Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 262 Family Gathering, The Last Supper.

"Thirteenth Brother, you know me well. We're best friends. I even went to your house to play video games before."

"So you picked the one you're closest to as your target, right? Nineteenth brother, you're usually so shy and reserved, but I never expected you to be just like everyone else, talking badly about me behind my back."

Guilliman looked displeased because the room was packed with people, from the seemingly foolish Johnson to the honest Corax, and even the traitorous Coz. Every single one of them said he was ambitious.

"Dude, are you guys crazy? There are 21 of us brothers and sisters, why are you picking on me? You're targeting someone else."

Where am I being ambitious? In every war, we Ultra Warriors contribute the most, and the world of Ultramar 500 is a major taxpayer for the Empire.

I'm just running my own pocket empire, keeping a few reserve conscripts, and not getting involved in the mess that the empire is in.

The Terran Council speaks of me, the Space Marines speak of me, and now even you say I'm ambitious—it's outrageous!

Koraks thought to himself, "What can I do? I can't exactly say I hesitated back then, can I? If I did, this wouldn't be something that two boxes of milk could solve."

Glancing at the archangel who was showing off his fruit, and with their eyes meeting, Corax was certain that Saint Geres's excuse was also Guilliman.

"I was just joking!"

Kolax, who was pouring out his grievances, quickly steadied Guilliman, who was still being honest and not as thick-skinned as the others. He hurriedly changed the subject and asked in a low voice:
"Hey bro, who were you talking about when you came here?"

"I... I definitely can't say it's about myself. Don't ask, don't ask."

"it's me!"

A head with slightly thinning hair squeezed out of the crowd, holding a plate of freshly baked muffins. It was none other than our great commander, who was facing a hair loss crisis.

He used to be arrogant and determined to get the position of war commander, but after 30 years as war commander, he now just wants to get rid of this damn position.

Since becoming a Warmaster, Horus has been incredibly tired, working at least 18 hours a day. That might not sound like much, considering he's a Primarch, but the problem is that he has to handle government affairs during those 18 hours.

Even with the assistance of the Divine Seal Network, Horus still had to process at least two tons of government documents every day. The Worldbreaker Warhammer that had accompanied him on the battlefield and brought him endless glory was now covered in dust.

Along with his hair, which was also disappearing, Horus was forced to use hair growth products frantically to maintain it, but the hair was falling out even faster.

The more I longed for it before, the more I hate it now. The other brothers are having a blast, while I'm locked in Holy Terra as a government servant.

It's like opening your eyes to find millions of mouths waiting for you, shouting "General, General, give me some food!"

Several more Imperial Navy ships have crashed, aliens have invaded Imperial territory, some worlds have suddenly revolted and need to be suppressed, and the Ministry of Government's tax revenue has been collected for 1 years...

Even if the toilet in the palace got clogged, the imperial guards would come and report it to him.

Horus was so angry he wanted to kill someone, but he had to hold back. Sometimes he wondered, "Who am I? Where am I? What is the meaning of my life?"

Horus couldn't understand these three philosophical questions about life, but he knew that if Atlas quit, he would be driven crazy in less than six months.

Other Primarchs share the same idea; even though Second Brother used their gene seed, he still paid the usage fee!
As the saying goes, it is easy to go from frugality to extravagance, but difficult to go from extravagance to frugality. With Atlas as the logistical support, even during wartime, one can still enjoy a cup of hot tea.

Weapons and ammunition are plentiful, and even quality assurance services are provided. There are no middlemen taking a cut, and war spoils can be recovered on the spot.

Previously, the expedition was so poor they were practically begging for supplies, and they had to wait for those useless military departments to provide them. Now, with direct heavy firepower coverage, even O'Glenn knows which option to choose.

"Brother, please forgive us this time. We just made some small mistakes that everyone makes."

"Yes, yes, there's only one sun in my heart, and that's you, Second Brother. If you're still not satisfied, then we'll..."

"Just what?"

After surveying the area, Luo Jia, under Guilliman's glare that said "If you dare say anything to me, I'll kill you," resolutely chose Vulcan, who was eating a muffin.

