ghost of Thomas is wielding a spear, and the dog-headed Khorne is feigning death. So who am I?

"I remember now, I am not the Lord of Destruction, I am the Emperor, I am the coolest and most powerful man in the entire galaxy."

"I'm not a god!"

"Will you win?"

"Win my ass!"

Thomas has failed. If the once invincible werewolf empire were to reappear, they might be able to accomplish the god-slaying feat once again. But now they are just a bunch of souls unwilling to accept the empire's demise.

But the spear, imbued with courage, pierced through the stars, and a golden flame reignited from the black sun. Following the souls slain by demons, a torrent of cursed legions surged forth.

What the future holds, only God knows!
But now, looking at Mordred who was still confused, old Thomas patted him on the shoulder and said:

"Since you're still hesitating, why not go home and take a look? Go back home. Whatever choice you make, don't forget the direction of home."

"Father, I..."

Mordred wanted to grasp that figure, but dreams eventually end. When she opened her eyes, the hunched figure was no longer there, but this time Mordred did not feel lonely.

A warm and comfortable red scarf, though patched up, appeared in his hands, its brass-woven wolf paw prints gleaming.

Just like yesterday.

(End of this chapter)