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

Captain: "My Lord, the commander of the Third Legion requests a meeting."

"The fleet will arrive on Terra in eight hours. Ask him to provide the coordinates."

Isdur was unconcerned with the useless meeting; he had inherited many memories, but not the skills of flattery.

But if the commander of the Third Legion was willing to humbly put aside his unnecessary arrogance, he wouldn't mind listening to him reluctantly.

……

"Saras." Inside the spaceport of Terra, the commander of the Third Legion extended a hand.

"Isdur." Isdur extended his armored hand and shook it. "Why did my lord command the two legions to assemble here?"

Sarath's brows showed deep confusion, as if he was shocked that the other party had no idea about this.

"The Third Legion only has two hundred warriors left." Sarath looked at him meaningfully and hinted, "My Lord will not let the Third Legion bear the burden of the main attack."

Isdur: "This is exactly why the Ninth Legion is here. What is our mission objective?"

Isdur's unyielding look made the usually calm Sarath look surprised.

He frowned and looked at Isdul with sharp eyes. Does the Ninth Legion have a talent for humor?

Isdur frowned, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Sarath fell silent, then decided to remind him one last time, "The Imperium has had eight Primarchs. It's been exactly three years since the last Primarch returned."

From the return of the second Principal to the return of the eighth Principal, the average interval between the return of each Principal was only two and a half years.

It has been three years since the last return of Jaghatai Khan of the Fifth Legion, the White Scars.

Three years!

At this point, if Isdur still didn't understand, Sarath would have nothing to say.

Isdur's voice suddenly became dry and trembling. "You...you mean...the Ninth Primarch...is...about to return?"

Sarath: "According to the battle reports, there are no recent battles in the Solar Segmentum that require the full deployment of the entire legion."

The Emperor had not informed him, and Salas only speculated at this point that a Primarch was about to return.

Even though the intelligence he had indicated that a Primarch was indeed about to return, he could not make any promises to Isdur.

Isdur: "Which Primarch?"

Sarath: "The return of the Primarchs of the Fourteenth and Fifth Legions was only a month apart, and both Legions received the order to assemble at almost the same time."

Isdur's body trembled slightly with excitement. Could it be that two Primarchs were going to return this time?

And one of them is the Primarch of the 9th Legion?

Are we going to have our own Primarch?

Really? Godfather!

Sarath noticed Isdur's uncontrollable excitement, which was always the case with marginal legions like theirs.

Salas clearly remembered that before the Primarch of the Twelfth Legion returned, the Ninth Legion had been active for a short period of time.

At the time, many believed that the Primarch of the 9th Legion was about to return. Although the 9th Legion's reasoning was illogical, it was very logical.

However, all the hopes of the Ninth Legion were dashed when the Primarch of the Twelfth Legion returned.

The Ninth Legion's well-reasoned analysis suddenly became the most ridiculous monologue.

They are like fireflies trying to compete with the stars. When the real light comes, they will become dust that no one cares about.

The Third Legion and the Ninth Legion share the same suffering, and they desire the return of their Primarch more than anyone else.

The Third Legion needs the Primarch's redemption, and so does the Ninth Legion?

Now, after all the hard work, the mentor finally favored their legion, and both legions returned at the same time.

The reason is still shrouded in mystery, but perhaps the Mentor felt that the efficiency of the Primarchs returning one by one was too low, so he changed his strategy.

No matter what the truth is, the Third Legion will always remember the mentor's great kindness and virtue!

Isidur suddenly sneered, "Even if the Primarch returns, what can he change?"

Sarath's eyes were sharp, "Why are you pretending in front of me?"

Even if Sarath had not witnessed Isdur's almost inappropriate ecstasy with his own eyes, he would not have been deceived by his clumsy performance.

The Third Legion and the Ninth Legion were in the same situation. They both carried unspeakable shame and struggled to survive in the shadows.

The Third Legion gradually withered under the erosion of the blight, while the Ninth Legion was despised and spurned by other legions and even mortals because of its genetic defects.

Deep down, they were all feeling anxious.

The warriors of the Ninth Legion knew better than anyone their notoriety within the Empire.

They were like prisoners awaiting trial, eager for the Primarch's return but fearing the reckoning that might follow.

The same was true of the Third Legion, a legion that had failed to protect the Primarch; they were a bunch of defectives.

They all worried that when the Primarch returned, his sacred eyes would reveal disappointment in the Legion.

They were all afraid that the Primarch would personally destroy the legion that had brought them shame, like discarding a defective product.

In the face of the Primarch's absolute authority, no one in the entire empire would dare to stand in his way.

The Emperor and the Master could stop it, but how could they stop their own children for the sake of a dying Legion?

Isdur's breathing was as heavy as thunder, his voice filled with rage. "Then tell me, what should we do with our cursed legion?"

Sarath bowed his head. "Judgment and redemption all depend on the Primarch's will."

Fate is in the hands of the Primarch, what can these warriors do?

Salas himself ended his legion, and he ordered the execution of 3,426 warriors, regardless of whether they were sick or not.

Five thousand seven hundred and twenty-one gene seeds carrying the Legion's hope and heritage were purified by flames amid the Legion's soldiers' earnest pleas.

