Not Letting Down the Legion's Cultivation

What is the meaning of human existence?

It is wealth, power, delicious food, or perhaps the pursuit of glory in battle, the yearning for eternal life, the exploration of unknown changes, and the remembrance of ultimate emotions.

Every person, or rather every Self-Awareness being, has different perspectives; this is desire, and it is the very nature of all life after its birth.

Regardless of gender or age, desire is the primary driving force of life.

The pursuit of sustenance led humans to learn hunting and farming. In order to compete for more food and better mates, and to pass on their experience from generation to generation, humans developed language and writing, gradually igniting the spark of civilization.

This is a human weakness, but also a source of pride. If someone enjoys looking at erotic pictures, eating delicious food, or being unable to resist handsome men or beautiful women, there's no need to feel anxious about it; it's a fundamental logic ingrained in our genes.

The same is true of the Primarch Ultimate Being. It is these desires that create imperfections, which make the Primarch further away from God and closer to humanity, placing it in the God-Human stage.

As a composite character who combines the strengths of many, Mordred never hides her desires. She doesn't care about this or that; she eats and drinks as she pleases, sleeps when she's tired, and indulges in pleasure when she's awake. She picks up trash to conduct heretical experiments and occasionally slashes a few Xenos to relieve her boredom.

Mordred firmly believes that he is a human being, not a monster, not some unrealistic god; he is just an ordinary, silly kid from the 30k Era.

They get excited when they steal or find something good, feel smug when praised, feel confused when they encounter things beyond their imagination, and may also become withdrawn, give up, be stubborn, vain, lie, show off, and be conflicted.

As an unlucky guy who was hit by a meteor and landed in a cesspool, Mordred was questioning his existence when he was picked up by Old Thomas. He couldn't understand why a dog could talk and grow so big.

But he quickly adapted, and upon returning to the Empire, he adapted to his legion and to this cesspool.

Although she was reluctant to admit it, Mordred had indeed been assimilated by this cesspool and had begun to go mad.

For Mordred, his world was small, he didn't have such grand ambitions, and he preferred to live a simple life in his own little corner of the world.

All he cares about are his offspring, his legion, the Serenity 50 Worlds, his unlucky brothers, his idiotic biological father, the cunning old Malcador, the humanoid Embryonic Killer Valdor, and the garrulous Little Cat...

Then Mordred was trapped, becoming part of the empire, and could eat shit and get free refills.

This wasn't a conspiracy, but a completely open scheme. It was those two cunning old foxes, the Emperor and Malcador, who put Mordred in shackles, and he willingly jumped into the trap.

But now the strongest of these chains has broken.

Atlas wasn't immune to death; quite the opposite, if Atlas didn't possess that extraordinary vitality, he might have perished long ago, always managing to kill himself for various abstract reasons.

Finding Melta Bomb while scavenging trash and using it as a pillow, having a flash of inspiration and launching a nuclear bomb with fireworks, secretly summoning a succubus for sex and draining yourself dry, accidentally triggering a trap while searching for treasure in Necron tomb and becoming immortal, practicing castration surgery in Greater Daemon's palace, playing Ross roulette with Bolter with Daemon, and Orbital Drop without a helmet to show off----

If we were to summarize the circumstances of Atlas's sudden death, it would probably take more than a book to write about, requiring an extremely abstract approach.

But none of that matters. Mordred can tolerate his offspring's reckless actions and allow them to die in battle, however they may die, but he simply cannot tolerate betrayal and being killed by his own people.

Because of trust, Mordred entrusted the scarf containing the soul of Arthas to the Emperor, but that bastard actually released his own offspring and even used them as a cushion.

"You dog, this is my beloved possession. I always wear it around my neck, afraid of even getting a scratch. I'd be heartbroken if a single thread came loose. And you've been using it as a seat cushion for ten thousand years."

Ugh~ This smell is awful! Have you not washed your butt in ten thousand years?

"How am I supposed to wash it? I can't even scratch my nose, and can you please stop swearing? I'm your father, after all."

"I don't care! I entrusted my offspring to you, so you should return them to me intact, you Yellow Skins! Where am I? Did you just lick my offspring like a blood bag?"

This wasn't just ordinary betrayal; it was downright blatant ripping off his own child. Mordred wanted nothing more than to chop this bastard to pieces with one claw.

"I didn't, I really didn't. Even if I were the worst person I could be, I wouldn't eat your offspring like a snack. That would be far too inefficient."

No, it's inhumane. They're still alive, just not long enough.

Your mother is dead! There aren't even any left, and you call that a little less?

"Second Brother, Father's mother is our grandmother. How can you insult her like that?"

"Roll."

"Alright!" Sisyphus slunk away, returning to the corner to crouch and protect himself, while the dog continued to eavesdrop furtively.

Seeing that if he didn't explain himself immediately, he would most likely be executed by Mordred on the spot, and while the other Emperor might not survive, he knew he would certainly suffer a terrible fate. Emperor Number 12345 cried out in despair, "Listen to me! Not all of Atlas Killed in Action. They are all working inside me now, and I won't lie to you. Atlas did suffer heavy casualties, but it was all voluntary. I never forced them."

