Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 261 This matter can't be resolved without two boxes of milk.
If you remove the emperor's irresistible charm, those who know him will be happy on the first day, suffer on the second day, and on the third day they will want to find a way to shoot this bastard.

Mordred had always been curious about how the Emperor had developed his current dog-like personality.
However, since there are no comparable cases, it's impossible to find an immortal being, so Mordred has never been able to find the exact reason.

However, upon closer examination, one can roughly deduce the reason.

As we all know, when a skill has no cooldown, no mana cost, and a very powerful effect, it is undoubtedly a wheelchair skill.

For example, the Thunder Palm, which has the ability to preemptively strike, physically lock onto targets, provide directional control, and even allow for displacement, is simply too insidious and domineering.

The Emperor possesses such wheelchair skills. Once his "brainless aura" is activated, he exudes the same domineering aura as the legendary overlords of old, attracting his followers to his side. They immediately kneel and shout, "Long live the Emperor!"

Coupled with his powerful spiritual energy and the lack of education since childhood, it's no wonder his brain atrophied and he became a worthless person.

However, this brain-dead aura works on others, but has no effect on the Dark Gold Plus God Emperor, who is also an Emperor:

"Young people shouldn't be too arrogant."

"If young people aren't spirited, what kind of young people are they?"

The God Emperor could not refute it, so he just kept increasing his hand speed, and the poor scepter was completely turned into the shape of a weasel.

"It can still be used after washing, I hope Macado won't mind."

"I mind! What good are you besides tormenting me? Can't you give me some information?"

"Then ask me! How the hell am I supposed to answer if you don't ask me?"

Looking at his future self, the emperor had nowhere to vent his anger. This unfortunate thing not only had a bad personality, but also a foul mouth. Eight out of ten sentences he uttered contained profanities. How did I become like this in the future?
However, the matter of face was of little importance to the emperor, so he immediately inquired:
"Who exactly is rebelling? How did our plan fail?"

Knowing he would ask that, the god-emperor, who was now in Macado's body, rummaged through the cupboard and found not his favorite wine, but a box of cigarettes with a grinning dog's head printed on it.

The emerald green specks emanating from it, which smelled of oranges, made the God Emperor quite regretful, and he couldn't help but sing a ballad.

"You came from the palace—wearing golden armor—and want to eat Terra cuisine."

Gently swaying—the emperor's brilliance—turns into tears, crying and laughing as I wake up.

Returning from the Great Expedition ~ My lifelong love is frozen in ice ~
How many people have forgotten the helplessness of losing a child?
Ulanuo was appointed commander-in-chief—what if he never returns?—sitting alone for ten thousand years, all for the future…

The Emperor couldn't understand the God Emperor's feelings, and even thought he was a bit brain-dead, but even so, he understood:

"You mean Horus? That's impossible! My Centaur would never betray me."

"Why not? If they want to, the Primarchs can't withstand corruption at all. Horus might rebel, Dorne might rebel, and even that ambitious Guilliman might rebel."

Especially Guilliman, even if it were Ruth who was left, that would have been better.

The silver-haired boy took out a cigarette, and as a plume of smoke, enough to kill any mortal, rose up, he vigorously rubbed the Emperor Dog's head:
"Even you might betray us. You don't think you can get away with not paying your debts, do you? You can fool others, but don't fool yourself."

The Emperor understood what he meant. The birth of the Primarch was inextricably linked to the Warp, and even those fragments of lesser gods were captured by the Four Gods themselves.

As the strongest psionicist of his time, the Emperor had also seen fragments of the future and knew that half of the Primarchs would rebel.

The emperor admitted to being greedy, but he didn't believe he would lose.

The period of stability in the warp is so short. Without the assistance of the Primarchs, the Empire will never recover. At best, it will become the next Randan Empire and be played with like a dog.

Seeing that the unfortunate fellow had indeed taken it to heart, the silver-haired boy flicked his cigarette ash and changed the subject, saying:
"Only sacrifice can bring victory. You were too greedy, wanting everything, but in the end you gained nothing. The process is not important, the result is what matters."

They won't let us off easy. Those few good-for-nothings want a half-dead empire and are even afraid that I will rise up.

A great rebellion is inevitable, and the Internet Way Project is bound to fail. From the moment you borrowed power from the future, the future has been locked in.

Sounds hopeless, doesn't it? But don't worry, it's all part of our plan!

If it weren't for the unmistakable aura emanating from Macardo, the Emperor would have thought it was a trick by Tzeentch. But a mere playboy doesn't count; wouldn't it be idiotic not to take advantage of a situation? He immediately shamelessly inquired with a fawning expression:
"Then our plan..."

"you guess?"

This was the first time the Emperor had ever hated the Riddler so much. Even though he was also a Riddler, the God Emperor had something to say. He had no idea what the so-called plan was; he had only come here to beat someone up.

"Don't think I'm playing you; I genuinely didn't know. I can't possibly lie to myself, can I?"

"It's hard to say. Since you're of no use at all, then get out of my way. I've put up with you for a long time. Don't sit on my sofa."

He shoved the silver-haired boy aside, and with a puff of smoke rising, the Emperor completely collapsed onto the sofa, no longer the pathetic figure he had been before, polluting the cabin air.

Seeing that this guy was pretending again, the God Emperor didn't say anything, but just sat on the sofa and enjoyed this rare moment of rest.

Everything before him filled him with nostalgia. Macardo had not turned to ashes, Waldo had not left, and the Imperial Guard remained as before.

