Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 356 Father, I really am your son!
"The wind blows across the fields, the wheat blossoms are fragrant, and the vast grasslands nurture our parents."

In the blue sky, white clouds drift by, and clear river water flows gently.

Da Ningjing is my hometown…

Mordred hummed a folk tune from his hometown while fiddling with the speaker. If he felt agitated, he could go outside the palace to bask in the sun and kill a few insects to relieve his boredom. He lived a rather comfortable life.

As the saying goes, "To repel external enemies, one must first secure internal stability." The three brothers had a clear division of labor: one led the charge in killing people, one managed logistics, and one handled official matters. With the brothers working together, their strength was unbreakable. In just one month, they brought initial stability to Holy Terra.

Don't think it's inefficient. Getting Holy Terra back in operation in just one month is already quite good. And that's only because there are so many Ultramarines, and each of them is a government official who can perfectly replace the Terran officials who were cut off.

Destruction is always harder than repair. If the killing is done without any burial, then the three brothers' campaign to purge the court of corrupt officials will be another Marcarius expedition.

Moreover, Terra is such a cesspool that even Guilliman couldn't figure out how the Empire worked. It's like two bugs working together, and neither can be touched; the only option is to take over.

The Ultramarines became government servants, and the Atlas weren't idle either, but their job wasn't to work; it was to reorganize.

Facing Angel, clad in black and red armor, a cool trench coat, and an "A" logo on his shoulder, the Ferrothian, then Chapter Master of the Steel Hands, was dumbfounded. He thought, "Wait a minute, didn't you tell me you were going to steal the Primarch when you left? How did you turn around and look like this?"
"Elder, why are you wearing... the armor of the Dark Angel?"

"Hey, what Dark Angel? The First Legion is black with a touch of green, that's Atlas color scheme, so sophisticated! Come on, I brought you a gift this time, put this trench coat on quickly."

He instinctively took the trench coat and put it on without thinking. And you know what? The trench coat actually fit him quite well.

"Elder, this really isn't from the Dark Angels. I almost misjudged you; I thought you had sided with the Dark Angels!"

Tell me quickly, how's the plan going? Did you manage to get the Primarch?

Following the battle captain to the bridge, Angel smoothly removed his helmet, instantly stunning Feros: "Elder, what's that on your head?"

"Commander, this is an Atlas Afro. Our father always had this hairstyle. It's high-class and sophisticated!"

"Atlas's afro? Good, this afro is really good. It seems the plan has succeeded. Elder, you have really suffered a grievance."

Angel waved his hand, indicating that he was not aggrieved. He said that his mission had gone as planned, and he had not only found the original gene, but his father was also quite satisfied with them. He had come back to bring his brothers back to their ancestral home.

"Ah, right! No, no." Feros's cyborg brain malfunctioned a bit, and he quickly performed a logic self-check. Only after confirming that he hadn't encountered any electronic code errors did he realize what was happening.

"What do you mean by recognizing our ancestors? Our genetic father is Ferus. I was given this name by you, Elder, to commemorate our genetic father, Ferus. He wasn't our biological father; at most, he was our adoptive father."

"Godfather isn't right either, he's our second uncle! Elder, you're joking with me again, you must be joking with me, right?"

When their eyes met, Ferros saw no joke in Angel's single eye, only relief.

"Actually, I've been one of Atlas's people for a long time."

"No! You are not Atlas, you are the Iron Hand, you are the elder I respect most, you brought me into the battle, and you made me a son of Medusa."

Feros was a little overwhelmed. As a young man who was only 400 years old, Angel was not only his second company commander, but also his mentor.

Four hundred years is a long time, but also a short time. As an orphan born out of tribal warfare, Feros had a difficult background.

Orphaned at a young age, he was raised and nurtured by Angel, who also recommended him as a "tough father" and eventually made him the commander of the battle group.

In the steel hand, where everyone is crazy and believes in the survival of the fittest, the Second Company is the most human-like. They don't use cold numbers to calculate life. Even though they have all sorts of quirks, they have taught Feros a lot, the most important of which is tact.

To end the chaos and to reunite the Iron Hand, they did many things, some good and some bad, but no matter when or where, he knew he was not alone.

"But now you're leaving. Have you forgotten that you said I was your proudest disciple?"

“Don’t say that, Feros. You’re no longer a little kid who needs me to support you. You are the son of Medusa, the father of steel, and the chapter master of the Iron Hand.”

Angel could have left without saying goodbye, but he didn't want to. As one of the original 712 Atlas and Tom's adjutant, he knew many things that others didn't.

Mordred loved to plan, and even in death, she would leave behind multiple backup plans: Rambo, Tom, the Hive mixed with Atlas's genetic seed, the Raven Guard with a large amount of technology, one secret warehouse after another, and the Abomination containing Icarus's true form.

One secret leads to another, one little secret is intertwined with another, and so does Atlas, as a progenitor of the Primarch.

After leaving the Netway, in order to avoid putting all his eggs in one basket, Tom ordered his men to disperse among the various legions. After taking control of half of the Iron Hand, he used the split legions to create a separate operation, leaving Angel as an inside man.

They lay dormant, remained silent, and developed slowly—all in preparation for the return of the Gene Master, even if the timeframe was ten thousand years, even if they didn't even know who their Gene Master was.

