Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 86 Emperor, You Don't Understand People's Hearts (3k)

For those who are familiar with the course of fate, everyone is a weaver of destiny, but the more so, the more one can feel an extremely chaotic sense of dislocation.

Horus, an unavoidable protagonist in a major rebellion, completely shattered his previous image with just one monologue from a warlord, turning him into a severely demented patient who could only babble.

Shouting "Father loves me, I love my father," he drew his greatsword and began hacking away, transforming into Puff Superman, hacking away at the archangel until he turned into a meat sauce, leaving Old Man Huang paralyzed from the neck down.

Sharing the title of Empire Double Candy with the MVP of the Great Rebellion, the magical pony known as One-Eyed Sunburned Oglin, he is the honorary spokesperson for super sweet candy.

In the beginning, Mordred did consider finding an opportunity to eliminate Horus, or secretly imprisoning him and turning him into a living barracks for producing gene seeds.

It wasn't just Horus; Mordred had contingency plans for almost every Primarch who might betray them. After all, he was a Wayne, how could he not have contingency plans?
But upon returning to the Empire, Mordred discovered that things were not as they seemed, especially after his contact with Forgrim, when he realized that all his previous plans were wrong.

Take Horus as an example. Before he was turned into a cream puff, he was the best brother among the Primarchs, a respected Imperial Warmaster, and the first loyal Primarch to fall in battle.

Mordred can manipulate people's hearts, he can also kill people with gusto, and he can even use a facade of managerial democracy to make ordinary people screw in his factory.

After all, he believed it was only natural: if I feed you, you should work for me; if the pay isn't good enough, you can quit anytime.

But he couldn't bring himself to do something that would make good people want to be held at gunpoint, and even if Horus were imprisoned, another person would be stuffed into a puff pastry, which wouldn't solve the fundamental problem.

If you're unlucky enough to be Guilliman stuffed into a puff pastry, you might as well just restart. The Ultramarines can mass-produce units to death, unleashing a terrifying potential of 100 million Space Marines. Just thinking about it is terrifying.

"Damn Guilliman, having a big ass means you're good at bearing children! One day I'll turn you into a firearm and make you obediently give birth to my babies."

"What firearms? Brother, I've never asked anyone for help before. Bring them here so I can take a look!"

Horus, who was hiding with Mordred at the foot of a lunar crater, suddenly became agitated, grabbing Mordred's hand and refusing to let go:

"Horus, that's enough! I never thought you were this kind of person. Even if you're cured, you'll still drool. I'm talking about Guilliman!"

Guilliman is famous for his big, fertile butt. His reputation for having an extreme perky butt is known to everyone. In just a few years, large-sized blueberries are everywhere.

Could it be that Atlas is having trouble recruiting soldiers because I'm not big enough? That can't be!

Upon learning there were no photos of the she-wolf, Horus's excitement finally subsided. Watching Mordred's cerebellum churning and her own erratic behavior, after much thought, he finally asked the question he most wanted to know:

"Hey bro, how's it feeling being a war commander?"

"Awesome! Although Old Man Huang is unfair, only letting me manage people's livelihood and not mobilizing the imperial military power at all, a knock-off version is still a war general. If I hesitate for even a second, it would be disrespectful to my offspring's professional abilities."

Especially those brainless Terran council members, I just went for a 2-1 kill. Those damned insects, they actually dared to interfere with us.

Am I no longer able to wield a sword, or is he too restless? If you ask me, Space Marines should handle administrative affairs; that would be both efficient and fast.

However, after killing this group of people, I also offended everyone I could. I'll deal with it again in fifty years!

"But don't worry, I, Mordred, am not someone to be trifled with. I have firmly driven a thorn into the Terra Council."

Horus's eyes lit up instantly upon hearing this, realizing that aside from being a bit dim-witted, a goofball, and having poor eyesight, his brother was actually quite a nice person.

"That's right. Mortals are mortals after all. They can never compare to the Space Marines of superhumans, no matter how hard they try. Only we can manage this Empire."

Unfortunately, my father doesn't agree with my idea, but I know it must be the work of that treacherous minister, Makado. Last time I chatted with my father on the Abomination, because of him, the Emperor casually gave me a small pebble and sent me away.

"Wait! Why is the Emperor on my ship? Take out the pebble and let me see it."

Through their previous clash of ideas, Horus had come to regard Mordred as a like-minded brother, and without the slightest hesitation, he took out the bright green pebble.

Upon seeing the high-purity fel crystal in Horus's hand, Mordred's mind went blank for a moment. He finally realized what he had overlooked and immediately called Atlas to begin returning to his flagship.

Sure enough, when Mordred arrived at the Abomination's fel furnace, the mountain of fel crystals had vanished, leaving only a large, golden-haired man sprawled in the duty room, frantically performing oral exercises while clutching a data panel.

"Fuck your mother, you dog donkey, listen to me! Gold is the coolest color! You ignorant fool, don't come here to insult my amazing wisdom!"

"You useless piece of trash, you can't beat me, can you? Once a weakling, always a weakling, ugh!"

