Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 330 describes how the Lion King was injured by a sneak attack from Chaos (6k).

If we were to say what the greatest impact Mordred's disappearance has had on the Empire over the past 1 years, what would be the greatest impact?
The first thing that will be presented to us is the 2000-year subspace window.

During the Great Crusade, the human empires acted like mad dogs, biting indiscriminately, all in an attempt to seize the last window of opportunity before the Slaanesh were born and claim the galaxy.

This strategic direction was undoubtedly correct. If the Empire had not wiped out most of the aliens in the four star regions during the Great Expedition, it would not have reached its current size and would not have lasted for 1 years.

Two hundred years may seem like a long time, but for the empire at the time, it was incredibly short. The time was spent clearing out the aliens, conquering the world, developing resources, advancing technology, and most importantly, the Network Project…

This grand plan, which should have started over a millennium, was ruthlessly compressed into just 200 years by the emperor, ultimately leaving behind a mess.

Fortunately, the Primarchs did not disappear after the Great Rebellion. After 500 years of repairs and rebuilding, and with successive Primarchs taking the reins, humanity entered a true golden age. However, this golden age was the final swan song of the human empire.

As far as the Primarch is concerned, this empire was conquered by the Emperor and his many brothers, so he will certainly dedicate himself to nurturing it.

But for imperial officials, there are always tall people to hold up the sky when it falls. When my ancestors unified Terra with the Emperor, they endured all the hardships of this life, and now it's time to enjoy the good life.

Moreover, you Primarchs are not greedy for this or that, just like saints. What are we supposed to do?
Therefore, when the Primarch was around, human nobles and officials were in two opposing camps with him. Even if they had ideas, they dared not show them, since the Primarch was truly capable of managing the Empire with his super brain.

If we kill everyone then, and persist for a decade or so, we can elect a new batch of officials. Even without these old fogies, the empire can still function.

But as the original creators left one after another, the ambitious individuals, now free from restraint, began to engage in underhanded tactics.

The High Lords Council is indeed loyal, but that does not mean they are not corrupt. With the political structure designed by Guilliman, as long as it operates stably, even if it becomes rigid, it can still keep the Empire safe.

But the result was that in the struggle for power and profit, the high lords took over the work that should have been done by their subordinates. They made decisions on everything, big and small, and the model of letting the superiors set the direction and the subordinates carry it out completely collapsed.

These insects, lacking the abilities of the original gene, were exhausted to death, resulting in a massive buildup of bugs that turned the Empire into a mountain of code so rubbish that even a chaotic evil god would shake his head in disbelief. The most absurd thing was that it could still run.

In order to further dominate the empire, these insects also mythologized the Primarch, since the Primarch was no longer around, so they might as well obediently become old gods.

It's impossible to say that everyone is an insect; the empire is not lacking in heroes with lofty ideals.

For example, Marcarius, the Sun Lord, reclaimed the entire Pacific Starfield with a mortal body and reached the edge of the Star Torch in less than ten years, making him even more arrogant than Long Aotian.

If this record were from the Great Crusade, the four Primarchs—Johnson Horus, Feralus, and Mordred—would have given up on the War Commander title and would have been better off retiring earlier to save face.

However, beneath this magnificent achievement lies the Taiping Rebellion that continues to this day, making the Taiping Starfield anything but peaceful and completely collapsing the empire's already precarious finances.

The entire Pacific Starfield was in complete chaos, filled with warlords of all sizes. Eighty percent of these warlords were former subordinates of the Sun Lord, while the remaining twenty percent were warbands that had participated in the expedition.

As for why the Space Marines also became outlaws, it was entirely out of necessity. The Empire of 40k was completely different from the Empire during the Great Crusade.

Despite its small population, Atlas boasted 40 Spartan warriors and hundreds of millions of mortal support and logistics troops at the height of the Great Crusade. Its tentacles connected the various legions, and it possessed a massive logistics network spanning the entire galaxy.

