As the conscience among the Primarchs, Vulkan might look fierce and terrifying, but he was actually quite friendly—almost saintly, even.
Mordred, meanwhile, was someone who could never keep his mouth shut. The more they talked, the more they hit it off, and their brotherly bond warmed at an astonishing speed.
Of course, most of it was Mordred bragging. He painted grand visions while singing his own Atlas's praises, and occasionally threw in a few curses at the Emperor.
The one who truly suffered was Rambo the Dog-man. Not only did he have no dinner, he also had to prepare drinking snacks for the two big men, keeping busy all night long.
Looking at his own boss wolfing down food with everyone else, Rambo's doggy eyes grew bleary. Whenever a fried chicken came out of the fryer, he would instinctively lick his muzzle and use psychological victory to convince himself that he was already full.
"(＃°Д°) Wait, that's not right! I definitely fried four chicken legs, so how are there only three? Did I eat one just now?"
Rambo assumed he must have eaten it unconsciously. He hurriedly surveyed the surroundings, and only relaxed after seeing that there was nothing nearby except a homeless man. He continued working, even cutting off a piece of meat out of kindness and handing it to the homeless man beside him.
The homeless man accepted it without hesitation, stuffing the fried chicken into his mouth. He even shamelessly took a slice of watermelon and gnawed on it.
Perhaps because he was enjoying the food so much, the homeless man suddenly came up with the idea that he should raise a few Dog-men himself, so that the big mutts could prepare his meals exclusively.
"Hey, dog over there, your name is Rambo, right? When did you Dog-men appear? Why have I never heard of you?"
The homeless man's words put Rambo on alert. But then he remembered that his boss was bragging over there. Perhaps this homeless man had heard something from somewhere, so he did not pay it much mind and casually chatted back:
"That goes way back. As far as I know, we Dog-men have been native residents of Serenity since ancient times. Some of our long-lived elders even witnessed the wars between your humans and the Pointy-ears.
"There are even rumors that our Dog-men once had an extremely glorious history long ago. We established an empire, and a deity led us in conquering the world.
"Unfortunately, we later fell into decline, and the deity abandoned us. But fortunately, we met our boss and joined the Second Legion. Our Dog-men race will definitely prosper again!
"What? You want to settle in Serenity? No problem. Just mention my name when you get there. Our Dog-men Riot Squad is short-handed right now."
The homeless man nodded, indicating that he would definitely visit if he had the chance. Perhaps he would join him after retiring. Secretly, however, he began to think.
The empire these big mutts spoke of was probably just a small kingdom established on the grasslands. And Dog-men were especially long-lived. With the distorted stories passed down according to the perspective of a long-lived race, any slightly powerful individual could end up being called a deity.
After all, he himself was immortal. No one understood the ignorance of the ancients better than he did.
With that thought, the homeless man—or rather, the disguised Emperor—found himself more and more pleased with the dog. He suddenly realized that the Dog-men's physical abilities were not bad at all, and might even be approaching those of Space Marines. What a good dog!
He glanced at Mordred, who was still chattering incessantly in the distance. The Emperor vaguely heard something about "declaring himself king," which made him want to go over and beat that Rebellious son with impure motives.
"What kind of person is your boss's adoptive father, Thomas?"
Even Rambo, slow as he was, realized that the person before him was no homeless man at all. But before he could make a move, a pair of eyes glowing with an eerie light turned toward him.
"Ah, you mean the boss's adoptive father? The Old Chieftain is the oldest Shaman among all the Dog-men clans. No one knows exactly how long he has lived. We all respect him tremendously. Thomas was also the one who found and brought the boss back. As for the rest, the rest of it..."
"Wait! Who exactly are you?"
A bark rang out. Rambo instantly snapped to attention and leaped backward, his right hand already gripping the pistol at his waist. While airborne, the dog was confident he could empty the magazine within half a second. Even if six explosive rounds could not kill the enemy, his warning would still alert the boss.
But someone was faster than Rambo. In the blink of an eye, a Grassland Illusion hooked around Rambo's torso. As the muzzle flash illuminated the surroundings, it transferred him into the Stormbird's cabin.
