This is Called Numerology (Two-in-One)

Wow! It's huge!

"Yes, I don't know how it grew so big. Someone come quickly and replace the fully charged Emperor Spirit."

"Keep an eye on the Peanut Butter consumption and keep everything on schedule."

"Receive!"

Upon receiving their orders, the Mechanicus took their posts according to the manual. Some stayed near the core energy nodes to make minor adjustments, while others used flutes to play strange tunes to seduce the Emperor Spirit.

The last group, however, crouched beside the Chaos Energy Furnace connected to Mordred, sealing Chaos Energy Crystal.

According to Mordred's operating manual, once the Emperor Spirit under the Black Glaze grows to half a meter tall, it should be replaced immediately by inserting a new Emperor Spirit to recharge.

The Emperor drains waste, Mordred consumes it all, and the Emperor Spirit charges, achieving a perfect cycle of three-stage dilution and pressure relief.

In this cycle, Mordred, who acts as the septic tank, purification device, and crematorium, has the heaviest task: he must purify this chaotic and filthy divine power.

After all, even new energy electric vehicles need to be charged with clean, pollution-free green electricity. Thermal power is not environmentally friendly and could explode if used for charging. Just like electronic payments might result in receiving counterfeit money, it must be thoroughly purified before it can be used to Yellow Skins.

But it was all worth it; the more you give, the more you gain. The Emperor may not have much else, but he has a lot of impurities.

It contained all sorts of things, like fragments of souls, remnants of faith, and other bizarre and miscellaneous items, which Mordred filtered and burned into Chaos Energy Crystal.

As the Black Glaze began to charge, a large amount of impurities in the Emperor's body were rapidly expelled and filtered into golden Psychic Power through Mordred, the pressure relief valve, and then poured into the yellow-skinned rat's body.

Watching the tiny yellow mouse, no bigger than a palm, emerge as a half-meter-tall yellow Big Rat, even able to fly and generate electricity with its hands, the group of Mechanicus exclaimed in unison, "This must be the power of Omnissiah!"

Especially after discovering that the Chaos Energy Crystal that the Empire had once been so desperately pursuing were actually produced in this way, these Mechanicus became even more devout to the Emperor.

This isn't Emperor's hook; it's an untapped treasure.

It may sound unscientific, but it's actually not scientific at all.

If you zoom out, you'll see the entire dungeon is filled with candles, and next to each candle is an Astartes holding 13...

Zhang, the baker, knelt down and kowtowed.

Thirteen candles, thirteen Astartes, and 169 scones are arranged in a circle around the Golden Throne, forming thirteen concentric circles.

Furthermore, each group was surrounded by a Daemon magic circle, totaling 2179 magic circles and 28561 Astartes, to perform this so-called soul-summoning ritual.

Coupled with the spontaneous addition of Mechanicus and Imperial Cult believers chanting scriptures, it looked like a cult ritual no matter how you looked at it. In particular, Mordred, as the chief designer, had a rather heretical appearance, with four arms, a long tail, and sharp horns on his head, looking like a giant, Genestealer.

At first, Guilliman asked Mordred what he was trying to do and why the number 13 was always mentioned. Mordred replied that it was none of his business, that this was the way of the universe, Numerology.

"Numerology? Don't tell me it's some toilet paper written by that bastard Mortarion."

"It means exactly what it says!" Mordred explained.

He even dragged over a small blackboard and started giving a lesson to Guilliman, this Muggle, while also bringing over Sisyphus, this scoundrel. As for Zhuang Sen, there was no need to call him; the old cat would secretly watch.

Following the order, Master Mordred wrote five symbols and five numbers on the blackboard, and then transformed them into five colors: purple, green, red, blue, and gold.

"These numbers correspond to the five peddlers of the Warp. The first four are Soft-skinned Snake, Hulk, Khorne, and Blue Googo, and the last one is Yellow Skins."

Through their connection to these numbers, they can more easily influence the content and things containing those numbers, and more easily corrupt or bless them.

Zhuang Sen was born in Caliban, a world steeped in chivalry, while Sisyphus grew up in Terra, the holy land of the Imperial Cult, and thus had a strong belief in Mordred's theories.

But for Guilliman, who had been pampered by his mother and father since childhood and was the son of Archon, this was somewhat incomprehensible.

"I acknowledge the existence of Psychic Power and Warp Demon, but I firmly believe it is merely a natural phenomenon, like electricity in a battery or fire started from kindling—something that is at least visible, tangible, and gradually understandable."

Guilliman, a staunch believer in materialism, grew increasingly distraught, stating that Numerology was nothing but feudal superstition, a foolish fantasy born from the corn-eating of that Barbarus old farmer, Mortarion.

Second Brother, you're a scientist, or at the very least a wizard. You can't just believe in Mortarion's crooked and evil ways!

A closer analysis reveals that Guilliman is attacking the right brain with the left brain. He believes Mordred is both a scientist and a wizard, yet he denies the existence of Numerology and doesn't believe in idealistic things.

