Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 94 Guilliman: Damn you, Mo Er, you've gone too far! (3K)

"This is the last time! You said you would never lie to me."

"I would never lie to you. I'm your father. How could your father possibly harm you? With Makado on the side, the three of us are invincible. I can't live without you!"
If I lied to you, may I be beaten into a spinal cord injury and become a vegetable.

The giant, golden-haired man stood up and grabbed Mordred's shoulder, forcing out two tears with his supreme psychic power. He grinned foolishly, baring his teeth, leaving the Imperial Guards dumbfounded. They wondered if this was still their emperor, how could he be so shameless?

"To prove my sincerity, aren't you worried about the difficulty of expanding your legion? I can give you the technology of the Original Blood Stack. How about that? Are you relieved enough now?"

Even if Mordred could resist the charm of the yellow weasel, he couldn't withstand this smooth combo. After all, he was the loneliest person in the world, and only the Emperor could be considered a half-friend.

"Hmph~ Now you know how to offer benefits? Don't try that on me, just admit you were wrong!"

Now that things have come to this point, even if the Emperor is unwilling to admit it, he can only appease Mordred, who is of great importance. Otherwise, if those four good-for-nothings take the opportunity to poach his men, wouldn't he be at a loss?

If I could have built the internet properly, things wouldn't be like this!

This was the highest level of emotional intelligence I'd displayed since the big golden guy tricked Erda. My brain was working at lightning speed, and I managed to get Mordred to renew my credit points by using a mix of coaxing and deception and saying a lot of nice things.

However, what no one knew was that this scene was witnessed by Koz.

These two nagging old men are actually my father and brother. Sigh, what a waste of their energy!

Hurrying away from this awful place he loathed, Koz and his friends began to recognize each other, saying they would remember everyone's name. He was determined to memorize every single one of them; a total of 40,000 Midnight Lords would keep him busy enough.

Taking advantage of the spare time, the Emperor kept his promise and gave Mordred a copy of the original Blood Stack technology.

With this, Atlas no longer needs to steal other people's gene seeds; he can produce them entirely on his own. The only problem is that he needs the original blood.

Unlike tomato juice that sprays out for a long time after a single stab, ordinary blood can also be used to make gene seeds. However, the quantity of these seeds is limited, and the time and resources required to make one are completely disproportionate to the yield. They are generally used to replenish the base population of one's own army.

Mordred's Spartan Warrior program produced troops quickly, but their quality was far inferior to that of regular canned goods. Not only did they lack genetic seeds that could inherit experience and knowledge, but their physical attributes were also only half that of Space Marines, and their lifespans were short.

After the field acceleration test, Spartan warriors could only live up to a thousand years old, and their physical strength began to decline at eight hundred years old, entering the aging stage.

In other legions, even with a low adaptation rate, it's impossible for recruits to be selected and then die one after another. But Atlas is like buying lottery tickets; it's extremely strict about recruits, and it's also random. Even Mordred can't figure out the pattern; it's all based on luck.

In the era of the Great Crusade, when Space Marines were used as the most important resource, entire units were wiped out. Without a proper personnel replenishment mechanism, the legions would only dwindle in number as the war went on.

To date, Atlas's Space Marines number only 14,000, having been completely overtaken by the Emperor's Sons, making it the smallest of the Primarch Legions.

On the contrary, the Spartan warriors broke through the 100,000 mark and became Atlas's true main force. Often, one Atlas would command four Spartans to form a five-man killing squad.

Looking at the original Blood Stack (blank), which had been completely replicated and was floating up and down in the static force field, the two big guys on the Emperor Dream looked at each other in bewilderment.

Therefore, after figuring out the unique technology of using other Legion gene seeds as culture medium and consuming fel soulstones as nutrition, Atlas's seed compatibility rate, even though it is still not as good as other Legions, is already acceptable.

The only constraint is the gene seed, which must come from another legion. As for fel soulstones, the warp has plenty of other things, but it's overflowing with demons.

"Old Huang, you must have left behind a stockpile of other Primarchs' original blood. Hurry up and give me some. This thing is all made, and you won't give me the raw materials. Are you playing cybernetic infighting with me?"

"No, there are only two Primal Blood Stacks, one here and one in Luna. Where am I supposed to get Primal Blood for you?"

The Emperor wasn't lying this time. After all, you can't lie about this stuff. The Primarch was just cultivated when that crazy woman, Ilda, threw it away. Being able to make a backup means that his tens of thousands of years of research haven't been in vain.

The two men in white lab coats slurped up noodles, ignoring all laboratory aseptic rules, and devoured their food, even pulling the Imperial Guards who had come to deliver the meal along with them.

"Second brother, I need to remind you that the extraction of the original blood involves scraping a fragment off the original body. Be careful when you extract it, don't pluck it bald, you need to give the weapon time to recover."

