I'd Actually Been an Imperial-Specialized Steel Abhuman for Ages

"I'll talk, I'll tell you everything, just stop! I can't take it anymore! And then ask away!"

"Stop talking nonsense. Did you need to remind me? You should know your place. But since you asked, I'll ask you a question too: what does 1+1 equal?"

Snot streaming down her face, her expression contorted, and her entire body soaked in some unknown liquid, Sylandri gasped for breath, shouting, "Two! It's two!"

"Wrong answer. A pile of flour on top of another pile of flour is still a pile of flour. I said one, and that's it. Looks like you still don't understand, Rambo, continue."

"Ah! Ah! Ah! Uh ah~ Pfft"

What is 1 + 1?

"One, it is one!"

"Wrong answer, 1+1=2. You're trying to fool me with such a simple question? You're not being honest, Rambo, continue."

"Ah! Ah! Ah!"

What does 1+1 equal?

No matter how Sylandri answered, her answer was always wrong, and accompanied by the sharp, violent roar that filled the entire underground palace, even the Adeptus Custodes felt that the Second Highness was now acting a bit abnormally.

Seeing Sylandri being tortured by this horrific punishment, Isha wanted to plead for her, but she was immediately scared away by a single look from Mordred.

"Isha, this isn't just any ordinary die-hard; we have to Strike Hard. Besides, look, I didn't kill her, and even the medicine is a completely natural, pollution-free, green product. She won't die."

Whether she's dead or not is another matter, but given Sylandri's current state, she's probably already dead. This psychological trauma will haunt her for the rest of her life, which is far more terrifying than taking her life.

However, Mordred is not wrong. Such an act of sneaking into the Imperial Palace should have resulted in immediate execution. The fact that he has only been subjected to mental torture is already a sign of Mordred's great mercy.

Soon, under the torment of 300 times the nerve sensitivity, in less than an hour, Sylandri fell into a state of dehydration, her eyes were lifeless, as if she had been ruined.

Seeing that her mental defenses had completely collapsed, Mordred grabbed her head and whispered beside her, "This is just an appetizer. If you still can't answer my questions, it won't just be tickling your feet anymore. I'll devour your flesh inch by inch and then throw your soul to Slaanesh. Slaanesh will definitely love a little toy like you."

"No, don't say that name. Can we make peace?"

"Of course you can, but that depends on how you answer my question. Now listen carefully, what does 1+1 equal?"

Hearing that damned question again, Sylandri completely broke down. How was she supposed to know what 1+1 equals? But then she thought that if she couldn't answer it this time, she was doomed.

Hehe, I must survive!

"I don't know, whatever number you say it is."

Their eyes met, Sylandri tried to glean some useful information from Mordred's eyes, but she couldn't see anything and could only resign herself to fate.

"Correct answer! Congratulations, you finally got it right!"

As the words fell, the Primarch, Isha, the Adeptus Custodes Mechanicus, and the jerk who had been watching came forward to congratulate the unfortunate sprout. Rambo even set off a few fireworks.

As she watched the colorful ribbons fall from the sky, Sylandri felt a surge of pleasure throughout her body, even forgetting that she was still a prisoner, and tears of excitement streamed down her face.

"I got it right! I finally got it right! Did you hear that? I got it right!"

"That's right, you finally got it right, congratulations! Now, tell me honestly who you are, where you came from, what you're doing here, and what's the deal with this stone slab?"

That's how the bottom line was broken step by step. Anyway, she was already trapped, and the question she asked wasn't anything important or confidential. So, Sylandri immediately betrayed her boss.

"My name is Sylandri, I am 11,451 years old, and I am the Shadowseer of the Harlequin Troupe. I cannot say who the boss is, but it is definitely not the Cegorach Cegorach. And my purpose in coming here is to kidnap you."

"Kidnap? You think you can?" Mordred felt he was being looked down upon.

"As for me, I don't know what I'm capable of, but this is the task our boss assigned me, and I didn't want to come."

At this point, Sylandri felt incredibly aggrieved, insisting that she hadn't done anything wrong. She explained that she had been hiding on the Lower Levels decks of the Abomination for the past few years, running a model shop, and that she had even paid taxes for him. Her tone was filled with the resentment of a working-class person.

"As for this stone slab, I actually picked it up, along with all the other odds and ends, from the Museum inside that ventilation duct."

Because the Imperial Palace occupies a vast area, almost half the size of the Himalayas, and this is just the tip of the iceberg; the scale hidden underground and even in the Webway entrance and latitudinal spaces is much larger.

