Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 320 Yes, I am Leon El Johnson!

As the saying goes, you should love what you do.

Back when Ningjing was playing the Great Plains Brawl, Mordred was able to overpower the others and have the other dog-man clans recognize him as their chieftain not only because of his stats, but also because of his technological advantage.

As Dahl Corporation's planetary amusement park and later the ancient battlefield of the Iron Man rebellion, the Tranquil World is filled with all sorts of bizarre and wonderful junk.

Although it's called trash, it depends on the person. To the once invincible Federation of Humanity, it's trash, but to Mordred, who is so poor they're practically grinning from ear to ear and is in the early stages of starting a business, this trash is a treasure.

Back when Mordred was still a pure and innocent 3k human, her main work area was in the Slavic region, and she would inevitably encounter some small items like relics along the way.

According to a certain customary rule, if there is any taboo surrounding this, one can call on hyenas who specialize in this business to transport the relics back to find the person, and the proceeds will be split 30/70.

Of course, you only get 30% of the 30/70 split, and you shouldn't complain about that. After all, there are rules in every industry, and if you encounter a dishonest person, you might not even get 10%.

It was through this experience that Mordred firmly believed that there is no such thing as pure trash in the world, and that even a piece of toilet paper has its value.

It was precisely based on this philosophy that, after returning to the Empire, Mordred, leveraging Atlas's freight capabilities, directly contracted nearly 80% of the scrap metal recycling business during the Great Crusade, laying a solid foundation for the Legion's development.

Therefore, Mordred, who has already developed a path dependency, will naturally choose the glorious path of scavenging after deleting his account and starting over.

Jeanne, the little junk collector, is quite talented and quickly mastered the knowledge Mordred taught her; the only thing she lacked was experience.

Looking at the empty-headed garbage collector at her feet, Mordred's voice echoed in Jeanne's mind:

"See that? This kid saw you found a good deal and has been eyeing you for a while. From now on, if you see someone like that, either stay away from them or don't hesitate, just take them out."

Now it's time for some fun looting! Quickly take out the nuclear fusion core from the third pocket on the left side of his backpack, and don't forget the circuit board that's been used as a knife.

"With this thing, I can build you a water purifier. The water we drink now is worse than Ruth's pee, and your farts are almost as bad as Barbarossa's poison gas."

If the lords living in the upper echelons of the hive heard Mordred, they might find his speech vulgar, but for the poor Jeanne, Mordred was the best teacher.

Not only was he approachable, but he also liked to tell some rather interesting and quirky stories. Most importantly, he provided Jeanne, who was struggling to survive, with someone to rely on, reminding her of her mother.

Although gender is meaningless to Mordred, who is essentially just a lump of flesh and can transform into whatever he wants, even an armed helicopter, he still prefers to consider himself a macho man.

After all, "macho man" sounds more powerful, domineering, and strong! He's not some scumbag like the yellow weasel. Mordred can't even imagine how much fun that unlucky Emperor had gone through.

This can be seen from his trip to Rome with Horus. Narda had ravaged Makara. He was constantly insulted by this madwoman Narda. I guess the yellow weasel wasn't much better off.

But none of that matters. What matters is that, thanks to Mordred's on-site guidance, the two of them no longer have to go hungry, and at least they've achieved the freedom to eat starchy porridge.

On the other hand, in the midst of this double-crossing, Mordred also absorbed some soul fragments. By catching and eating rats whenever he had the chance, and with the help of Jeanne, his human form, he finally achieved the power of one Kun!
In other words, Mordred, who is now piloting the Jeanne mecha, is now on par with the ground chickens on the Tranquility.

"Hahaha, it won't be long before we can leave this cesspool of the bottom nest. Then we'll go to the upper nest to find out what's going on, and summon my good sons. Our good days will be here."

My dear son, you have no idea, my offspring are not only good at talking, but their fighting spirit and patience are also amazing. They will definitely bring you a different kind of joy.

"I'll personally perform the same life alchemy as the Imperial Guard on you. As my second personally trained disciple, you'll be on a roll!"

When it comes to making empty promises, Mordred, after two centuries of manipulation by the Emperor, had to learn to do it even if she didn't know how. She could instantly attract those naive youngsters with the Imperial Guard that Mordred spoke of.

"Mother,"

"Ok?"

"Ah, Master?"

"Okay, from now on, you can call me Boss when there are no outsiders around. But if there are outsiders around, remember to call me Commander."

Jeanne nodded, carrying the garbage bag as she walked towards the shack. After spending these days with him, she discovered that Mordred was a lazy, gluttonous, cunning, and stubborn person, and also a very talkative one.

But once you get the hang of it, Mordred is surprisingly easy to get along with, and that trick is to flatter her to death.

"So, boss, what you said before was all true? I thought you were just bragging!"

"Tch, I, Mordred, have lived an upright life. If I have a grudge against someone, I'll kill them on the same day. Why would I need to fool you?"