The Eighth Company was the most unconventional of Atlas's units. They were neither as versatile as the Black Knights, nor as steady as the Fourth and Seventh Companies, and even their secret operations were not as precise as the Ninth Company's.

But it was precisely this group of unreliable people who became Atlas's last seed. Sunlight streamed through the porthole, illuminating Angel's silver hair. Looking at the strong young man he had raised, he couldn't help but comfort him:
“We waited for him for ten thousand years, and he slept for ten thousand years for us. Now that he has returned, I must answer the call and bring the Legion back.”

Besides, we're not going to our deaths, we're just returning to the Legion. Moreover, Father said that once the Legion's framework is established, he will focus on building the Divine Spire, and then we can even play games together online.

"Cheer up, don't embarrass yourself. Look what I brought you!"

Angel pulled a warhammer out from behind his back; who knows how he managed to get it out of his rear end, but that's how he did it.

"This is a Furnace Destroyer. Where did you steal it from?"

With a quick arm around Feros's shoulder, Angier declared that one shouldn't speak carelessly. He explained that he hadn't stolen the hammer; Primarch Forgrim had lost it during the War of the Beasts, and it had later been acquired by the demon Primarch Perturabo, before being retrieved by Blood Raven.

Now that the legion has been reorganized, I naturally took this thing back.

"And I'll give you a heads-up: the legions will be reorganized soon. Multiple legions will be deployed together to launch the Unyielding Expedition, and Atlas will definitely be in charge of logistics and transportation."

The era of Warbands is over. We no longer need to fight to the death for a few resources, or work for those ruthless scumbags. We will recreate the glory of the Legions during the Great Crusade.

My father has appointed me as the tenth company commander and concurrently the casting supervisor. I didn't mind you calling me the second company commander before, but what should you call me now?

As the capable man who ended the millennia-long division of the Steel Hand, Feros instantly understood Angel's meaning:
"Adoptive father?"

"Hey, you really did teach me well. No wonder I took a liking to you at first sight. Now hurry up and open up the warehouse. If you don't invest now, it'll be too late later."

A chapter leader isn't necessarily a great fighter, but at least they can do the math. It might seem like the Iron Hand is at a disadvantage, with half of its members being Atlas, but if you think about it the other way around, more than half of Atlas's members are still Iron Hand members!
"Go for it, you have to go for it. Take whatever looks good to you, go all in."

Such scenes were not limited to the Iron Hand; as soon as a rallying order was issued, all the chapters that received the message rushed to Holy Terra.

Needless to say, Dark Angels and Ultramarines have the Primarch, after all. Johnson and Guilliman know how great it is after Atlas is rebuilt. The more they invest, the greater the return.

Although Mordred is unreliable, his extravagant spending spree is absolutely loved by all his brothers.

Even a transport battalion commander knows the importance of logistics. He can only micromanage the front-line troops and won't ruin their lifeline.

Interestingly, as the nominal guardians of Terra, the Imperial Fist was the first to receive the news, and they were the ones who pretended to be ignorant and let the expeditionary force into the solar system, making them the hidden MVPs.

Since the Black Templars, as a sub-group, had Atlas, then the mother group should certainly have one too. However, when they came to acknowledge their kinship, they discovered that the entire Imperial Fist had not a single Atlas; everyone was with the Black Templars.

It might not sound like much, but upon closer inspection, something seems amiss. With the Primarchs now back, nothing is more important than rebuilding the Legion.

With the rallying order issued, each founding group sent people to Holy Terra. Although it was not explicitly stated, everyone knew that Atlas was definitely among the founding groups.

So here's the question: why does the Imperial Fist, the original parent organization, not have Atlas, while the Black Templar, a subsidiary organization, has a large number of Atlas?

This embarrassed Gregor, the then-commander of the Imperial Fist Fighting Team, to the point that he frequently visited Mordred, which annoyed Mordred.
"Your Highness, I've brought everyone from the Second Company here. Take a look, Atlas is definitely among them. We are the true heirs of the Imperial Fist!"

"..."

"you sure?"

"I am sure!"

Due to Atlas's extraordinary secrecy, it's impossible to tell from appearances alone. In fact, when an Atlas is extremely convinced that he is the Fist of the Empire, even Mordred might be mistaken.

Mordred had no choice; since she was already here, she had to verify it.

The good news is that these large lemons are indeed not pure, and the bad news is that they are far too impure.

Of the 100 people, 72 are Imperial Fists, 24 are Iron Warriors, and the remaining four are all Afa. What's more, these four Afa each have their own ruthless skills.

One is tainted by chaos, one is loyal, one is half-confused, and the last one is a fallen angel in disguise.

But do you think that's all?
You should know that the Empire nominally only has one million Space Marines and 1000 Chapters, but this is just as unreliable as the Empire's paper data showing only one million worlds. Who knows how many are hidden?

Overnight, as if it were all planned, Mordred, who had just come out of the workshop, was surrounded by a dazzling group of Space Marines.

Tall or short, fat or thin, black or white, all sorts of strange and unheard-of creatures.

Before Mored could react, he was cornered against the wall, and then he heard the group shouting at him:
"Father! Your son has come to find you."

(End of this chapter)