Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 377 100 Cooking Methods of the Titans

"Second brother, you're here for dinner. If you're not eating enthusiastically, something's wrong with you. Have you made yourself stupid?"

Sisyphus's voice rang out in the laboratory, abruptly interrupting Mordred's thoughts and nearly tearing the blueprints in his hand. Enraged, he burst into a tirade:

"You bastard, didn't you see the sign in the lab that says 'No Loudness'? If you keep acting so rudely, I'll send you to be a companion in Catachan and Severo."

"I think I really need to control you a bit. Have you finished your homework?"

"Meow~"

"You have the nerve to eat when you haven't finished your homework? You idiot, one day you'll make rice expensive..."

As the saying goes, evil people will always be punished by evil people. As a Primarch, Sisyphus did not go insane like other Primarchs. Although he was neither twisted nor arrogant, he was a complete scoundrel.

Gluttonous, lazy, and a complete idiot—that's Sisyphus for you. He's the kind of person who's always thinking about the next meal after finishing his meal. He's thoroughly mastered the art of being a madman, and while the other Primarchs stand by, he'll do whatever you tell him to do without even using his brain.

Anyway, I'm your own sister. I've already suffered all the hardships of this life before I was even born, so now it's my turn to enjoy life. The empire has to support me.

If a person has no ambition, then he is invincible. Guilliman and Johnson were helpless against Sisyphus. They tried to discipline and train him, but they couldn't really kill him, could they? Even reasoning with him was useless. He would just say, "What's it to me?" What could you do?
Sisyphus was shrewd; he saw that Guilliman and Johnson were trying to save face, but Mordred didn't care about that. "You little dog, you think you can get away with this? I have plenty of ways and means to deal with tough guys like you."

You can slack off if you want, or coast along if you want, I agree, but my fists disagree. If you're not afraid of losing face, I'll hang you on a flagpole and parade you through the streets. If you don't want to work, I'll beat you half to death.

At first, Sisyphus wanted to resist, thinking that they were all Primarchs, so what if they could fight? His punches were just as powerful! Calling him Second Brother was a courtesy, so he shouldn't be so ungrateful.

Then Sisyphus was brutally beaten by Mordred for three years, realizing what the difference in numbers meant. It was just too skillful, without any technique whatsoever.

Faced with Mordred's reprimand, Sisyphus didn't dare utter a sound and could only stand there, not even daring to curse inwardly. Mordred really knew how to read minds.

After three years of fighting, three years of training, and a barrage of insults, Mordred couldn't help but sigh. In these three years, Sisyphus had indeed learned something, at least shedding his illiterate status and no longer hiding behind him pretending to be dead.

"Alright, be more careful next time. Don't be so careless. You're a commander now, you can't follow me around like a shadow forever. What are we having for dinner tonight?"

"Have some Dorn soup."

"Dorn Soup! Is it going to be another culinary disaster? I hope it's not like the Stargazing Pie from last time, with a bunch of Tearbug heads stuck on top, it looks disgusting."

The Stargazing Pie Mordred mentioned wasn't a specialty snack from ancient Terra; the Stargazing Pie that Dai Ying mentioned would be a delicacy by today's standards.

The Stargazing Party he mentioned was a creation of the Phoenix Sons, the secondhand Phoenixes that Guilliman had forced into the Imperial Fist. The taste was simply awful; even Mordred, who was indiscriminate in her consumption, felt nauseous after eating it.

"It's not that kind of biological waste. I took a look before I came, and apart from the meat slices being blue, it looks quite good. As for why it's called Dorne Soup, it's because the first alien we captured was named Tigdorne."

"A good name; it sounds like someone with an unyielding will."

"That alien was indeed stubborn. Not only did it refuse to surrender, it opened fire on me. After being captured, it kept muttering that we were invaders and inhumane, and that it wanted to negotiate with us, saying that we could not enslave them."

Mordred nodded, indicating that enslaving others was indeed somewhat inhumane and extremely inefficient.

"Yes, slavery is still too backward. Second brother, you know me. How could I do something like that, bullying others? I would have slaughtered them all in one fell swoop."

After testing, it was found that although the blue-skinned aliens called Titans had excessive cobalt content in their bodies, their flesh was extremely delicious and rich in various trace elements.