This actually deviates from the original intention of materialism, but that's just how Guilliman's thought process works.

To make the Tenth Brother face reality, Mordred could only continue his explanation, "Let me give you an example. Look at this 6, it represents Bliss. If you look closely, you'll find that the files related to the number six, especially those concerning spiritual development, are particularly susceptible to corruption."

File number 7 is likely to involve epidemics and stagnation, while file number 8 is mostly related to war. As for file number 9, it's bound to be a bunch of abstract and ruthless stuff that no one can understand.

"So 13 represents our father?"

"That's right, 13 is the sacred number of the Yellow Skins, which can maximize the connection with Old Man Huang and protect these things from corruption."

Mordred spoke with such seriousness that the members of the Imperial Cult nodded frequently, and even Zhuang Sen and Sisyphus seemed to agree, to the point that Guilliman was somewhat convinced, but he still felt it was unreasonable.

"This is feudal superstition."

"No, this is empiricism, the experience accumulated by the imperial people over thousands of years. You may not believe what I say, but you must believe the data."

Behind every outrageous rule lies a bloody lesson.

That being said, Guilliman still believed that trying to understand things with numbers was absurd, and if there really was such a thing as Numerology, then he, Guilliman, would be the 13th person in line to become Emperor.

If that's the case, then Guilliman should be the chosen one, the savior. Even if he knows nothing about Psychic Power, he should still be able to use the Emperor's power.

Why didn't my father give me any guidance? Why didn't he unleash a Hell God of War on me when I faced Magnus?

In the end, only my good brother Rambo helped me.

Mordred was speechless at Guilliman's rebuttal, thinking to himself, "If it weren't Second Brother my appearance, your guess might very well be true. As for the cost? Hard to say!"

It's impossible for things to stay this comfortable. You'll be squeezed into a hopeless, living cog by the cesspool that is the Empire, emitting a sharp, explosive sound like Gretchin.

But Guilliman was quickly proven wrong, because after Zhuang Sen pulled the lever, those Astartes strictly adhered to the number 13 were radiant.

The ordinary Peanut Butter and scones began to ignite with golden flames, and for the first time, Guilliman clearly felt that he was seeing the Emperor.

Through the mysteriously vanished food, he heard the Roared of souls, saw aimless skeletons, their indifferent eyes, their painful wails, and the ominous black sun hanging high in the Sea of Souls.

"Number Thirteen!"

"Lord of Ultramar!"

"Hope."

"Ambition."

"The Rebellious son."

"Eldar Girl."

"Why don't you answer my call?"

"Guilliman!"

Guilliman fell silent. He felt that his father might have misunderstood him; he and Ephraime were just business partners. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that this damn Numerology was actually true.

Watching his brother, who was lying on the Black Glaze, panting and growing rapidly, Guilliman, as if possessed, came to the Golden Throne and picked up the Emperor's Sword, which he believed had more political significance than practical use.

The flames Burning Fiercely, and with just the slightest touch, the blade burst into flames, becoming a flaming straight sword. It could even cancel out the recovery animation, which was absolutely terrifying!

As a plume of smoke rose, Guilliman, with a flaming straight sword in his left hand and a dog-head cigarette in his right, Collapsed on the Ground, questioning the meaning of life.

"I don't understand!" (Macragge accent)

"Thinking back to the Great Crusade, so full of life, like all things flourishing, everyone, like me, now wakes up talking about Psychic Power."

Everyone else has mastered the "Super Power" skill, making me feel like I'm a whole version behind.

Father, I really can't tell!

Although the divine opportunity for enlightenment in Longchang occurred in prison, wasn't this underground palace also a prison? Guilliman began his self-enlightenment, but what he would gain from it, no one knew.

Time passed slowly, and batches of Emperor Spirit inflated and swelled. By the thirteenth day, all 114,514 Emperor Spirit had been fully charged, and Mordred finally couldn't hold on any longer.

"Stop, stop, stop! Zhuang Sen, pull the lever down quickly, I can't hold on any longer!"

"What did you say?"

"I said I can't take it anymore, let go! My Fel Energy reserves are all gone, I'm going to explode if I eat any more!"

Under the intense snow-eating, Mordred was beginning to take on a human form, had lost all humanity. She could no longer maintain her human form, and even her beast form couldn't withstand this kind of feeding.

The gluttonous dragon, fifty meters long, fifty meters wide, and fifty meters tall Collapsed on the Ground. The once majestic dragon had been reduced to a cube. It didn't even need makeup; it could easily pass for a local if taken to the MC crew next door.

Overconfident, Mordred never imagined he would end up like this. Luckily, his tail was flexible enough to stay firmly stuck in the Black Glaze until Zhuang Sen turned on the emergency stop switch.

Looking at the giant cube swaying precariously in front of them, which they tried to climb up by holding onto the wall but couldn't reach because their arms were too short, the three siblings laughed mischievously, "Good brother, we'll help you!"