Perhaps tired of cursing, the Emperor took out a fel crystal, crushed it, poured it into an ice-cold cola, and took a big gulp:
"Cool!"

Seeing this, Mordred's vision went black. He now knew where his fel crystal had gone, and he also knew why the Emperor, that dog donkey, was so inflated with humanity, constantly consuming this stuff. Wouldn't his humanity explode?
Growing increasingly enraged, Mordred could no longer contain himself. He pulled out his pistol and fired wildly before charging straight at the target: "You weasel, you deserve to die!"

Intense plasma shot out, directly blasting the game console in the Emperor's hand in mid-air, followed by a giant sword blade falling from the sky.

Mordred was really going all out this time. Those fel crystals were something that the entire Atlas had saved up for years by beating up demons.

Before the blade could fall, Mordred abruptly pulled the greatsword back, simply because the damned weasel had placed its hand on the floor.

"Old Huang, don't be impulsive! The Abomination is innocent. We are all civilized people. We should be reasonable and harmonious!"

"Take your hands off me! I don't want those fel crystals anymore, okay?"

"You said it yourself, I didn't force you, you all heard it."

What could Atlas do? This was their proud flagship, the legion's flagship. They would be heartbroken even if it was just scratched. They could only obediently lower their guns and continue to be good kids.

I thought the Emperor was despicable enough, but I never expected this thing to be so shameless. When it comes to shamelessness, Mordred is second to none.

"You little weasel, you're playing games like this, aren't you? Just you wait, one day you'll regret it."

"What do you mean I'll regret it? We agreed beforehand that all the proceeds from the confiscation would be confiscated, and you could only take half. Tell me, how much did you take?"

Mordred dared not lose his temper now. He had indeed taken a small bribe, but he had done it very discreetly. How did that bastard know?

For the sake of his grand future plans, Mordred had no choice but to swallow his anger. He could always make up for it by raiding more houses later. After all, the empire was so big that there were bound to be some shady characters.

As for fel crystals, a renewable resource, consider it as feeding the dogs. The demons in the warp have an inexhaustible supply. We can make up for it by taking them down when we get the chance.

"Everyone, go away. I guess I'm just unlucky to have such a troublesome bastard like you. But what can I do? We're father and son, after all. When you're completely paralyzed, I'll definitely pull out your oxygen tube."

But then again, I feel like I've suddenly become so busy since becoming a War Commander, while you're eating, drinking, and playing games all the time. Are you deliberately making me work for free?"

The last person to say that was none other than the former War Marshal Orpeson. This immortal being, who was older than the Emperor, had already fled when he saw that things were not going well, leaving only the young Macardo here to be his slave.

Now, the Emperor is finding Mordred increasingly useful, and he's determined not to let him slip away under his nose, so he's started making empty promises again.

It was obvious that the Emperor was on a private call with Macado again, which annoyed Mordred so much that he kicked him out.

If you can't even speak properly and need someone else to memorize your lines for you, then what is the point of your existence?

Terra has arrived, and Mordred has earned enough resources to start operations. As for the surveillance agency set up by Macado, Mordred doesn't even want to touch it. He'd rather spend that time building his own sector.

After losing his motivation, Mordred quickly grew tired of the title of Warmaster, because it was just an empty title. No one paid any attention to the planned economy system he proposed, especially in the small, broken planet of Holy Terra, where nowhere was as peaceful and comfortable as his own home.

As the last batch of supplies was transported to Tranquility, Mordred felt it was time to leave this place that made him uncomfortable; otherwise, if he waited any longer, he would be tempted to kill everyone.

However, before leaving, Mordred still found Horus, who was lingering by the Emperor's side, and gave him a container full of photo books to verify her speculation.

Sure enough, when the giant golden figure descended from the sky and gave Horus a good beating, Mordred finally realized that he was being completely monitored.

The pent-up negative emotions of the past few days finally erupted. The entire Atlas assembles and leaves the Solar System without notifying anyone.

After eliminating several options, Mordred finally set his sights on the lighter he had smuggled from the Emperor. He really liked the cool lighter with its gleaming gold casing and the soul stone embedded in it.

The more Mordred liked it, the angrier he became. He wanted to throw it away, but he couldn't bear to part with it. In the end, he could only stuff it into his dimensional pocket and decide to avoid seeing it and getting annoyed.

As the fleet plundered warp snacks while returning to Tranquility, its long-dwindled fel crystal reserves began to gradually replenish.

As soon as he got home, Goff found Mordred and took him to the Hive Research Facility. Looking at the densely packed recruits who had begun undergoing Space Marine transformation, Mordred's mood finally improved.

But a new problem arose. As Atlas's production capacity increased, they urgently needed a new overseas market. In the current situation where the Machinery Industry is a state-owned enterprise and Atlas can only be considered a private enterprise, where could they dump their weapons and equipment?
After much deliberation, Mordred immediately set her sights on her second home, the world known as Altramor 500.

"Guilliman, let me see the ultimate shapely ass!"

(End of this chapter)