Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 266 Eighty thousand? Eighty million!

Wolves are born to eat sheep.

Everything has its cause. Meat eaters will never care whether the pasture is lush or not; they only care about how to eat more cattle and sheep.

“Big Yellow, Baldy, we were wrong from the start. Those four good-for-nothings didn’t want a ruin or a thriving empire, but a half-dead piece of meat.”

The result is the most important thing; the process is meaningless.

The Emperor doesn't understand human nature but he understands chaos; Horus understands human nature but not chaos; but Mordred understands both. He knows all too well what a gambler will do when faced with an insurmountable odds.

Long ago, Mordred believed that if she took action, she could correct all the Primarchs.

After all, in his view, as long as the Primarch makes no mistakes, the legion that controls the military will not have any problems.

But the question is, is it really true that the Primarch is infallible? Or is it that everything I've done can truly defy the four Chaos Gods who reside in the heavens?
the answer is negative.

It doesn't matter who the traitor is. If Horus is gone, there's Guilliman. And even if Guilliman is universally disliked, there's Dorn.

Apart from Mordred, every single one of these people was simply being stuffed like cream puffs by the four hawkers; it was nothing more than the same old trick in a different guise.

No matter how much you carve on a radish, it's still a radish. It's crunchy when you eat it, but it's not a gem worth 230 million.

You play chess fairly and squarely with someone, and they suddenly grab the chessboard and smash your head in. Your opponent is dead. Who do you think wins? Since the opponent is already dead, it's meaningless to declare them the winner.

"unless……"

"Unless what?" The Emperor and Horus looked at Mordred, eager to know his plans.

"Unless we remove the chessboard first and skip the problem-solving mindset, what's the point of pondering here? In the end, it's all about fists."

Upon hearing this, Horus immediately turned to look at the Emperor, but the Emperor simply slumped into his chair, looking like an incompetent husband.
"No, do you think I don't want to? If I had that ability, I would have beaten them to their knees and begged for their fathers long ago. Do you have some misunderstanding about me?"

The Emperor is right. The current predicament is due to insufficient strength. If the Empire were to produce several ultimate martial gods with 99 rotating magnetic fields, the four peddlers would be the ones to be utterly humiliated.

He doesn't have that ability, okay? 99% of the Emperor's personal combat power is put into psionic energy. He can crush stars into small balls and play with them as batteries. He looks incredibly awesome, but it depends on who he's comparing himself to.

"Stop looking at this good-for-nothing, look at me!"

A spark called Madness shone in Mordred's eyes. Although he always called the yellow weasel a gambling addict, just as 80% of the Primarchs thought they were the strongest, while the remaining 20% ​​thought the other 80% were just idiots, he was also a gambling addict.

Perhaps it was the yellow weasel gene at work, Mordred's hands were waving rapidly as he began to recount his insane plan:
“We may not be able to blow their heads off, but even an old dog has two teeth. Since a major rebellion is unavoidable, let’s turn the tables and take the initiative.”

Anyone can rebel, which means anyone can rebel. Our goal is not to win, but to preserve our strength. If we settle for second best, we will have many more options.

To be honest, I have developed countermeasures for each legion. Don't underestimate Atlas just because we only have 80,000 men; 80,000 men have their own way of fighting.

In the warp, they reign supreme, but in the physical universe, I have plenty of tricks and methods. Even if half the legion rebels, my Atlas has ways to beat them to a pulp.

If they can go, so can I! I've had enough of these formalities. Instead of hiding here playing Werewolf, I might as well just go all out against them.

Although it was just a large-scale social experiment, you have no idea what kind of legacy my proud disciple left me.

A document Mordred had never revealed to anyone was produced, and Horus was shocked when he saw the horrifying figures:

"Second brother, have you been plotting to seize power all along?"
Eighty million! Are you sure you're not kidding me?

Mordred rubbed Horus's bald head and said, "You read that right, it's 8000 million. Second Brother's strength is just that great. This is my amazing wisdom."

Horus fell silent. He simply couldn't understand it. This completely shattered his worldview. After all, these were 8000 million Oglins with the military skills of mortal auxiliary troops, and they were equipped with full-body armor. Was this scientific?

Science my ass!
Admittedly, in terms of physical fitness, an adult male Oglin can smash a Space Marine's head off, and can even arm wrestle with the Imperial Guard in terms of strength, making them an excellent soldier.

That's an Oglin, a kind of big idiot that was discovered by the Empire a long time ago, but no one could train him to understand.

Being able to count from one to ten is already considered a great intelligence among these demi-humans. You're telling me that some of the Oglins here can even go to other worlds to incite rebellion and use bird divination instruments?

Are you sure this is Eugene?
But Horus soon realized something was wrong, because he discovered that there were 8000 dogmen among the 80 million Euro-sized Grimm's Legion.

No one knows how much equipment Atlas produced in less than two centuries, nor how many permanent warehouses they built within the Empire.

But Horus knew that Atlas's annual production alone could cover the costs of an entire expedition for all the other legions.

And that's Mordred's confidence!
Who says a support player who gets the highest economy in the game can't carry the whole game? Do you really think I've been a top player for 30 years for nothing?
Science and technology are the primary productive forces. I will use the abomination intelligence that you dare not use, and I will conduct the blasphemous experiments that you dare not play. Even the demon engine will have to admit defeat to Vashtor.

Unlike those who were naive and pondering whether canines were dogs, dogs were canines, and dogs could herd sheep, but whether the sheep were Horus of Euglin, the Emperor, though shocked after reading the information, still shook his head:
"not enough!"

"What about this? If I add this to the equation, can I reverse the future?"

Another document was slammed onto the table, detailing everything about the Burning Legion. Its breadth of coverage was such that it was a contribution that Vashtor had made to the best of his ability.

Thirteen demon worlds transformed into battle planets, 130 battle moons comparable to the moon, loyal and reliable demon engines, and countless legions of demons.

Add to that the hundreds of millions of legion spies scattered throughout the realms of the Four Gods, and the Emperor and his son Horus felt their scalps tingle.

Horus thought that this secret must never be revealed, or who knows who will die. He realized that he had indeed been a bit presumptuous before. Compared to what Mordred had done, the previous 114514 accusations were nothing. His father was too kind.

The Emperor, however, was wondering how Mordred had managed to amass such a fortune.
Didn't we agree that Atlas would give me 80% of its resources to build the network? Didn't we agree that father and son would work together and embark on a lifetime of great expeditions? You haven't told the truth from beginning to end.

Who exactly provided him with this assistance? It's really hard to guess!

However, Mordred was still outputting when another internal document was slammed onto the table. The four large characters on the white paper alone made Horus's vision go black.

"Iron Man Corps".

(End of this chapter)