Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 322 Orbital Bombardment Shatters Stars, Dark Angel Produces Filial Son

"Achoo! Why do I feel like someone's cursing at me?"

Guilliman pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his nose. He had been sneezing non-stop since he woke up that morning, and his mood was even worse after discovering that the high-level ideology he had built was secretly sabotaging him.

If the empire before Guilliman's slumber was a golden age, then the current empire is a cesspool age.

Nearly 8000 years of isolation caused the empire to miss its best period of development. Even the once invincible legions were completely destroyed after fighting so many counterinsurgency wars.

Not only the warbands, but also the Imperial Guard, the Space Navy, the Astral Army, and the Planetary Defense Force—basically all of them have experienced a comprehensive decline.

A more concrete example is the Imperial technology; let alone iterative updates, it can no longer even build some of the old artifacts used during the Great Expedition.

A Cobra-class destroyer takes at least half a century to go from casting to commissioning. Every screw and every part has to be bowed down and prayed for, which made Guilliman's scalp tingle.

It's important to understand that the Cobra destroyer, placed within the Imperial Expeditionary fleet, is merely the smallest unit capable of allowing crew members to travel in subspace. It's a consumable item, used to shield capital ships from enemy fire.

Because of its large production capacity, the Legion even developed an orbital airdrop tactic using Cobra destroyers, directly dropping warships onto the ground as airdrop pods to serve as outpost bases.

If you say that even a small cobra is still a steel behemoth nearly two kilometers long, then what about the Terminator?

Leaving aside the expensive Ironclad and Saturn, even the balanced Hades will be shaved off. Why is the production of the cheapest and most durable Unyielding Termination Armor so low?

Manufacturing weapons and equipment is so difficult, and those creepy flying dead kids are everywhere. Guilliman really wanted to punch those oil geezers into scrap metal.

But that's not the worst part. The worst part is the imperial political system, which can be described as the ultimate cesspool that embodies the shortcomings of all regimes in human history.

Guilliman had already begun abolishing the tithe before going to sleep, replacing it with a thirtieth-one tax, but these insects stubbornly continued to collect taxes based on the standards from ten thousand years ago.

What if a planet can't pay its taxes? Then suppress it, ultimately forcing countless worlds into rebellion.

Guilliman swears to God that, although he is not a psychic, he really did see a demon in the government building. What's more, the demon actually told him to get lost and not interfere with his work.

Having fought the Chaos Demons in a real battle, and with two months having passed since the War on the Moon, Guilliman's most important task during these two months, besides sending people to create the Dark Portal, was to clean up Hive City.

"Damn, I get so angry just thinking about it. Those Imperial Guards are just sitting around doing nothing, hiding in the palace for 8 years. They don't even know that Terra has been marinated by cultists."

No wonder it attracted so many Khorne demons. The establishment of the state religion was a mistake. They had to put so many skulls in Holy Terra. They must have been out of their minds.

Eight bloodthirsty berserkers, all in Holy Terra. If I hadn't returned quickly, the Battle of Liongate would have been lost. I don't even dare to think about what would have happened next.

It's impossible for the Alien Inquisition to be full of aliens, the Demon Inquisition to be full of demons, the Empire to be governed by demons, and the city to be rife with cunning spies.

And you, Mordred, where did you go?

Upon hearing this, a dog's head emerged from Guilliman's shoulder, making his previously illusory form more solid, and the electric sparks on his shoes transformed from spark plugs into small water guns.

"How would I know? But I can assure you that the boss has indeed returned. Although his past memories are gone, the curse of oblivion has been lifted."

Didn't we test it with your offspring before? The fact that the eldest brother's name can be remembered proves that the eldest brother has returned.

Knowing our leader's personality, he'll definitely gather information first, then assemble the legion, and finally head to Holy Terra. We're the most astute dogs on the plains.

"Mordred is not a dog-man."

"You're talking nonsense. Our leader is our chieftain, he's a dogman! That's pure Macurac thinking, I don't want to argue with you."

With a snort, Rambo curled his lip and ruffled Guilliman's half-yellow, half-white blond hair, saying:
"Don't blame me for not warning you, if the boss finds out what you've done, he'll probably beat the shit out of you."

The Codex Astartes, the establishment of the state religion, the dismantling of the legions—and should I remind you, who wiped out Atlas's entire family? Atlas's successor—His Highness Robert Guilliman!

"..."

Rambo's words only made things worse. After he said them, Guilliman was less inclined to want Mordred to come back. Just the fact that he was eating the offspring of a child was enough to get him beaten to a pulp.

"I have to beat Guilliman to a pulp!"

After learning the details of the Empire's current situation, Mordred was completely devastated. The good news was that Blood Raven was still there, but that was all; Atlas was gone.

When Mordred asked him questions, Azmodari claimed to know nothing, saying he had never heard of the Atlas Legion, but that the Chapter Archives contained information about the Hive Research Institute, which was located on the moon.

As for Tranquility, the Chapter's database shows it to be a wild world that was once prosperous, but became a no-man's-land after the fel crystals were depleted, eventually becoming the homeworld of the Blood Raven Chapter.