Even beneath the Imperial Palace lies a complete Upper Hive, from which the initial Eighth Legion's soldiers were recruited.

So when Sylandri said she had discovered a secret Museum in the Imperial Palace, no one found it strange at all; they even thought it was Malcador's secret stash.

But when they followed the ventilation ducts to the so-called Museum, they discovered that it wasn't like that at all. Even if Malcador had hidden it, he couldn't have designed the warehouse in a Necrons style.

As for who built this warehouse, Mordred didn't even hesitate; the name of the Xenos instantly flashed through his mind. "Trazyn!" (The question of who built this warehouse and how it could hide such a large space in Holy Terra was irrelevant to Mordred's thought.)

As the most famous galactic phantom thief, Trazyn is also known as the Infinite, the Trazyn the Infinite, the Cannon Fodder Sweeper, the Tomb Raider, and the Temporary Custodian of Unclaimed Property.

Unlike other Necron, Trazyn is the ruler of the Tomb World of Solemnace, and he himself is extremely abstract.

Unlike other Necron Overlord who are filled with bitterness and hatred, Trazyn enjoys breaking into houses, digging up graves, and roaming the galaxy stealing things; he is practically the Atlas of the Necron Atlas.

Moreover, this guy not only steals from the enemy, he also steals from his own people, he steals whatever he comes across, but unfortunately he has countless clones, making it impossible to catch him.

He swept away the Tomb World filled with countless Necron, earning him a reputation as infamous as the C'tan, a petty thief hated by everyone.

"I, Mordred, despise such scoundrels with dirty hands! It's an insult to these treasures! He's undermining our empire and putting his name on my treasury! How utterly despicable!"

"But Second Brother, didn't you say this was the loot of that Necron?"

"What stolen goods? Angron, if you can't speak, shut up. Nobody thinks you're mute. These are clearly things I lost."

Watching Mordred spray paint the walls, changing Mordred Necron Dynasty's Mark to the Atlas symbol, Angron couldn't help but sigh, "My Second Brother hasn't changed at all; he's still as shameless as ever."

For anyone, treasure hunting in the wild is an exciting activity, even for Primarch.

This warehouse space, used as an exhibition storage room, is enormous, covering an area the size of four football fields. It is completely different from the space that appears to be Outside World and utilizes a large amount of Necrons dimension technology.

However, compared to this magical technological power, the exhibits displayed there seem rather abstract.

Leading the charge was a Golden Armored Custodes, thrusting with a spear, protecting the Sisters of Silence behind him as they charged forward. However, he lost his footing and fell flat on his back, a scene that was firmly locked within the Stasis Field.

Mordred recognized this man; it was Titra, the Adeptus Custodes Guard tax collector he had played cards with years ago—the big, muscular woman who looked incredibly tough. The nun next to her was named something like Atrakoya, but because her name was so difficult to pronounce and she liked to cheat at cards, Mordred remembered her quite well.

However, according to the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, Little Cat, the pair of Titra and Atrakoya Killed in Action in the Second Webway War. It's unexpected that they're here. They're truly a pair of unfortunate pelicans.

This collection is understandable, given the high value of Adeptus Custodes artifacts and the extreme embarrassment it would cause. Sealing it up is somewhat comical, and it's even a buy-one-get-one-free deal.

Using the Star God Power, Mordred released the Stasis Field binding Titra, and in the instant of release, he caught the halberd that was thrusting down and the power sword that was aimed at his head.

"Warmaster? You're not dead!"

"I'm sorry about your question, I'm definitely not dead. Why do you all have to ask such questions, as if I had to die? Also, tell me, what is this guy gesturing about?"

[You betrayed the Empire, becoming the most devastating calamity to threaten it; the entire Atlas has also All Ascended to Demon.]

The Sisters of Silence's hands moved back and forth in a series of hand seals, clearly uttering something incomprehensible, which Mordred still couldn't understand. Fortunately, the Adeptus Custodes weren't entirely inhuman. "Warmaster, Koya is saying she's happy to see you and can play cards with you again."

"Speak more if you can, and keep up. You've been asleep for over 8,000 years. Ask us about anything you don't understand later. Obey orders, soldiers."

This statement would certainly have the opposite effect if said by other Primarchs, but Mordred is different. Even though he has Dark History, he is also the Emperor's partner, the second son of the Emperor, and has a close relationship with the Adeptus Custodes, so he naturally enjoys the right of succession.

Just as Mordred was waking up the two unfortunate souls, Ketti III also discovered some strange artifacts at the other end of the warehouse.