Without the slightest hesitation, Rambo pulled the autocannon's trigger. A deadly serpent of explosive rounds roared toward the target. Under the cover of the barrage, Mordred had already teleported behind the enemy and swung his Greatsword, launching a righteous backstab.
Boom, boom, boom!
A series of explosions erupted, startling the Civilians into scattering in all directions. Fortunately, Vulkan was already standing before the crowd with a warhammer in hand, preventing unnecessary friendly casualties.
Yet under that deathly onslaught, which had taken less than half a second, the target had not died. Instead, he immediately slipped aside to avoid Mordred's surprise attack and raised a Psychic Power barrier to block the gunfire.
Such skill meant this was no ordinary enemy. They had to Strike Hard!
The Greatsword changed from a thrust to a smash. The strange emerald energy made the Emperor feel uncomfortable, but even at this point, he did not reveal his true identity. He instead punched the flat of the blade to borrow its force and escape, avoiding the danger of being cleaved in two.
At that moment, the Emperor grew interested as well. Dark golden light lit up his iron fists, and he looked provocatively at the two sons before him.
"Come at me together!"
"Ha! You piece of trash. Not only are you not running, you actually dare walk toward us? You're asking to die!"
Being mocked by a Psychic Power user instantly set off Mordred's explosive temper. Vulkan also furrowed his brows tightly, rubbing the handle of his hammer like a Salamander ready to spring.
Without any need for rehearsal, the two brothers exchanged a glance and began an all-out assault.
Mordred struck first. Emerald Lightning shot out, opening with a wide-area attack. Plasma as viscous as mud sealed off the space, followed by a Grassland Illusion flash-step ambush.
"Serenity Sword Style—Lightning, Cyclone Slash!"
Bang—
The man had yet to arrive, but his voice came first. Mordred, shouting out the name of his technique, still could not shake a knight's habit of specifically stabbing people in the ass.
"Second Brother's Backstab, Fire Dragon Strike!"
Vulkan was not a righteous Knight of Serenity and had no interest in anyone's backside. The heavy hammer in his hands was his most powerful weapon. Countless hammer shadows danced through the air as he immediately began smashing wildly, with no technique at all—only overwhelming stats.
Yet how could the Emperor be a mediocre opponent? His hooks seemed to be using cheats and simply could not land. With Psychic Power enchantment, his fists became harder than Adamantium. He met Vulkan's blows head-on, then spun and kicked toward Mordred's dog head.
While fighting two enemies at once, he also sidestepped the rather sinister explosive round and flung the little thing toward Vulkan, mocking him:
"Is this your sword style?"
"Bah! If I don't use a gun, what kind of Primarch would I be? Vulkan, you don't need to observe Chivalric Spirit when dealing with an enemy. Smash him!"
"Understood."
In an instant, the two mighty hunks moved like the Gale War God. Their weapons swung more than a hundred times, and the tremendous force even shattered the floor, reducing the plaza to ruins as if it had been bombed by warplanes.
Wherever the three powerhouses went, mountains split and rocks shattered, walls collapsed, and buildings broke apart. Their might was comparable to an extraordinarily violent level-eight gale! By the end, they had even reached the summit of the volcano.
Everyone who witnessed the scene could not help shouting, "Gah—being able to see such powerful experts fight makes dying worth the price of admission!"
Yet in the end, the older and wiser fighter prevailed. Old Man Huang, transformed into the Dynamic Boxing King, pounced up and down, using supreme martial arts to maneuver among them and viciously pummel his two sons.
Mordred, who was being beaten down, began to suspect that the bizarre thing before him was some great demon that had slipped into the real world. How could it be even stronger than him?
If the great demon knew about this, it would surely shout that it had been wronged. Only an idiot would willingly fight The Cursed.
But there were no ifs in reality. As the Great Chieftain of House Wayne, Mordred lacked nothing in emergency plans. He immediately lunged forward and hugged the Emperor's leg.
Vulkan did not understand what his Second Brother was trying to do, but his body had already lunged forward first. He sat down on the Emperor, and Mordred shouted:
"Call in Orbital Bombardment! Kill him!"
Those words splashed over the Emperor's heart like a basin of cold water. But before he could remove his disguise and reunite with his sons, a scorching death ray descended from the sky and enveloped all three of them.
"Rebellious son, I'm your father!"
Before you continue