Judging Mordred

Nikaea, a frontier world located in the Sol Sector, but known as the frontier world.

Since outer space is not a flat map in the conventional sense, the Five Great Sectors that the Empire itself divided can actually be seen as five pieces of a cake pieced together.

It's not that just because your hometown is in the Sol Sector, it means it's right under the imperial city. The Sol Sector is vast, so vast that countless areas have not yet been successfully explored, and the empire has only occupied a small part of it.

This extremely remote world, a small world that even Astropath would normally have to consult a roster to remember, has now attracted the attention of the entire galaxy.

Whether it was the Council of Terra at the pinnacle of the empire, the Ministry of the Interior as its central nervous system, or even the Navigator Houses, which usually remained relatively unknown, every powerful group with a name sent its envoys.

To hold this conference, the surrounding world's taxes were completely drained, and two Emperor-class Titan were used as guards.

Looking at the lavish venue before him, Angron thought it was a shameless waste. If these supplies were replaced with ammunition, they could save many more soldiers.

Angron's ideas coincided with Mortarion's; one was a gladiator raised in Nuceria, the other a peasant nurtured by the barren lands of Barbarus, and both legions were quite frugal.

On the other hand, Fulgrim, like a flamboyant peacock, roamed among the guests, freely spreading his irresistible charm.

Even Perturabo, who had been pulled over by the Phoenix, felt helpless and joined Angron and Mortarion, who were showing off their food and looking like ordinary people.

"Pepe, it seems even you can't stand our nagging brothers anymore."

Perturabo, who was enjoying Small Cakes, sighed and gossiped:

"Shut up, Little Mo. Eating won't shut you up. If you like, I'll introduce you to their little family."

"Forget it, I have my pride. Look at that third brother, he's even wearing lipstick, and purple of it at that!"

I suspect that Father made a mistake about our gender when he created us. Look at you, Fourth Sister, with your messy appearance and all those wires in your hair. You should really switch places with Fulgrim.

"Hey Fourth Sister, eat less! You're already short and fat; if you keep eating like this, you could become a dwarf Chieftain!"

Perturabo hated it when people said she was fat, especially when they said she was short. As a result, the Fourth Legion was the shortest in average height among all the Space Marine, so much so that the Iron Warriors earned the nickname "Short Iron Man".

"Shut up, Mortarion. Don't force me to hit you when I'm in a good mood. Go and call over the real Legion Commander of your Death Guard. You, a Captain, are not qualified to participate in this kind of meeting."

As a legion with just as many flaws, the Death Guard is good in every way, but they just coast along!

From the Primarch to the Legion's new recruits, they all exude a strong sense of complacency. They even dislike taking the initiative in battle, preferring to release poison gas to drag enemies into an environment where they lose health rapidly, and then use their outrageously thick health bars to grind them down.

Even after reaching a certain level, Mortarion went to new heights, saying he wanted to focus his energy on military affairs, and then dumped all political affairs on his good brother Kalas, who was on the verge of sudden death.

So much so that whenever I think of the Death Guard, my first impression is of the company commander, who is pale all over, has dark circles under his eyes, and looks like he's about to die Captain.

Seeing his two brothers still bickering, Angron, who was engrossed in his food, couldn't help but feel a little contemptuous. What good is being good at fighting? In this world, it's all about power.

We World Eaters are not only fierce warriors, but also adept at farming and management. Before long, the area around Vigil Star will become another Serenity 50 Worlds. Who knows, I might be the next Warmaster!

"Don't you think so, Sanguinius?"

Sanguinius remained silent, only relentlessly flaunting the fruit, but his cunning nature was still evident as he stirred things up, saying:

"Stop arguing, we're all brothers, it doesn't matter who's the Warmaster, right Zhuang Sen?"

"Yes, I don't care about this Warmaster Position at all."

Upon hearing this, the entire venue was immediately filled with a joyful atmosphere. Even Horus came over, took off his laurel wreath and placed it on Zhuang Sen's head, saying, "Brother, you will always be my dear brother. Next time, I will recommend you to be the Warmaster."

"Really?"

Looking into Zhuang Sen's arrogant yet eager eyes, Horus nodded vigorously:

"Absolutely. I've been a Warmaster for 25 years. I didn't realize it before, but now when I open my eyes, tens of thousands of mouths are staring at me. It's exhausting."

When 30 years have passed, I will nominate you as the next Warmaster. After that, if you feel tired, you can pass the baton to Ferrus.

As for Angron, you get in line first, I guarantee you'll get your turn. Wouldn't it be wonderful if every one of us brothers became a Warmaster?"

Regardless of their relationship, the Primarch always stood alone. While Horus desired to enjoy the Emperor's favor exclusively, he looked down upon mortals even more.

But what can you do when the Emperor only loves mortals? This Warmaster Position is the only seat that the legion can have, and it must remain in the legion's hands no matter what.

Just as the Warmaster's crown was circulating among the Primarch, giving birth to Warmaster Lion, Warmaster Ferrus, Warmaster Angron, and even Warmaster Koz, a man exuding an aura of composure walked over.

This imposing man, clad in golden armor and sporting a white buzz cut, extinguished the lively atmosphere with just one sentence:

"Brothers, the Warmaster requires a parliamentary vote and Father's approval. You can't become Warmaster this way."

While he was right, Dorn was clearly an Atmosphere Destroyer, launching into a monologue about the standard procedure for nominating Warmaster, instantly silencing the previously lively meeting room.

Seriously, man, are you kidding me?

