This Matter Can't Be Resolved Without Two Boxes of Milk

If you remove the Emperor's irresistible charm, those who know him will be happy on the first day, miserable on the second, and on the third they'll want to find a way to shoot that bastard.

Mordred had always been curious about how the Emperor had developed his current dog-like personality.

However, since there were no comparable cases, Perpetual were nowhere to be found, so Mordred had never been able to find the exact reason.

However, upon closer examination, one can roughly deduce the reason.

As we all know, when a skill has no cooldown, no mana cost, and a very powerful effect, it is undoubtedly a wheelchair skill.

For example, the Thunderclap Divine Palm technique, which has the ability to preemptively strike, physically lock onto targets, provide targeted control, and even allow for displacement, is simply too insidious and domineering.

The Emperor possesses such wheelchair skills. Once his "brainless aura" is activated, he exudes the same domineering aura as the Long Aotian of old, attracting his followers to his side. They immediately kneel and shout, "Long live the Emperor!"

Coupled with his powerful Psychic Power and the lack of proper upbringing, it's no wonder his brain atrophied and he became a worthless person.

However, this brain-dead aura works on others, but has no effect on the Dark Gold Plus God-Emperor, who is also Emperor:

Young people shouldn't be so arrogant.

"If young people aren't spirited, what kind of young people are they?"

The God-Emperor couldn't refute it, so he just kept increasing his hand speed, which unfortunately turned the scepter into the shape of Yellow Skins.

"It can still be used after washing; I hope Malcador won't mind."

"I mind! What good are you besides tormenting me? Can't you at least give me some information?"

"Then ask me! How the hell am I supposed to answer if you don't ask me?"

Looking at his future self, the Emperor was furious but had nowhere to vent his anger. This unfortunate creature not only had a terrible personality but also a foul mouth; eight out of ten sentences it uttered were swear words. How Could my future self become like this?

However, the matter of face was of little importance to the Emperor, so he immediately inquired:

"Who exactly would rebel? How did our plan fail?"

Knowing he would ask that, the God-Emperor, who was now in Malcador's body, rummaged through the cupboard. Instead of finding his favorite wine, he discovered a box of cigarettes with a grinning dog's head printed on it.

The emerald green specks emanating from it, emitting the scent of oranges, made the God-Emperor quite regretful, and he couldn't help but sing a ballad.

"You came from the Imperial Palace, dressed in golden armor, and want to eat Terra cuisine."

Gently swaying, the Emperor's brilliance transforms into tears, and I wake up crying and laughing.

Returning from the Great Crusade ~ Freezing a Lifetime of Love ~

How many times have we forgotten the helplessness of losing a child?

Ulano was appointed commander-in-chief~ What if he never returns?~ Sitting alone for ten thousand years, only for the future~~~

The Emperor couldn't understand the God-Emperor's feelings, and even thought he was a bit brain-dead, but even so, he understood:

"You mean Horus? That's impossible! My Sagittarius would never betray me."

"Why not? If they wanted to, the Primarch couldn't withstand the corruption. Horus might rebel, Dorn might rebel, and even that Ambition Guilliman might rebel."

Especially Guilliman, even if it were Russ who was left, that would be better."

The silver-haired boy took out a cigarette, and as the smoke, enough to kill a mortal, rose, he vigorously rubbed the Emperor Dog's head:

"Even you might betray us. You don't actually think you can get away with not paying your debts, do you? You can fool others all you want, but don't fool yourself too."

The Emperor understood what he meant. The birth of the Primarch was inextricably linked to the Warp, and even those fragments of lesser gods were captured by the Four Gods themselves.

As the most powerful Psyker of his time, the Emperor had also seen fragments of the future and knew that half of the Primarchs would rebel.

The Emperor admitted to being greedy, but he didn't believe he would lose.

The period of stability in the Warp is so short. Without the assistance of the Primarch, the Empire will never recover. At best, it will become the next Randan Empire and be played with like a dog.

Seeing that the unfortunate fellow had indeed taken it to heart, the silver-haired boy flicked his cigarette ash and changed the subject, saying:

"Only sacrifice can bring victory. You were too greedy, wanting everything, but in the end you gained nothing. The process is not important, only the result matters."

They won't let us off easy. Those few good-for-nothings want a half-dead empire, and they even fear that I will rise up.

Great Heresy is inevitable, and the Webway Project is bound to fail. From the moment you borrowed power from the future, the future was already locked in.

Sounds hopeless, right? But don't worry, it's all part of our plan!

If it weren't for the unmistakable aura emanating from Malcador, the Emperor would have thought it was a trick by Tzeentch. But a mere tyrant isn't enough; wouldn't it be idiotic to not take advantage of a situation? He immediately shamelessly fawned over him, asking with a fawning expression:

"So, what's our plan...?"

"You guess?"

This was the first time the Emperor had ever hated the Riddler so much. Even though he was also a Riddler, the God-Emperor had something to say: he had no idea what the so-called plan was; he had come here simply to beat someone up.

"Don't think I'm playing you; I genuinely didn't know. I can't possibly lie to myself, can I?"

"Hard to say. Since you're completely useless, then get out of my way. I've put up with you for too long. Don't sit on my sofa."

He shoved the silver-haired boy aside, and with a puff of smoke rising, the Emperor completely collapsed onto the sofa, no longer the pathetic loser he had been before, polluting the cabin air.

Seeing that this guy was pretending again, the God-Emperor didn't say anything, but simply sat on the sofa and enjoyed this rare moment of rest.

