With Mordred's official return, a grand celebration was held. Space Marines and mortal Auxilia alike took part in it, celebrating the return of their true Legion Commander.
Mordred had not forgotten his roots, either. He immediately dispatched transports to bring over every member of his clan, dogs and all.
When the festivities reached their climax, Mordred raised his cup and delivered another impassioned speech, announcing that the Second Legion would henceforth be renamed Atlas, while its flagship would be renamed the Abomination Exemplar.
The announcement drew cheers from everyone, but those happiest of all were the clan members who had always stayed by their chief's side. They had risen straight from digging food out of the soil as natives of Serenity to becoming members of the Imperium, the galaxy's greatest criminal empire.
Perhaps it was because Serene World had too few humans,
Mordred's subordinates were either Dog-men or Ogryns, allowing the Legion to merge remarkably quickly without any factional disputes.
After all, in the Legion's eyes, their Primarch was clearly drafting laborers for them. Aside from eating a lot and not being very bright, Ogryns were practically heaven-sent beasts of burden.
And the best part was that buying one came with another free. A whole group of huge dogs had arrived with them, each as big as an Ogryn. They could guard the house, and whenever there was nothing else to do, one could pet their heads to pass the time.
As for the Dog-men and Ogryns, their excessively simple minds could not process anything beyond it. Every day, they either went to eat or waited for food, thinking that being the Legion's dogs was absolutely wonderful.
During the Legion's integration, Mordred had not been idle, either. As the Legion's master, the first thing he did was take stock of its supplies, checking exactly how much was left in the rice jar and how many gold coins he had gotten out of Old Man Huang.
After all, although Serenity sounded like a warm and peaceful place, it was actually full of every kind of monster and freak. After twelve years of scavenging, Mordred had truly become terrified of poverty.
And the first step in sorting out his assets was, of course, touring his own ships.
As a Gloriana-class Battleship, the Abomination Exemplar was less a ship than a Steel Metropolis floating through the void, with Mordred as the master of that city.
According to Captain Tom, who had remained aboard the flagship all this time, the Abomination Exemplar had been laid down alongside the First Legion's Indomitable Truth as a sister ship. It was twenty-six kilometers long. Though slightly smaller, it was faster.
"Father, during the years before your return, the Exemplar was assigned to the First Legion's order of battle. Unfortunately, those scheming cousins never treated us like people.
"To seize all the glory, they only sent us to secondary battlefields. Sometimes, it wasn't even a secondary battlefield. We were either sent to clean up the battlefield or haul supplies. They completely treated us like their underlings."
Captain Tom's complaints struck a chord. Several captains who had studied with other Legions also began reporting to Mordred, saying they had basically been sent to handle odd jobs.
Although they had enjoyed the free time and their casualty rate was absurdly low compared with the other Legions, that also meant they had not earned a shred of glory. Even the Ghouls of the Ninth Legion secretly called them garbage collectors.
At that point, Mordred finally understood. So even in the 30K era, this kind of bullshit bullying could happen.
Actually, it made sense. As genetically modified super-soldiers who had undergone nineteen surgeries, Space Marines had extremely high thresholds for stimulation. On top of that, they had been taken away and trained from adolescence, so ordinary pleasures could no longer satisfy them.
It was not that every Space Marine was a eunuch. It was simply that, compared with mating, glory excited them more. As for those sent away to study, they really had become the stepchildren, not even being given a chance to steal any military achievements.
But soon, Mordred noticed something wrong. Two captains remained silent, hiding in a corner and slacking off.
"What's the situation with those two?"
Following their father's gaze, the captains looked toward those two fellow sufferers. When they realized it was Fourth Company Captain Gawain and Seventh Company Captain Livyere, a trace of sympathy appeared in their eyes.
"Father, one of them went to the Fourth Legion and the other went to the Seventh Legion. That wasn't a life fit for human beings.
