47. Openly repair the plank roads, secretly cross the Chencang

"Father! These xenos have ill intentions; they must be plotting against you. Why don't we just kill them all?"

"Goff is right. I've heard of these treacherous, cunning long-ears. They look like humans, but they're all rotten to the core. The Salamanders despise them for good reason."

On the bridge, the Atlas high command was arguing incessantly, but they were unanimous in their belief that these long-ears were up to no good and needed to be wiped out to the last soul.

Only Mordred, seated upon his throne, remained silent—not for any profound reason, but because he was reminded of the moment he had been slammed here by a falling star.

I wanted a colorful life, preferably a fairy-tale world with elf beast-eared girls!

Thinking back to how he had sat on the toilet back then, foolishly hugging his chest and performing the Aquila Salute, Mordred wanted to travel through time just to punch his past self into oblivion.

"Stop bickering! You're all being too extreme. Your heads are filled with nothing but 'kill, kill, kill,' making others think I'm some kind of unhinged lunatic who commits every evil under the sun. Since they want to negotiate, we might as well play along and see what their game is. Besides, I've never seen an Eldar before. Goff!"

"Consider it done, Father."

The Second Company Captain gave a knowing look, accepted the docking request, and simultaneously ordered the fleet to disperse and enter Level One Alert, ready to open fire at the slightest sign of trouble.

By now, the entire Atlas fleet had exited the Warp, totaling over a hundred vessels of various sizes, including the Gloriana-class flagship, the Abomination Exemplar.

Sensor readings showed the opposing Eldar fleet numbered fewer than 30 ships, all of them thin-skinned, large-filling small speedboats. Regardless of how many ships they might be hiding, Goff was confident that with their current firepower, a single broadside would wipe the enemy out completely.

Mordred nodded. He trusted Goff to handle the details. As for the selection of the action group, he scanned the room: he saw Tom grinning foolishly, Brian secretly painting lewd pictures, and Joseph trying to trick a dog-man into calling him Father.

And then, there was Gawain, huddled in a corner, teaching a demon how to do elementary arithmetic?

"Fourth Company Captain, what the hell are you doing? I told you that demon brain is useless. Stop teaching it and get back to work!"

"As for you." Looking at his rebellious son who had shoved his face right up to his own, Mordred kicked him away. "Why are you getting so close?"

"Father, I want to go too! Gawain is Happy, he's definitely not as sharp as me!"

Said correctly. Tom was perhaps the offspring most like Mordred himself, but he had also perfectly inherited his unreliability. Seeing him refuse to budge, Mordred had no choice but to grant his wish.

Soon, a disarmed Eldar delegation was escorted by Atlas troops onto the bridge and stood before the crowd.

The moment these pointy-eared sprouts appeared, they pulled a stunt that stunned everyone present, immediately reciting a string of titles:

"Respected Son of the Emperor, Demigod walking the world, Renowned Lord of Serenity, Atlas Leader, powerful Primarch—Lord Mordred, greetings!"

The High Gothic, delivered with a melodic, chanting quality, carried an accent that made every Terran-descended person present feel a strange sense of familiarity. It was the authentic Old Terra Yellow Banner accent, through and through.

But the crowd quickly snapped out of it, thinking, Wait a minute, how can a long-eared Eldar xeno speak Terran?

Kialan, feeling smug about their reaction, chuckled inwardly. Monkeys are just monkeys. Even with great power, they are nothing but barbarians who don't understand etiquette, completely incomparable to us true Firstborn of God.

After all, she, Kialan, was a top student from Commorragh; a simple, easy-to-learn language like Gothic had taken her only a single day to master.

Yet, despite her inner disdain, she had to maintain appearances. The person before her was a Primarch; even if he were only a demigod, he was certainly not someone she, Kialan, could afford to provoke lightly.

With that thought, Kialan bowed, raised her head, and put on a standard, formulaic smile as she addressed Mordred:

"My Lord, we have only one request in coming here: we hope you will return our Soul Circuit. As long as you agree, I promise as an Ark Leader to offer you a planet as compensation."

After speaking, Kialan looked at the Primarch with feigned sincerity and had her subordinates present the basic data for the planet.

She had done her homework before coming. According to those humans, this Lord Mordred was a very kind person, especially passionate about life—so much so that he held the title of a world-shaking giant who loved life, a fact she thought was proven by the dog-men sleeping around him.

She had even commissioned a prophecy, which stated that this negotiation would be Kialan's rebirth and the beginning of a legend. In short, the future was bright.

This was the fundamental reason she dared to come and negotiate; after all, following prophecy was the cornerstone of their Eldar existence.

But Kialan waited and waited, only to hear no reply. Instead, she saw unreserved disappointment in the Primarch's eyes, which made her skin crawl.

"My Lord, this is a perfectly habitable planet. Once you possess it, the entire star system will be yours. If that is not enough, I can add a resource world as well, provided you return the Soul Circuit to us."

Kialan believed the price she offered was sincere enough. If this couldn't trade back the World Tree, then there was truly nothing left to discuss.

But before she could continue her pitch, the Primarch asked a completely unrelated question:

"Kialan, is it? Let's put the negotiation aside for a moment. I'm curious, how did you lot manage to get together?"

This question left all the Atlas personnel confused, unable to understand why their Father would ask such a thing. Only Mordred knew how abnormal these sprouts in front of him truly were.

"You claim to be Ark Eldar, which makes you white sprouts, yet your subordinates are wild sprouts. Even if they were wild sprouts, that would be fine, as both are white. But why do you have black sprouts and flower sprouts among your ranks? You're all multicolored—do you really think I know nothing about you Eldar?"

As soon as he finished speaking, the Atlas soldiers, who had long found these xenos eyesores, immediately surrounded them, looking ready to dismember the long-ears on the spot.

Seeing the atmosphere turn tense, Kialan hurriedly explained, "My Lord, you misunderstand! We are proper Eldar! They weren't this skin color before; they were just injured, and that's all dried blood."

Mordred stood up and leaned in for a closer look. Sure enough, as she said, these Eldar were covered in a thick layer of foundation, mixed with colorful pigments, making them look like ghosts.

Not only that, but the equipment on these Eldar was a hodgepodge, made by all nations; heaven knows which factions they belonged to.

"Ah, I see! Fine. But then again, this Golden Tree is my war trophy. How can you prove it's your Ancestral Core?"

"But my Lord, the Golden Tree you speak of is filled with the souls of our people!"

"Nonsense. Treasures of the world belong to the virtuous, and I am that virtuous person. Besides, what right do you have to stuff souls into my Golden Tree and then use my own planet to negotiate with me? If I just kill you all, then all of this will be mine!"

Kialan finally understood; the Mordred before her was just like the Dwarf demigod who had killed them previously—a barbarian with whom communication was impossible.

Having Realized this, Kialan prepared herself to sacrifice this puppet, ready to fight to the bitter end, yet reality proved to be the exact opposite of what she had imagined.

Mordred stepped down from his throne and approached the puppet. This was the first time Kialan Realized just how towering the man before her was—so massive that a single palm could crush her skull, rendering her notion of a desperate struggle a complete joke.

However, Mordred did not unleash his signature move—Knight's Flying Head Punch. Instead, he crouched down and said to Kialan with a slick expression:

"You know as well as I do that this Golden Tree is incredibly precious. Even if I don't use it myself, I could trade it to other factions for a massive amount of resources. Dealing with a nameless little faction like yours is far less profitable than doing business with the Yanden Ark."

"So, Your Highness, are you saying there is no room for negotiation?"

"No, no, no. I mean you need to pay more!"

"Huh?"