If the Cult of Mechanics is the Empire's partner, then Atlas is a giant state-owned enterprise headed by Mordred, fully supported by the Emperor, and jointly owned by various Legions.

In order to support this unprecedented expedition, nearly half of the Iron Warriors became Atlas's underlings, and each legion had to send 1/10 of its troops to liaise with Atlas.

Whenever the Legion conquers an unknown star system, Atlas will select a suitable planet as a secondary mining site and use it as a base to radiate outwards.

Most importantly, Mordred not only survives herself, but also allows others to live. Everyone gets a share of this lucrative opportunity, and even the Cult of Mechanics, a competitor, is left wanting more.

The soldiers on the front lines don't need to worry about anything; you just need to do your job.

And that's not all. After you finish fighting the aliens and return to your base, you'll definitely find a bunch of red envelopes by your bedside. If the war is too intense, you'll get all your allowances from the past ten years or so, and you'll be promoted just like that. If you're lucky, you might even become a local governor.

This is just for mortal auxiliary troops. Space Marines are even better off. In addition to material rewards, Mordred will also erect a statue for you based on your combat performance to commemorate your achievements.

When the soldiers returned to their barracks after a day of fighting, they saw these rewards that were both prestigious and substantial. The 17 rounds per second of the explosive gun was just the limit of the machine spirit, not their limit.

Everyone should shout, "We have lived up to the Legion's expectations, and may our Commander enjoy good health forever!"

This is the second major impact of Atlas's disappearance: the complete collapse of the Empire's logistics system and existing technology.

Mordred and Atlas disappeared so suddenly that, in the extremely short time that they went mad, nearly half of Atlas chose to end their own lives.

This is only one-sided; what's even more tragic is that with Atlas's disappearance, those memories that arose because of Mordred are gone.

Luther didn't know why he had become like this, and thought that Zhuang Sen's filial piety had gone awry and that he had cast a spell on him.

Corax forgot about the hidden mines in his hometown, causing a series of internal conflicts on the Saviors' planet, and even forgot the backup plan Mordred had given him.

Luo Jia forgot the Titan Training Method and reverted to being that worshipful girl, ultimately getting herself into trouble and almost killing herself.

Guilliman was even more of a heavyweight. No one knows what he was thinking. Mordred had forgotten his memories, but he hadn't forgotten to dismantle the Legion. In the end, he even wrote Mordred's name on that piece of toilet paper.

Mordred's plan was that each legion would have at least 2000 men after the division, and the parent legion would have a basic strength of 5 men. But Guilliman only remembered the division!

But that's not all. You should know that Atlas's main business is recycling scrap and using it to provide logistics for all the legions of the Empire, achieving a perfect cycle of self-sufficiency and self-production.

However, after Atlas disappeared, the Empire acted recklessly, saying, "Who says you can't fight a war without logistics? Do you still have loyalty?"
It sounds abstract, but it is true. To this day, the Empire does not have a complete logistics system. Even Oglin knows that you can't rely on that bunch of useless people in the Ministry of Military Affairs.

To solve this problem, in the interstellar age of the Empire, the great regent, His Highness Robert Guilliman, came up with a unique idea: a nostalgic version of the game.

After the legions were split up, the military-agricultural system was implemented with the battle groups as the core. This was similar to the Ming Dynasty's garrison system, where 3% was used for defending the city and 7% for farming, which was reminiscent of the Zhou Dynasty's enfeoffment of princes.

Although it sounds good, it is, after all, self-development. If you want to live well, it depends on yourself. If you are bad, practice more. If you can't handle it, don't play. Then no one can blame anyone else.

Then comes the more abstract question: to farm, you need technology, so where do you find that technology? The answer is mechanical engineering.

Large, established groups are relatively easy to manage, but smaller groups can only cooperate with their partners. In good years, things are relatively stable, but if they are unlucky and there are natural disasters or man-made calamities, or alien chaos, they will be ruined.

