The Imperium and the Legion Codex

"Hey bro, when will this hell of a life ever end?"

"You can't take it after a month? Keep going!"

Inside the Department of the Interior building, in a pitch-black, undetectable Secret Room, two Primarch, one large and one small, were slacking off.

It was pitch black, and no one could see anything clearly. No one knew why the room had appeared. Even the Primarch could not see through this supernatural darkness; he could only see two pairs of white teeth.

The older one is Zhuang Sen, and the younger one is Sisyphus. These two people, who should have nothing in common, have come together to sit in this Secret Room and slack off.

It's not that the two were lazy; it was entirely because Guilliman was irresponsible, or rather, Mordred was just slacking off.

In the original plan, the three brothers actually had their own division of labor: Guilliman was in charge of political affairs, Lion King was in charge of internal cleanup, Mordred was in charge of internal affairs, technology, logistics, and communications.

This division of labor was perfectly reasonable; it was something the three brothers had discussed before heading to Holy Terra. With the addition of Sisyphus, it was practically a perfect start.

But when Mordred started to slack off, his part of the work came to a complete standstill. Guilliman was already being brainwashed by the Imperial government, and now the entire burden was on him. Even Zhuang Sen and Sisyphus were given a lot of work.

If the Ultramarines are the brain and the Dark Angels are the white blood cells, then Atlas is the blood vessels. They were born to do this job, but now Mordred is giving up and Atlas is giving up too, so these tasks can only be done by the Dark Angels and Soul Drinkers.

As for how well they've done? Well, in the past month, just connecting with Mars's casting production and restarting the Sol Sector has almost driven the two of them crazy.

It's not that I can't figure it out, nor that anyone would dare to deceive their superiors or subordinates. In this era when Holy Terra is under the complete control of the military government, no one would be foolish enough to court death, especially since the Great Purge is not over yet.

The important thing is that I don't have the ability.

It's the same old question: aside from man-made disasters, why can't Imperium of Man develop?

The Empire may be weak, but it's not incompetent. Its overall technological strength may seem low, but that's just an appearance; after all, its ancestors expanded the empire.

Take the Leman Russ Battle Tank, which is highly praised by the Astra Militarum, for example. This thing looks clumsy, big, and rough, much like the style of the first war on Old Terra. It is just a big iron box with two tracks that can fire cannons.

However, the technological level of this device is not low. Even the Earth Caste artisans of the Tau, who are already at war with the Empire, cannot understand why such a bizarre thing exists.

First, there's the armor. The Roboute Guilliman's armor alloy is both light and strong, and the Astartes ' 75mm caliber explosive shells simply can't penetrate it. You either have to use plasma, Melta, or bombard it with tubes, or cut it with Power Weapon.

After all, Roboute Guilliman lasted for a full 10,000 years. If it were unreliable, it wouldn't have lasted 10,000 years. Ordinary individual weapons simply couldn't penetrate it. But as for things like Volkite Weapon or Grav-cannon, that's a different story.

This old tank is incredibly durable, has thick armor, decent firepower, and is highly versatile. Its chassis has been modified countless times, and it can even move while you urinate after the engine runs out of fuel.

In terms of combat function, the Roboute Guilliman is comparable to the T'au Hammerhead Gunship. If you compare these two, you will realize that they are not products of the same era at all.

But the result was that in the Battle of Damocles Gulf Crusade, the casualty ratio between the two sides was one to four. This clumsy, ugly thing could pound the Hammerhead of the Tau into the ground.

At this point, some people might say, "Our T'au Empire has the best technology in the world. Even a soldier's railgun can take down Terminator. We even assassinated the Raven Guard Chapter Master."

Then let me ask you this: the Kroot Cult's hydraulic shears can chop up the Adeptus Custodes, the Orks giant iron pipes can pierce through an Astartes, armor and all, and throwing an asteroid onto the ground can crush a Primarch half to death.

In other words, the hydraulic clamps are more technologically advanced than the Adeptus Custodes Guard's Atreus armor, the Ork Boy's iron pipes are harder than Adamantium, and the asteroid completely crushes the Primarch?

That's not how it's calculated!