"However, the free-range chicken, a specialty of Ningjing World, is especially delicious. I fell in love with this food after eating it once at the Erlian canteen. It would be even better with a glass of orange juice."

"Two in a row?" Mordred seemed to have grasped something key, but he didn't make a fuss. Instead, he changed the subject and asked about the current situation of the Dark Angels.

The result was not satisfactory. The Big Brother, which all legions had once followed, completely failed. The Six-Winged Celestial Army no longer existed, and a traitor known as the Fallen Angel appeared.

When the topic of fallen angels came up, Azmodari seemed to transform into a different person, spouting strange things like the Black Pearl must be captured, the fallen angels must be eliminated, and Cypher must die.

Since the Dark Angels have fallen into this state, Mordred has little hope for the other Legions—no, the other Chapters—assuming they're all a bunch of lunatics. And Mordred's prediction of the current Chapters' poor performance was quickly confirmed.

Mordred forced a smile as he watched Azmodan proudly showing off the Thunderhawk, especially when he heard that it was a rare find from the Great Crusade.

"Father, are you dissatisfied with the warband?"

"Perhaps. I'm not dissatisfied with you, just a little powerless."

I have become so weak that my once invincible power has vanished. Just half a month ago, I couldn't even beat a mouse.

The empire of today feels foreign to me; you may not know, but it wasn't like this in my time.

Back then, the Space Marines weren't called Astartes, nor were they the small, powerless chapters they are today; they were an invincible legion capable of burning galaxies and shattering stars!

Through the rearview mirror, Azmodan saw a blonde girl slumped in her seat like a salted fish. Her face, which should have been youthful, revealed a kind of vicissitudes that came with the passage of time, and her eyes were full of despair.

"Damn it, even if she's just giving up, can the Primarch still be this beautiful?"

"Huh? What did you say?"

"No, what I mean is, sir, you've just gotten old!"

"..."

Lies don't hurt, but the truth is the sharpest knife. Azmodari was right. After learning about the current state of the Empire, Mordred felt that she would have been better off not coming back.

Faced with this cesspool that was already suffocating even from just seeing the tip of the iceberg, even Mordred felt a deep sense of powerlessness and inevitably entered an emo state.

Under Azmod's shocked gaze, Mordred skillfully jumped into the co-pilot's seat, rummaged around on the cockpit canopy, and pulled out a pack of Rick cigarettes from a hidden compartment.

Staring at the grinning dog head on the cigarette pack, especially lingering on the red scarf around its neck for a few seconds, fine, emerald-green evil energy sparks poured into it.

As two plumes of smoke rose, Azmodan's pupils dilated instantly: "My lord, this smells absolutely authentic! But how did you find it?"

"Nonsense, that's why I can be the Primarch, and you can't."

Azmodari found it a bit strange; his father didn't seem as difficult to get along with as the records described. Compared to the cold and domineering image in the records, he preferred his current father.

Perhaps, as he said before, the lion has indeed grown old and become benevolent.

On the other hand, although it is hard to admit, is there any comparison between Hakimi, who is over three meters tall, and a petite girl who is only 1.5 meters tall?

"Hey, what are you looking at? I sensed something was off about you earlier. Didn't you want to ask me how I knew?"

Let me tell you, I'm just getting old, but I'm not useless.

During the Great Crusade, the Legion rode in Stormravens. Fragile creatures like Thunderhawks, which didn't even have Void Shields, were consumables, just like power armor.

You've really never experienced hardship, huh? But don't worry, even though I'm no longer as brave as I used to be, I still have extraordinary wisdom. I've already hidden away a rich legacy.

As the saying goes, a cunning rabbit has three burrows. I have left behind a large number of secret warehouses throughout the galaxy, almost every Legion homeworld has one. Have you heard of the Webpath? It's right under Holy Terra, and it's full of things I've hidden there.

We are currently in the Hades sector. Once we cross the Gothic sector, we can jump from Sylvester to Caliban.

With the hiding place I designed myself, it won't be discovered for 1 years, let alone 10 years, unless a major event occurs.

"I'll give you a shout-out to Stormraven then, and you'll be the coolest guy in the warband."

"Oh, Father, you didn't ask before, but actually Caliban was shattered."

"It's broken! How is this possible?"

Upon hearing this, Mordred noticed Azmodan staring at him with a rather strange look. Recalling the birth of the fallen angel, Mordred realized he might have let something slip, but he quickly turned the tables and accused Azmodan:
"Impossible, absolutely impossible! When I was here, Caliban wasn't even destroyed yet!"

"Yes, Father, the Caliban was not destroyed when you were here, but it was because those rebels blew up the Caliban that you disappeared completely."

Moreover, the Empire has now been torn in two by the Great Rift, and we are now in the dark side of the Empire, unable to rely on the Star Torch for guidance. This is why my squad is all alone here.

"Don't worry, I've already sent a message in Star Language to the Stone Fortress. We can just wait here for them to come and pick us up."

"Wait a minute! Things are starting to get interesting. Tell me, who is the current Chapter Leader of the Dark Angels?"

Seeing Mordred's strange, ambiguous smile, Azmod thought he had said something wrong:

"It's Azrael!"

"What a great name! It sounds like he's a very filial son. Suddenly I'm not so emo anymore."

(End of this chapter)