And that's not all. The High Lords Council has the right to command all warbands. You can't pretend you don't see it. You have to participate in battles and pay taxes. And that doesn't even include some of the dirty tricks involved.

If you don't obey, you're a traitor. To prove your loyalty, you'd better go on a redemption expedition. And that's only if you're lucky.

If you're unlucky, they'll pin a trumped-up charge on you and you won't even know how you died. A prime example is the Sky Lion Battle Group, whose leader was assassinated in public and had his head cut off and paraded through the streets.

Chaos guards the nation's gates, while cunning and treacherous die for the state. This saying sounds abstract, but what's even more abstract is that the cesspool that is the empire has driven away countless once loyal warriors.

In short, it's no wonder that Guilliman is criticized by everyone, even some Ultra Warriors, to the point that now no one pays attention to him when he wants to launch an Unyielding Crusade.

You, Guilliman, were quite the schemer back then, making us worse than dogs with a single decree of grace. Now that you remember us, why don't you just die?

They even said they'd replenish our gene seeds and give us free proto-gene surgery. Isn't that just trying to turn us all into alternative extreme warriors?

The slogan of fighting for the Empire is no longer mentioned. The longer a Space Marine lives, the more disappointed they become. Perhaps only when death approaches will they remember the glorious era known as the Great Crusade.

The more I think about it, the more powerless I feel. Instead of thinking so much, I might as well just drift through life and get myself a cool trench coat.

Yes, that's right. This is Mordred's third major impact: her terrible fashion sense has not only not been forgotten, but has become synonymous with imperial fashion.

Among the many chapters, although the Ultramarines are disliked by everyone, their sub-church Imperial Scythe is widely praised, simply because they have a cool cape.

This idea was so deeply ingrained in the minds of the Space Marines that after Azrael guaranteed that the mission would be accomplished, every member of the Second Company would receive a tactical cloak that was both cool and showcased their unparalleled prestige.

Samel, the then Grand Instructor of Ravenwing, immediately declared that he had nine ways to complete the mission—nine!

"Boss, we've reached the airspace above Kamas, and the Bird Servant Array has confirmed the target, but I've also detected radiation from the Silent Oath. This is very strange."

"What's so strange about it? Don't you want a cool cape? I bet the warband leader wants to see this little secret disappear with his own eyes."

Remember, we in the First Legion have no secrets. Besides, I see this old man's hands are itching for some reason, and he seems more energetic than usual."

Upon hearing this, the group of dark angels nodded in agreement, indicating that they also felt the same way, wanting to blow something up, and their mood was getting better and better. This must be the Emperor's manifestation.

Patting his adjutant on the shoulder, Sammer walked to the control panel. With an excited heart and trembling hands, driven by some indescribable and wonderful emotion, Sammer abandoned the orbital bombardment.

After all, they're not crazy; there's no need for the entire planet's civilians to be sacrificed for them. Of course, they should use the light spears for targeted extermination.

"Look, this old man is walking alone into the dense forest. It's like heaven is helping us."

"Boss, should we also blast those traitors to smithereens?"

Upon hearing this, Samel slapped his adjutant Garen on the head: "Kill, kill, kill! All you know is killing! What traitor? If there were no fallen angels, what would Ravenwing be for?"

You're still too young, young man. The Empire isn't just about fighting and killing. You need to find your place. Our job is to capture fallen angels. Without fallen angels, what are we supposed to do?
Learn from this, we'll have to figure out how to sneak them away later. But what you said makes sense, this time increase the anesthetic dosage by eight percent, and while we're at it, strip them naked.

"Once we hand over the clothes, we can apply for another batch of supplies. We can profit from both sides!" Garen couldn't help but nod in agreement, thinking to himself, "No wonder he can become a Grand Instructor. His skill in taking advantage of the chaos is something I could never do."

He flipped open the safety pin, stared at the large, red ignition button, and Sammer, as if struck by a sudden inspiration, raised his right fist and shouted:
"Hey ha, for Atlas!"

