Mordred took back what he had said before. He loved the Great Crusade more than anything. If anyone tried to stop him from participating in the Great Crusade, he would smash their skull in on the spot.
Three years of hard work at home were worth less than three months of working outside. Just looting Inkarati alone had netted him half of Atlas's entire fortune.
Rare metals and all kinds of weapons and equipment aside, Inkarati had developed for nearly two thousand years. Its entire accumulated wealth had fallen into Atlas's hands—and there were even two STC standard modules among it all.
As genuine technological crystallizations of the Golden Age, STC modules could let even a savage from a barbaric world develop the technologies they contained. It was practically foolproof.
The only drawback was that it all depended on luck. You never knew what kind of technology an STC contained. It was pure gambling.
If you were lucky, like the Wolf King, you could get a Leman Russ tank and become the true Primarch of countless Astra Militarum soldiers in later generations. If you were unlucky, you might only get a piece of junk that produced carbonated drinks.
Mordred's luck was decent, though. Of the two STCs, one could produce plasma weapons, while the other could synthesize seasoned starch.
That also explained why such a remote world as Inkarati had managed to equip every single person with plasma weapons, creating such an extravagant lineup. It was simply because they knew how to manufacture nothing else. Plasma weapons were the only thing they could make.
After learning this absurd truth, Frix felt like dying of anger when he thought of his battle-brothers who had been melted directly by plasma fire. This was completely different from the intelligence the Department of the Munitorum had given them.
"Don't be angry, Nephew. This battle wasn't your fault. Who could have known the enemy's firepower would be so fierce? Don't worry. Follow your uncle from now on, and I guarantee nothing like this will happen again."
Frix said nothing more. This good uncle really was something. The moment he joined up, he had been given ships, people, and weapons. The entire company had already been completely adopted by Atlas.
At first, Frix had still been somewhat reserved. Because of their rigid personalities, the Space Marines of the Fourth Legion and Atlas didn't even seem to belong in the same layer of reality.
But the more serious they acted, the more Atlas's people wanted to pester them. It was like a cool-faced top student losing to a dumbass energetic boy. In less than a week, they had gone from Dobermans to huskies.
Their height and body-type difference was simply too great. Otherwise, if several Canned Ones stood together, you wouldn't have been able to tell who was who.
Sometimes, Frix even wondered whether he was actually an Atlas himself, and had merely been switched with the wrong group when the Legions were assigned.
The question of who one's father was was far too profound. In any case, Mordred was having a great time. Including this batch of Grinder Boys, Atlas's fleet now had a total of twenty thousand Space Marines, eight thousand of whom belonged to the Fourth Legion.
What was even better was that after some time spent researching, Mordred had finally uncovered the secret of this Golden Tree.
"Father, are you sure this Golden Tree is filled entirely with fragrant, delicious souls?"
"Of course! Do you still doubt your father's technical prowess? Let me tell you, it's not just filled with fragrant, delicious souls. It also has those bean sprouts."
The bean sprouts were the so-called Aeldari. Since Mordred was a chatterbox, he would gather with his sons whenever he had nothing better to do and spout nonsense. As long as Chaos wasn't involved, he could talk about anything without hesitation, spilling little secrets every day.
Even when it came to knowledge related to Chaos, Mordred would do everything he could to substitute other things and educate his sons, so they wouldn't be helpless when they eventually faced Chaos.
Mordred had even developed a versus game called Galaxy Total War for this purpose, filling the Legion's entertainment gap through education and amusement.
Unfortunately, although his intentions had been good, Mordred had recently discovered that compared to playing these real-time strategy games, his sons were more interested in character art. In particular, they had secretly started drawing lewd pictures of those Hero Units wearing very little cloth.
The thought of it infuriated Mordred. He slapped The Khan on his left, then thought about it and gave Tom on his right two slaps.
"You two Rebellious sons! The Legion's atmosphere was ruined by you two perverts. I think you're truly starving. You actually went and drew Horus and Emperor fan comics!"
Tom, who had inexplicably taken an extra slap, showed a hint of Filial Piety as he retorted, "But Father, if you hadn't told us all those Imperial unofficial histories, could we have drawn those comics?"
