Rambo: You Yellow Skins can sit on this Golden Throne, but I

Is it wrong for the eldest child to sit down?

"Rambo, are you hiding something from me?"

"No, boss, you know me. I've been following you since I was a puppy. I'm waiting for you to let me inherit the Atlas Clan."

Boss, what makes you say that?

Looking at the large black dog, which resembled a wall of flesh, and especially lingering for a moment on its ear with a broken corner, Mordred finally patted its head and asked:

"It's nothing, it's just that seeing you loafing around at home all day like a good-for-nothing makes me feel hopeless about your future, so I wanted to find you a good family to go out and explore."

So, what do you think of Guilliman?

"Guilliman? A master of feigning ignorance when he knows the truth, and an Ambition one at that. I don't want to go."

As a Serenity native of Tranquil, although he is a lazy Dog-men who likes to slack off, Rambo, like all Serenity people, looks down on those outsiders.

In terms of public welfare, the Serenity 50 Worlds completely surpasses all the Imperial World, including Holy Terra. It single-handedly supplied 20% of the Imperial frontline's weapons and equipment, and its environment has not been damaged.

While everyone in other Forge World works 20 hours a day like beasts of burden, even in the most Serenity and arduous Forge World Angstrom, they adhere to a 10-hour workday, with five days on and two days off, and holidays calculated separately.

In terms of Dark Technology, Atlas certainly can't compare to the Adeptus Mechanicus. If we narrow down the scope, it can't even compare to the Dark Angels, the Empire's own son, or the Iron Hands Adeptus Mechanicus.

If this were in other legions or among Mechanicus, it could take a very long time for a new type of equipment to be approved before it could be put into production.

Even in the most ideal scenario, they would never share their technology; more often than not, they would keep it all hidden.

But Atlas is different. They perfectly filled the gap in the lower-tier market. You could say they picked and chose from a bunch of junk and used everything that was usable.

We won't produce large Titan; instead, we'll produce cheap, reliable War Hounds with decent firepower to drive down the price of Machine God, so that every legion can play with Titan.

Giant warships are expensive to build, so Atlas Starport is desperately building Lunar-class Cruiser, enough to overwhelm the enemy.

If you say there's a lack of firepower on the ground battlefield, how about a nuclear Rocket Launcher that can wipe out Roboute Guilliman with a single shot? Or suicide drones? We'll guarantee a large quantity to satisfy everyone.

It's not that we lack the capacity to produce even stronger and larger steel behemoths; Atlas does produce them, but they're unused and a complete waste.

Mordred, a former Warmaster, knew that unless something drastic could be achieved, what the Imperial soldiers needed most was reliable and durable equipment.

The Empire's equipment system is severely deficient. Even though Mechanicus can handcraft nanochips, its anti-missile capabilities are incredibly weak, and it doesn't even provide its soldiers with a missile launcher.

If it really comes down to needing Emperor-class Titan to hold the line, it would mean a complete loss of air superiority. Rather than fighting a bloody war, it would be better to just Exterminatus.

It is precisely because of this philosophy, coupled with its own powerful logistics system, that Atlas has no worries about selling its weapons and equipment, has ample resources to build its own territory, and even its Auxilia have mechanical exoskeletons.

In addition, its geographical location is excellent, perfectly situated in the center of the empire's territory, right in the second ring of the capital.

Now that he's heard his boss say he's going to send him out, Rambo Wayne, as the captain of the Riot Squad and the sole heir of the Atlas Clan, is definitely unwilling to leave, even though he's a fairly capable Ultramarines.

Seeing Mordred's somewhat bewildered expression, Rambo had never seen his boss like this before.

"Boss, why do I feel like you're making your final arrangements?"

"How could that be? I just feel like we've been having a bit too easy, so easy that I've overlooked the fact that this is a cesspool."

"Rambo, do you remember the Dog-men myth that Old Thomas told us?"

Rambo nodded, stuck out his tongue to moisten his nose, and said, "Of course I remember. Old Thomas said that our Dog-men race was once glorious, and we built Dog-men Imperium that spanned the stars."

It's a pity that the family fortunes declined later, and it has become what it is now.

"Yes, no monarchy lasts forever. Perhaps the empire that is currently at its zenith will soon experience a sudden rebellion, be crippled, and even I, the leader, will not be spared."

"No way?"

"It's hard to say."

Mordred didn't believe in prophecies; after all, prophecies were such a rip-off. Back then, Black sprouts went mad after prophesying that Angron would destroy them, and sent out slave hunters to hunt them down relentlessly.

In reality, it was precisely because they sent out slave-hunting teams to relentlessly pursue and kill them that they met their demise. Not only was Angron smash his dog's head with a stone, but the young man also harbored a deep grudge against these Black sprouts.

Now, whenever the World Eaters see Black sprouts, they attack them like mad dogs, tearing them apart. The same goes for Vulkan; the black guy was also tricked by these bean sprouts, turning the Salamanders into a professional bean sprout barbecue enthusiast.

Mordred hadn't taken Horus's prophecy seriously before, thinking this father-loving gay Oedipus complex was mentally unstable. But how did he explain the scene where Rambo possessed Guilliman just now?

Past, future, present—an invisible net enveloped Mordred's thoughts. If Rambo hadn't lost his mind, then this damned net was one he had created himself.

So what should I do? Who will betray me? And who can betray me?

Mordred's plan was that even if the Four Merchants forced Horus to drink their fill, he wouldn't be afraid. Although Horus was nominally the Warmaster, everyone knew that the Warmaster Position was now split in two, one half in his hands and the other half in mine.

As for the others, the Death Guard was extremely Fealty, and Kalas had become his Dog's Leg. Mortarion had complete control over the Legion and had no disagreements with Old Man Huang, even sending him wine every year.

