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

"Okay, how do you want me to demonstrate?"

The Speaker said gently: "Use the method you see fit."

Dorn thought for a moment, then suggested, "Please ask my sister Saphir to come to the conference room and prepare a stone sculpture."

Speaker: "According to Councillor Dorn's request."

Soon, Saphir walked into the conference room with a confused look on his face, and an exquisite stone sculpture was placed in the center.

Dorn walked steadily towards the stone sculpture and faced Sapphire, "Sister, unleash your most powerful psychic attack on me."

Saphir showed hesitation, and Dorn's steady voice came, "Don't worry, I can bear it."

"OK then."

Saphir took a deep breath, and a faint blue spiritual light gradually condensed in his palm.

With a light push of her hand, a storm of psychic energy powerful enough to tear through tank armor struck Dorne.

Dorn stood firm in the violent psychic energy, but the stone sculpture beside him was shattered and turned into powder in the aftermath of the energy!

The Speaker raised his hand to signal Saphir to stop, "That's enough!"

Saphir gathered his psychic energy, saluted gracefully to the members present, and then quietly left the hall.

The Speaker stood up and was the first to applaud. "Congratulations, Councillor Dorn, you have successfully completed all the trials."

Dorn frowned and questioned, "But I still have a trial to complete."

Speaker: "You quelled the rebellion in Krobus, which was equivalent to reconquering the world. Asking you to complete this trial would only be a waste of everyone's time."

"Besides, we were the ones who proposed the trial, and the purpose of the trial is to gain our approval."

"I don't think anyone would disapprove of you now."

Members of parliament stood up to show their recognition of Dorne, and thunderous applause rang out in the chamber.

Dorne was never pretentious and he accepted the parliament's approval calmly.

The purpose of the trial is to prove his ability, not to stick to the formalities.

Now that the council has approved it, the final trial is unnecessary.

Even if others still insist, he will have plenty of opportunities in the future.

The Speaker touched his chest with his right hand and said in a very serious voice, "Please give the order, my Lord!"

The entire conference hall fell silent in an instant, and all the members maintained the same posture, with their right hands on their chests.

The Invites' ideas are as traditional as their way of life. Once someone passes the trial, the entire empire will pledge their loyalty without reservation.

Their loyalty does not come from fear, but from adherence to and respect for the rules, so no one will ever disobey Dorne.

Dorn's gaze swept across the solemn assembly of councillors. "Then, my first order is to fully repair the Phalanx."

Senator Orne frowned slightly. "My Lord, are you sure you want to restart the project? The restoration of the Phalanx has been stalled for hundreds of years. With all due respect, we are not capable of repairing it."

The Orn clan controls production in the Invert Empire, and their casting skills are unmatched.

While this was an admission of Clan Ornn's incompetence, they were indeed unable to repair the Phalanx.

Dorn: "The repair technology for the Phalanx has been sealed in the Imperial database, but no one has been interested in it for hundreds of years."

"My brother and I have developed a restoration plan based on this, and I will submit the detailed technical plan to the parliament for review later."

The Speaker nodded slowly: "As you wish, my Lord."

Senator Orne had full faith in Dorn's abilities. One of Dorn's trials was to design a new spaceship, and the new warship he designed outperformed any existing ship in the Empire. The Orne clan praised his talent highly.

Since he clearly stated that he could repair the Phalanx, the Ornn clan naturally would no longer have any objections.

The situation in the rear is like this. The Ornn clan only needs to devote themselves to the project, obey orders and perform their duties. The Primarch has a lot of things to consider.

……

The last city-state, the last tyrant.

The defenders on the city walls poured fire like crazy to defend their last home.

Shoulder-fired rockets designed to counter steam vehicles rained down, though they had difficulty penetrating the tanks' armor.

But there were so many of them that an armor-piercing shell luckily penetrated the side armor of the leading tank, and the hot metal jet instantly ignited the internal ammunition.

The shockwave from the explosion lifted the turret into the air, and the burning wreckage left a blinding streak of fire on the slope.

The torrent of steel paused for a moment in front of the pass, and then advanced forward with even greater violence.

The burning wreckage of the tank was violently knocked aside by the following vehicles, and the metal tracks made a teeth-grinding sound as they rolled over the charred armor.

"Keep going! Don't stop!"

Barabas roared in the communication channel. These radios brought from Invert greatly improved the combat efficiency of Rocks' army.

Every tank roared and opened fire, the gunners aiming through the thick smoke at the defenders behind the battlements.

Every roar of the main gun was accompanied by a large amount of exhaust gas gushing out from both sides of the muzzle brake, and the entire valley was soon shrouded in pungent gunpowder smoke.

The artillery positions of the Rocks Siege Guards began firing in salvos, and the heavy howitzers roared earth-shakingly, sending shells accurately onto the city walls and towers.

The city walls, which the defenders were so proud of, had become unrecognizable after being hit continuously. A large number of firing holes were destroyed, and hundreds of defenders died from direct or indirect injuries from artillery fire. The defenders' counterattacks gradually became increasingly sparse.

When the vanguard tank group approached the city gate, the soldiers pushed open the top hatch and fired at the battlements with the vehicle-mounted machine guns, and all the main guns also simultaneously tilted shells towards the defenders on the city wall.

When the defenders were forced to retreat behind the battlements under fire suppression, several soldiers took the opportunity to rush to the city gate and affix explosive packs to it.