"Exactly, exactly!" Seeing his good brother speak up, The Khan also chimed in. "Besides, as far as I know, the most widely circulated lewd pictures aboard the ship were drawn by you, Father!"
With his old secrets exposed, Mordred hurriedly changed the subject and began announcing his research findings.
"What lewd pictures? Nothing to do with me. Laan drew those. That's right, Laan!
"Where was I again? Oh, right! This tree contains a large number of Aeldari souls. And it isn't just the Aeldari. After the creatures infested by the vines die, their souls all enter the Golden Tree and become nourishment for those Pointy-ears. Do you know what this means?"
"Does it mean the game is getting new character art again?"
Mordred's expression instantly darkened. He had begun to wonder whether Tom was really his son. Tom had inherited none of his good qualities and all of Old Man Huang's flaws.
"It means that, as long as the conditions allow, we can cultivate these Pointy-ears who are still sleeping away into operators, or Thunder-forged soldiers, or something like that.
"You have to understand that the Aeldari are completely different from humans. They can basically be considered a specialized Psychic Power species. Their souls are hard currency wherever you put them. We might even be able to use them as bait to lure Daemons!
"Speaking of which, the Aeldari don't just attract Daemons. They may also attract a certain ambitious Psychic Power muggle."
At the mention of this, the two of them were wide awake. Perhaps because of an even more absurd reason, The Khan and Tom were extremely compatible with Fel Energy. They only regretted that they didn't have any high-quality Daemons to enslave.
As for ordinary trash, the two of them looked down on it. Raising one from scratch was time-consuming and laborious, and it might even fail to evolve, leaving them ruined.
Fourth Company Captain Gawain was just such an unlucky bastard. Somehow, he had lured over an incredibly cool female Daemon, making everyone green with envy. But in the end, that Daemon could only dig tunnels.
No one knew which emotional obsession's ultimate manifestation was tunnel-digging. In any case, Fourth Company Captain had obtained a bizarre Daemon capable of frantically digging tunnels within a certain radius around itself. He couldn't bear to throw it away, but keeping it made him miserable, and the man was becoming increasingly twisted.
Because of the Emperor's indulgence, combined with the Second Legion's almost abnormal Warp resistance, poison had been fighting poison. Unless the difference in strength was overwhelmingly large, it was very difficult for Atlas to be corrupted by Chaos.
Since they were already impure, they might as well get dirty all the way. Even if they were going to toy with a Daemon, they had to toy with the coolest one. That was the true thought of every Atlas at that moment.
Now that they had a practically perfect fishing bait, the two had already begun fantasizing about capturing an overpowered Daemon and showing it off wildly in front of all their brothers.
Actually, it wasn't just the two of them. Even Mordred was fantasizing. After all, if Space Marines could catch Daemons and raise them, then as a Primarch, he surely could too. Should he get a Greater Daemon to play with?
Mordred first ruled out Nurgle's faction. Not for any other reason than that he and the fat bastard Nurgle were sworn enemies. Next were Tzeentch's Daemons. Those freaks were far too absurd, and he was afraid the curse of their guaranteed bad luck would be passed on to him.
The remaining two weren't much better. Aeldari souls were most attractive to Slaanesh, but Slaanesh's Daemons were all perverts, while Khorne's Daemons were all battle-crazed idiots.
As for those unaffiliated with Chaos, the strong ones were truly strong, perhaps even reaching the level of lesser gods. The weak ones were weak enough as well. That useless Hill he had caught back then was exactly that sort.
Unable to choose, Mordred decided to stop thinking about it. Nothing had even begun to take shape yet. He would wait until he had the means in the future. For now, he might as well strengthen the Legion's combat power first.
But sometimes, accidents always came without warning. Just as the Abomination Exemplar left the Warp and prepared to raid its next target, the radar alarm suddenly blared.
Through the portholes, a group of strange Aeldari with bruised and swollen faces, purple and blue patches all over their skin, and practically every member injured, gathered around and asked the figure seated on the throne:
"Chief, should we attack?"
"Attack?" The leader seated on the throne bared her crooked, drafty teeth. She grabbed the hair of the blabbermouth subordinate and cursed, "Are you joking? The other side is also a Young God. The last one we encountered almost wiped us all out, and you still can't use your brain?
"Hurry up and send a message. Tell them we're here to negotiate!"
Before you continue