Demon Pal Has No Human Rights

Mordred retracted his previous statement; he loved the Great Crusade more than anything. If anyone dared to keep him from participating, he would immediately bash their brains in.

Three years of hard labor at home couldn't compare to three months of working abroad. By merely scraping clean the planet Inkarati, he had amassed half the wealth of Atlas.

Not to mention the rare metals and various weapon systems, the entire fortune Inkarati had accumulated over nearly 2,000 years had fallen into the pockets of Atlas, including two

STC standard module

units.

As the crystallization of human technology from the true Golden Age, once you possess an

STC standard module

, even a savage on a primitive world could develop the corresponding technology. It was entirely foolproof.

The only drawback was that it depended on luck; you never knew what kind of technology was contained within the

STC standard module

in front of you. It was pure gambling.

Those with good luck, like the Wolf King, could produce a Leman Russ tank and become the true Primarch of countless Astra Militarum in later generations. If your luck was bad, you might only produce a piece of junk that manufactured carbonated drinks.

However, Mordred's luck was decent: two

STC standard module

units, one capable of producing plasma weapons and the other synthesizing flavored starch.

This explained why a remote world like Inkarati had a luxury lineup where every single member was equipped with plasma weapons—simply because they couldn't manufacture anything else, only these plasma weapons.

Upon learning this abstract fact, and thinking of his battle-brothers who had been melted directly by plasma, Frix was furious. This was completely different from the intelligence the Department of the Munitorum had provided them.

"Nephew, do not be angry. The fault for this campaign does not lie with you. Who could have known the enemy's firepower would be so fierce? Rest assured, follow your Uncle from now on, and I guarantee such pit-falling incidents will never happen again."

Frix didn't say anything more. After all, this good brother was indeed reliable; as soon as he joined the fold, he was gifted ships, men, and weapons. His company had been completely bankrolled by Atlas.

At first, Frix was slightly reserved. Due to his rigid personality, the Space Marine of the Fourth Legion and the style of Atlas were not even on the same layer.

But the more serious they acted, the more they attracted Atlas personnel to harass them. Much like a cold, top-student girl losing to a goofy, energetic boy, they were assimilated from Doberman to Husky in less than a week.

It was only because of the massive difference in height and build; otherwise, if a few Canned One were gathered together, you wouldn't be able to tell who was who.

Sometimes, Frix even wondered if he was actually an Atlas himself, and had just been picked up by the wrong legion during the initial assignment.

The question of who his Father was remained too profound. Regardless, Mordred was satisfied. Counting this batch of Grinder Boys, the Atlas fleet totaled 20,000 Space Marine, 8,000 of whom were from the Fourth Legion.

And what was even more satisfying was that after a period of research, Mordred finally unearthed the secret of this Golden Tree.

"Father, are you sure this Golden Tree is filled with nothing but delicious, fragrant souls?"

"Absolutely! Do you doubt your Father's technical prowess? Let me tell you, not only are there delicious, fragrant souls in here, but there are also those of the Pointy-ears."

The Pointy-ears were the so-called Aeldari. Since Mordred was a chatterbox, he would gather with his progeny to brag whenever he had the chance. As long as it didn't involve Chaos, he would spill secrets every single day.

Even when it came to knowledge involving Chaos, Mordred would try every possible way to substitute it with other things to educate his progeny, so they wouldn't be caught off guard if they ever faced Chaos in the future.

Mordred even developed a strategy game called Galaxy Total War to fill the void in the legion's entertainment in an educational way.

It was a pity that while his intentions were good, Mordred recently discovered that compared to playing these real-time strategy games, his progeny were more interested in the character art, especially the Hero Unit with very little clothing, and were even secretly drawing lewd pictures.

Thinking of this made Mordred angry. He slapped Frix on his left, and after a moment of thought, gave Tom two slaps on his right:

"You two Rebellious son, the legion's atmosphere has been ruined by you two perverts. I think you're truly starved if you're going as far as drawing Horus and Emperor fan comics."

