Eighty Thousand? Eighty Million!

Wolves are born to eat sheep.

Everything has its cause. Flesh Eaters will never care whether the pasture is lush or not; they only care about how to eat more cattle and sheep.

"Big Yellow, Baldy, we were wrong from the start. Those Four Useless Ones didn't want a ruin or a thriving empire, but a half-dead piece of meat."

The result is the most important thing; the process is meaningless.

The Emperor doesn't understand human nature but he understands Chaos; Horus understands human nature but not Chaos; but Mordred understands both. He knows all too well what a gambler will do when faced with an insurmountable odds.

Long ago, Mordred believed that if she took action, she could correct all the Primarchs.

After all, in his view, as long as the Primarch makes no mistakes, the legion that controls military power will be fine.

But the question is, is it truly impossible for the Primarch to make mistakes? Or can everything I've done really defy the Chaos Gods residing in the heavens?

The answer is no.

Who the traitor was doesn't matter at all. If Horus is gone, there's Guilliman. And even if Guilliman is universally disliked, there's still Dorn.

Apart from Mordred, every single one of these people was simply being stuffed like cream puffs by the Four Merchants; it was nothing more than the same thing in a different guise.

No matter how much you carve on a radish, it's still a radish. It's crunchy when you eat it, but it's not a gem worth 2.3 million.

You play chess fairly and squarely with someone, and they suddenly grab the chessboard and smash your head in, killing your opponent instantly. Who do you think wins? Since the opponent is already dead, declaring them the winner is meaningless.

"Unless..."

"Unless what?" The Emperor and Horus looked at Mordred, eager to know his plans.

"Unless we remove the chessboard first and skip the problem-solving mindset, what's the point of arguing here? In the end, it's all about force."

Upon hearing this, Horus immediately turned to look at the Emperor, but the Emperor simply slumped back in his chair, looking like an incompetent husband.

"No, do you think I don't want to? If I had that ability, I would have beaten them to their knees and begged them for mercy long ago. Do you all have some misunderstanding about me?"

The Emperor is right. The current predicament is ultimately due to insufficient strength. If the Empire were to produce several ultimate martial gods with 990,000 rotating magnetic fields, then the Four Merchants would be the ones to be utterly humiliated.

He doesn't have that ability, okay? 99% of the Emperor's personal Combat Power is focused on Psychic Power. He can crush stars into tiny balls and use them as batteries, which looks incredibly impressive, but it depends on who he's comparing himself to.

"Don't look at this good-for-nothing, look at me!"

A spark of madness shone in Mordred's eyes. Although he always called the Yellow Skins a gambling addict, just as 80% of the Primarchs thought they were the strongest, while the remaining 20% thought the other 80% were just idiots, he was also a gambling addict.

Perhaps it was the Yellow Skins gene at work, Mordred's hands were waving rapidly as he began to recount his insane plan:

"We may not be able to blow their heads off, but even an old dog has two teeth. Since Great Heresy is unavoidable, let's turn the tables and take the initiative."

Anyone can rebel, which means anyone can rebel. Our goal is not to win, but to preserve our strength. If we settle for second best, we will have many more options.

To be honest, I have developed countermeasures for each legion. Don't underestimate Atlas just because we only have 80,000 men; 80,000 men have their own strategies.

In the Warp, they reign supreme, but in the Material Universe, I have plenty of tricks and methods. Even if half the legion rebels, my Atlas has ways to beat them to a pulp.

If the enemy can go, so can I!

I've had enough of all this red tape. Instead of hiding here playing Werewolf, I might as well just go all out against them.

Although it was just a large-scale social experiment, you have no idea what kind of legacy my proud disciple left me.

A document Mordred had never revealed to anyone was produced, Horus was shocked when he saw the horrifying figures:

"Second Brother, have you been plotting to seize power all along?"

Eighty Million! Are you sure you're not kidding me?

Mordred rubbed Horus's bald head and said, "You read that right, it's 80 million. That's how powerful my Second Brother is. This is my amazing wisdom."

Horus fell silent. He simply couldn't comprehend it; it completely shattered his worldview. After all, these were 80 million Ogryn with the military skills of Auxilia, and equipped with full-body armor. Was this even scientifically possible?

Science my ass!

Admittedly, in terms of physical attributes, an adult male Ogryn can smash a Space Marine's head off, and can even arm wrestle with the Adeptus Custodes in terms of strength, making them an excellent soldier.

That's Ogryn, a kind of big idiot that was discovered by the Empire a long time ago, but no one could train him to understand.

Being able to count from one to ten is already considered a great intelligence among these Abhumans. You're telling me that some of the Ogryn here can even go to other worlds to incite rebellion and use Auspex?

Are you sure this is Ogryn?

But Horus then realized something was amiss, because he discovered that among the 80 million Ogryn's Legion, there were 800,000 Dog-men.

No one knows how much equipment Atlas produced in less than two centuries, nor how many permanent supply depots they built within the Empire.

But Horus knew that Atlas's annual production alone could cover the expenses of an entire expeditionary campaign for all the other legions.

And that's Mordred's confidence!

Who says a support player with the highest net worth can't carry the game? Do they think I've been Warmaster for 30 years for nothing?

Science and technology are the primary productive forces. I will use the Abominable Intelligence that you dare not use, and I will conduct the Blasphemous Experiment that you dare not play. Even the Daemon Engine will have to admit defeat to Vashtorr.

Unlike those who were inexperienced and pondering whether Dog-men were dogs, dogs were Dog-men, and dogs could herd sheep, but whether the sheep were Horus of Ogryn, the Emperor, though shocked after reading the information, still shook his head:

"Not enough!"

"And what about this? If I add this to the equation, can I reverse the future?"

Another document was slammed onto the table, detailing everything about the Burning Legion. Its breadth of coverage was such that it was a contribution that Vashtorr had made to the best of his ability.

Thirteen Daemon World transformed into battle planets, 130 Battle Moon comparable to the Luna, Fealty and reliable Daemon Engine, and countless Legion Demons.

Add to that the hundreds of millions of legion spies scattered throughout the realms of the Four Gods, and the Emperor and his son Horus felt their scalps tingle.

Horus was thinking that this secret absolutely could not be revealed, lest someone die. He realized he had indeed been a bit presumptuous before. Compared to what Mordred had done, the previous 114,514 accusations were child's play. His father was too kind.

The Emperor, however, was wondering how Mordred had managed to amass such a fortune.

Didn't we agree that Atlas would give me 80% of its resources to build the Webway? Didn't we agree that father and son would work together and embark on a lifetime of Great Crusade? You haven't told the truth from beginning to end.

Who exactly provided him with this assistance? It's really hard to guess!

However, Mordred was still outputting when another internal document was slammed onto the table. The four large characters on the white paper alone made Horus's vision go black.

"Iron Men Legion"