Warhammer: My Biological Father Emperor and My Demigod Brother

Because he actually felt that there was nothing wrong with this behavior—

He even claimed that when he lived in caves around the world, he liked to draw on the walls.

Perhaps future archaeologists will appreciate their work. What does that mean? It means the creators' emotional needs have been met!

Looking back, Hades could be considered someone who, after posting for years, would finally get a reply, and even receive +3 experience points, and would be overjoyed for half a day.

Alas, I must revise my assessment of the immortals.

I used to think they were protecting the wheels of history as they moved forward, but later I realized they were blocking the way but would still be crushed by the wheels, stuck to them and rolling forward together.

But now it seems that they are dedicated to hindering human history, because they still consider themselves human and naturally want to participate in shaping history.

This is probably the only acceptable bright spot among this kind of behavior.

The family's two-day trip to the Valley of Death ended with Angron giving up on cooking the local species and embarking on their journey to Ondino.

Because the locals—cough cough cough—the local species just don't taste good.

(An elderly father in a certain timeline: You're delicious, go to heaven!)

Chapter 238 Anda: I'm such a responsible father (3K)

Guilliman felt a bit of a toothache, but honestly, there wasn't any bug that could hurt him.

Even in his Primarch form, facing a vast swarm of insects, some insects would still manage to hit his helmet.

The insects realized the weakness of humanoid creatures long ago, and only wavered when fighting the Ork.

In most cases, insects prefer attack methods that can instantly eliminate the opponent's ability to move, such as tearing them apart or piercing them.

But this is something the Imperial army can hardly learn, because their weapons simply cannot do it.

Damn it, the Empire's military industry hasn't improved at all since I first woke up!

This even emboldened the Mechanicus to continue excavating ancient ruins while neglecting the maintenance of existing production lines, because they believed that with the Primarchs returning and humanity's life-or-death crisis being delayed, their immediate priority was naturally to find larger and more powerful technologies.

(That's what we think.)

Guilliman sat on the flagship's command platform, stroking the scratches on his helmet, his mind filled with a myriad of thoughts.

Fortunately, he had always had the habit of wearing a helmet, but due to the propaganda needs of the Empire, newspaper covers featured images of him without a helmet.

"Folber, we will pass through Terra, then detour to Syra, to intercept Chaos in the center of the galaxy."

Guilliman placed the helmet down, and several special servo skulls with mechanical wings flew over and together pulled up the golden plate supporting the helmet to carry it away for maintenance.

The plate was even engraved with incantations from the Mechanicus cult.

If it weren't for the urgency of the battle and the lack of time, they could have crafted every Astartes armor-donning ceremony into the most solemn and sacred ritual.

Not to mention the helmets that maintain the Primarch.

Perhaps, this really works.

Folber glanced at the helmet that had flown away and thought to himself that this armor, which was a mixture of the fates of different races, actually protected the Primarch by being kissed by His Majesty's flesh.

He felt a little nauseous.

Of course, his Imperial Guard brothers might have already been thinking of taking advantage of His Majesty's incoherent state to bend over and get kissed themselves.

They even did this without wearing armor.

Fobel crushed the blasphemous thoughts in his mind, and then said solemnly, "Your Majesty, forgive us."

"Your Majesty—no, cough cough, Your Regent—my duty is to guard you. I trust my comrades!"

If you bunch of bastards really did something to shame the Emperor and you keep it from me, I'll put you all on the stock market!

Guilliman let out a long sigh and said:

“I thought you had nothing on your minds except him. I have no intention of landing to pay homage. To be honest, my jaw is still a little sore even though we’re already in Terra.”

"The pain disappeared quickly after the last battle. That was really dangerous. Can you imagine those insect assassins trying to develop blunt arms instead of their original sharp blades to attack me?"

"After they realized they couldn't tear my armor, almost immediately insects came crashing down with chitinous fists that were bigger than my gauntlets."

Folber remained motionless and said coldly:

“Your Majesty, you should tell these things to your Legion. We will not listen to irrelevant matters like the Ultramarines.”

"Your sigh is a bit too long."

Guilliman's lips curved into a slight smile, and the wrinkles on his face softened a little as he chuckled:

“Ever since your elder brother and the brothers from ten thousand years ago appeared, you have been able to say anything other than ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘Sir, I refuse.’”

"Alright, I'll give you a break. Go back to Terra and meet your Emperor. I know the bond between you. The earliest Custodians had a deep friendship with him, even like father and son at one point. Just like me and the Ultramarines."

If things were going according to the strange script, Faubel should now be awkwardly touching the tip of his nose and haughtily saying, "No way."

But he remained wary:

"Your Majesty, I have no doubt about the Emperor's first son."

After all, it was I who personally conveyed the order to make a lumbar pillow for His Majesty, and the court was punished for it, which is a testament to His Majesty's power.

"But do you really think Lorga Aurelion and Perturabo have changed?"

Guilliman leaned back in his wide chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the surface of the steel armrests.