Ordinary people might die from poisoning if they eat this, but it's quite nourishing for Space Marines. However, it's rather troublesome to prepare, and if not done properly, it can lead to poisoning and death. So the kitchen plans to make a batch of this as a test sample for you to try first.

I think this biological raw material has great potential; it could potentially make me a fortune.

"Well done! You're such a good sister. You're so thrifty and good at managing the household. You're much better at it than dealing in those electronic jewelry items. I always said that learning a skill is never a bad thing. Look at you now, you're even starting your own business."

Since you say it tastes so delicious, I must eat right away.

After quickly organizing the blueprints, Mordred walked towards the canteen with Sisyphus. Perhaps remembering something, Sisyphus asked Mordred what he had been doing just now, and why he had been acting so mysteriously.
"It's nothing. I'm designing a ship for you. The Tranquil 50 world has been completely reclaimed. It's time to recycle and reuse those shattered planets to make a ship for you."

"Don't be fooled by the fact that my second brother hasn't moved from his post these past few years; I haven't been idle either. I've been busy with massive construction and repairs back home. Atlas has now restored some of its production capacity, especially the starport, which has fully recovered and begun the first batch of ship repairs."

The ship Mordred was referring to was none other than an antique that had been transported from Stratholme.

He had been wondering where his ships had gone. When he asked Guilliman, Guilliman said he didn't know, as they hadn't seen the ships when they were eating the Atlas legacy. This angered Mordred, who beat him up again.

When Bloodraven returned, they finally understood that these ships hadn't disappeared. Instead, they had been retrieved after a long search when Tom was the Chapter Master, and then piled up in Stratholme, the ship graveyard.

Unfortunately, after Tom disappeared, the Blood Ravens were leaderless, and all sorts of little secrets vanished along with Tom. They even lost their former territory and retreated to their peaceful old home.

It's important to understand that Atlas's powerful logistical capabilities were built upon its once-strong industrial base, and as the foundation for transporting supplies, Atlas possessed the largest number of armed cargo ships in the Empire during the Great Crusade.

Although these armed cargo ships are not as powerful as military warships, they have the advantage of being numerous. They follow the expeditionary front to collect supplies and deliver weapons and equipment to the soldiers on the front.

This is why Mordred has stayed put for the past three years, diligently working on infrastructure in the rear, leaving all the frontline battles to Sisyphus. After all, to get rich, build roads first, and after the roads are built, you can pick up your chariots.

Without these cargo ships, even if Mordred were incredibly capable, he wouldn't be able to revitalize the Tranquility to Holy Terra golden shipping route.

Three years is not a long time, but it's not short either. With Mordred, the knock-off star god, personally taking charge, the Tranquil 50 World changes every day.

As soon as Sisyphus reclaims a world, engineers immediately go to explore and repair it in order to restore Atlas's industrial base.

After these repairs and maintenance efforts, although Ningjing has lost its former glory, it has at least restored its industrial strength and can now guarantee self-sufficiency.

Personnel relocation, material allocation, equipment development, and even the most crucial talent cultivation—Sisyphus only needed to kill people, while Mordred had much more to consider. "Second brother, you're bragging again. You can fool others if you want, but don't I know you? The material lists I've received lately are all signed by Goff, Roland, even Huron—but not your name! Have you been slacking off behind my back? And…"

"And what?"

Sisyphus, sitting at the dining table, glanced at Mordred. Seeing that there were many people around and he figured Mordred wouldn't immediately turn hostile, he muttered under his breath:

"Moreover, what you taught me is completely different from what I did myself. You told me not to be lazy or slack off, and you dumped everything on me, but I feel like you're just fooling me."

Government affairs were handed over to Goff, infrastructure to Gawain, Roland to logistics, Huron became a collaborator, and the two great sages, Kragg and Zeratul, were practically smoking from screwing in screws, while their forgemen were forced to work relentlessly.

You even dumped basic training on that unlucky guy, Severo, and convincing him that Catachan was a great place.

Second brother, you are really too immoral. You just banished him like that, and you even gave him the title of new recruit instructor. Even if he is an instructor, at least he can be free. But you also dumped Rivière on him.

I saw it all when I took the new recruits to the Catachan training camp last time. Severo was squatting on a small stool as punishment, and as for Rivière, he was even worse, throwing the recruits into the jungle to play wilderness survival.

"..."

"Ah! After all, we've been fighting for five thousand years, so it's normal to have a bad temper. As for your claim that I'm deceiving others, you can't just say things like that. We just have different roles."