"Indeed, what are those Imperial Guards?"

For a chatterbox like Mordred, the temptation of a straight man was irresistible. He multitasked, manipulating Jeanne as she made the water purifier while saying:
"The Imperial Guards are the lackeys beside His Majesty the Divine Emperor that you mentioned. They are all golden and look like corn kernels. Besides their strength, they have extremely low taste, and they also like to run around naked."

"Streaking?" Jeanne paused for a moment upon hearing the word. She noticed some dust falling from the ceiling, but assumed it was from a mouse and paid no attention.

"That's right. Others may not know, but as the Primarch, I know it all too well. Back when I first went to Holy Terra, there were three naked men making strange noises at the entrance of the palace."

They actually smeared oil on themselves; it was an insult to my eyes.

And that's still relatively mild, since it's just a personal hobby. I also enjoy sunbathing on the wall. The real heavyweights are the other legions.

"Are there any masters?"

"Of course! You have no idea how many messes I had to clean up when I was dealing with these problem kids."

If we start from the end and work our way back, each one is more important than the last.

Hydra's mind is abstract; everyone is an Alpha Rex, directly attacking the right brain with the left brain, and the brainstem replacing thinking.

The Raven Guardians can go berserk, seemingly normal, but they suffer from a strange illness that can only be relieved by killing. They are all socially anxious, and their favorite thing to do is to hide in a corner.

The fire lizards seem docile, but they have a particular fondness for burning Elven children, and each one is incredibly dark-skinned. Vulcan, that rascal, also loves writing diaries and tattling—he's wicked! He even stole my chickens from my house.

"Do you think someone who keeps a diary can be a decent person?"

For Jeanne, whose cultural level was limited to burning books and burying scholars alive, writing a diary would be a complete waste of precious paper, so Vulcan must not be a respectable person.

"Not to mention those who cherish words, there are very few famous ones, they are all just worshippers, they kneel down and pray, especially that good-for-nothing Luo Jia, if she were even a little bit as obedient as you, I wouldn't be so angry."

"Don't even mention the 16th Legion; they're all obsessed with their fathers. Your misfortune is all because of that trade document; otherwise, you'd be living the high life by now."

Perhaps recalling something interesting, Morey whispered again:
"I switched Horus shampoo. It looks like a 13-in-1, but it's actually a 14-in-1. I also put hair loss treatment in it."

The Thousand Sons were the heavyweights; their entire legion exuded a kind of astonishing wisdom. Fortunately, they switched to muscle-bound sages halfway through their careers, thus avoiding being laughed at for the rest of their lives.

I still quite like Little Horse. He's honest, so honest, with an untainted innocence.

As for Death Guard, just skip it. Aside from its bad smell, it has no other drawbacks. But never drink Barbarossa wine again; there's too much to handle there.

What follows is more significant.

The perpetually late Ultramarines, the ambitious Primarch, who always says no, but Guilliman, that blond-haired guy, is always the first to run away when it comes to the club.

And then there's Angron. Although it's a bit hellish, I can tell you definitively that he was captured and forced into being a purple mood back in Nukelia.

There is no one in the fearless Iron Hand, the Blood Angels like to drink blood, and the Midnight Lords seem poor and destitute, but are actually very rich. Their homeland is made of adamantite.

The Fist of the Empire, true to his name, is like Dorne—a stinking rock in a latrine. Together with the Iron Warriors, they're known as the Civil Engineering Duo. Just call them dwarfs when you see them.

Fenris has no wolves, and White Scar loves to race cars. However, the pasture in Chogoris is particularly good, so I like to send people to steal their sheep to eat. I'll get you some some when I have the chance.

Just like I told you, the higher you go, the more important they are. Not to mention the sons of emperors. If I hadn't given them a hand back then, they would probably be stuck with nothing but hardship and poverty.

Especially Forgrim, whom I personally fought and killed, but I never expected him to get together with Feralas. I absolutely do not approve of this marriage.

Although she couldn't understand it, Jeanne was deeply shocked. Perhaps because she had merged with Mordred, the little girl also began to act wildly, showing the potential to become a bloodthirsty audience.

"What about the rest?"

"There was a man who was handsome, dashing, charming, loved by all, and had thick blond hair. He was skilled with a two-handed greatsword and called himself the Lord of Knights."

And he's an Imperial War Marshal, highly regarded by Old Man Huang. Not only are there no secrets within the legion, but he's also extremely loyal and reliable. Can you guess who it is?

Hearing the incessant chanting in her mind, "It's me, it's me, it's me," Jeanne knew she had no choice at all, and pointed a finger at her own head:

"It must be you!"

As soon as she finished speaking, a lump of iron fell from the sky, landing directly in Jeanne's arms with a sharp, explosive sound.
"Father, no, Mother! I've finally found you."

Mordred's eyes sharpened instantly when she saw the dark green power armor on the big guy in her arms:

“That’s right, it’s me—Leon El-Johnson.”

(End of this chapter)