Upon hearing the Emperor refer to the Primarch as a weapon again, Mordred knew that this scoundrel was incorrigible. If he had put even a little of the effort he had into Horus, he wouldn't have ended up being abandoned by everyone.

"I know, I know, I'm not going to pluck someone bald, are I? You should think about yourself. You haven't even been to see Koz since he came back. I really don't know how you became a biological father. That Imperial Guard, am I right?"

"Ah, His Majesty must have his own reasons. We cannot presume to know." The Imperial Guard, who could become ultimate beings, were no ordinary people. Their emotional intelligence far surpassed that of the Emperor, a mere good-for-nothing. It was just a pity that they were also a bunch of dog-like boys. Sometimes Mordred wondered if there must be something dirty in the genes of the yellow-skinned creatures, otherwise it would be impossible to explain why the Primarchs, the Imperial Guard, and the Space Marines were all so obsessed with gravity and so eager to please.

Mordred opened his elemental bottle, and as emerald lightning flashed, three metal cups appeared, filled with orange juice he had personally brewed using demonic ingredients.

Because Atlas's numbers were small, in order to save their own lives, they were all extremely cowardly on the battlefield. They would ambush rather than confront head-on, and wear heavy armor rather than go into battle lightly equipped. They were all a group of patients with insufficient firepower.

To improve their survivability and prevent their Spartan underlings from dying, each Atlas brews a sweet drink called Orange Juice, which is used to replenish their life force. The only drawback is that it leaves behind a residue of fel energy.

And Mordred, who is above Atlas, goes without saying. His orange juice with pulp has the most authentic taste and the highest concentration. A single sip from it can kill an ordinary person, turning them into a fel beast and causing them to go mad.

tons, tons, tons

As the orange juice with pulp was poured into their bellies, a warm, bright yellow glow shone on the three big guys, accompanied by a pleasant, trembling sound:

"Old Huang, I've always been curious about something. Why do you always bring a group of Imperial Guards with you whenever you appear? After all, with your thick skin, how many people in the entire galaxy can kill you?"

Even if the Imperial Guards came in large numbers to kill you, it wouldn't make a difference; what would be the point of them protecting you?

The emperor smiled slightly. He had been waiting for this question for a long time, but unfortunately no one had ever asked him. Now, the day had finally come.
"It's precisely because they're useless that their value is revealed. Don't you think that makes me cool and awesome!"

"what?"

The Royal Guards were shocked because their emperor said they were useless, while Mordred was shocked because he found it very reasonable.

"Old Huang, you're a fucking genius! I suspect your IQ is at least equivalent to ten thousand Oglins, no doubt about it!"

"You flatter me, you flatter me. After all, I am your father. I have eaten more crabs than you have seen salt. I am worth at least 20,000 of them." The big, golden man couldn't suppress his smirk. His back teeth were almost showing as he continued to show off.

"Think about it, if I go out and break into a gang and no one mentions my name, how can that highlight my greatness? After all, not everyone is as cool and domineering as me."

More importantly, the more I press Waaaagh, the stronger I become. Otherwise, how could I contend with those four useless fools? I figure this is a necessary price to pay.

He snatched Mordred's Elemental Bottle, uncorked it, poured three more glasses, and stingily held the bottle in his own hand, tilting his head back to gulp them down.

After a few more glasses of orange juice, the big, golden guy, already quite drunk, started speaking with an orc accent, spewing out holy profanities, and even revealing that he had once gone to brothels in Comoros with the Eldar prophet.

In the end, even Mordred got drunk and said that the three of them had to have a good time today. He took the two of them to their own ship and headed straight for the bathhouse, also bringing Koz along.

"How wonderful, how wonderful! Look at this Coz, he's such a loser."

Watching the bat cub being force-fed orange juice by the Emperor, its eyes already rolling back in its head, Mordred grabbed the guard beside him and asked:
"Hey bro, I'm in a good mood today, so my good brother Coz is paying for everything. What's your name again?"

No one would choose to ask the name of a member of the Imperial Guard; it's a long and tedious name, but luckily this unfortunate commander was also drunk, his mind clouded by evil energy, and he'd become a complete idiot.

"Your Highness, you can just call me Little Kitty. Let me go, I can still drink!"

"Well done, Brian, Tom, Rambo, where are you guys? Bring me some more orange juice."

The three drunkards made quite a commotion, attracting more and more Atlas to watch. Other legions would have stopped them, but the Atlas were not normal people and joined the feast.

As the Atlas collectively went mad, even the Midnight Lords were not spared, and were all tricked into joining the Abomination in this grand spectacle.

The banquet lasted a week, consuming all of Atlas's stock of orange juice liqueur. In the end, Mordred couldn't take it anymore and found a corner to fall into a deep sleep.

Just before closing her eyes, Mordred felt like she had forgotten something, but then she thought that things she could forget probably weren't important, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Meanwhile, Guilliman, who had arrived at the tarmac for the second time, clenched his fist as he looked at the empty starport:
"Modred, you've gone too far!"

(End of this chapter)