Warhammer, I'm a nanny, not your father!

That's why he kept delaying the surgery. He knew Wop would die sooner or later, but he wanted to do it before he had the surgery.

The corners of Wop's mouth curled up gently, and he reached out and ruffled Typhon's hair: "It may take a few years, but I promise you, I will come back."

Typhon's eyes were slightly red, and he nodded vigorously, "I understand, teacher!"

"Motarion, I need surgery!"

Typhon raised his head, his eyes showing no awe for the future genetic father.

Mortarion slowly lowered his head, his cold gaze falling on Typhon.

After a moment of silence, he squeezed out a short syllable from his throat, "Okay."

He would have the best pharmacist perform the surgery on Typhon personally, and would specifically instruct the pharmacist to take good care of him.

……

"Lie down." Zadar Crosius pointed to the operating table.

Crotius: "You are the last one to undergo surgery."

Typhon looked the giant in the face without fear and corrected him firmly: "I am the last of the first group to ascend, but I will never be the last of Barbarus."

Croesus stared at Typhon, his voice a touch apologetic. "I did not disrespect the warriors of Barbarus. If my words offended you, I apologize."

Typhon's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, and a slightly stiff smile appeared at the corner of his mouth: "You don't have to apologize. Perhaps I am too sensitive. I should apologize to you."

Barbarus, the Primarch's homeworld, would become a recruiting world for the Death Guard. The proportion of Barbarus-born would increase dramatically, surpassing that of Terran-born.

But there was no irreconcilable sharp conflict between the two, because Mortarion treated them equally.

Whether of Terran or Barbarusian descent, they were all his descendants.

As Wop had never distinguished the origins of the Primarchs, neither would Mortarion.

Typhon and Croesus were getting along reasonably well until Croesus approached him with a knife.

Typhon, lying on the operating table, unconsciously rolled his Adam's apple. "Are you going to open my chest? Can you give me anesthesia first?"

He had read the procedure for the reconstruction surgery. The second heart was the first, simplest and most fully autonomous organ to be implanted.

But wouldn't it be a bit too scary to just go in there? Shouldn't we anesthetize him first?

Crosius let out a low chuckle, "Don't be nervous, the operation hasn't started yet."

"Then what are you doing with the knife?"

"I'll help you shave your head."

Typhon frowned. "Wait, what does shaving your head have to do with reconstructive surgery?"

Crosius explained, "Nerve knots, gene detection nerves, visual control organs, dormant meninges, and many other organ implants are all connected to the brain. Not shaving the head will affect the efficiency and safety of the surgery."

Typhon reluctantly agreed to this explanation, but his fingers continued to unconsciously stroke the ends of his hair. "But these surgeries are all in the future. Can't I wait until the actual surgery to shave my head?"

"Trust me, shave early and enjoy the benefits!"

Regardless of whether Typhon agreed or not, Croesus pressed him on the operating table with one hand.

This is the project that the Father of Genes arranged for him to take care of Typhon, and Croesus will not allow any mistakes!

……

"Father, when will you leave?"

Mortarion stared out the viewport into space, his head bowed, his voice as low and controlled as possible.

Wop's gentle voice carried a hint of reluctance. "It should be soon. Chagatai has divided his forces into twenty groups, sweeping across the Palatine Empire. Now, most of the empire has surrendered to his iron hoof. At this rate, he'll unify Chogoris in a month at most."

Mortarion stared at the orange-yellow Barbarus, his mind completely elsewhere. He murmured, "I took advantage of him."

In fact, Wop should have left a long time ago, but the journey to Chagatai was not over yet, so Wop would come back occasionally.

But the frequency of his return has become lower and lower, from returning every day at the beginning to returning once a week now.

Things will be over with Chagatai, and maybe the next time he leaves, Wop won't come back because he will have gone to his next brother.

He was the seventh and Chagatai was the eighth.

So who will be next?

Could it be the Primarch of the Ninth Legion? The brother his father never met but loved most?

Maybe.

The ninth Primarch of the IX Legion returned, how fitting for his brothers!

This is a wonderful number.

Just as the seventh Primarch of the XIV Legion returned, there could be no more beautiful number than the order of their return.

He was lucky, and perhaps his brother was too.

Mortarion stared into space in silence, letting his emotions surge in his chest.

Tenacity! Restraint!

Well-behaved! Sensible!

Even if he is not his father's favorite child, he must never be a child that disappoints his father.

He admitted that he felt reluctant to part with his brothers, but he would never be jealous of his brothers. Each of them should have equal access to their father's education.

"Father," Mortarion said in a deep voice filled with a firm promise, "When you set foot on this land again, you will be greeted by a reborn Barbarus."

"I will restore this ravaged world to its former glory, freeing every inch of it from the miasma of the Warp!"

"And my legion, I will make them worthy of the ideals you taught us. Every soldier will become what you wish them to be!"

Wop's gentle gaze fell on Mortarion's tense profile, and a gentle arc appeared at the corner of his mouth. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone, little Mor, because you have never let me down."

"What makes me proud is not what Barbarus or the Death Guard will become in the future, but what you have always been."

Mortarion straightened his body. His voice was low and firm. "I will stay true to my heart, father. This is my promise!"

He never let Wop down, but then again, did his brother ever let Wop down?

They are brothers standing at the same starting line.

Standing still will not win their father's approval, they must become more resilient!

