The Imperial Warmaster Horus Lupercal

I am the most powerful, the Most Dominating, the most Waaaagh Ork Emperor — Urg Hard!

In terms of the damage inflicted on the empire, the Ulano Empire may not have been as devastating as the Randan Empire, nor as harmful as the Randan Xenos' inherent dark secrets.

But without a doubt, we, the Ulano Orcs, were indeed the first Xenos force to successfully invade the Sol Sector, preserving our hidden points in the Galactic Battle Royale Tournament and establishing our reputation Horus the Second Brother (a nickname for a powerful force).

But today, I suffered the greatest humiliation of my life. A despicable, shameless, Golden Giant actually beat me to my knees.

Although victory and defeat are common occurrences in war, we Orks are not afraid of death, but we are afraid of not having a fight. We should be excited to fight against such a peerless powerhouse and raise our flags.

But this bastard has absolutely no sense of honor as a warrior; he actually treated me like a tool to please others.

Hey, Horus the Second Brother, why don't you chop off my head, you little fat shrimp? Chop off my head, you bastard! Is all you know how to do to stab people with that big sword?

Urg, the Orks orc, was now wishing for death but unable to, frantically thrashing his body, trying to crash into the greatsword in Perturabo's hand.

But the Emperor would not allow him to have his way. No matter how Perturabo swung his sword, the Emperor's Sword would always avoid the Orks's vital points.

In addition, Orks are known for their thick skin and tough flesh. Even though Urg had been stabbed seventy or eighty times and was barely alive, he still didn't die.

To prolong his life, the Emperor, that Dogs and Donkeys, even Psychic Power to heal the Orks's wounds. Often, for every stab Perturabo made, Urg would heal a wound.

Glancing at the bewildered Perturabo, and then at Mordred in the distance, who was leering and snapping photos of him with a Mordred, the Emperor felt for the first time that his parenting had somewhat failed.

In particular, the meaningful gazes of each Primarch deeply pierced the Emperor's heart.

But in order to ensure the smooth progress of his plan, the Emperor decided to be shameless and, dragging the barely breathing Urg, began to roll around wildly for a full half kilometer until he reached the Primarch's feet.

"No, Father, don't run away! I'll kill him right now!"

Only Perturabo was kept in the dark, but that didn't matter anymore. The Boss was great in every way, except his legs were a bit short, and he couldn't keep up with the free-spirited, Golden Giant.

The Emperor, who was rushing in, seized the opportunity and used the momentum to press the Orks's power claw against his own neck, pretending that he was about to die.

To boost Horus's battle record, the Emperor even secretly activated Psychic Power to remotely control the power claw on Horus's hands. If Horus were to crash into them, Urg would surely die.

But despite his meticulous planning, the Yellow Skins hadn't anticipated Mordred's presence. Seeing the Emperor's shamelessness, Mordred kicked him in the backside.

"Oh, isn't this my dear father? Why does he look so weak after just two days? Oh, so he was being choked. No wonder he can't speak."

"Your movements have become as graceful as a crane's, so you're not afraid of Orks strangling you. They didn't kill you even after three whole hours. Don't worry, I'll help you."

With a cold smile, Mordred channeled the spirit of the German football team, feigning a fall in front of everyone and starting to roll wildly on the ground. But whenever the Emperor tried to get close to Horus, Mordred would ruthlessly kick him in the buttocks.

Because Master Mordred had two more arms and a tail than the Emperor, who had one head and two arms, the Emperor was unable to break through the encirclement and was kicked several times.

This tormented Urg, who was caught in the middle; the large Orks's eyes welled up with tears.

Unable to bear the public humiliation any longer, he seized an opportunity, perhaps truly defying the chosen one, and broke free from the Emperor's control, crashing headfirst into Guilliman's dagger—and died!

This terrified Guilliman, who immediately shoved the short sword in his hand into Horus's hand with all his might.

Unexpectedly, the 13th prince was so sensible. Seeing this, the Emperor stopped pretending, pulled away the Orks's arm that was choking him, and hugged Horus, who had a bitter smile on his face.

"My child, thanks to you, I was able to defeat this great enemy of humanity. I hereby declare you the third Imperial Warmaster."

