Alpharius: Huh? I'm a Stand-in.

As the saying goes, there is no such thing as cross-dressing just once; there is only zero or infinite. As his bottom line was shattered time and again, it took Fulgrim only half a year to go from "I'd rather die than wear this" to finding it completely routine.

After all, what did the Imperium's Twentieth Legion Primarch, the so-called Princess Alpharius, have to do with him, Fulgrim of Chemos? When you're out in the galaxy, you define your own identity—who doesn't have a spare mask to wear?

As for why this mutation of his mindset occurred, it was partly because Second Brother will always be Second Brother. Mordred always found some righteous way to win, and he hadn't even repeated a tactic yet.

Unable to win despite giving his all, Fulgrim, possessing a higher moral standard, naturally honored their wagers.

On the other hand, it was simply because dressing up as Snow White to swindle and deceive was just too lucrative.

Take Atlas's current fiscal revenue: on the surface, Atlas has three main business lines. The first is the recovery, repair, and reuse of discarded military supplies, which is the true core of their operations.

By scavenging and repairing, the Serene World has created a massive number of jobs and cultivated batch after batch of potential Mechanicus.

This was the result of deliberations between Mordred, all the Captains, and the Arch-Magos. He intends to develop Serene into a technological industrial base, turning Atlas into a military-industrial complex like the Galactic Mega-corporations the Emperor speaks of.

They aim to evolve from simple military repairs to design and development, eventually ensuring everyone uses Atlas-made weapons.

The second category is biological modification, or rather, biochemical experiments hidden under the guise of agricultural exports.

Mordred is very dedicated to this. On one hand, most Legions suffer from genetic defects; on the other, Serene is uniquely positioned for biochemical research.

There is no shortage of genetic samples, and even if Serene lacked them, they could scavenge them from nearby Catachan. Furthermore, Serene was once a playground of the Dark Age of Technology; the Master Computer there contains a wealth of biological modification technology, and it would be a waste not to put it to use.

As for the final category, which currently accounts for the largest share of Atlas's income, it is entirely thanks to Mordred himself.

Simply put, it is the price of admission for dinner with Mordred every night.

It sounds unbelievable, but it is the truth. This is why Fulgrim gradually grew accustomed to cross-dressing as an Imperial idol—those Rogue Traders are simply too wealthy.

The Space Marine of Atlas work themselves to the bone running cargo, but the scraps they keep are merely a drop in the bucket. Besides, they take very little in terms of supplies, mostly just picking up rare items to reverse-engineer; Atlas is not lacking in standard military supplies.

After all, no matter how unscrupulous Mordred may be, he wouldn't dream of eating well while the front lines are starving; sometimes, he even uses his own granaries to support the front.

But Rogue Traders are different. In this era of the Great Crusade, it is essentially the 30K version of the Wild West.

No matter how many Imperial Legions there are, they only represent a small fraction of the whole; in terms of accumulated wealth and fleet size, they cannot compare to these interstellar adventurers.

As for why such powerful Rogue Traders would circle Mordred like sycophants, the reason is simple: they are afraid!

They fear being wiped out by a sudden xenos incursion, fear being slaughtered by space pirates, and fear being swallowed whole by their peers.

How does that saying go? "My neighbor stores grain, I store guns; my neighbor is my granary."

Small-time Rogue Traders are fine—they have nothing to lose and are practically begging to be annexed. But those who can be called Rogue Trader families dream of obtaining the protection of the Second Legion.

"Second Brother, I feel like I can't go back anymore. I really want to rest!"

Snow White, dressed in a gorgeous gown, sighed heavily, drawing whispers from several human maids who were clearly captivated by Fulgrim's charm.

Only the Dog-men maids remained unmoved, busy contemplating what to do after their shift—whether to beat their husbands or go to the arena for a brawl. They simply couldn't appreciate Fulgrim's beauty; he had no fur and, worse yet, no tail.

But soon, the dogs grew excited, for their true Boss had arrived.

"Well done, girls. Eat your fill at the banquet later. You'll get double pay when we return, and you can pack up whatever you like to take home. You've earned it."

"Yay! Long live the Chieftain!"

Even now, Fulgrim couldn't understand why the Dog-men were so simple-minded, nor could he fathom the Big Dogs' inexplicable loyalty to his unscrupulous Second Brother. Could it be that beneath Mordred's skin, he was actually a Dog-man?

Thump.

A finger tapped Fulgrim on the forehead, interrupting his thoughts.

"Old Third, are you bad-mouthing me in your head again? Get moving! There are so many people waiting for us outside. Don't you want to go to sleep early?"

"I do. I just want a good night's sleep right now."

Mordred felt no psychological burden for exploiting child labor, even though his parenting plan only allowed Fulgrim two hours of sleep a day.

Then again, Mordred himself replaced his own sleep with a Learning Machine, immersing himself in those magical bits of knowledge. Giving Fulgrim two hours of rest was already quite merciful; he really shouldn't be complaining.

Hauling the "delicate" Snow White up, Mordred instructed:

"How can you be sleepy at your age? But don't worry, your Second Brother isn't a demon. Finish this job and I'll give you two days off. After that, you can show your true face."

"Huh? Really! But why? I still want to keep fooling those merchants; the gains from these past six months are more than what I saved in three years."

Glancing at Fulgrim, who had developed a path dependency, Mordred didn't know if his education was too successful or if the Third had awakened his inner maiden, but he explained patiently:

"We've found a solution to The Wasting in your Legion. Including the supplies I've allocated to you, it's enough to rebuild your Legion's framework. As for why we can't keep fooling them, it's simply because I have a better plan to control them..."

In the banquet hall, countless family patriarchs gathered. They appeared polite to one another, but in reality, they were itching to punch their peers into the dirt—especially the younger generation, where the air was thick with tension.

They didn't know why Lord Mordred had summoned them all, but they knew they couldn't be outdone by their rivals.

Every lady was dressed to the nines, desperately projecting her charm, while the men spoke grandly, adorning themselves with eloquence and courage. Everyone hoped to catch the Primarch's eye.

Of course, there were some "geniuses" who did the opposite, with an abstract style that sought not the Primarch's approval but merely to express themselves—a group of pure pranksters.

Before the guards could chase these abstract artists away, two Tall Figures appeared before the crowd: the very Lord Mordred they had been longing to see, and the Imperium's Twentieth Primarch, Princess Alpharius.

"You may be wondering why I have gathered you here, but do not be alarmed. I understand your intentions.

However, as you know, Atlas is short on manpower and lacks the capacity to control such a vast trade range. Therefore, I have brought my younger sister here as a witness, and we have decided to join forces with the Third Legion to establish the Serenity-Chemos United Economic Zone to protect you, the citizens of the Imperium who are brave enough to explore."

Fulgrim, having already rehearsed his lines, showed no signs of nervousness and immediately began detailing the main structure of the sector. The crowd below whispered among themselves, debating what benefits this policy might bring them.

Once he finished, seeing that the atmosphere was sufficiently stoked, Mordred dropped another bombshell.

"Atlas is forming a special unit under the direct command of the Legion. Seeing how loyal you all are, I have no way to repay you, so when it came to recruitment, you were the first people I thought of.

I will not keep this glory to myself. Every patriarch may send their children to enlist and serve the Imperium.

Well? You wouldn't refuse my good intentions, would you? My dear friends."