In comparison, Isdur at least has some room for maneuver; his situation is much luckier than Sarath's.

But Sarath never felt any remorse for it.

The blight is like a cancer that gnaws at the bones. If it cannot be thoroughly cleansed, the Third Legion will suffer forever.

Every order he issued was the price he had to pay as the leader of the Legion, and the purity of the Legion must be maintained!

Isdur was silent for a long time. "Where is my Lord?"

Sarath: "Tyra."

Isdul: "The Ninth Legion still has a fleet that has not yet been assembled. When will we set off?"

Sarath's eyes showed a hint of surprise.

Isdur let out a bitter laugh. "If the Primarch is determined to liquidate the Legion, we, the defective ones, should at least not leave him any hidden dangers."

Ishdul has always been aware.

The IX Legion had always been scum, the freaks of Terra's radiation zone.

Even though they are angels now, they still cannot change their bloodthirsty nature. The development of genetic detection nerves is not an excuse for their bloodthirstiness.

He knew the truth when he ate Ishdul's brain.

For some defective products, just being alive is a sin.

Who is he? Isdur or one of his lieutenants? Which lieutenant?

He doesn't remember.

The Ninth Legion stubbornly maintains its barbaric and bloody rituals, as if an immortal legionary can make up for their shortcomings.

……

"Our Legion has suffered, our children have endured hardship."

Fulgrim sat on the clifftop, accompanied silently by Saint Jeremiah, his slender fingers pinching a bunch of grapes.

Wop was nestled between the two perfect Primarchs, and Karin handed him a piece of peeled cantaloupe with sparkling eyes.

Wop's voice slowly spread in the twilight, "Suffering is not worth singing about, but suffering should not be forgotten. To forget is to betray."

Fulgrim: "Father, will our Legion accept us?"

Wop laughed. "I bet if your descendants knew the Primarch was about to return, they would be feeling the same anxiety right now!"

Since unifying Baal, they have been awaiting the coming of the Empire.

Wop believed that the Emperor would come to them in half a year at most, and then he would go to find the other Primarchs.

Sanguinius and Fulgrim will return to the Empire, and like all their brothers, they will lead their respective legions to fight across the galaxy and expand the territory of the human empire.

They all understood their mission deeply. Wop believed that they would not repeat the same mistakes, and that their legion would not disobey their genetic father.

Fulgrim: "What's the bet?"

"Anything is fine."

"Then let's gamble our lives!" Fulgrim slowly stood up, his lips curled slightly. "If we lose, we will be your sons forever. If you win, you will be our father forever!"

Wop couldn't help but shake his head and laugh, "You're the one who makes the profit anyway, it's a sure win!"

Fulgrim raised his eyebrows elegantly. "Don't you think you've benefited greatly from this deal?"

"That's right, I can definitely make money."

A gentle smile played upon Sanguinius's lips. "That is the best of both worlds."

Karin looked at the three of them tenderly, without fighting or competing, as if that was enough.

"Any more grapes?"

Fulgrim's fingertips touched the edge of the fruit plate, but the porcelain plate was already empty.

He clearly remembered that he only picked a bunch of grapes, so how could the whole plate of candied fruits disappear out of thin air?

Fulgrim's eyes narrowed, his gaze like a blade as he studied Sanguinius.

Sanguinius simply blinked his clear golden eyes, his feathery eyelashes trembling slightly, revealing just the right amount of innocence.

Actually, he didn't eat much.

"Have a drink." Fulgrim poured a cup of brewed coffee and handed it to Sanguinius.

Sanguinius looked around. "Where's the sugar?"

"I threw it away." Fulgrim said with a playful smile on his face. "Drink it, dear brother, and overcome the sweetness."

Sanguinius slowly brought the sweet-smelling coffee to his lips. The bitter taste made a barely perceptible resistance flash in his eyes.

Chapter 163: A Gentleman's Friendship (5K)

"I still can't forget the day the Empire descended upon Baal."

Ivan's quill pen paused slightly on the parchment, and the ink left a few dark marks on the word "Empire".

"The light of a thousand steel galleons pierced the sky of Baal, dimming even the brilliance of the stars."

"They bring hope, but they also take away angels."

……

"How magnificent!"

Fulgrim gazed at the fleet in orbit that obscured the sun, the armor of each warship gleaming with a cold metallic sheen under the shining stars.

This iron army, composed of the empire's most elite ships and warriors, has now all come for them.

Sanguinius: "Because we are the Primarchs."

Honor does not need to rely on the support of pomp and ceremony; those grand celebrations are nothing but the natural fruits of the tree of honor.

The honor of the Primarch is like the brilliance of a star, which can illuminate the world even without being deliberately displayed!

Although Fulgrim was also upset about the order of return, the great achievements of those brothers who returned early in the Great Crusade did make the world have a clear understanding of the power of the Primarch.

No matter how terrible the performance of the Primarchs who returned later was, their strength and honor were undeniable.

Even if they have not achieved anything, the world still believes that they will bring great victory to the empire!

That is not boasting, but people's heavy expectations.