"Hmm, why did I call for Atlas? Never mind, launch!"

"Spare his life!"

"What?"

Seeing the communication network suddenly taken over, Samel heard the voice of Chapter Master Azrael and instinctively loosened his grip, pressing the launch button.

Meanwhile, based on the guidance of the little man in the robe in the dream, Zhuang Sen confirmed that the white-bearded old man was his father.

Although he didn't know why his father was being so mysterious and treating him like a child, Zhuang Sen decided it was best to ask him for an explanation.

For some reason, Zhuang Sen has recently been feeling uneasy, his body's instincts are warning him, but when he looks around, he doesn't find any danger.

As they entered the jungle, this unease did not disappear; instead, it intensified, to the point that Zhuang Sen stood frozen in place, wanting to see what was going on.

"Something's not right. This unease is so intense, yet there's nothing around that could threaten me. Wait, why is there a red dot here?"

Just as Hakimi couldn't resist the cat toy, the Lion King couldn't resist the bright red dot either, and went straight to the scarlet dot that fell from the sky to examine it closely.

Looking up at the sky, at the fine pillars of light descending from above, the Lion King couldn't help but nod in approval:

"This is a guidance beacon. Judging from the model, it's an Alpha CZ 75. This thing should be used for guidance lance correction firing, to test the light transmittance of a planet's atmosphere and carry out surgical precision bombing, specifically designed to destroy high-value targets in the inner layer of a planet."

Although this guiding laser is not part of the Legion's code of conduct and is rather useless in use, as long as it is paired with a good gunner, it can hit the target every time, and there is no way to escape.

That's good. This is much better than those stupid kids who just blindly blast things. They even know how to guide the guns in advance. They clearly know how to fire a gun.

Look at this laser structure! It's even disguised as a grinning dog's head to attract targets—what a clever idea!

"Wait, high-value targets?"

Looking around, all I could see were tall shrubs and unremarkable black humus soil, hardly qualifying as a high-value target. The only thing that could be considered a high-value target was…

"boom!!!"

Three minutes and 12 seconds later, a dense swarm of Thunderhawks streaked across the sky and flew toward the lush jungle that had been evaporated into gas.

Looking at the land before him, completely scorched into a shard of glass and filled with a thick, poisonous fog, Azrael's heart sank. He collapsed to the ground, wailing hoarsely:

"Father, how could you leave us? How can I live without you! Hehe, boohoo!"

Mordred thought he had misheard, turned around and saw that the kid wasn't upset at all, so he immediately slapped him.

"You little brat, I advise you to pull back. After the Primarch dies, his offspring will suffer a massive mental shock. Are you sure you're grieving?"
"If Zhuang Sen sees this, even I can't save you."

Azrael was stunned. He had never died a Primarch before, so how could he know that it had this characteristic? He immediately turned to look at his good brother Ezekiel.

Don't be fooled by the fact that Ezekiel is one of the three great think tanks of the Empire, and like Mephisto and Digglis, he's a powerful figure with extraordinary abilities. But his age is a factor, and he simply can't possibly be as knowledgeable and experienced as Mordred, a millennium-old monster.

Finally, he gave a vague answer that the leader was probably not dead, and quickly punched the leader in the nose to make him cry more convincingly.

But the unease quickly dissipated when someone discovered part of the Lion King, and that person was none other than Samel, who had just fired the cannon.

The good news is that the Lion King is still alive; the bad news is that he won't live much longer.

Looking at the blond, handsome man whose lower body had vanished, with a smooth and clean cut, leaving only 2.5 strands, Mordred had a strange sense of déjà vu; this was how he had returned to the Empire years ago.

However, compared to his good brother who was already emitting a smoky aroma of roasted meat, Mordred was more concerned about the offspring in front of him. Although they had never met, he could tell from just a glance that these unlucky things that were bombarding the Primarch were his offspring.

