Atlas Codex

Mordred didn't have a plan, not a damn one. He wasn't some abstract artist like Tzeentch, spinning his brain in circles all day just to end up saying, "Everything is going according to plan." Wouldn't it be much better to just farm in peace?

But the problem was that peace was no longer an option.

The Emperor wouldn't say much about him conducting some biochemical experiments, and researching a bit of xenos technology wouldn't matter either; after all, other legions had their own little secrets. As long as it wasn't flaunted in the open, the worst he'd get was a beating.

But if he dabbled in the Warp, that would be heresy. The Emperor might appear behind him the very next second to stage a "father kills son without regret" drama.

Just thinking about it made Mordred feel an itch on his neck. He didn't want to end up like Louis XVI.

"The Khan, not a single word of what happened in this room can be leaked. Do you understand?"

"I understand! But does this confidentiality include our other brothers?"

Mordred really wanted to be honest with the other sons, but the fact that he—or perhaps the entire Second Legion—could devour demons was just too explosive. One wrong move and the legion would be doomed.

Getting docked pay at the training grounds would be the least of his worries; it was highly probable they would be wiped from the records entirely. After much thought, Mordred shook his head.

"No, it's not the time yet. I need more experiments to verify this hypothesis, and the fewer people who know during this period, the better.

How about this: I'll give you the highest clearance. Go build an organization, recruit the steady and reliable ones first. Once I've figured this out, I'll let you all know. As for the others, we'll talk later.

As for the name of the organization, let's call it the Black Knights. You must be extremely careful with the screening process. You aren't just holding a list of names, you're holding the heads of everyone in the legion.

From now on, the Black Knights handle internal affairs, and the 9th Company Captain handles external ones. You and JOJO absolutely cannot mess this up."

JOJO? The Khan quickly realized this was the 9th Company Captain, Joseph, and immediately stood at attention with a salute.

"Heh ha, I will not fail the legion's cultivation!"

Soon, Demon Xil and the secret room were completely sealed off. The two, one large and one small, quickly left and returned to the bridge as if nothing had happened.

During the ship's return journey, there were no Warp navigational errors, nor did any other unlucky Warp fellow like Xil get stuck in the glass. Everything was just perfect!

However, Mordred knew that his legion's little secrets were piling up.

But fortunately, Mordred was a Primarch, and his sons were fiercely loyal to him. He had plenty of time to resolve them one by one.

As for the mission the Emperor gave him, he'd deal with that later. Heaven knows if the Primarch incubation pods had even reached those planets at this point in time, or which nook and cranny of the galaxy those planets were hidden in.

While The Khan was busy building the Black Knights, Mordred began compiling a textbook, intending to carry out a thorough military reform for the Second Legion.

Thanks to his military experience in his past life and his habit of "pointing out the country" with his roommates at night, Mordred didn't have to scramble blindly.

After more than thirty days of gathering opinions from his sons, visiting the grassroots, and incorporating his own Mordred's Ideology, this masterpiece—containing the legion's promotion system, welfare benefits, merit standards, ideological construction, legion dark jokes, insults, Imperium recipes, and fairy tales—was finally born.

Once released, the Atlas Codex was universally acclaimed by everyone.

The Space Marine felt it was a manifestation of their father's love. The Auxilia of Atlas received better welfare benefits, and even the ordinary residents of Serenity gained a clear, black-and-white path for promotion.

"Hahaha, am I really a genius? O.o"

"But my lord, why didn't you add some combat doctrines? I believe your legion would strictly adhere to them," asked the Arch-Magos, who was working overtime in front of the printing press.

As soon as these words were spoken, everyone looked at the Arch-Magos from Mars with strange expressions. Although they said nothing, their eyes said it all.

As the Boss, Mordred had no such reservations and retorted directly:

"My Arch-Magos, are you sober?

It's a good thing I know your background, otherwise, just because of that sentence, I'd really suspect you were sent here by some tech-warlord to get some credentials.

I'll say it again: this thing is just a set of standards, meant for reference. Heaven knows what the future will look like. Do you really think this set of rules is meant to be used for a lifetime? Even jokes aren't funny if they aren't updated!"