"Everyone retreat to a safe distance of 500 meters! Repeat, retreat immediately!"

Barabas's hoarse command came over the communication channel.

Faced with the tortoise-shell defenses of other city-states, Rocks only has this set of tactics, and their tactics have been proven to be effective.

"boom--!"

A deafening explosion tore through the city gate, and the shock wave spread in a circular shape, blowing nearby rubble into the air.

The heavy steel city gate twisted and deformed in the dazzling flames, and when the smoke gradually dissipated, a huge gap was exposed in the field of vision.

"The breach has been opened! All-out attack!"

When the tank tracks rolled over the ruins of the city gate and the roar of the steel behemoth sounded from inside the city wall, it also indicated that the balance of war had completely tilted.

The defenders' last psychological defense line collapsed with the influx of tanks, and their will to resist was wiped out like a blown-up city gate.

The smoke had not yet cleared, but the battle flag embroidered with the Rocks emblem had already been planted on the highest point of the city wall.

Flags fluttered in the smoke, announcing the fall of the last city-state.

Like every tyrant, the tyrant was waiting for him on the throne.

No tyrant surrendered, even when their backs were against the wall.

Perturabo: "Any last words?"

The tyrant was silent for a long time, then slowly said, "Can you spare my offspring?"

Perturabo: "If they surrender, they will be treated well and allowed to live out their days in dignity as prosperous civilians in Lox."

"Thank you." The tyrant's spirit gradually relaxed.

Perturabo: "You can enjoy your old age."

The tyrant slowly shook his head. "That's fine. I don't want to be like Antaram, imprisoned in a cage."

"No one will torture you."

The tyrant laughed at himself, "My country is lost. Living is the greatest torture for me. I will remember this day for the rest of my life. It will remind me all the time that I am a king who has lost his country."

He meticulously smoothed out every wrinkle on his robe and put the crown that symbolized royal power back on his head.

"Come on, I'm afraid of pain, I just ask you to move more quickly."

"Don't worry, I'll be quick."

As Perturabo finished speaking, the Tyrant closed his eyes peacefully.

As long as he dies quickly enough, the pain will not catch up with him.

Perturabo: "Give him a proper burial, and inscribe upon his tombstone 'The Last Tyrant of Olympia.'"

Heraclon raised his eyebrows slightly: "What about our father? He should be the last one."

Perturabo: "He will be known as the first governor of Olympia."

Heracles shrugged, his tone somewhat helpless, "Well, I guess he must be planning a grand coronation ceremony now."

Perturabo chuckled. "That suits him perfectly. Our father was always vain."

As a tyrant, vanity is not a flaw.

These worldly vanities are always easier to become reality than those unrealistic delusions.

……

"Uniter of Olympia, Great One of Locus, Terminator of City-States, Destroyer of Tyrants, Maker of Peace, Raiser of Primarchs, Dammecus VIII!"

Dammecus sang his own honorific name in an exaggerated tone, and turned his head proudly and asked, "It's still too little. Do you have any suggestions?"

“There’s not enough room for so many people here.”

Caliphini lowered her head, unable to bear watching.

His father is so shameless!

It was clearly Abo who unified Olympia, and it was also Abo who ended the tyranny of the city-state.

But Abo didn't care about these false names, even if they were shamelessly taken away by Dammex.

Dammecus felt at ease. This was an achievement his son had made for him, so why couldn't he use it for his own benefit?

This is my son!

Do you have a son like this?

To this day, Dammex still occasionally recalls that day many years ago.

Adopting Perturabo was the best decision he had ever made in his life.

Dammecus may be vain, but he wouldn't be where he is today without Perturabo!

Dammecus: "When will my son return to Locus?"

Caliphony: "At least another half month."

News of the victory had not yet reached Rocks, but everyone believed that Perturabo would return in triumph.

Unity is inevitable, and so is celebration.

Dammecus was full of confidence. "How are the preparations for the coronation ceremony going?"

"We are already making full preparations. The theater designed by Abo is very large and can accommodate tens of thousands of people."

As Perturabo conquered other city-states one after another, the pressure on Rocks' original administrative system suddenly increased several times.

These newly incorporated city-states all need to re-plan their governance systems, and just coordinating the allocation of materials among the city-states is already a headache.

As the tyrant's favorite, Caliphine had to share the heavy government work with Dammecus.

Andos paused with his brush, leaving a strange blotch of ink on the canvas. He stood up and said angrily, "Father! Please stop shaking your head!"

"Okay, okay, it's your father's fault. I promise not to move. You continue painting." Dammecus sat upright with his hands placed neatly on his knees.

Andos took a deep breath, suppressed his irritation and sat down again.

The brush gently stirred on the palette, skillfully blending the blurred ink into the shadows.

In Locus, if we were to talk about who had the highest artistic attainments, it would be Perturabo besides Andos.

But Dammecus couldn't possibly travel all the way to trouble Perturabo who was leading the troops in the war. That would be too ignorant!

He wanted a decent portrait and had no choice but to ask his son, who was the most knowledgeable about art.

Caliphini looked at him helplessly, "Father, you're about to be crowned. Can you be more steady in the future?"

Dammex: "Is it not possible even if I'm proud of my son?"

"But ask yourself, which of Abo's skills did you teach him? Which of his knowledge and talents was not taught by Brother Wop himself?"

This pointed question froze Dammecus' smile, but the tyrant was a tyrant indeed, and he retaliated quickly.