Individual cases are just individual cases. While it's true that the assassination of the Raven Guard Chapter Master by Tau Commander is somewhat abstract, and the Damocles Crusade was riddled with blunders and the Empire fought terribly, we still need to consider the actual circumstances.

The Raven Guard were completely reckless, trying to raid the T'au in a Lunar-class Cruiser, and almost succeeded in doing so, before being overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

The Damocles Gulf Crusade was another story altogether, marked by a change of commanders on the eve of battle, internal strife, factional wariness, brutal Warp, and the Imperial Navy's ever-reliable sacrifice.

They said they'd send me 20 Army Group, but only four actually arrived. The other eight arrived a year ago. They said the weapons and ammunition would take nine hours. I've already pissed myself into the tanks to use as fuel, and you still say nine hours?

Once the front lines collapse, they'll say, "We said nine months, who gave you permission to start the war prematurely?"

With all these negative buffs stacked up, even a commander who was parachuted in would go crazy.

Although it's just a glimpse, somewhat subtle and euphemistic, it effectively reflects why the empire became what it is today: communication and transportation.

The saying "If you want to get rich, build roads first" applies to any era. Otherwise, the Yellow Skins wouldn't have bet all its chips on the Webway Project. It's just that this thing is too tempting, so tempting that you'd even be willing to write a letter and be a postman in the Webway.

When it comes to communication, it becomes even more abstract. The Yellow Skins went all in on the Webway, and Mordred went all in on the Divine Seal. Before the Divine Seal could cover the entire Sol Sector, Mordred sent it, and eventually it returned to mainstream Astropathic Communication.

So the question is, is Astropathic Communication any good or bad? The answer is yes, it's good, but not that great.

As the name suggests, Astropathic Communication, like Warp Voyage, relies on the Warp. Therefore, you must at least be Astropath, which is a stable and legitimate Psyker who has undergone special training.

Anything related to Psychic Power is highly idealistic. A statement like "Tyran infection has occurred in this world, and the Planetary Governor is fighting the enemy and requesting support" can end up as "The Planetary Governor is forcibly attacking the Tyranid; come and feast!"

Upon receiving this message, everyone in the Department of the Munitorum was dumbfounded. If there really was such Planetary Governor, should they call the Inquisition or the Imperial Navy?

Forget it, even the Emperor can't stand the appearance of such God-Human. Let's just Exterminatus.

That explains why Mordred didn't go on a killing spree after attacking the Astropathic Court. The Star Astropath Language into roughly accurate terms are incredibly valuable; it's a job that combines experience and skill.

"Ugh, that bastard Guilliman's rushing me. After I finish this cup of tea, I have to get back to work."

"Brother, I don't want to work. I haven't slept a wink for a month. I just lay down when Guilliman dragged me out of bed and said how could someone my age sleep? Now I feel nauseous just looking at parchment."

That proves you haven't been doing enough; you haven't grasped the technique of the left brain sleeping while the right brain works.

Sisyphus casually picked up a piece of pastry and grumbled, "If my left brain is sleeping and my right brain is doing double the work, doesn't that mean I haven't slept at all?"

Besides, why should Mordred get to sunbathe there? This is his job, why do I have to do it? Zhuang Sen, aren't you the boss? You should exercise your rights as the big brother.

Go and beat up that inherently evil Second Brother Mordred. Strip him naked, hang him on the flagpole, and whip him for three days and three nights. Make him get back to work, so we don't have to sneak around and get rushed even to drink water.

Brother, say something!

Why don't you have a sip of orange juice to perk yourself up?

Taking the offered flask, Sisyphus flicked it open with his fingernail, accompanied by a series of satisfying burps. "Ah~ refreshing! It's even chilled. The bottle looks familiar though, like—"

Sisyphus dared not speak, for she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and a pair of golden eyes slowly peering out from behind her.

Guilliman's pupils are blue, Zhuang Sen's pupils are green, and Zhuang Sen and I are separated by an entire table, which means --

Without any hesitation, Sisyphus threw himself to the ground, turned around and grabbed the leg of the person behind him, shouting, "Second Brother, Guilliman is exploiting me! You must stand up for me!"

Mordred was quite pleased with their shamelessness; they were clearly promising candidates for the Titan Training Method. She immediately helped the two siblings out of the room.