Everything was so beautiful, as beautiful as a dream, but I didn't belong here after all.

As the fireworks faded and they felt the dwindling strength within them, they spoke to themselves:
"Time is like a little girl who can be dressed up as one pleases; it does not go from beginning to end as people would like."

First draw the target, then shoot the arrow. The future is that target, and you are the arrows yet to be released, as if an invisible hand is manipulating everything. But now a variable has appeared: Mordred. Don't look at me like that. I genuinely don't know what this so-called plan is; after all, I can't know what hasn't happened yet.

All I know is that if you don't go to Ningjing, you'll definitely regret it in the future.

It sounds a bit convoluted, but the Emperor did understand: time isn't linear, but rather like a flattened tiramisu.

We are intertwined, the future will reflect the present, and the present will change the future.

The idea that your future self doesn't know what's happening now sounds strange, but it makes perfect sense; it's very much like the subspace.

Even the Emperor began to suspect that perhaps future factors were at play in the so-called Great Rebellion, such as a group of unlucky people getting lost in the warp and accidentally blowing up a Legion's homeworld.

If such a thing were to actually happen, the Emperor believed that those unfortunate souls would frantically try to cover up this little secret, and might even turn into a group of particularly easily stressed Hakimi.

But the Emperor also believed that such a thing would never happen to any legion of the Empire, after all, how could something so stupid happen?
Perhaps sensing his future self's impending departure, the Emperor hurriedly grasped Macado's hand, hoping his good brother would pull him out of trouble and reveal some useful information.

If this happened to Mordred, who is always looking for stability, she would have kicked him right away. After all, it's time travel, and it would be terrible if something went wrong.

The problem is that no matter the era, whether he's a Roman she-wolf, a sorcerer, a dark-skinned hottie, or a blond hunk, they all have one thing in common: they're all gambling addicts.

No gambler loses every day and has to win the next round!

"Of course, listen carefully, you must keep an eye on that rebellious son of Makado, no, I mean that rebellious son of Magnus."

Everyone else can have problems, but Oglin, the one with the sunburn in one eye, is the only one you need to keep a close eye on.

The damage to the Empire was less severe than that of one Magnus, even though Magnus's destructive power was insufficient to destroy the human network; the majority of the damage was caused by the four shady dealers who were behind the scenes.

But who can blame him for being the one who ignited the fire?

The cost of this one phone call is equivalent to the entire empire's eternal lifespan. We must be extremely vigilant and absolutely cannot let this fool be fooled again.

Although he couldn't understand how that unfortunate kid, whose brain had been completely conditioned by muscle, could blow up the network, he also felt that the person he was talking about was not quite the same as Magnus.

But when the words "red," "one-eyed," and "sunburnt Oglin" were put together, the Emperor couldn't help but nod. He really thought that Magnus was an unreliable bastard.

While there was still time, after some deliberation, the Emperor revealed the name of another person—Petulabo.

"Pepe?"

"That's right, this unlucky kid is too stubborn. If I had known this would happen, I should have taught him a lesson, giving him a small beating every three days and a big beating every two days."

I guess you don't have time right now, but that's okay, just keep praising him! No matter what he does, always start by praising him, and especially remember to say thank you!

Without giving the Emperor a chance to interrupt, the God-Emperor, a second-generation powerhouse, continued:

“I do regret it now. If I had another chance, I would definitely treat them well and remember to bring Perturabo back to Holy Terra so that he and Dorne can build the final wall together.”

As long as the Iron Warriors don't cause any problems, the so-called rebels are nothing but a bunch of worthless bastards, and they're no big deal at all.

And Forgrim, when you see him, give him a good beating. He's neither male nor female, and even in rebellion, I've never seen such a disgusting creature.

Find someone you consider most reliable to keep an eye on him, or simply have him hand over military command to Feralas; that's the safest approach.

As he was about to dissipate and Makado was about to awaken, the God-Emperor revealed:
"Oh, right, don't forget Luo Jia. That brat holds grudges. Did Perfect City burn down or not? Tell me now!"

"Burn it, burn it. I just burned it a few days ago," the emperor replied.

“Then I’ll teach you a way. Call him over, and without saying a word, go up to him and hug him. Then you cry and say, ‘Father was wrong. You are my proudest child.’”

"Huh? Are you sure?"

Even though it was just a fleeting thought, the God-Emperor still manipulated Makado's little face to twist its mouth:
"Believe me, you will definitely not regret this decision. After all, I have tolerated those ignorant and foolish state religions for a long time."

Enough talk, just unleash your amazing wisdom. If you succeed, the future will be rewritten, and my children will return.

My Sagittarius, Father misses you so much!

"Wait a minute, don't go! Aren't Luo Jia and Peturabo my daughters? Is your information really reliable?"

The emperor's questions remained unanswered, but at the same time, far away in the tranquil pink castle, a tall figure knocked on the doorbell.

Looking at Corax, who was now adapting to local customs and carrying two cartons of milk, before Mordred could speak, the Raven King spoke first:
"Second brother, you know me. I'm definitely on your side. At the time, I was observing and trying to find out which traitor dared to betray our Second Empire."

Guess what? It was that ambitious guy, Guilliman!

Second brother, you'll understand, right?

Glancing at the pile of milk already filling the corner, and then at Corax's incredibly sincere eyes, Mordred patted him on the shoulder and said to those behind him:

“Guilliman, come here quickly, another one is saying you’re ambitious.”

(End of this chapter)