"Hurry up, I'm stuck and can't get up."

Faced with this colossal creature comparable to Warlord Titan, even if the three of them could lift it, they couldn't hold onto it. After realizing that haphazardly exerting force would only tear off Mordred's carapace, they simply chose to give up.

They then brought in three heavy-duty cranes to carry out the work, which finally allowed them to flip Mordred over.

"Ugh, I'm so full! I feel like even my farts smell like Peanut Butter."

Although the process was somewhat abstract, it was all worthwhile. After 13 days of intense filtering, Old Man Huang was noticeably more relaxed, and his bones even looked brighter.

Dragging their heavy bodies forward a few more times, the four siblings arrived before the Golden Throne once more. But seeing the Yellow Skins still babbling incoherently, they were puzzled. "Second Brother, why does Father still look like he's suffering from dementia?"

"That shouldn't be the case. According to my calculations, the Yellow Skins should at least regain some of its senses. Wait a minute."

Thanks to his size advantage, Mordred was at least 50 meters tall even when he was lying down. He thought he just saw the Yellow Skins move and rummage around for something to stuff under its buttocks.

Their eyes met, Mordred's three pairs of compound eyes fixed intently on the Yellow Skins before him.

"Sigh, Second Brother, it seems your treatment plan is really working; Father is sweating profusely."

66

"Hmm~ How come the sweat's gone again?"

Sisyphus, having hidden in the underground palace for so long, had never seen his father sweat before. Her reminder prompted Guilliman and Zhuang Sen to join in. "That's right, that's sweat."

The two brothers, one on each side, lifted their father's hand bones and examined them closely. Sure enough, they saw that the bone structure was sweating profusely.

Young Sisyphus was still puzzled, but Guilliman and Zhuang Sen seemed to realize something, their eyes flashing with a strange light. They slowly backed away and eventually stood next to Mordred.

"Second Son, (Second Brother)."

"Hmm, it seems our Good Father is terminally ill. This is no ordinary ailment; we must Strike Hard."

"So that means?"

"I think it's pretty close to the truth. Do you remember what the Yellow Skins often said to us?"

The two shook their heads, indicating that they had forgotten, but remembered the phrase "seek truth from facts," and suggested they try it out themselves.

Seeing the three of them standing there clueless, the simple-minded Sisyphus thought the Emperor was truly beyond saving, so he quickly grabbed Mordred's claws, hoping his Second Brother could think of another solution.

This scene reminded Zhuang Sen of Perturabo, who was equally hardworking and simple-minded, and who would deliberately seek out dirty work that no one else wanted to do, just for a compliment he would never receive.

"The thought that my father was such a person makes me realize how foolish I was back then, arguing with Horus for the Warmaster. Speaking of Horus, I feel he was even more pitiful."

"Who says otherwise? By the way, where the hell is Horus?"

"It's inside my holy sword, but the holy sword is lost."

"No, what are you three doing? Father is in this state, and you're still chatting about these trivial things." Sisyphus was furious; perhaps of the four, she was the one most concerned about the Emperor's health.

But it is precisely because of this that the Yellow Skins appears to be extremely wicked.

Mordred flicked off his fingernail and handed it to Sisyphus, saying, "Don't worry, I've got a solution: ' Old Man Huang went numb from sitting too long, which caused damage to his trigeminal nerve, leading to high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and coronary heart disease. How Could someone with barely any flesh on his body get these kinds of illnesses? Never mind that, I'm the doctor.'"

As for how to treat him, it's as simple as possible. Just take my claws and slap him hard; it's a long-standing form of physical therapy."

"Really? I'm not very educated, you're not trying to fool me!"

"Really, physics is also about reason." Zhuang Sen and Guilliman stated that this is the most scientific treatment plan. You don't want your father to suffer from pain, do you? Let's get started!

Driven by unparalleled filial piety, Sisyphus swung his claws and smashed them hard against the Emperor's torso.

"Uh~"

"Father spoke!"

"Yes, continue."

Under the watchful eyes of his three brothers, Sisyphus did not hesitate at all. His claws flew up and down as he struck his father repeatedly.

The child may be simple-minded, but he is incredibly strong. His claws, which are taller than a person, are covered and swung fiercely. In just a few seconds, he struck more than 300 times.

Perhaps this filial piety Moved the heavens, for just as Sisyphus was about to strike the Emperor's head with his claws, a golden light struck and seized Sisyphus's arm.

"Ah!"

"Lion, Mordred, Guilliman, and my Sisyphus, Father, I'm back."

The Emperor spoke, and his words were so clear and fluent that they instantly drew cheers from the surrounding crowd. However, the three brothers did not move at all, their eyes fixed on the Emperor before them.

"My sons, why are you all silent?"

"Sisyphus, get out of the way, I'm afraid you'll be covered in bone fragments."

I am your father!

"Aaaaaahh..."