Sticking to one's heart is so simple, yet so difficult.

Even his biological father, the Lord of Mankind, had never stayed true to his original intention.

For the continuation of the human race, I'm afraid he has already crossed his bottom line.

But if the continuation of human civilization is regarded as his original intention, the Lord of Mankind can truly be said to be loyal.

He is worthy of being his father, as tough as him.

Hopefully, the same goes for his brothers, especially the first son to return, Conrad Coates.

Horus? What Horus?

I don't know.

In Mortarion's eyes, the only meaning of Horus's existence was to provide him with enough heads to become the seventh Primarch to return.

Mortarion believed that the other Primarchs had the same idea, and only Konrad Curze was the brother who needed to be most vigilant.

……

"Dear father, fuck your mother!"

Garro's roar tore through the miasma of dawn, and soon his curses were answered by the other battle-brothers of the village, who began their daily morning prayers, a thousand times a day, echoing through the valley of Barbarus.

After a thousand consecutive morning prayers, a mortal's mouth would become dry and his vocal cords would even become hoarse. Typhon only survived because of his psychic powers.

But the Space Marines won't, they just feel it's not exciting enough.

But their mission is not just to pray in the morning. They also have to carry farm tools and cultivate farmland on the land of Babarus.

Winter goes and spring comes, and it is the season when all things come back to life.

The biting cold wind gradually faded away, and Barbarus, shrouded in poisonous miasma, welcomed the long-lost vitality.

Although the air is still filled with deadly toxins, the Death Guard have long been accustomed to working in such an environment.

Their third lungs can continuously filter out the poisonous miasma, but the concentration of poisonous miasma in the plains is too low, barely comparable to that of the bottom nest.

The poisonous gas even smells better than the one from the lower nest. The poisonous gas will only burn the lungs at most, but the stench from the bottom nest can really kill people if it is not filtered.

It is the busy farming season, but the young and middle-aged men of the resistance army are undergoing genetic modification surgery on track.

Thus, the Astartes of the Death Guard took on this glorious and arduous mission - this was an order from the Primarch himself.

No matter where the Death Guard are located, they must participate in the agricultural work every year.

They are warriors and farmers.

They took off their heavy power armor, lived and ate with the farmers of Barbarus, and headed to the fields every morning, grabbing their farm tools.

Garo dragged the old yellow ox, which was no taller than his waist, along the plowed ridges, taking deep and shallow steps. He turned to the technical sergeant who was almost half-crammed into the ancient farm tools and shouted, "Brother Watt, can you do it?"

"Don't worry, give me some more time, I will definitely be able to fix it!"

Watt was the only warrior wearing power armor. He wore it not because he was proud, but because he was a technical sergeant and was trying to repair these broken machines.

The working principle of this farm tool is not complicated, and the scan results of the Thinker also show that everything is normal. The promethium fuel has been added and the holy oil has been applied, but this machine just can't work.

Watt could only attribute it to the machine spirit being unhappy, so he kept singing binary hymns to appease the machine spirit.

But it still doesn't work.

The machine soul ignored him completely.

The gazes of his surrounding battle brothers made Watt sweat profusely. In anger, he raised his iron foot wrapped in power armor and kicked the farm tools hard: "Get up and work, you useless pile of scrap metal!"

"boom!"

The engines of the farm implements hummed low, and the ancient thinkers shone crimson:

"The password is correct, Nigo, start!"

Watt originally felt a little regretful after the kick, but fell silent after seeing this scene.

Does this work too?

Chapter 142 Twin Angels (5K)

"Your Majesty, the Supreme Khan, the Paladin surrenders!"

The palace envoy prostrated himself on the ground in the most humble posture, his forehead pressed against the cold ground, his trembling body like a fallen leaf in the autumn wind.

He knelt alone before the mighty army, but he represented the entire empire.

His kneeling was not only a sign of his personal submission, but also a testimony to the humiliation of the entire Palatine Empire.

But he dared not kneel - those massacred cities had already demonstrated the consequences of resistance.

Either they surrendered from the beginning, or they had to resist the attack of the grassland army.

But so far, no city has succeeded, not even for a day.

The new emperor is very aware of current affairs and is not an arrogant fool like the old emperor.

Otherwise, even if the emperor was unwilling to surrender, the court nobles would tie him up, because they were more afraid of death than the emperor.

"Enter the city!"

Chagatai Khan looked down at the court envoys crawling on the ground, with neither ridicule nor complacency in his golden eyes.

He neither checked the authenticity of the letter of surrender nor sent anyone to investigate the strength of the city gate. He simply lightly stepped on his horse's belly and galloped towards the open city gate.

Behind him, 20,000 cavalrymen followed like a tide, and the deafening sound of horse hooves made the bricks and stones on the city wall tremble.

Even though this was a perfect opportunity to kill 20,000 cavalrymen, the defenders on the city wall had no fighting spirit. They held their swords tightly, but the blades were not pointed at the invading enemies. Instead, they were vigilantly guarding against their comrades beside them.

Because everyone knew that even a stray arrow at this moment could cause Chagatai Khan to order a massacre of the city.

So they must not give the Khan an excuse to massacre the city!

"Your Majesty the Supreme Khan!"

The young new emperor stumbled forward, "surrounded" by the nobles, his knees slamming heavily on the ground, his forehead pressed against the cold stone bricks.