Although this Barbarus specialty wine tastes no different from poison, Mortarion is loyal!

Could it be Angron?

Mordred thought it impossible. The 12th of the Seven Deadly Sins, which evolved from the Butcher's Nail Wetware into the Angron's Nails, could be said to be the one most harmed by Chaos, after Magnus, the Snow Eater.

Angron would rather commit suicide than compromise his principles.

Recalling the Great Heresy in his memory, Mordred's mind raced. He remembered the loving mother and the son he had raised like his own, and the elimination of Koz, who had become the second prince of Macragge.

This poor kid is now hopelessly addicted to bathing and massages, his mind is completely on the four little ones. Although he's a bit disappointing, Lady Yuton's worth is undeniable.

Needless to say, Little Horse is eating shit to his heart's content, and he has formed a Primal Inner Circle with Dorn and himself. Even if his extraordinary wisdom comes out, he is currently tied to Holy Terra and does not even have a chance to make a phone call.

After counting them all, Mordred then turned his attention to Perturabo, the MVP of the rebel side, which was even more absurd.

Although Pepe still looks like a little devil, she has been secretly corresponding with Mordred, cursing the Yellow Skins for being inhuman.

They keep assigning her dirty and tiring work, and she thinks it's a compliment. Do they really think I'm stupid? Now she can only frantically issue Exterminatus.

Anyway, the world has been conquered, so don't worry about how it was conquered, just tell me whether it was conquered or not.

The only person Mordred was worried about was Fulgrim, but according to Guts, the Dog-men he sent, the Son of the Emperor did not fight the Hrud; those delicious-tasting Xenos were fighting the Iron Hands.

Even Guilliman Mordred had considered this, but Mrs. Euton was alive and well; with the life-extending surgery, she could live for at least several hundred more years.

Mordred even had a plan: when the life-extending surgery was performed, he would personally operate on it, secretly replacing it with a Space Marine modification surgery, stuffing it full of heavy stuff, so that Lady Yuton and Guilliman could be married, and living for ten thousand years would be no problem.

Who could it be?

Hydra? A bunch of crazy kids with left-brain attacks, right-brain and cerebellum taking over thinking, and brainstem spinning at breakneck speed?

You think you can be a secret investigator and then expect to be the MVP of Great Heresy? You're not capable of that!

If you bring in the twins Alpharius and Omega, even if Mordred were to tie his own hands, he could still stomp those two little things into a pulp, make them kneel on the ground and sing "Great Serenity is My Hometown," and if they sing off-key, he'd have to kick them again.

Despite the absurdly low compatibility rate of the Atlas Gene-Seed, aside from non-combat casualties that led to their own stupid deaths, the number of personnel has been steadily increasing, now reaching 80,000.

Add to that 300,000 Spartan Warriors, 2 million carefully selected Ogryn giants who can understand basic commands, 40 million upgraded Auxilia, and an endless swarm of Lizardmen Beast Regiment.

Even if someone wanted to rebel, Mordred had the ability to seize him, subdue him instantly, and beat him to his knees, humiliating him mercilessly.

Not to mention that Atlas deals in arms sales; they lack everything except weapons and equipment.

More than a century of repeated cultivation, while it can't produce the same kind of Voidwalking as the Ultramar 500 Worlds, where losing 150,000 Ultramarines can instantly produce 200,000 Smurfs, Moreleide can still produce at least 200,000 Spartan.

Don't underestimate the power of a bean bun; Spartan Warriors are super soldiers too, and that doesn't even include the Abominable Intelligence that the Burning Legion and Mordred haven't really committed to developing.

In one-on-one combat, Mordred is second to none. You could send them all at once and still hold them off, all thanks to her hard work, sweat, and those negligible stats.

When it comes to legionary battles, Atlas's enormous size wasn't for nothing; when Old Man Huang designed the Second Legion, he initially named Destroyers.

One legion isn't enough; at least five legions are needed.

"My Great Atlas is strong and well-equipped, possessing the advantages of timing, location, and popular support. From top to bottom, everyone is my man. It's all about power. Who can fight me?"

Thinking of this, Mordred gestured for Rambo to come closer, and once he was close, he grabbed Rambo's ear and twisted it.

"Rambo, now it's your turn to share my burdens. Tell me, if one of the Empire's 19 legions were to rebel, who would pose the greatest threat?"

Or to be more precise, which of those Four Useless Ones will they choose as their pawn?

"Oh, boss, do you really want to hear the truth?"

"Isn't that obvious? Just say it all, speak freely, say whatever you want. That's the kind of brain of yours that hasn't been contaminated."

Upon hearing this, Rambo replied without hesitation:

"Of course, it's our Atlas. Our Great Atlas is strong and well-equipped, with the right timing, location, and popular support. Everyone from top to bottom is on our side."

Master, I've long disliked that Yellow Skins! Why don't you seize his throne and become Emperor? Then I'll be the first in line to inherit Kiya!

"I've already planned it all out. On the 1st, 3rd, and 5th of each month, I'll sunbathe in front of the Imperial Palace gates, and on the 2nd, 4th, and 6th, I'll sneak into the Imperial Palace to eat. No, wait, I'm the Crown Prince now, so the Imperial Palace is mine. I'll eat openly."

Last time I went to Holy Terra, I saw a huge, golden throne, but unfortunately, before I could sit on it, Malcador knocked me unconscious with a single blow.

This must be a wonderful treasure. If you, Master, are willing to nod, I will lead the entire Dog-men clan to carry you to sit on this Golden Throne.

"Huh? Master, what are you looking for? Do you need me, the Crown Prince, to help you find it?"