Long live, Konrad Curze!

In the past, if you randomly grabbed an official and asked him which Primarch of the Empire was the most Ambition, 30% would say Mordred, and the remaining 70% would say Robert Guilliman.

But when Mordred became the Imperial Warmaster and brought endless surprises to the Imperial officials with a unique two-on-one draw, those 30% were basically all killed.

Even those who survived by sheer luck would never dare utter a single word of dissent, for no one knew whether those ruthless "Ultramarines" would ever return.

Not to mention those young officials who were suddenly promoted and stuffed into Holy Terra by Atlas have already established themselves. You dare to gossip about the Warmaster behind his back? You're asking for trouble!

Therefore, in the present day, Mordred's reputation is unparalleled, and no one dares to speak out or ask questions; all that can be done is to focus the firepower on Guilliman.

After all, if you say Guilliman is fine, the Primarch won't do anything to you. But if you dare say anything about Mordred, he'll knock your head off.

Not to mention the Ultramarines occupying the Ultramar 500 Worlds, not only obeying orders but also being late for every support mission. Who would believe it wasn't intentional? They're perfect targets.

Moreover, unlike the literal meaning of "500 Worlds," those with even a little knowledge know that the Ultramar 500 Worlds " refers to a vast territory encompassing 500 major worlds, with Macragge as its administrative center.

Not only is it self-sufficient, but it also has a complete set of basic industries, making it a key control area for the Adeptus Mechanicus.

This state within a state greatly unsettled the Council of Terra, who feared that the thirteenth prince of the empire might one day suddenly launch a rebellion.

And most importantly, they have the capability!

Despite this skeptical gaze, Macragge is a world of unparalleled happiness, where people can even live to be 30 years old. In comparison, the empire's so-called benevolent rule seems utterly ridiculous.

Thirty years may not sound like much, but the problem is that one year in Macragge is equivalent to three years in Terra, meaning that people there can live comfortably to the age of 90.

If this were ancient times, how many princes like Guilliman, who commanded a large army, whose territory was self-sufficient, and who even ruled a country, would inspire any sense of security?

So the other Primarchs were incredibly jealous, and they were all dissatisfied with this rich kid who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, saying that he was Ambition person.

But is that really the case? The answer is no!

The reason why the Ultramar 500 Worlds is so prosperous today is mainly because its rulers treat people as human beings, unlike empires that exploit people to the bone.

After handling today's official business as usual—the kind of trivial tasks that would give ordinary people a headache— Guilliman finished all of it in less than an hour.

Such efficiency was not only due to Guilliman's extraordinary processing ability, which was comparable to that of an expert in EceI spreadsheets, but also to the implementation of policies by a large number of Ultramarines reservists serving as government officials.

As is his usual practice, Guilliman would probably take a short break after finishing his work, perhaps playing on his super Game console or enjoying a dessert and a cup of hot tea.

But a message sent from space interrupted his leisure time.

"Imperial Warmaster Mordred will lead the Second Legion Atlas Legion on a visit to Ultramar?"

"Wait a minute! My reputation is so bad, yet some brothers still choose to come to me! Mother, can you hear me? We can finally establish diplomatic relations with other legions!"

Unlike Guilliman, who was eager to escape single-player mode, Lady Yuton seemed slightly worried upon hearing the news, calling Guilliman by his nickname and saying:

"Radish, I heard that this new Imperial Warmaster is extremely brutal. He launched a bloody Great Purge as soon as he took office, and directly slaughtered his way from Holy Terra through the Sol Sector."

According to those who fled here, your brother is quite prejudiced against the nobility, and his men, the Atlas, are more omnipresent than Space Wolves; there's even a lame joke circulating in the Empire now."

"What lame joke?"

I knew my naive son would react this way; even with superhuman intelligence and physique, he remained so innocent.

The joke goes like this: A nobleman was flirting with his lover in his room, and they were both very happy, but suddenly a third person's laughter came from under the bed.

Then suddenly a dozen Atlas sprang out from under the bed and began counting each other to determine who had exposed their location.