Dorn was clearly serious; everyone was staring at this unyielding rock, listening to his blunt and scathing remarks.

Fortunately, one person saved everything. The door was kicked open from the outside, and an arrogant Mordred led Guilliman and Luojia into the venue.

As the saying goes, red and green are a perfect match, while blue and purple are an absolute disaster. Mordred wore a military green coat with a red vest, blue beach shorts with purple plastic flip-flops, and sported a huge, fluffy afro.

The large, thick Radiant Gold necklace around her neck, along with the antique watch that was casually revealed, exuded extreme luxury.

This image would be extremely abstract on anyone else, but on Mordred, the exceptionally high standard of modeling perfectly integrates everything.

Even Fulgrim, who was at the forefront of the Empire's fashion, couldn't help but sigh inwardly, "Such domineering presence! A true man should be like this!"

Upon the arrival of the last three Primarchs, Malcador, who had been dragged in to serve as scribe, immediately announced that the Council of Nicaea had officially begun.

As expected, the Emperor indeed issued decrees restricting the use of Psychic Power and curbing the emergence of all religious groups except the Adeptus Mechanicus.

Upon hearing this, everyone turned to look at the red giant.

"What are you looking at me for? Second Brother, look at them! How dare they slander me! These muscles are the result of scientific training! This is discrimination!"

"Exactly, exactly! If you're blind, go see a doctor. Look how Psychic Power Magnus is! I didn't see any psionic energy, I only saw hard work and sweat."

Although Psyker are an unstable bomb, if you want to sue Magnus, you must first admit that the muscle-bound barbarians in the Thousand Sons Legion who are obsessed with protein powder are Psychic Power wizards in the conventional sense.

Magnus, however, refused to admit it, saying that what they called "Psychic Power" was martial arts. He continued, "If you ask why the Thousand Sons Legion can unleash lightning with a single punch, and why there's thunder during wind and rain, why don't you just say the clouds are Psyker?"

Unlike before, when they were weak and isolated, the Second Imperium, which had been ridiculed, demonstrated its power for the first time. Even Mortarion, who vehemently despised Psychic Power, began to support Magnus.

The entire hall was ablaze with noise as Magnus stood in the center of the hall, engaging in a heated debate with the assembled scholars, leaving them speechless.

He even challenged a white-haired Council of Terra Member to a duel, saying he wanted him to personally experience whether his powerful muscles were Psychic Power.

Heavens behold, that white-haired Council of Terra Member was so thin he looked like a stick; a gust of wind could easily send him sprawling and crippled.

Magnus, with his perfectly proportioned body, red and shiny, and glistening with oil, was 5 meters tall just standing there, a head taller than the Emperor.

It's supposed to be a one-on-one fight, but Council of Terra Member is about to retire; he probably just wants to have a peaceful end.

If it were a real duel, Magnus could crush him with a single finger; only a fool would accept the challenge.

As a result, under the Emperor's deliberate arrangement, Sanguinius Chagatai Khan stepped forward and proposed that while restricting Psyker, the position of Librarian could be established.

The previously unregulated Legion Psyker will be formalized, and wild Psyker must also register, otherwise they will be considered illegal Psyker.

The proposal passed unanimously, and the next issue was to curb religion.

Because Atlas and the Ultramarines had blocked news of Perfect City, the congressman did not target this issue, but instead looked at Luojia.

Luojia had prepared in advance, also had something to say, "Don't slander me. I believe in the Imperial Truth. Do you dare say the Imperial Truth is wrong?"

Within the Empire, Imperial Truth is inherently politically correct. Since the Emperor has already decided to send the Word Bearers to handle logistics, he certainly won't hold onto it.

As for who the biggest victim of this issue is, it is undoubtedly the Adeptus Mechanicus.

The Empire has never been a monolithic entity. When it launched the Great Crusade, it was just Emperor of an ordinary technological warlord on Terra who promised countless benefits to many factions, and that has continued to this day.

The Great Crusade was not as bloody and cruel as later generations imagined. Unless you were Xenos who harmed humanity, the Empire's first method was always negotiation.

As long as you believe in the Imperial Truth and are willing to contribute to the future of humanity, then you are a part of the Empire. This is how many Abhumans races came to be.

The advantage of doing this is that the empire has perfectly formed a united front strategy, rapidly bringing any world with human inhabitants into its territory. The disadvantage is that factions proliferate within the empire.

As one of the Double-headed Eagle, the Mechanicus is rich and powerful. Now that the spearhead is pointed at them, no one will pass up this opportunity to kick them while they're down. Everyone wants to take a big bite out of them.

Not to mention that it is also internally divided into factions, including the Emperor faction, the Warmaster faction, the Iron Hands faction, and even a two-faced faction that is loyal to Atlas.

The Olympia Accords, which had been signed previously, was brought out, and looking at the numerous clauses that had been added to it, the fundamentalist Mechanicus could only grit their teeth and swallow their anger.

The entire conference lasted a full week, and the Emperor's objectives were clearly achieved: he regulated the Psyker, curbed any religious fervor, and even dealt a blow to the somewhat unruly Adeptus Mechanicus.

According to the Emperor's plan, he could then step back and focus all his efforts on implementing the Webway Project.

Just as the meeting was about to end, a figure covered in burns stepped forward, and Hill, who had come with Guilliman, immediately felt uneasy.

"My name Xilani, the sole survivor of the Perfect City."

A list suddenly appeared on the holographic projection, containing a total of 114,514 entries, encompassing all of Atlas's heretical acts to date.

The first one is Atlas's stolen Gene-Seed from another legion.