As everyone knows, I am a scientific researcher. Without their brute force, being a coward in the rear is a matter of professional expertise.

Besides, this is called the ability to recognize talent. Warbands have their way of doing things, and legions have their way of doing things. More sweat in training, less blood in battle. Those who can come out of the Catachan training camp are all heroes.

And why do you talk so much? Even eating can't shut you up.

As soon as he finished speaking, a canine chef pushed a food cart over, with a bowl of seafood soup at the front, steaming and emitting an irresistible aroma.

"Shy, the soup's here!"

Seeing the delicious soup in front of them, with blue meat slices floating on top and glistening with oil, Atlas, attracted by the aroma, was the first to gather around. Seeing his good brother suddenly leave, Gray Shield, who also smelled the aroma, also came over.

"It smells so good, but the meat slices don't look like the right color."

"Could it be poisonous?"

"I don't know. Why don't you try it first, Father? If you're not dead, then we can eat it."

Mordred, who was being treated with filial piety, didn't say anything. The soup in front of her was indeed delicious and fragrant, but its bluish-green color was a bit creepy.

Mordred took out a spoon and scooped up a spoonful. He savored it carefully. The slices of meat were just the right thickness, tender and smooth. The soup was thick and creamy. Paired with perfectly stir-fried chopped onions, Mordred felt so good that his face flushed and he broke out in a sweat.

"Croak—Delicious! It's like kicking a pissing frog in the summer, so satisfying!"

Upon hearing this, the crowd, unable to bear it any longer, pounced on the food, grabbed their bowls, and began to eat like crazy. It was only because the kitchen had prepared enough thick soup that it could satisfy these gluttons.

Perhaps Mordred was satisfied with the product, because at the unanimous suggestion of all the Astartes, the Astral Army, and the canines, Mordred immediately established a production line and decided to make this thing the star product to be promoted after the reconstruction of the Tranquil 50 world.

Since the Tau people were killed by Sisyphus, Mordred even built a flesh and blood workshop to cultivate raw materials for cloning and rushed to produce a batch of samples to send to his good brothers.

This is a small step for Atlas, but a giant leap for the revival of the empire.

With the departure of the cargo ship loaded with weapons, equipment, food supplies, and other goods, the Atlas logistics system, which had been dormant for millennia, was officially revived.

From Tranquility to Brogold to Cadran to Banan to Pluto Harbor, and finally to Holy Terra, in just 15 standard Terra days, this canned goods were transported from the Tranquility assembly line to the Royal Palace.

"Titanium canned food, delicious! It seems Mordred has opened up the sea route. Before long, we can launch the real Unyielding Expedition."

Perhaps it was bad luck for the Titans, or perhaps it was good luck for the Thais; in any case, the Titans canned food produced by Atlas received high praise from the Lion King, and the Dark Angels and Ultra Warriors who stayed behind in Terra enjoyed it very much.

But while some rejoiced, others wept. Guilliman looked at the metal can in front of him and felt a pang of sorrow.

It's not that the food is bad; Zhuang Senshuang is so happy he's practically an old cat. The main problem is that while the canned food is good, it means Mordred will be back soon.

"Stop eating, you bastard! All you do is eat! Come up with something! How can I face anyone looking like this? If Mordred and Sisyphus come back, they'll definitely laugh at me."

Upon hearing this, the Lion King glanced at Guilliman, but for some reason, seeing his good brother staring at him, Guilliman retracted his little paws, feeling a strange fear.

"What are you doing? Don't look at me like that. I get scared when I see you."

"What can I do? You deserve it. The instructions say two hours in black and white, but you had to be reckless. Now look what happened. If it weren't for your different fur color, people would think you were one of those yellow-skinned rats."

No, you're not the Emperor Spirit. Those little things are for catching mice. You're the big rat. Even Caliban doesn't have a rat this big. I've never seen one like you before. The fat on your belly is all wrinkled.

Hehe, just eat a little less. If you keep eating, I'm afraid someone will see you and you won't be able to run away. Remember to run for two hours to lose weight later, and then go and approve the documents.

"Shut up! I'm not fat, I'm strong!"

"Two meters tall, two meters wide, and weighing two tons, how dare you say that? Looks like I need to really keep an eye on you."

"What are you doing? You can't do this! I'm your brother, squeak—!!!"

(End of this chapter)