Straightforwardness Beats Tsundere

As for the destructive power of that list, aside from the unfortunate souls who committed suicide after being shot 13 times in the back, the actual damage done to Atlas was relatively minor.

Eat and drink as usual, collect trash and sell goods as usual, but this stuff Undead, it'll just disgust you.

Mordred did not persecute the unfortunate Xilani who was pushed forward. He was not petty, and instead of persecuting him, he fed and cared for him well.

The girl wasn't bad; she was just stupid. After some ideological education, she was sent to Catachan for 150 years of professional training.

Since he was Perpetual and could not die anyway, Mordred believed that as long as he could endure the 150 years of training at the Catachan training camp, Xilani would definitely become a pillar of the empire.

Every family has its own troubles, and there's nothing that can't be resolved once explained, but Mordred's only problem is that Yellow Skins.

If you just stand up and say something, explain Atlas's difficulties, or even if you don't say anything at all, just say that the Blood Reservoir were meant to be insurance for all the legions.

All my hard work for you wasn't in vain, and I'm content with that. But who knew you, you bastard, would run away like that!

Looking at the Golden Giant standing at the door with a smile more unsightly than if his father had died, Mordred's expression darkened. He ignored the unfortunate fellow and took the two cases of milk from Malcador.

"Old Ma, you're here, what did you bring? Come on in, let's have a meal together. We'll take you to a bathhouse later, and I'll pay for everything."

As for the Golden Giant next to him—ugh! Mordred felt her eyes were dirty just looking at him.

Mordred grabbed Malcador and, without hesitation, slammed the door shut.

However, Mordred was slightly less shameless. The Emperor simply pressed down on the door latch, squeezed through the crack, grabbed Mordred's leg, and began to wail and scream.

"My son, please forgive me this time. I just made a mistake that anyone would make."

Did you forget our promise to team up for the Great Crusade for life, Mordred? I can't live without you.

Although we are father and son, we are closer than brothers.

The investiture by Caliban is still vivid in my mind. The silver laurel wreath, the silver laurel wreath, 30 years, 30 years. Choosing you as the Imperial Warmaster was the best decision I ever made in my life.

Look, I even brought the Gatanothor we traveled around the world with the three of us!

The Emperor took out a large glass ball and looked inside; a wooden biplane was floating inside.

The scratched cabin reminded Mordred of his 13 years with Horus and Makara. They sang and danced, without any worries, only a wonderful trip.

Instinctively picking up the glass ball, Mordred thought for a moment that Makara was pleading with him, but then he smelled a strange odor.

"Onion."

"What?"

An overwhelming force surged forth, Mordred kicked the Emperor to the ground, then delivered a powerful kick to his groin. A sound like an egg breaking rang out, and tears streamed uncontrollably from the Emperor's eyes.

"Makara hates onions the most. This Dogs and Donkeys doesn't learn its lesson. How can someone like you ever change? You're beyond saving."

"No, I just like eating onions, that's all. But my feelings for you are real. Please give me another chance."

Mordred, feeling annoyed by the Emperor's embrace, pointed at the weasel-like Yellow Skins— whether real or not—and spat:

"You said the same thing last time, but what happened? When I needed you the most, you shamefully ran away."

You were the one who recruited me. You said humanity only had this one chance. You said that to every Primarch, and we all participated in the Great Crusade.

But you're a liar. You not only cheated us brothers, but you cheated everyone in the empire.

Old Man Huang, you're looking too high and too far. Between man and god, you're neither man nor god, you're just a God-Human.

Then let me ask you, are you a god?

This question clearly triggered the Emperor's underlying logic, and he immediately roared, "I Am Not a God!"

"Then you go around showing off everywhere, wanting to be a human but not understanding how. I don't care how you view the Primarch, and I don't expect you to be like a normal human being, but even if you're just a tool, you still need to take care of yourself."

Master of Mankind, Emperor, Malaka, so many aliases, so many titles, but who are you really?

You're not regretting it, you're scared—scared that I'll back out at this crucial moment.

It's not just me; we've never asked anything of you. Your so-called honor and wealth are just a joke. Of course, we need to earn money, but you can't even satisfy our most basic needs.

I'm guessing you don't even know what that thing is.

"It comes down to the same question: since you call yourself our father, why don't you understand people's hearts?"

The Emperor remained silent, a sorrow he had never felt before echoing in his heart. As a primitive Psychic Power who had grown up wildly since childhood, he had lived to this day in a daze.