"Yeah, yeah. Arch-Magos, you're a researcher; you don't understand the unpredictability of the battlefield. These things require on-the-spot reactions. No one would actually rely entirely on a rigid rulebook to fight, would they? That would just make them a machine."

"Hahaha."

Everyone present, whether they were Space Marine or human commanders, laughed uncharitably. The whole room was filled with a cheerful atmosphere.

Mordred wasn't some Guilliman. His main purpose in compiling this book was to change the atmosphere of the legion.

He didn't want Atlas to become like the Salamanders, as Mordred felt Vulkan was a bit indecisive. He also didn't want the legion to become a group of executioners who treated human life like grass. He just wanted them to be normal people; at the very least, he didn't want any more unethical deeds like Tom throwing people directly into the Catachans.

But this also reminded Mordred that although exiling ordinary people to the Catachans was no different from sending them to their deaths, it was still a way to train troops. He could send people to build a base there for development.

"So, who should I send?" A figure appeared in Mordred's mind.

"Go call Rambo over."

Three days later, a Lunar-class Cruiser streaked across the Low Earth Orbit of Catachan and spat out several transport ships, descending upon the only human colony on this dangerous planet.

As the airtight valves opened, several dog-heads poked out from the shadows, looking at the macho man in red bandanas who were staring at them with strange expressions. Rambo ordered:

"Open the holds and unload the supplies. Come over and move the cargo quickly. We are going to establish a training ground here, and you will be under the jurisdiction of the Second Legion from now on."

The Catachans didn't move immediately; instead, they began to circle the dog-men, pointing and whispering. Some even reached out, wanting to pet Rambo's dog head.

"Little doggy, who do you think you are? You think you can make us work for you with just one sentence? Young man, don't be too arrogant!"

Click-clack.

The sound of a Bolter being cocked rang out. The Atlas Space Marine stepped behind the dog-men and pointed his muzzle at these unruly people.

But fortunately, Mordred's Codex had already taken effect. If this had been in the past, the commander of this squad would have already ordered them to open fire.

"So, that means you're not convinced, huh? What? You want to test your mettle against me?"

"That's right. Survival of the fittest is the natural order, and the Catachans don't welcome softies."

The one who spoke was a muscular woman nearly two meters tall, her eyes filled with nothing but contempt for Rambo. A chitinous claw hung from her chest—proof that she had hunted a juvenile Catachan Demon.

Already fuming because the collar around his neck prevented him from slacking off at Soul of Serenity, Rambo was now being provoked, so he immediately accepted the challenge.

"I won't bully you. Pick anyone you want from our group. If you win, I'll give you double the supplies, but if you lose, Get Lost and get to work."

"Is that a promise?"

"A dog never goes back on his word!"

Halsey, the leader of the Catachans, smiled as her plan succeeded. Her original goal had been to acquire more supplies, and she hadn't expected this big black dog to be so cooperative; she certainly didn't want to cross paths with those Space Marines.

Halsey's gaze swept back and forth across the opposite side. She looked down on the Auxilia, and she couldn't beat the Space Marines. After weighing her options, Halsey Pointed At the Canid who looked the easiest to bully.

"I choose... I choose you, and those seven sickly dogs over there. Yes, you eight!"

"This is what you asked for. As long as you defeat one of our platoons, everyone in our entire settlement will listen to you."

Clearly, Halsey was doing this on purpose; she was using her numbers to bully the few. But Rambo's next words left her stunned:

"No need for a platoon. All of you come at once. It seems I underestimated you; I didn't expect you to challenge our Canid Eight. Very well, today I shall grant your wish!"

Faint, crimson flames flickered over the Canids. Although there were only eight dogs, they gave Halsey the oppressive feeling of being surrounded by a Toad-Hound.

"It's just an illusion. No matter how you look at it, the odds are 400 against 8—that's fifty people against one dog. The advantage is mine."

"Catachans never submit!"

"Soul of Serenity protect us!"

"Waaaagh!!!"