"How is that possible?"

Guilliman didn't find the joke funny. How big could a bed be? It's such a small space; how could it possibly fit a fully armed Space Marines, and so many of them at that?

But seeing the certain look in his mother's eyes, Guilliman suddenly began to waver:

"This can't be true, can it?"

"That's right, the reason it's called a lame joke is because it's true. During those three years of bloody purges, Atlas roamed around like a ghost, and no one was spared."

Guilliman, who had been laughing just moments before, stopped. He began to ponder why his infamous Second Brother had come to him. It couldn't be because he was here to do business with them, could it?

Looking up at the bookshelf beside him, Guilliman immediately spotted the joke book titled "The Atlas Codex," which was supposedly a children's primer compiled by Mordred himself.

Although the short stories inside are rather hellish and morally questionable, and the novel often mocks the Empire, Guilliman has a very good impression of his Second Brother, whom he has never met.

In particular, according to veterans of the Legion, the Terran-descended soldier named Goff had once served as the Second Company Captain of the Ultramarines.

Aside from a few minor flaws, they had a pretty good impression of these cousins, finding them quite humorous and, most importantly, very large, often being recruited to serve as honor guards.

"No, no matter what, this is a diplomatic visit between two legions. Whatever his purpose is, we cannot leave any room for criticism!"

Mother, we must receive you with the highest honors, and also dispatch the fleet as a precaution.

Based on the estimated time, they should arrive this afternoon. I'll head to the tarmac to prepare."

Meanwhile, Atlas, who were perceived as having ill intentions, encountered a somewhat embarrassing problem: they were lost.

Following the usual procedure, the Abomination, departing from Serenity, will first travel at high speed through the Webway, and then at the critical point, it will switch to Warp Voyage travel to Macragge.

But Kialan, this Eldar Girl, was so eager to improve. Patting her muscular chest, she assured Mordred that she had found a new area for the Webway and could start using it immediately.

Mordred had complete trust in such professionals, but despite all his calculations, he hadn't anticipated that Kialan was unreliable.

Kialan did find a new route through the Webway, but she didn't mention that it was seized from a group of Dark Aeldari Corsair. Following this dubious map, the Abomination plunged straight into Commorragh.

That's Commorragh! The former capital of the galaxy, now a land of sin, a place teeming with all sorts of monsters and demons.

The Abomination almost didn't make it back. It was only because Icarus's Computing Power was strong enough that it managed to turn around and come back by braking suddenly and maneuvering. It just randomly found a door and plunged inside.

The result was that a patch of Black sprouts was embedded in the hull of the Abomination, attracting countless Kabal to hunt it down.

The good news is that they not only escaped capture, but also, after a round of punches and kicks, gained a few more dark-skinned lunatics in the Atlas Dark Moon Cult, and incidentally acquired a more complete map of the Webway.

This means that Atlas's air transport range has been greatly increased, from a small area to a large area, which is a qualitative leap. Even though the range is not that big, it is still a win!

As for the bad news, the Webway map that Atlas obtained didn't indicate where they were at all; they were completely lost and could only drift around inside.

"Kialan, I need an explanation!"

"Holy Father, I can't explain it."

"Then think it over carefully, at least make sure you know which star system we're in, right? As long as we're not outside the Milky Way."

Mordred was utterly exasperated to find herself in the same Khan as the Khan. How could she possibly encounter such a low-probability event? Couldn't your country, Commorragh, such a vast place, at least mark it on a map?

"Please, whatever you do, don't stray out of the Milky Way! Without the guiding Astronomican, even Warp Voyage won't get you back. If I lose myself, that two-armed Yellow Skins will laugh at me to death."

"Father, you don't need to worry. If we really lose ourselves, you won't even be able to see the Emperor. How could he possibly laugh at us?"

Mordred glanced at Tom, who was interrupting again, and gave the Khan a look. Understanding the unspoken message, several Black Knights quietly surrounded the boy and began punching and kicking him.