This even made Fobel feel somewhat dangerous, because the Primarch had never done this when thinking about problems before.

"Don't ask me that kind of question, Fobel. And don't use my full name, I'm almost forgetting my last name, Loga."

Guilliman even had an urge to cross his legs; he now felt like he was in Thessa (the battleground between the Ultramarines and the Emperor's Sons), with Fulgrim watching him from the enemy flagship.

What a strange omen! Could it be that he's about to run into Fugen again?

Before the conversation could continue, this impulse to act in a way that was completely incompatible with Guilliman finally disappeared.

The Primarch sat upright in the chair once more.

A message appeared on the projection screen ahead, informing them that the palace had dispatched a troop of imperial guards to convey an imperial decree.

While waiting for the Imperial Guard to arrive, Guilliman looked at the motionless Folber and made a joke:

"Perhaps they've come to relieve us. You can leave me and return to your loyal Majesty."

Folber didn't reply; the Primarch was being rather talkative today.

Is this also a manifestation of the corruption of chaos?

He felt a chill run down his spine.

The Imperial Guards must consider and be vigilant about any potential risks!

Especially since it concerns the Primarch, if Guilliman were to forcibly crown himself Emperor as regent, the Custodians would likely be powerless to stop him!

Soon, the door to the command room opened, and the leading imperial guard held a recording box. It was extremely rudimentary, but it was fully functional, as if it had been hastily put together.

The Imperial Guards spoke up: "The rest of you, retreat and wait."

Guilliman shook his head helplessly and waved his hand. All the personnel in the command room, except for the essential ones, left.

The next moment, the Imperial Guard activated the recording box, from which came a voice that left Guilliman almost speechless:

"Well, I know our meetings never end well, so you don't need to come and greet me. Just focus on your work."

“Angron is doing very well with us now. So I had Ryan beat that demonic thing back to a pulp.”

"Fobel, right? Listen to what the thirteenth prince says. Your name is actually sewn onto that pillow. Guilliman is very good to you."

“Now, I will block everyone else’s hearing. Okay, Guilliman, now only you can hear me.”

"There is no conflict between you being my most useful tool and—my best son. I love you, Guilliman, but, due to reality, you are already aware of the dangers posed by the Chaos Gods."

"And the heavy responsibility of carrying the entire empire on one's shoulders."

On the day of the Black King's pre-Christian holiday, Anda secretly did many wicked things, perhaps.

However, Guilliman was unaware of this. He simply roared and stood up, preparing to fire the Hand of Command at the box held by the Imperial Guard in front of him.

He finally understood why the Inquisition and the State Church liked to shout "heretic!" at anyone they saw.

After hearing the corpse on the throne speak such a long and lighthearted speech, Guilliman was left with only the extreme fear that the emperor had been corrupted by the evil god.

Until the next sentence popped out of the recording box:

“I knew how you would react, Guilliman, relax.”

Golden light flowed from the box, reshaping its material composition and transforming it into a small robot.

It's like the wasteland style design that people imagined in a certain era.

The Emperor Robot sat down in the hands of the Imperial Guard, its legs crossed, its golden holiness beyond words, something that no chaos could touch.

It's also possible that this was originally chaos, so there was no need for contamination.

This power was exactly the same as what Guilliman had felt from the living saint, and even when he himself was in Nurgle's Garden.

“I don’t have much time left. Be careful of Peturabo and Fugen, I mean those traitors. I’ll call them Evil Steel and Ugly Phoenix.”

"Bring me the blueprints for the Destruction Cannon that Xiao Pei gave you before, I'll refine them. It was originally just an idea from Kaul, he was the first to be willing to try out technology and psionic concepts, pshaw, what concepts. Psionic concepts are just demonic!"

The Emperor Robot grumbled, then turned around and told the Imperial Guards to flatten their hands so they could bang their butts.

Then he said, "What can I do? How long am I supposed to worry about this family? I've only been covering for a few days. Didn't that old man consider what would happen if I didn't take action, and your thing, after some research, turned into a demonic force?"

The Imperial Guards, who were juxtaposing His Majesty's mechanical rear end, instantly became alert:

Good heavens, the Regent is indeed studying things related to Chaos Corruption!

Guilliman, looking utterly exhausted, slumped back into his chair, facing his father with a posture utterly unbecoming of Ottara etiquette.

"Let's get down to business."

That was the only way he could emphasize it.

The Emperor robot (Anda) coughed twice. It was unclear whether it was due to the poor quality of the speaker installed in the recording box, or whether he simply felt that even his mechanical voice needed some lubrication.

In short, it was a sound that was practically damaging to people's eardrums:

"In short, I am here to replace this concept, the concept that symbolizes the destruction of all mechanical structures. Unlike the shoddy work of the orcs, they need to hold something in their hands before they consider it usable."

The Imperial Guards suddenly became solemn and respectful. So this concept was His Majesty's doing. Then it's alright.