"Let's give Vulcan a beating. After all, what respectable person keeps a diary?" "Exactly, exactly."

Seeing everyone in chaos, Mordred didn't say much. In fact, he had figured it out that there was nothing perfect in this world that happened that night on the grassland.

He cannot demand that everyone meet his own standards. If all Primarchs were as intelligent, studious, open-minded, and well-rounded as him, with all-around development in morality, intelligence, physical fitness, aesthetics, and labor, what would be the point?

Koz is paranoid, Guilliman is impulsive, Ruth is cunning, Johnson is arrogant, Perturabo is stubborn, Vulcan is indecisive, Feralas is clueless, and Mortarian is unhappy...

Everyone has their own shortcomings, but just as everyone has their own strengths. After all, even dogs have different coat patterns; people change.

They've all come over to smooth things over, so what can I do? Of course, I'll choose to forgive them. I can't keep holding a grudge, can I?
Thinking of this, Mordred subconsciously glanced at the man. Their eyes met, and Mordred shamefully shrank back, quickly banging her fist on the table before Dorn could speak.
"Stop arguing, I'm not some fragile little kid. Although your reactions that day really upset me, what's done is done. After all, you gave me two boxes of milk."

I'm only doing this because of these two boxes of milk. Otherwise, I wouldn't even let you in the door, let alone invite you in for dinner.

Put Vulcan down quickly, lest he damage my mahogany furniture.

Since things have come to this, let's eat first.

Following Mordred's footsteps, a huge dining table comes into view, with specially customized tall chairs that allow each Primarch to sit comfortably.

Seeing that Mordred wasn't pursuing the matter too much, the Primarchs relaxed and enjoyed the pre-dinner dessert prepared by the canine chef.

Taking this opportunity, Mordred, while eating and chatting, also explained to everyone why he needed the Primal Blood Stack:
"Don't look at me like that. I was forced into this situation. If Atlas's gene seed had even a 1/10th of yours in terms of compatibility, I wouldn't have had to choose this option."

This is just like Zhuang Sen's robed little man, the bloodthirst of the angels, Fenris has no wolves, the perfect city does not exist, Angron's dreadlocks, Guilliman's hidden 25..."

"No, no, stop talking. Second brother, we believe you, okay? I believe you absolutely did not steal our legion's gene seed. You created it yourself."

Looking at Guilliman, who was making a firm declaration of his determination, Mordred wanted to say that he had indeed not stolen any seeds from other legions, but only from the Ultramarines. However, given the atmosphere, he absolutely could not admit it.

"That's right, Guilliman, you really are very understanding."

I can assure you that as long as the Blood Stacks remain in my hands, all our legions will have insurance, and even if a legion is destroyed, it can rise again.

After all, I, your second brother, have been an old military doctor of the empire for so many years, so I still have some medical ethics.

Even if you're blown to pieces, as long as there's a sliver of debris left, your second brother can sew you back together.

"Haha, brother, you're really joking. The Great Expedition is going strong, and we'll achieve total victory soon. Who can kill us then?"

For a moment, the entire banquet was filled with a joyful atmosphere, except for Mordred, Dorn, Magnus, and Horus, whose eyes were darting around as they secretly observed their other brothers.

who can that be?

Mordred didn't know, but he knew he had done his best, and even if a major rebellion was truly unavoidable, he was confident he could suppress it all.

He couldn't understand the gibberish; only strength was the key to victory, and no one could let what lay before him slip away.

Just as the atmosphere was getting lively and Mordred was planning to take his buddies to experience Atlas's unique Hotel Elvenhouse after the dinner, the doorbell rang again.

Everyone stopped talking and looked at the still empty seat. Finally, Mordred stood up:
"Wait a moment, I'll get you some oranges."

On the other side, looking at the sign in front of the castle gate that said "No Weasels or Aliens Allowed," the Emperor really wanted to smash the strange pink castle to pieces, but in the end he held back.

He then took out an onion, broke it into pieces, and smeared it fiercely on his eye sockets, even slapping himself twice.

"Don't worry, my friend, I know everything. Now, just watch my amazing performance!"

(End of this chapter)