Yandere Foggy Goes Berserk Online

It is common knowledge that whenever someone suggests "I have an idea," it is already over, as a random assortment of idiots will inevitably spawn in the vicinity.

The Emperor, however, was undoubtedly the smartest person on the entire ship, and he became interested in an instant.

"Old Man Huang, I believe the Warp has even greater potential for development. Look at this cool Small Pistol; it is truly a magnificent miracle of Daemonology! You see, I didn't even insert a magazine, yet it can still fire. This is far more useful than a loyal Machine Spirit, and if it doesn't listen, I can just beat it up. In the future, we could completely mass-produce daemon-infused armaments; perhaps we could even create an Enchanted Weapon warrior, Kiya!"

Having said that, Mordred began firing wildly at the target, biubiu sounds filling the air, only stopping once the small daemon had been squeezed dry and let out a wail of "not a single drop left."

This scene left the Emperor lost in thought.

As the Master of Mankind, the Emperor had certainly seen Enchanted Weaponry before; during the Unification Wars, any tech-warlord with a shred of power possessed such things. However, he had truly never seen such a sloppy enchantment process, one filled with a kind of abstract "I think it works" aesthetic.

When others crafted Enchanted Weaponry, the bare minimum involved carving ritual circles and conducting a bloody sacrifice. You, on the other hand, simply held the daemon down and beat it.

This was neither scientific nor psychic, and especially as a Blasphemous Artifact that completely defied the Imperial Truth, it was simply...

"Fantastic!"

"Hahaha, as expected of my Second Son, inheriting my excellent genes! Good! One must show no mercy to daemons; insulting them ruthlessly is the way to go. I want to see what other surprises you can bring me. Let us continue the experiment."

Hearing this, for the first time, Mordred felt that this Old Man Huang wasn't so bad after all—not as wicked as he had imagined. How reasonable he was.

As the hardcore badasses of the Empire, the one thing the Emperor and Mordred did not lack was execution. One continued to abduct daemons, while the other brought in offspring for testing.

Soon, through clinical trials on 130 Atlas, the two finally confirmed the fact.

That is, the Second Legion could, like Mordred, rely on repeatedly abusing daemons and stuffing them into physical entities to generate various strange abilities. The only drawbacks were the small scale and the existence of an upper limit.

For instance, a Golden Giant like Mordred could pin down and beat even slightly weaker Greater Daemons. As long as one kept training them and put in the effort, it was not impossible to hammer out a knock-off version of an Extreme Divine Weapon.

Ordinary Space Marine units, however, could not do this; they simply couldn't beat the more ferocious daemons and could only find weaklings to craft into souls. Even if Mordred manufactured them, it wouldn't work, as a daemon that was too strong would truly backfire on its master.

Yet even so, Mordred and the Emperor laughed like two fools. Regardless of whether it was currently a "chicken rib" or not, it was definitely a profitable venture. After all, as offspring of Mordred, the Atlas could also grow by devouring daemons.

Fortunately, the Emperor still had some sense of restraint and halted the experiment just as Mordred was preparing to test the Enchanted Weapon warriors.

Looking at his excited offspring beside him, the Emperor offered a warning:

"You, this Rebellious son, should just settle for what you have. They aren't as thick-skinned as you are; if you mess up, it will be a disaster. Furthermore, you must report such research to me at all times in the future."

Out of caution, Mordred did not argue this time and agreed readily. As for whether he would actually report it at all times, that was hard to say.

Taking advantage of the time the fleet spent resupplying, Mordred did not remain idle. With such a useful Golden Giant present, he had to squeeze every bit of value out of him.

Three years of accumulated experimental data were presented to the Emperor for review. The Arch-Magos and the two formed a research team, beginning to tackle the data redundancy.

Perhaps it was the common trait of research nerds, but as they interacted more, the relationship between Mordred and the Emperor warmed up rapidly, reaching the point where they would curse each other to their faces one second and trade blows the next.

What he did not know, however, was that all of this was seen by Fulgrim, who was hiding in the corner, further deepening the problem child's grotesque ideas.

Soon, a month passed. The Expeditionary Fleet had finished resupplying and was about to begin a new round of the Great Crusade.

Watching the Dream Fleet, which had eaten and drank its fill and stripped his own production capacity bare, Mordred felt a heart-wrenching pain. Yet, he couldn't say much; after all, he was the one doing the logistics work, so he could only curse the Yellow Skins to vent his frustration.

"My treasures, damn Yellow Skins, you really didn't save me a thing! How am I supposed to go out and roam now?"

Because of Mordred, the Serenity Sub-sector had not developed as extremely as other Imperial worlds. Although the place was small, it was fully equipped, capable of achieving complete self-sufficiency.

But no matter how wealthy the Second Legion was, they couldn't handle being targeted for constant plundering. With fleets of all sizes coming to rest every day, the sheer logistics of being Deployed would be enough to exhaust them to death.

"Second Brother, stop pretending. I know how comfortably you live every day. The entire operation of the Legion relies on Goff and his Second Company. Do you have the face to say that?"

Fulgrim saw through it clearly, but this time he wasn't here to mock Mordred; he was here to say goodbye.

"What? You're leaving? Are you not happy here with me?"

"I am, but I must prove myself. I am going to the Great Crusade; you cannot manage me for my entire life."

Mordred saw at a glance that this unlucky kid was having another episode, but looking at the firm gaze of the third brother, he could only sigh.

"Go, go then. It's good that you're all leaving. In the end, it's just me again."

Mordred's demeanor made Fulgrim feel incredibly uncomfortable; he was nearly charmed by it, but he managed to regain his senses in the end.

Seeing that his Little Brother had made up his mind, Mordred stopped trying to persuade him and summoned Goff, telling the Grand Steward to allocate a batch of supplies to the Son of the Emperor.

The Son of the Emperor, numbering less than a thousand, were stuffed with equipment for three companies by Mordred—all of them the newest models produced by the Atlas, including some experimental prototypes that hadn't even entered mass production.

Such a generous gift moved Fulgrim to tears. He hugged Mordred tightly, swearing that he would never be a coward.

But soon, Mordred noticed something wrong. Why wouldn't this little brat let go? Get off me, damn it!

"Fulgrim, what are you doing? I'll say it again: I am your Second Brother, not your Mom!"

But the Phoenix, convinced that Mordred could transform, didn't care about that. He refused to let go, spouting outrageous nonsense:

"I Know, I Know. Since you're not, that's even better! Second Brother, no! Second Sister! Hurry up and change back; I promise I won't tell anyone."

Watching Fulgrim wriggling against him like a maggot, Mordred felt a chill run down his spine. He had only one thought now: he must never expose his true identity in the future.

But the future was the future. If he didn't deal with this Pervert now, tomorrow's headline would be about him.

Unable to endure it any longer, Mordred raised his fist and Slammed it down:

"Wake up, you Bastard!"