A group photo of the Primarch and the Emperor, shoulder armor of various legions during the Great Crusade, a blood-stained shroud, and a cross made of two broken wooden planks.

A feather of Sanguinius, the sacred panties of the Canoness of Battle, the little finger of the Claw of Horus, and a flesh-and-blood Space Marine of the Thousand Sons—

These are alright; although they're a bit odd, most of them are human. But there are also some artifacts that don't belong to humans, like that Space Squats with protruding fangs, wearing a skirt armor, and somewhat resembling a vampire from mythology.

Strangely, Mortarion couldn't understand what use the Space Squats were after being infected with the vampire virus; they couldn't bite the enemy's neck at all, only their ankles.

He couldn't understand the point of the skirt armor for the Space Squats; surely no one was going to lie down and tap them on the knees?

Then he saw a giant hand bone marked with the name "Hand of Rogal Dorn".

"Dorn's hand is here. And what is that that the Imperial Fists worships?"

"Of course it's fake! If two items appeared in Trazyn's collection and someone else's possession at the same time, I would definitely believe it was real. That's reputation, and it's the mutual appreciation among collectors like us."

However, compared to that skeleton, the artifact in front of me is the real treasure—it's the mother of a Primarch!

"What? My mom! Where's my mom?" Guilliman roared.

After all, there aren't many Primarchs with both parents alive, and there's only one Primarch with a mother. Who else could it be but Guilliman?

But when Guilliman rushed up to Mordred, he was dumbfounded. "This isn't my mother."

"Nonsense, I never said she was my godmother, she's Russ's mother."

"Are you kidding me? Russ's mother is a dog? No, a wolf!"

However, thanks to his height advantage, Mortarion, who spotted the booth label first, kicked Guilliman, telling him to take a good look.

[Country of origin: Fenris]

[Canidae, genus Gyrococcus.]

[Mother of Roboute Guilliman, the Sixth Primarch of the Imperium of Man, codename: Red Wolf]

"Hmm? It really is Russ's mother! Like mother, like son, Auntie still looks quite charming!"

This is just making conversation for the sake of it. It seems like Guilliman has developed some kind of unusual fetish, that even when he's praising someone, the other person can't hear him.

But none of that matters. What matters is that with this thing so closely connected to Russ, Mordred can use this opportunity to find her good brother.

However, before that, Mordred decided to preserve these treasures carefully. As for where to preserve them, of course, they would be kept on his Abomination, so as not to betray Trazyn's kindness.

Atlas began appearing inside the Imperial Palace, operating heavy machinery to dismantle the ventilation ducts. Along with these black-armored figures, more and more stolen money was brought out and sorted in the sunlight.

This is a consequence of lax quality control. Trazyn never dreamed that anyone would dare to provoke the Emperor. This place is so dangerous that even the Four Merchants wouldn't dare to cause trouble here; it's the perfect hiding place for treasure.

To the point that, in order to conceal his whereabouts, Trazyn didn't even leave a clone to guard him, showing his immense confidence.

Just as Mordred was making a fortune, a Chapter supply ship called Silver Skulls arrived in Serenity.

Looking at the vibrant and Serenity Hive City before him, a place far superior to Terra, Trazyn, clad in Mars red robe, strolled through the streets and familiarly arrived at an official Atlas figurine flagship store.

And amidst the envious gaze of a Sisters of Silence who lamented her lack of funds, he cleared out all the shelves and even stole her wallet.

But as he walked, he spotted someone who looked somewhat familiar. Just by observing each other, their senses were instantly alerted.

"Zalasus, you bastard, what are you doing here?"

"Oh ho, I thought it was someone else, but it's you, Trazyn, you thief! You Dogs and Donkeys, watch your mouth."

In terms of social class, I am a high-ranking noble appointed by the Silent King, the Emperor, while you are merely a hegemon. You should greet me first upon meeting.

As for my position, I am currently the Arch-Magos of Forging in the Blood Angels, concurrently the First-Class Marquis of Baal's Loyalty and Valor, and the Quartermaster of the Ninth Legion. You must address me respectfully the Unnamable.

Trazyn was shocked. The logic array began to simulate the emotion called surprise, and grabbed his friend, groping him like a pervert, as if he were looking at some rare treasure.

"Something's wrong with you. Why are you trying to talk like a human? You—you have a soul now!"

"Shut up, you blasphemous Xenos! This is Machine Spirit. Don't insult my devout faith in Omnissiah with your nonsense. Actually, I've long been an Imperial-specialized steel Abhumans."

For the Emperor!!