The Emperor's Plan to Persecute the Primarchs.

The Emperor's delightful ten-billion-subsidy spree came to an end. Mordred gained a set of master-crafted gear, Vulkan gained a forging hammer, and even Rambo, who had been slacking off, was gifted a collar by the Emperor that could project a shield.

Such generosity made Mordred briefly suspect that Old Man Huang was eyeing his own dog, but the Emperor merely stated it was a reward for Rambo having provided a decent dinner.

Getting things for free brings joy. After all, it was a dog he had raised himself, and seeing the dog happy, Mordred didn't say much. However, he soon couldn't stay happy, as the Emperor had assigned him a bitter chore.

"I don't understand! What do you mean by having me search for the lost Primarchs for you? What are you doing then?"

"I must focus my energy on military affairs!"

The Emperor was truly not lying this time; he was indeed tied up. According to the human calendar, it was currently 835.M30. Since the end of the Unification Wars, the Great Crusade had only been ongoing for thirty-five years.

In these thirty-five years, the Imperial fleet had only preliminarily explored the Sol Sector; the other four quadrants could only be said to have been slightly touched, with vicious aliens and Pocket Imperium everywhere.

On a flat map, one might think the Sol Sector is small compared to other sectors, but the problem is that the galaxy is three-dimensional. It cannot be inferred from a flat map at all, and the closer one gets to Terra, the more intense the threats become.

At this time, the Imperial military force was mainly divided into three prongs, commanded by the Emperor, Horus, and Ferrus respectively, conducting large-scale group operations.

Since only seven Primarchs had officially returned to the Empire, most legions lacked a Primarch to command them. Aside from Mordred idling away, Fulgrim was learning under Horus, Vulkan had just returned, and the only one who could be said to have autonomy was Roboute Guilliman.

Yet, Roboute Guilliman was on the front lines standing duty for the Emperor, which made the Second Legion appear extremely abrupt.

In the eyes of his other brothers, Mordred already showed signs of becoming a "transport captain." In the current stage where front-line supplies were being consumed at astronomical rates, no fool would send a grain transport fleet to the front lines to fight to the death.

"So, you want me to find the other Primarchs because I'm just too good at being a transport captain?"

"Yes." The Emperor Nodded helplessly.

During their previous verbal sparring, Mordred was indeed correct. Compared to the other Primarchs, and even the Emperor himself, basically none of them were good at "farming." The only two who were good at it hadn't been found yet.

Every time the Expeditionary Force fought until they were out of ammunition and food, they would only choose to rest when they truly couldn't hold on any longer, waiting for a new round of blood transfusions from the rear.

However, the most infuriating part was that due to the nature of Warp Voyage, you never knew when the next round of supplies would arrive or how much would come. This was enough to drive a front-line commander mad.

It's like working hard, eating on schedule every day, and finally waiting for payday, only for the boss to suddenly tell you that the salary amount is distributed randomly and the time of distribution is still pending notice.

Anyone would have a mental breakdown over such a thing.

But after the Serene World officially became a shipping hub, although the cargo ships escorted by Atlas would be fewer in number, they always arrived on time. Especially for the calculation-obsessed Ferrus, his favorability toward Mordred increased rapidly.

Whenever the expeditionary troops rested, the thing they most hoped to see was that group of large cousins, because it meant the relief food had finally arrived—it was a guarantee.

Hearing this, Mordred felt quite conflicted, thinking it was no wonder the Emperor eventually went all-in on the Webway; with this kind of transport efficiency, anyone would be driven mad.

"Sigh, what you say makes sense, but since I am so important, can't you send the little guy instead?"

The "little guy" Mordred referred to was none other than Alpharius, who could compete with Roboute Guilliman for the title of "most frustrated." But the Emperor simply shook his head, and amidst Vulkan's expression of "Second Brother and Father are speaking in riddles again," he spoke:

"Because only you know the crisis behind it, and only you know my entire plan. No matter how you put it, you are my most trusted heir. After much thought, only you are capable of this job.

Don't you want them to agree with our philosophy?"

It must be said that this direct approach from the Emperor greatly increased Mordred's favorability. The corners of his mouth, much like his Bolter, could not be suppressed, and in the end, he let out an arrogant laugh:

"Hahaha, Old Man Huang, you really make me happy!"

"Don't worry! My parenting methods are definitely better than yours. When the time comes, I'll find someone to beat the good brother half to death first. Even if they don't listen, I can still turn them into a good son with well-rounded development in morality, intelligence, physique, aesthetics, and labor.

Just thinking about being able to rightfully pin a Primarch to the ground and ravage them makes me so excited I can't help myself."

The Emperor also laughed, indicating that he could do whatever he wanted. As long as the traces of a Primarch were found, he could choose whatever he wanted from the treasury. As for the "physical education," he could handle it himself; after all, it wasn't easy for a Primarch to die.

Mordred was just like that. Even if he didn't want to admit it, he was essentially a tsundere, a bit twisted, and someone who responded to soft tactics rather than hard ones.

As long as there was something he was interested in dangling in front of him, even if it were a bowl of Nurgle's Soup, he would want to taste it.

Only Vulkan, who had been silently lurking, seemed to have discovered the clue. He vaguely remembered that when Second Brother asked his father for weapons before, he had done the same thing. Why didn't the two of them just say it directly?

Good thing I'm not such a long-winded person, otherwise I'd look pathetic.

The four-year-old Lord of Fire began his self-enlightenment. He even felt he should write a diary to record his inner thoughts that had nowhere to be placed.

Leisure time is always short. With the arrival of the Eighteenth Legion's ships, Vulkan officially returned to the Empire and renamed the legion the Salamanders.

However, the Emperor did not let Vulkan return to the legion immediately, nor did he let him report to Horus like the other Primarchs, but decided to keep the black guy by his side to teach him personally.

Mordred could see that the Emperor truly loved Vulkan, this big black guy. This kind of treatment would make a certain unnamed Wetware jealous to death.

Before leaving, Mordred called Vulkan onto his own Abomination Exemplar, and under the pretext of solving the Gene-Seed defects of Atlas as a control group, he drew a large tube of blood.

Through the porthole, Vulkan watched the Abomination Exemplar dive into the Mandeville Point and sighed with reluctance:

"Father, did you let Brother go find the other lost heirs because it really had to be him? I have a feeling that the brothers found by Second Brother in the future will have a miserable time!"

Without Mordred's pollution, the Emperor returned to being that poker-faced big guy, but he explained patiently to his valued eighteenth son:

"It doesn't have to be him. I just didn't want to see him idling away and wasting food. As for your concern that others will have a miserable time, that won't be the case. After all, I can keep an eye on his every move at any time now."

"Look, my secret agent is already online!"