"You bastard, if you hadn't said anything, I would have forgotten. Didn't I make you stay behind to guard the ship since you had just been resurrected?"

You didn't see that huge Yellow Skins that ran in? You really deserve a beating.

"Lift him up and hold him against the pillar until Kialan finds his way home."

"What? Father, you can't treat me like this! I, Tom, have worked hard, even if I haven't done anything particularly meritorious. If this continues, I'll become a rootless person."

Mordred already regretted being soft-hearted back then and not shaping Tom into a blonde bombshell like Luther, that good-for-nothing who's only good at eating.

Why is it that everyone else who came back from studying at the Eighth Legion looks like a cool guy, but you look like a comedic character? You're practically just missing a mouse to be Jerry.

Perhaps the saying "a scourge lasts a thousand years" has truly come true. Before the ship had even stopped for a few moments, Kialan, located on the bridge, exclaimed that she had found her way home, though it was a bit small.

Through the window, Mordred could also see the path; to put it simply, it was a pitifully small Webway Gate.

Or, to put it more accurately, the narrow Webway is just wide enough for a Thunderhawk to squeeze through; Stormbird would get stuck.

What's worse, the gate was smashed by something, and large chunks of the entire frame are missing; it must have been hit recently.

It's only thanks to the fact that the interior of the Webway isn't empty space, but has a physical connection that can be described as the ground, that it would be impossible to send personnel to explore the outside world.

Once the probe confirmed that the Outside World was the Material Universe and that there was a planet below, Tom was directly stuffed into the Thunderhawk cockpit by the group and kicked into the Webway Gate.

As time passed, just when everyone thought Tom was Killed in Action, the ID "Imperial Pretty Boy" lit up again in the Holographic Projection:

"Father, something terrible has happened! I—"

"Stop!" Mordred interrupted Tom directly, knowing exactly what he wanted to say without even having to guess.

"I can accept it once or twice, but I don't believe there will be a third time. Don't tell me you killed another Primarch. I didn't even mount any machine guns on that Thunderhawk."

"But I did find a Primarch. I've seen this jar before; it's exactly the same as the nursery pod that you used as a decoration in your bedroom, Father."

To prove he wasn't lying, Tom shifted the camera's focus to the abandoned metal structure in the mine, now completely integrated with the earth's crust:

"That's right. Judging from the state of contact and fusion between the Incubation Pod and the ground, the High Temperature should still be there. In other words, not much time has passed since the impact and melting."

That's right, my eyes are the ruler. Look at those rock layers. It's obvious that this nursery pod directly pierced through the earth's crust. Due to its excessive speed, the powerful kinetic energy was converted into heat energy and released, directly melting these metals.

Tom, why is it so dark? Look up a bit and see if there are any numbered markers.

Tom recognized the original sports cabin, but that was all he knew. After searching around, he finally found a number in the corner where it touched the ground.

"Seven."

"Father, that's eight, seven is one less than eight."

"Eight? Yes, this should be number eight. Wait, number eight? Tom, retreat now!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than a scream came through the communication channel. Through Tom's tactical goggles, everyone could see a gushing of blood spurting from the corner.

Since Tom was there to scout, he quietly slipped away when he saw the thick smoke billowing from the area, so as not to alert any of the miners.

They weren't wearing any Power Armour, but who knew what lurked in the shadows, hunting humans?

Tom, who was probably no ordinary person to Captain, saw that it was dark all around and, sensing the danger, immediately threw a flashbang at Tom feet.

In the instant the bright light and ear-piercing sound waves exploded, he did a forward roll and crashed into the infant pod, then pulled the hatch shut.

According to Tom's calculations, even without oxygen, Atlas could hold out until reinforcements arrived.

Tom had no idea what material the nursery pod was made of; once inside, he couldn't hear anything useful.

But he was too big, so he could only twist his neck with all his might, almost breaking it, before he could see the small, thin figure scratching wildly outside the cabin door.

"Holy crap, it's just a little kid!"

Meanwhile, Robert Guilliman was still waiting on the tarmac.