Tom, having received an extra slap for no reason, was somewhat filial as he retorted:

"But Father, if you hadn't told us those Imperial unofficial history, would we be able to draw doujinshi?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Seeing his good brother speak up, Frix also chimed in:

"And as far as I know, the most widely circulated lewd pictures on the ship right now seem to be the ones you drew, Father!"

Exposed, Mordred hurriedly changed the subject and began to announce his research findings:

"What lewd pictures? That has nothing to do with me. Those were all drawn by Rambo. That's right, Rambo!

Where was I? Right! This tree contains a massive amount of Pointy-ears souls. And not just Pointy-ears; the souls of any creature parasitized by the vines enter the Golden Tree upon death, becoming nourishment for these Pointy-ears. Do you know what this means?"

"Does it mean the game is getting new character art?"

Mordred's face darkened instantly. He began to suspect whether Tom was truly his own spawn; he hadn't inherited any of his good traits, only all the flaws of Old Man Huang.

"It means that as long as conditions permit, we can cultivate these sleeping Pointy-ears into operators, or perhaps Thunder-forged soldiers.

You must know that Aeldari are different from humans; they are basically a specialized Psychic Power race. Their souls are hard currency wherever they go. Who knows, we might even be able to use them as bait to lure demons!

Though, come to think of it, Aeldari don't just attract demons; they are also very likely to attract an ambitious Psychic Power muggle."

Mentioning this, the two were no longer sleepy. Perhaps because of their more abstract nature, Frix and Tom had an extremely high compatibility with evil energy, regretting only that they lacked high-quality demons to enslave.

They looked down on the average trash, and since raising them from scratch was time-consuming and laborious—not to mention the risk of failed evolution—they would lose everything.

Fourth Company Captain Gawain was one such unlucky soul. He didn't know where he had lured a cool female demon from, making everyone green with envy, but the end result was that this demon could only dig holes.

No one knew which emotional wave's final resentment resulted in digging, but the Fourth Company Captain ended up with a bizarre demon that could dig frantically within a certain range of him. He couldn't bear to throw it away, but keeping it was stifling, and he had started to become twisted.

Because of the Emperor's indulgence, combined with the Second Legion's near-pathological Warp resistance, using Fight Fire with Fire meant that unless the disparity in strength was too great, Atlas was difficult for Chaos to corrupt.

Since they were already "unclean," they might as well go all the way. Even if they were to toy with demons, they would toy with the coolest ones. That was the true sentiment of every Atlas member at this moment.

Now, with a perfect piece of bait, the two had already begun to fantasize about the bright future of capturing a powerful demon and showing off wildly in front of all their brothers.

In fact, it wasn't just them; even Mordred was fantasizing. After all, if Space Marine could capture and raise demons, he, as a Primarch, certainly could too. Should he get himself a Greater Demon to play with?

Mordred first ruled out the Nurgle faction; not for any other reason, but because he and the fatty were irreconcilable. Next were the Tzeentch demons; those freaks were too abstract, and he feared the curse of inevitable failure would be passed onto him.

The remaining two weren't much better. Pointy-ears souls were most attractive to Slaanesh, but Slaanesh demons were all perverts, and Khorne demons were all combat-obsessed.

As for those Undivided, the strong ones were truly strong—potentially reaching the level of a minor god—while the weak ones were pathetic, like the waste Hill he had captured before.

Unable to choose, Mordred decided to stop thinking. Not even a hint of a plan existed yet, so he would wait until conditions improved. It was better to focus on strengthening the legion's Combat Power first.

Yet sometimes, accidents arrive without warning. Just as the Abomination Exemplar exited the Warp, preparing to head toward its next target for pillaging, the radar alarm blared instantly.

Through the porthole, a group of battered and bruised Aeldari, their faces a patchwork of black and blue, nearly every one of them sporting injuries, crowded over and asked the figure upon the throne:

"Leader, shall we attack?"

"Attack?" The leader upon the throne bared her teeth, missing several, and grabbing the talkative subordinate by the hair, she cursed:

"Are you joking? The other side is also a Young God. The last one we encountered nearly killed us all; can't you use your brain for once?

Hurry and send a message, tell them we've come to negotiate!"