He never imagined what Mordred was saying; the first murder in human history occurred, and he was present in every corner of human history.

He could deceive everyone, even himself, but looking at all the Primarch who came running at the sound, and at their scrutinizing gazes, the man named Neos felt uneasy for the first time.

A tragic childhood requires a lifetime to heal; but what if there was no childhood at all?

The Emperor's life can be described as Long Aotian, but he was also a blond-haired man riding Ghostfire, Morality bankrupt deadbeat, and a complete scumbag with negative emotional intelligence.

He was always making plans and having dreams, but dreams and plans ultimately need to be realized by people.

One by one, his old friends who were Perpetual left him, and even the last one, Ol' Peson, could not tolerate his terrible personality.

Neos, who had never experienced the warmth of a family, is now a father, and with a super-double number of 21 Primarch.

He subconsciously looked at Malcador. Whenever this happened, Old Ma would always come to his rescue, but this time, Malcador shook his head.

The Emperor could sense that if he couldn't answer this question, darkness would await him, but he truly didn't know.

"I... I don't know, but I've never treated you as a tool."

"Whether it's the Phantasmal Dream or the Imperial Palace, I have built a room for each of you that is your own."

As long as the Great Crusade succeeds and my plan is realized, I will have time to deal with internal problems.

I've planned a future for everyone: Ferrus can become a craftsman, Zhuang Sen can become a knight.

We can lease an entire estate; Mortarion can grow crops, and Sanguinius can make wine. You love fruit, I've always remembered that.

We can retire to a Garden of Nurgle world. I've already found that world, and I've even left you, you Ambition boy Guilliman, a huge farm.

Vulkan will do the work, and Russ will guard the house. I haven't lied to you; I've never treated you as tools.

Even your offspring, I have found places for them. In any case, the Empire will always need the Space Marine to protect it.

"Then why didn't you tell us?"

The one who spoke was the Khan, whose bright eyes, as dazzling as those of a steed on the steppe, reminded the Emperor of his lightning bolt.

The man's previously fluent speech suddenly stopped, and he fell silent again, looking like a weasel with extreme social anxiety curled up in a ball.

That's just how Yellow Skins are; if their mouths were really useful, so many messes wouldn't have happened.

"Forget it, Chagatai, you can't explain it to him anyway. It would be a miracle if he could. Since things have come to this, let's go back and eat."

Watching his sons depart one by one, the Emperor felt as if his heart was being torn apart. He sat there in a daze, but then a tall figure appeared before him.

"Number twelve?"

Angron's face darkened, but he still helped the Emperor up. "Father, if you can't speak properly in the future, then speak less. Actually, Second Brother doesn't hate you at all; he's just feeling uncomfortable."

"Then what about me?"

"Father, are you trying to say that you didn't answer that question? Actually, you already did. What we need is nothing more than a sense of security."

We were supposed to have a meal, but we ended up drinking tea for two hours straight.

My Second Brother is like that, so proud and arrogant. Just thinking about how nagging my My Father makes me feel bad.

However, I still want to advise my father, "You should act like a decent human being from now on. Once or twice is acceptable, but not a third time. If you pull this stunt again, you'll definitely force our team to withdraw."

"And you?"

Angron flicked his braid and piloted his mecha body in response:

"Father, look how anxious you are. Do we even need to ask who to choose for the team? You won't want to hear it anyway, so please don't ask, so you won't get upset."

As for why I was the one who stayed, well, I didn't want to either. But I can sense other people's emotions.

Sweetie, don't make things difficult for me.

Supported by Angron, he arrived at the reception room and saw everyone staring at him. Although he still wore that smug grin, this time the Emperor's smile was incredibly genuine.

"Oh dear, you've really made my life miserable! Quickly bring the food up, I'm starving."

Mordred clapped her hands, and a team of Dog-men chefs pushed food carts to the group, distributing meals to each Primarch.

When the Emperor lifted the lid of his meal, there was no lavish food in front of him like the other Primarchs; instead, there was only a large bowl of onions.

"What? Old Man Huang, don't you love onions the most? Eat them!"

"Could I have some dipping sauce?"

Everyone laughed at this. Want some dipping sauce? Dream on.

"Just tell me, are you going to eat or not?"

Glancing at Mordred's still scrutinizing gaze, the Emperor had no choice but to pick up an onion and stuff it into his mouth, shouting "Delicious!" as he munched on the scallion.

Do you like it?

"Like."

"Why are you crying, Old Man Huang?"

"I'm so excited."

"Rambo, quickly bring His Majesty another pot."