It's so similar, so incredibly similar. In Mordred's eyes, Samuel not only has Brian's ruthlessness and cunning, but also Tom's abstract and silly nature. This is his own son.

These Ravenwing Warriors also sensed the connection between their bloodlines, especially after Mordred's arrival; even their eyes became clear and wise.

"Father!"

"Good boy!"

Before the family reunion, a traditional event, could take place, a loud bang was heard, and a heavy bomb flew over and embedded itself directly in Mordred's skull.

"Death to the traitor!"

A loud shout rang out, and taking advantage of the thick fog, Zabril stealthily arrived before anyone could notice him. He immediately launched a deadly attack, slashing at Mordred's head with his sword.

The blazing disintegration field buzzed loudly, and Zabril was confident that he could decapitate his opponent with a single sword strike and then escape with the lion's mangled body.

This was his strength as an uncrowned champion, and also the lingering influence of the first Space Marines created by the Emperor.

In terms of numbers, he has never been afraid of any Space Marine. Even Qin Xia, who is known for his speed, can be overpowered by him. This is the uncrowned champion, this is the First Legion.

"Too slow, too slow!"

As the gunshots rang out, Zabril charged forward recklessly in the gaps between the sounds. This supersonic power of his physical body was the source of Zabril's confidence.

Zabril's nerve reflexes, pushed to their limits, allowed him to see the think tank gesturing as if to summon a psionic storm, Samel rising to draw his sword but secretly firing a gun, and Azrael running away, trying to escape the scene.

Wait, why is he running away?

Before Zabril could finish thinking about the problem, he saw the blond giant, who was originally 10 meters away from him, suddenly appear in front of him as if in a frame-free animation, holding a bomb that had been disassembled into small parts in his hand.

Zabril wanted to retaliate, but he couldn't keep up with Mordred's speed at all. Fortunately, the man in front of him was a bit stupid and actually grabbed his power sword.

"Die, you fool!"

Then Zabril knew nothing more. His once indestructible power sword was crushed into pieces, and his power backpack was removed. He was then tightly bound by a ferocious tail, like a kitten being caught.

All of this happened in an instant. When Zabril came to his senses, he was stunned to see the power sword in his hand broken into two pieces.

Dude, this is a decomposition field, the kind that can cut ceramic steel like cheese. You think you can just slap it and shatter it? Is that reasonable?
"Judging from the insignia on your body, you should be from the 2nd Destroyer of the 3rd Company, a deacon of the Knights of the Three Keys, belonging to the Dreadwing, so you should be Zabril."

Take your helmet off! I even awarded you a medal back in the day, I remember you!

At this moment, just like at that moment, these words sounded familiar to Zabril, as if he had been opened up a week ago, and now he was being opened up again.

Zabril tried to resist, but he was no match for the powerful. His Mark III armor instantly activated, detached from his body, and was removed on the spot.

Perhaps seeing the last piece of clothing on his body slowly disintegrating, Zabril hurriedly shouted:

"Commander, it's me, Xiao Zha. Have you forgotten that I treated you to a meal back then?"

"Oh, I think I heard someone call me an idiot."

The dead memories began to attack him. Without any deliberate reminders, under the threat of being publicly killed, Zabril immediately recalled all his memories of Mordred, especially the warlord's petty nature.

Are you saying I'm petty?

Holy crap, he can read minds.

"I can't read minds, so how could I possibly do something that violates people's privacy? It's like how I didn't know you were the son of a tech warlord. You only found Old Man Huang, who was recruiting cannon fodder in Terra, because you were handsome and used the trick of hiding in women's clothing."

"..."

"Your Highness, is there any hope for me?"

"Yes, of course I have some. I was just worried about not having any witnesses."

Mordred ripped off the Lion King's tattered cloak and tossed it to the naked Zabril before him. Surrounded by a group of dark angels, Mordred also gave him a piece of parchment:

"Write: The Lion King was injured in a Chaos ambush, and the Dark Angel rescued him!"

(End of this chapter)