"Have you figured it out?"

"I've figured it out. Atlas hasn't fallen, and my descendants aren't alone. Since they've chosen this path, I will never betray their trust in me."

Seeing that Mordred had returned to normal, Zhuang Sen didn't say much. He was never a man of many words. Perhaps the Lord of Knights had many problems, but he always believed in his brother.

After all these years, he has come to understand a lot. He is no longer the unpleasant brute who only knew how to brandish knives and guns. He is no longer that barbarian Russ.

As for Sisyphus, that good-for-nothing, Mordred didn't bother with him much. She wasn't a petty person; he knew she'd make him regret it later.

"Let's go. The visible Vermin of Holy Terra have been mostly cleared out. The Great Purge must continue, but there's no need to expand it further at this stage."

Our next focus is the Sol Sector. This core of the empire must be firmly in our grasp. It's time to launch our grand plan 2.0.

"Oh! You have another plan?"

"Of course! I'm the idea king among us brothers. I already have a preliminary concept, but I still need to talk to Guilliman about it. The four of us are a group of passionate and energetic Kiya!"

"For the grand plan!"

"A grand plan!!"

Seeing two gazes descend upon her, Sisyphus, quite pragmatically, uttered the words "Let's do something big," even though she had no idea what the so-called grand plan was.

However, just as the three of them pushed open the door of the Department of Administration, ready to discuss the next steps with Guilliman was not there. Caldor said that his father had gone out to eat and would be back in a while.

Since they'd be back soon, they figured they'd just wait a bit. But as they waited, the three noticed something amiss: they saw a book on Guilliman's desk. "<The Astartes Legion Codex>???"

The name alone was enough to send chills down one's spine. They'd switched from Chapter to Legion. The three of them looked at each other, and finally opened this mysterious and impressive Legion Codex.

Sure enough, even though it wasn't at the same time or in the same place, his familiar recipe was still unforgettable; just a cursory glance was enough to make one want to sit on the toilet.

What's even more surprising is that, perhaps having learned from his previous experience, Guilliman went to extreme lengths this time, adding Mordred, Zhuang Sen, Sisyphus, and even a completely fabricated Sanguinius to the title page.

The Great Angel was unlucky; not only did he gain an extra ten thousand years of life for no reason, but he also couldn't escape the fate of becoming toilet paper. But to be fair, this Legion Codex is clearly well-made.

Perhaps because of the anecdotal history he had written earlier, Guilliman went completely off the rails, not only coming up with some outrageous tactic like moving the machine gun emplacement forward by 5 meters, but also starting to fabricate history.

Most of them are fairly realistic, providing basic profiles for the 10.5 legions, including their characteristics, representative tactics, and battle examples.

Basically, as long as you understand this book, you will have a relatively clear understanding of the Imperial Army.

But what came next was not right. Guilliman actually created a rather abstract relationship diagram for all the Chapter, making up a lot of sons for them out of thin air.

The three were furious, not because Guilliman's writing was unrealistic; quite the opposite, it was too realistic. He had written everything down, even creating a strategy guide that treated all Chapter and legions as hypothetical enemies.

Sisyphus was alright; she just felt that Guilliman was badmouthing her, and that her offspring hadn't told her these things. But Mordred and Zhuang Sen were different; it was written in black and white on this document, revealing their Dark History past.

Perhaps they were so engrossed in watching that the three of them lost track of time.

When Guilliman pushed open the door and saw his good brothers and sisters gathered together, discussing his masterpiece and even gesturing excitedly, he immediately puffed out his chest with pride.

"Brothers, come quick! I packed some local specialty desserts from my hometown for you guys, come and have a taste!"

"You dare bring us snacks? What kind of food is that?"

"Coconut Heart Bobo!"

"Well, just as you call it, Guilliman, I'll let you eat your fill."

Seeing Mordred teleporting behind and blocking the gate, Zhuang Sen emerging from the mist and shaking his shoulder, and Sisyphus taking the dessert and pulling out his whip, even Guilliman, if he were slow to react, could sense that something was wrong.

"You're still coming! Didn't my masterpiece satisfy you? I've had enough of you lunatics! Don't think I'm afraid of you just because you outnumber me. I have a temper too."

"Ah"