"Voluntary?"

"That's right. If you don't believe me, come and see for yourself. You guys, stop pretending to be dead and show us one of you."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a grumbling Light Sphere was kicked out of the Emperor's body. It was dark and greenish, with a few specks of gold on it, and it swayed around the throne like a tricolor ice cream cone.

"Who the hell is disturbing my rest? Don't they know the next shift isn't for another 50 years? Even the most idiotic Mechanicus aren't as heartless as you. You bunch of living—fathers! Is that you?"

Without any hesitation, upon seeing Mordred's imposing figure, the Light Sphere pounced on him and began to absorb his Fel Energy.

As the Fel Energy poured in, the golden and black spots on the Light Sphere rapidly dissipated, eventually being swallowed up by the green and transforming into a diminutive Atlas, only two and a half meters tall.

That connection that transcends blood ties cannot be faked; Mordred recognized the semi-transparent figure before him at a glance.

"Gawain."

"Father, you've finally returned! We've waited so long for you, 5000 years! I've waited a full 5000 years..."

"I'm so tired after fighting this battle for so many years."

"Don't be afraid, I'm here. No one will let you suffer. I'm asking you, did the Yellow Skins force you?"

"Your Emperor?" Gawain turned to look at the throne behind him. There wasn't even enough flesh on the skeleton to make a soup, yet he could see a fawning smile on the skeleton, as if it were saying, "Brother, give me a hand."

"No, it was all voluntary. We've done our best."

Perhaps sensing the tense atmosphere, especially with Guilliman standing opposite his father, already drawing his sword, Gawain cursed Guilliman's Ambition inwardly and added, "Father, the brothers are still in the Emperor's hands, 3142 of them. Kialan, the Arch-Magos Kragg, and Zeratul are also there, along with 172 Aeldari navigators, making a total of 3304 Atlas."

"Alright, that's enough. Your soul is too weak. Go get some sleep."

Emerald light appeared, enveloping Gawain's soul under Mordred's control, and finally condensing into a Chaos Energy Crystal to protect his soul from being ignited by the Psionic Power emanating from the surrounding Emperor.

With Gawain as a witness, Mordred's anger subsided considerably. Seeing that Zhuang Sen had already sheathed his sword, while Guilliman was still pointing that flaming straight sword at him, he immediately used a Flash Backstab to backstab, knocking the weakling to the ground.

"You bastard, how dare you contradict me! Carrying a straight sword and pretending to be Undead, you're truly Ambition."

"Second Brother, Zhuang Sen is baring his teeth too, you can't just beat him up and not Zhuang Sen."

Nonsense, Mordred would have beaten him up long ago if he could. Both are spatial-type powerhouses; if he were to fight Zhuang Sen one-on-one, it would be a disaster. The two of them could circle each other's backs for a year.

Besides, they were trying to break up the fight, and you, you bastard, came up to me and tried to intimidate me with the idea of "the bigger picture." Who else should I beat up but you?

Seeing that the atmosphere had eased, Sisyphus rolled over rather smoothly and grabbed Mordred's leg, displaying his naive instincts.

Mordred remembered clearly that although the Second Legion was outnumbered and faced 3,000 Vengeful Spirit head-on, Atlas was known for his resilience.

The Spartan and Ogryn heavy infantry, along with the Atlas Black Guard, who were comparable to the Solar Auxilia, were the true main force.

After ascending to godhood, aside from those who self-destructed or committed suicide, Atlas resurrected and rebuilt all his members. He handed them over to the Emperor, who had 55,555 members, but now they are not even a fraction of that number.

"I know what you want to ask, but there's nothing we can do about it. Because of that Rebellious son Guilliman and that rebellious daughter Luojia, the Imperial Cult has become rampant and has started to develop wildly in a very short time. You even bear some responsibility for this."

"My responsibility?"

"That's right. I actually foresaw my own end long ago, but with your arrival, the empire expanded even faster during the Great Crusade, and its territory is almost a quarter larger than I predicted."

After you disappeared, Guilliman and his people governed the Empire so well that the population exploded, and a bunch of stupid Daemon even came into the Empire pretending to be humans. Oh, and there were also those Orks.

They actually thought that, besides Horus the Second Brother, I was the eldest brother above Horus the Second Brother. They couldn't even count, yet their faith was more and more fervent than the next. The Imperial forces actually felt a sense of satisfaction when they crushed them to death.

Humans worship me, and Xenos worship me too. I couldn't withstand it 5,000 years ago—no, the Emperor couldn't withstand it back then, and shattered into pieces.

To stop that monstrous thing from coming after me, I have no choice but to rely on your Atlas to cleanse it, letting it enter my body to burn Fel Energy while resisting the summons.

For the past 5,000 years, we have never dared to relax for a moment. It is only through the efforts of one Atlas and one Bane after another to rekindle the Flame that we have survived to this day, fighting one Unification Wars.

"Also, before each Atlas vanishes, they all ask us to pass on a message to you."

What is it?

"They said they had lived up to the Legion's expectations!"