Everything before him filled him with nostalgia: Malcador had not turned to ashes, Valdor had not left, and the Adeptus Custodes Guard remained as before.

Everything was so beautiful, as beautiful as a dream, but I didn't belong here after all.

As the fireworks faded and they felt the little strength left within them, they spoke to themselves:

Time is like a little girl who can be dressed up however one pleases; it does not follow the path from beginning to end as people would have hoped.

First draw the target, then shoot the arrow. The future is that target, and you are the arrows yet to be released, as if an invisible hand is manipulating everything.

But now a variable has appeared: that person is Mordred. Don't look at me like that. I genuinely don't know what this so-called plan is. After all, I can't know what's going on before it happens.

All I know is that if you don't go to Serenity, you'll definitely regret it in the future.

It sounds a bit convoluted, but the Emperor did understand: time isn't linear, but rather like a flattened tiramisu.

We are intertwined, the future reflects the present, and the present will change the future.

The idea that your future self doesn't know what's happening now sounds strange, but it makes perfect sense; it's very much like the Warp.

Even the Emperor began to suspect that perhaps future factors were at play in the so-called Great Heresy, such as a group of unlucky Warp drifters accidentally blowing up a Legion's homeworld.

If such a thing were to actually happen, the Emperor believed that those unfortunate souls would frantically try to cover up this little secret, and might even turn into a group of particularly easily stressed Hakimi.

But the Emperor also believed that such a thing would never happen to any legion of the Empire; after all, how could something so foolish possibly occur?

Perhaps sensing his future self's impending departure, the Emperor quickly grasped Malcador's hand, hoping his good brother would pull him out of trouble and reveal some useful information.

If this were Mordred, who's always looking for stability, she'd probably kick him right away. After all, it's time travel, and if something goes wrong, it'll be disastrous.

The problem is that no matter the era, whether he's Rome's She-Wolf, a sorcerer, a dark-skinned hottie, or Golden Giant, they all have one thing in common: they're all gambling addicts.

No gambler loses every day and is determined to win the next round!

"Of course, listen carefully, you must keep an eye Rebellious son that Magnus Rebellious son, Malcador, for me."

Everyone else can have problems, but Sunburned Ogryn in one eye, is the only one you need to keep an eye on.

The damage to the Empire was less severe than that of one Horus, even though Magnus's destructive power was insufficient to destroy the human Webway; the majority of the damage was caused by the Four Merchants Magnus were behind the scenes.

But who can blame him for being the one who ignited it?

The cost of this one phone call is equivalent to the entire empire's eternal lifespan. We must be extremely vigilant and absolutely cannot let this fool be fooled again.

Although he couldn't understand how that unfortunate kid, whose brain had been completely conditioned by muscle, could blow up the Webway, he also felt that the person he was talking about was not quite the same as Magnus.

But when the words "red," "one-eyed," and "Sunburned Ogryn" were put together, the Emperor couldn't help but nod. He genuinely thought that Magnus, that unlucky fellow, was unreliable.

While there was still time, after some deliberation, the God-Emperor revealed the name of another person— Perturabo.

"Pepe?"

"That's right, this unfortunate kid is too stubborn. If I had known this would happen, I should have disciplined him severely, giving him a small beating every three days and a big beating every two days."

I guess you don't have time right now, but that's okay, just keep praising him! No matter what he does, you should praise him first, and especially remember to say thank you!

Without giving the Emperor a chance to interrupt, the God-Emperor, a second-generation powerhouse, continued:

"I do regret it now. If I had another chance, I would definitely treat them well and remember to bring Perturabo back to Holy Terra so that he and Dorn could build the Ultimate Wall."

As long as the Iron Warriors don't cause any problems, the so-called rebels are nothing but a bunch of worthless cowards, posing no real threat.

And Fulgrim, give him a good beating the moment you see him. He's neither male nor female, and even in rebellion, I've never seen such a disgusting creature.

Find someone you consider most reliable to keep an eye on him, or simply have him hand over military power to Ferrus; that's the safest approach.

As he was about to dissipate and Malcador was about to awaken, the God-Emperor revealed:

"Oh, right, don't forget Luojia. That brat holds grudges. Did Perfect City burn down or not? Tell me now!"

"Burn it, burn it. I just burned it a few days ago," the Emperor replied.

"Then I'll teach you a way. Call him over, and without saying a word, go up to him and hug him. Then cry and say, 'Father was wrong. You are my proudest child.'"

"Oh, are you sure?"

Even though it was just a fleeting thought, the God-Emperor still manipulated Malcador's little face to twist its mouth:

"Believe me, you will definitely not regret this decision. After all, I have tolerated those ignorant and foolish members of the Imperial Cult for a long time."

Enough said, just unleash your extraordinary wisdom. If you succeed, the future will be rewritten, and my children will return.

My Sagittarius, Father misses you so much!

"Wait a minute, don't go! Aren't Luojia and Perturabo my daughters? Is your information really reliable?"

The Emperor's questions remained unanswered, but at the same time, far away in the Serenity pink castle, a tall figure knocked on the doorbell.

Looking at Corvus Corax, who was adapting to local customs and carrying two cartons of milk, before Mordred could speak, the Raven King spoke first:

"Second Brother, you know me. I'm definitely on your side. At the time, I was observing and trying to find out which traitor dared to betray our Second Imperium."

Guess what? It was that Ambition guy, Guilliman!

Second Brother, you'll understand, right?

Glancing at the pile of milk already filling the corner, then at Corvus Corax's incredibly sincere eyes, Mordred patted him on the shoulder and said to those behind him:

"Guilliman, come here quickly, another one says you're Ambition."