"Although their cousins valued them, they hadn't fired a single shot in the more than thirty years since the Great Crusade began. Every day, they either repaired fortifications or dug trenches. They had spent thirty whole years shoveling ash and were practically idiots by now."
Brian was right. By comparison, Mordred discovered that these two descendants were the shortest among the generally two-point-seven-meter giants. Even in Power Armor, they barely reached two-point-three meters. Their bodies had developed horizontally, giving them a steady, solid heft.
Thinking back to all the leftover materials the Emperor had stuffed into his body, it was not difficult to deduce why the two had specialized into Grinder Boys.
Seeing that their father was in a bad mood, the captains changed their previous attitude and came over with great tact. They picked up a data slate and held it out to Mordred.
"Father, although we were ostracized while studying abroad, we're not pushovers. Over the past thirty years, we've brought back a huge haul. We've been waiting to present it to you!"
Surrounded by the little Canned Ones, Mordred took the data slate. After one glance, he could not move. This was far more than merely making a haul. They had practically robbed other people's homes in broad daylight. There were three formations of Dominator Knights alone, as well as two Titans.
There were countless other odds and ends, too: brand-new Stormbirds that nobody wanted, battered but still perfectly usable Mastodons, and even several Fenrisian Wolves.
"Hold on! Why is there a Dreadnought in here? Did you bring people back from the other Legions, too? And who brought back this Gene-Seed?"
It had to be said that the other Legions had good reason to target the Second Legion. It was a miracle they had gone undiscovered for so many years!
Fortunately, Mordred's moral standards were highly flexible. Not only did he refuse to blame them, he praised his descendants lavishly, calling them good children who knew how to manage a household. Since these were ownerless objects, they might as well benefit them.
He crossed only the few Dreadnoughts off the list, planning to trade them back to the other Legions for something good when he got the chance, killing two birds with one stone.
For ten whole days, Mordred wandered throughout his warship, stopping and starting as he explored every corner, trying to learn as much about his Legion as quickly as possible.
After those ten days, Mordred summoned every captain and senior Auxilia officer, including Goff, the former Legion Commander, who had just emerged from the Duelling Cage.
At the meeting, Mordred decided to follow the traditions of his homeland and first establish a five-year plan. The first item was shoveling ash: improving Serenity's basic infrastructure.
The most important project was the starport. The principle that one had to build roads before becoming rich applied everywhere. Just like the task the Emperor had given him, Mordred planned to develop Serenity into a space fortress.
Mordred assigned this task to Seventh Company Captain Livyere, promising that once the starport was complete, Father would erect statues of them there.
The second item was immigration. Atlas had far too few people. Even though the Abomination Exemplar held nearly one and a half million people, humanity on Serenity was practically extinct. Including the Ogryns and Dog-men, the total population was still under forty million.
With so few people, forget about recruiting an army—even maintaining the construction of their homeland would be difficult enough.
Mordred assigned this task to Captain Tom Klaus of the Eighth Company. This student who had returned after studying with the Eighth Legion guaranteed that he had at least nine ways to trick people into coming over.
At the end of the meeting, Mordred decided to change the Legion's paint scheme. After gathering the strengths of every faction, Atlas's paint scheme changed from its previous original-paint-and-new-skin style to a dark Gothic design centered on black, with red outlines and accents.
As for the senior officers, they were also issued hooded trench coats to emphasize their style. After all, whether one was strong was not the issue; whether one looked cool was something that lasted a lifetime.
As Atlas became fully occupied with work, Mordred gazed at the thriving scene before him, at the lively sight of everything competing to flourish. Then he began selecting his troops and generals. He still had one unfinished goal. The time had come.
Inside the hangar, the Atlases who had been Long Prepared stared ahead with determined eyes. After thirty-two years, they could finally fight for themselves once.
"Father, give the order!"
"Very well. Follow my command. First airborne sortie!"
Three minutes and seventy-two seconds later, a Stormbird carrying a full five thousand Space Marines cut across Serenity's skies, flying toward the abandoned Hive City covered in dense vegetation.
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