"No, Father, I—"

"Stop talking, you deserve it."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the Emperor turned and lifted Mordred, who was lying on the ground struggling to lift his good leg. He was no longer the weak and feeble figure he had been just moments before, and raised his hand to strike.

"Rebellious son, how dare you ruin my plans!"

"Pah! You bastard, I could tolerate you once or twice, but now you've lost all sense of shame, you unfilial father!"

I'll show you what filial piety really means right now.

Mordred, who completely disregarded the Emperor, wasn't going to tolerate him. He berated him, saying he was unfit to be a ruler and that Mordred should go sell his ass to increase the Empire's GDP. He added, "Brothers, let's go and beat this old bastard to death!"

No matter what, the Emperor was still the Primarch's father, and Mordred's insults were so offensive that the Primarchs wouldn't do anything so outrageous. They could only retreat to the side and start playing cards again.

Just in time, Perturabo arrived and can take Mordred's place.

As the sun set, the post-war Ulano was a scene of devastation. The allied Allied Forces, having wiped out the Orks, began to converge on the main force. Then, their worldviews were instantly reshaped as they witnessed a bizarre scene they would never have seen before.

The great Master of Mankind, along with his former Warmaster, acted like thugs on the ground, even getting their hair up.

Perhaps it was because too many people gathered that the Yellow Skins's underlying logic was finally triggered, and its social anxiety began to take over its mind.

Mordred, feeling somewhat embarrassed, turned and dragged the Emperor up the mountain, leaving Horus standing there dumbfounded.

"Oh, Father, you've caused me so much suffering!"

Not long after, the Emperor, now fully recovered, dragged the beaten Mordred back, bringing with him good news: he would be crowning Horus here in Ulano.

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the Emperor took out the Golden Laurel Wreath he Long Prepared and announced Horus's identity as the third Imperial Warmaster.

Horus felt immense pressure looking at the cheering soldiers below the stage and the clearly divided Primarch in front of him.

In a daze, everything before Horus's eyes began to distort.

Death, war, fratricide, the Burning Fiercely flames of war sweeping across the entire galaxy, and his hands are stained with blood.

Luojia burst into tears. Mordred, nestled in her arms, had lifeless eyes and kept muttering Guilliman's name before finally turning to ashes.

I could vaguely hear something about Guilliman being an amateur.

With his limbs severed, Angron collapsed in the rolling red sand, the pink musky mist consuming his last vestiges of life, like a soulless puppet.

But soon a shadow descended from the sky, tearing off Angron's braid; it was a terrifying monster with wings on its back and a giant club in its hand.

"Sanguinius?"

This twisted and horrifying scene startled Horus, who retreated but stepped into a pool of thick, sticky blood.

Looking down, Sanguinius, no longer human, had turned into a pulp, his white wings stained with blood, staring intently at him.

"Run! You can't beat him!"

He?

Horus saw the reflection in the Great Angel's pupils; there was something behind him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see even the slightest thing behind him.

Running, running with all its might, an instinct evolved since the first successful hunt by humankind, spurred Horus to take its first stride.

He didn't know why he was running, but he knew it was his brother's dying cry.

More and more visions appeared before Horus's eyes; he saw Magnus, and his brother, who had gone from a bookworm to a fitness fanatic, revealed madness in his eyes.

"I am the Crimson King, you think you can kill me? Go to hell, smash me!"

A silent explosion destroyed everything, and the scene shifted again. Horus saw Dorn, his brother as stubborn as a rock, gazing at the stars, the blade piercing his chest pinning him to the Imperial Palace gates.

"Who? Who did all this?"

Horus roared as he ran, tears streaming uncontrollably from his eyes. He didn't know why he was so sad, but he kept running.

Because he saw the blade clearly, its name was the Emperor's Sword!

Horus had just been jolted awake, looked at the people in front of him. Everything was so beautiful. Mordred was not turned to ashes, nor was Dorn nailed to the ground. The Sanguinius were still dazzling, and Angoron was even huddled together with Mortarion, as if they were discussing some kind of Numerology.

"It was just a hallucination! But why am I crying?"

Turning his head to look behind him, Horus did not find any terrifying monsters, only Emperor holding up Golden Laurel Wreath with a smile on his face.

"Father."