As everyone knew, whenever someone said, "I have an idea," it was all over. Sooner or later, a random number of big-brained idiots would inevitably spawn nearby.
And the Emperor was, without a doubt, the smartest person aboard the entire ship. He immediately became interested.
"Old Man Huang, I believe the Warp has even greater potential for development. Look at this cool little pistol—it's a great miracle of Daemon knowledge!
"You saw it yourself. I clearly didn't insert a magazine, yet it can still fire. It's far more useful than a loyal Machine Spirit. If it disobeys me, I can even beat it up.
"In the future, we can mass-produce Daemon weapons. Maybe we can even manufacture Enchanted Warriors, Kiya!"
With that, Mordred started wildly firing biubiu at the target again. He only stopped after squeezing the little Daemon dry and hearing it wail, "There isn't even a drop left!"
The sight left the Emperor lost in thought.
As the Master of Mankind, the Emperor had certainly seen Enchanted Weapons before. During the Unification Wars, every techno-warlord with even a little power had possessed such things. But he had never seen such a slapdash enchantment process before. It was filled with a bizarre, abstract beauty born of pure guesswork.
When others made Enchanted Weapons, the bare minimum was to carve ritual formations and conduct a bloody sacrifice. But Mordred simply beat the Daemon into submission.
It was neither scientific nor Psychic Power-related. And for such a Blasphemous Artifact that completely violated the Imperial Truth, it was simply...
"Wonderful!"
"Hahahaha! As expected of my Second Son—you inherited my excellent genes! Good! You have to show Daemons no mercy and humiliate them thoroughly. I want to see what other surprises you can bring me. Let's continue the experiments."
Hearing this, Mordred felt for the first time that Old Man Huang wasn't so bad after all. He wasn't nearly as heartless as Mordred had imagined. What a reasonable man.
As the Empire's hardcore tough guy, the Emperor and Mordred had no shortage of determination or follow-through. One continued kidnapping Daemons, while the other brought in his offspring for testing.
Soon, after clinical tests on 130 Atlases, the two of them finally confirmed the truth.
In other words, the Second Legion could also repeatedly abuse Daemons like Mordred, stuff them into physical objects, and produce all sorts of strange abilities. The only drawbacks were their small scale and their upper limits.
For a big guy like Mordred, even a slightly weaker Greater Daemon could be pinned down and beaten. As long as he repeatedly trained it and put in enough effort, producing a knockoff Extreme Divine Weapon was not impossible.
Ordinary Space Marines, however, couldn't do that. They couldn't beat overly powerful Daemons, so they could only find weak ones to shape into souls. Even having Mordred make them for their use wouldn't work. If a Daemon was too powerful, it really would turn on its master.
Even so, Mordred and the Emperor grinned like a pair of idiots. Who cared whether it was useless for now? It was absolutely a profitable venture. After all, as Mordred's offspring, the Atlases could also grow by devouring Daemons.
Fortunately, the Emperor still had some sense. He halted the experiments just as Mordred was preparing to experiment with Enchanted Warriors.
Looking at his excited offspring beside him, the Emperor warned him, "You rebellious son, that's enough. They aren't as tough as you are. If things get out of hand, it'll be a real headache. And from now on, you must report this research to me constantly."
Out of caution, Mordred didn't argue this time. Instead, he readily agreed. Whether he would actually report everything regularly was another matter.
While the fleet replenished its supplies, Mordred didn't sit idle either. With such a useful Golden Giant present, how could he not squeeze him for all he was worth?
The experimental data accumulated over three years was sent before the Emperor for review. The Arch-Magos joined the two of them to form a research team, and they began tackling the redundancy in the data.
Perhaps it was a common trait among research fanatics. The more they interacted, the faster Mordred and the Emperor's relationship warmed. They had reached the point where they would jab fingers in each other's faces and curse one moment, then kick and punch each other the next.
What Mordred didn't know was that Fulgrim had watched everything from a corner. The sight deepened that bizarre notion in the problem child's mind.
Soon, a month passed. The Expeditionary Fleet finished resupplying and was about to begin a new stage of the Great Crusade.
Looking at the Dream Fleet, which had eaten its fill and stripped his own production capacity bare, Mordred was heartbroken. But there was nothing he could say. Logistics was his job, after all. All he could do was curse the Yellow Skins to vent his frustration.
"My treasures! Damn Yellow Skins, you really don't spare me a thing! How am I supposed to go out and have fun like this?"
Because of Mordred, the Serenity Sub-sector had not developed as extremely as the other Imperial worlds. Though it wasn't large, it had everything it needed and could completely sustain itself.
But no matter how wealthy the Second Legion was, it couldn't withstand being ruthlessly harvested by one particular person. Fleets of all sizes came every day to rest and resupply. Just managing the distribution of supplies was enough to exhaust them to death.
"Second Brother, stop pretending. I know how carefree you are every day. The entire Legion's operations rely on Goff and his Second Company. Do you really have the nerve to say that?"
Fulgrim saw through everything. But this time, he wasn't here to mock Mordred. He had come to say goodbye.
"What? You're leaving? Isn't it good here with me?"
"It is. But I have to prove myself. I'm going to join the Great Crusade. You can't look after me forever."
Mordred immediately saw that this unlucky child was having another episode. But looking at the determination in Third Brother's eyes, he could only sigh.
"Go, go. Everyone leaves eventually. In the end, I'm the only one left."
Seeing Mordred act like that made Fulgrim feel terrible. He nearly succumbed to the temptation, but ultimately managed to regain his senses.
Seeing that the little brother had firmly made up his mind, Mordred stopped trying to hold him back. Instead, he summoned Goff and had the chief steward approve a batch of supplies for the Son of the Emperor.
The Son of the Emperor numbered fewer than a thousand, yet Mordred forcibly stuffed them with enough equipment for three companies. All of it was brand-new models produced by their Atlases, including some experimental products that had not yet entered mass production.
The lavish gift moved Fulgrim beyond words. He immediately wrapped his arms around Mordred and said, "Second Brother, don't worry. I absolutely won't be a coward."
But Mordred soon noticed that something was wrong. Why wasn't this little brat letting go? Get off me!
"Fulgrim, what are you doing? I'll say it again: I'm your second brother, not your mother!"
But Phoenix, convinced that Mordred could transform, didn't care. He refused to let go even if he died, while spouting one outrageous statement after another:
"I know, I know. Since you're not, that makes it even better.
"Second Brother—no! Second Sister! Hurry up and change back. I promise I won't tell anyone."
Looking at Fulgrim hugging him and writhing against him like a maggot, Mordred felt a chill of disgust. He had only one thought now: he absolutely could not expose his identity in the future.
But the future was the future. If he didn't deal with this pervert now, tomorrow's headlines would be about him.
He could take it no longer. Mordred swung up his fist and began hammering away.
"Wake up already, you bastard!"
Before you continue