Someone Always Carries the Burden

"Xi, Your Highness, please don't! I really know I was wrong, Father, Warmaster! Why are you just standing by and watching?"

Hmph hmph hmph--Ahhhhh!"

OMO, omo

Accompanied by the foul stench and loud screams, all the Blood Angels who were frantically shoving mortar on the construction site shuddered, a hint of pity flashing in their eyes, but no one dared to provoke them, and could only watch Ladoron suffer there.

Instead of punching the unnamed savage in the head like some barbarian would, Guilliman chose a more humane way to punish this man who spoke ill of him behind his back.

Wearing only a loincloth, Ladoron was tied to a pillar, while his two sweaty feet were coated with salt water. The sheep, attracted by the smell, immediately came over and slowly licked the slippery surface – it was such a vivid depiction of life.

Even Sanguinius didn't say much, after all, it was his own offspring who had made the mistake first. The old farmers of Baal were quite happy, as they could save on feeding costs. They just didn't know if their noble Sanguinius had athlete's foot.

As is well known, Space Marine are cyborgs, so they certainly don't have minor ailments like athlete's foot. However, due to their excessive physical activity, their sweat glands are highly developed, and their nerves are extremely sensitive.

An itchy sole can be tolerated, but being publicly shamed is unbearable. With so many people coming and going at the construction site, being seen by so many people made Ladoron feel like he wanted to die.

As a planet riddled with radiation and severely desertified, the construction team's primary task was to remove the radiation, which was not a problem at all given the Empire's environmental modification technology.

Thanks to Atlas's powerful transport capacity, the Baal farmers were gathered in one place and put on a system of part-time work and part-time pay in exchange for their daily necessities.

The incident Hive City Terra taught Mordred a good lesson. The saying "bad people come from poor and remote places" is no exaggeration. If you want to eat, you have to work. If you don't work, you can forget about eating porridge.

This is where the benefits of the Imperials' low quality of life become apparent.

If you dare disobey, the Dog-men Riot Squad will show you what it means to have six blows per second—that's not their limit, it's that you can only withstand two blows.

One blow shatters the soul of a worthless wretch; two blows and I am a citizen of the Empire. I can never repay the kindness of the Warmaster in this lifetime!

Looking around at the vibrant life, as if all things were vying for growth, the three leaders of the Second Imperium, who had set up their parasols and were enjoying a peaceful afternoon in the sunshine, clinked their glasses and burst into hearty laughter.

"Brothers, our business is booming! Before long, Baal will become a core hub in the surrounding star sectors."

Ninth Brother, you're really going to take off this time!

Upon hearing this, the Great Angel, who was enthusiastically showing off his fruit platter, looked up, his eyes revealing an infinite longing for a better life:

"Forget about takeoff, we're all brothers here! Come and try our Baal red wine, I guarantee you'll never forget it!"

After downing a glass of red wine, Guilliman and Mordred found the bizarre taste unacceptable and, after taking only a small sip, put down their glasses and began drinking their respective favorite coconut milk and orange juice.

The Great Angel had just joined the small group, was still somewhat unaware of the situation. Seeing his people working hard under the scorching sun, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"Second Brother, isn't it a bit inappropriate for us to eat and drink so much here?"

"Not good? Why not? They eat my food, drink my water, and do some work, what's wrong with that?"

Atlas strictly enforces a ten-hour workday, provides three meals a day, a lunch break, and two days off per week on a rotating shift basis. They even get a nice treat in the morning! I think you're just being overly compassionate and bored out of your mind!

"Yes! Yes!" Guilliman picked up an apple and pointed to the bright red fruit, saying:

"Ninth Brother, you're still too young. You don't understand what management is at all. In terms of personal combat strength, I might be evenly matched with you, and in terms of troop deployment, I'm not as good as Ferrus. But when it comes to farming and management, I know it all too well."

"As Monarch, mere benevolence is meaningless. You must give hope to your people. As long as hope remains and you bring order to everyone, they will respect you as their master."

The Great Angel thought about it and realized he was being a bit sentimental, but he quickly seized on the blind spot: why should Guilliman be evenly matched with him?

But since they were guests from afar, and he was eating and using their food, and even asking them to come and dust him off, Sanguinius couldn't say much.

As the three chatted, the topic gradually veered off course, from Baal's transformation to Primarch gossip, then from Primarch gossip to the Emperor's privacy, and finally inevitably to the current state of the Empire.

Hearing this, Mordred was wide awake. He immediately raised his glass, drank, and waved his hands, giving a heartfelt speech:

"My two younger brothers, to be honest, I bought my position as Warmaster. I'm not afraid you'll laugh at me; my purpose was simply to make money."

The veterans who were acting as Primarch's guards quickly turned their heads away. How could they listen to such words? They didn't want to end up being shot eight times and committing suicide.

"Second Brother, your Atlas is already so wealthy, why do you still want to make more money?"

"Good question!" Mordred exclaimed, tears welling in his eyes, as he grasped the hands of Guilliman and Sanguinius.

"You don't know this, but ever since I became the Warmaster, I've lived in constant fear. Only gleaming Adamantium can soothe my soul."

Even so, he would randomly kill a few insects every day to cultivate his mind.

And all of this is for my grand plan!

"A grand plan?" The Primarch Guard took two steps back, but Guilliman and Sanguinius moved closer to Mordred, wanting to hear what their brother's so-called grand plan was.

"Ninth Brother, you came back late, so you may not know, but Guilliman will definitely understand what I'm saying. Everything I've done is in preparation for war."

I've already taken care of Fulgrim from Chemos, Russ from Fenris, and Pepe from Olympia.

Once we unite as one, with the strength of our six legions forming a triangular formation, any force wishing to enter the Sol Sector will have to get past us first.

You might not believe it, but this Second Imperium sounds like a bunch of traitors, but in reality, Old Man Huang knows better than anyone that even Malcador, that troublemaker, was involved.

Brother, I'm suffering! Don't be fooled by the glamorous surface; all our earnings have actually gone into infrastructure construction to build this Impregnable Defense Line. Once it's built, we can step in and become the true saviors should any emergency arise!

Remember, our work is righteous, everything is for the Empire, and there are always those who bear the burden, and those are us.

Seeing Mordred's righteous and indignant demeanor, the two big men were completely convinced. They secretly sighed that he was indeed their father, shrewd and calculating. No wonder their Second Brother could become Warmaster despite his shabby ways.

"Second Brother is tall, the Empire is tough, Old Man Huang both tall and tough!"

"Hahaha! Brothers, I won't keep this glory to myself. With one heart and one mind, the empire will endure forever! Cheers!"

Unbeknownst to the three burly men, who were in a frenzy of eating and drinking, Mordred's supposedly Impregnable Defense Line were completely ineffective.

The Xenos didn't break in from the Extreme Sector at all. Instead, they broke through the First Legion's defenses, marched straight in from the Misty Sector, and attacked the border of the Sol Sector.

Gazing at the distant, ruined space graveyard littered with ship debris, the Lord of Knights's face darkened, his previous sunny disposition gone.

"Zabriel, I told you to call for reinforcements, why haven't they arrived yet? Who did you call?"

"Father, I did indeed call for help from the nearest legions, three of them in total. They should have received the distress signal long ago!"

Where are they?