Lady Yuton Is Someone Who Could Become Our Mother! (3K)

Taking advantage of Atlas's collective paralysis, the Emperor, who had once again become a socially awkward big guy, ran away again. Not only did he run away silently, but he also took away all the Adamantium reserves that Nostramo had mined for half a year.

Since it's not their own stuff, they don't care. The only one with grievances is Koz himself, who has absolutely no affection for his biological father, the Emperor.

After all, what kind of good person would force their one-year-old son to drink alcohol and then steal their offspring's allowance? You won't find another scumbag parent like the Emperor in the entire galaxy.

The only instruction came from Malcador, who wanted Mordred to come back as soon as possible so he could help him set up an oversight body. "Hey, Koz, you'll get used to it. Old Man Huang doesn't know anything about being a parent. Horus would be envious to death if he could hold you while you sleep."

Fortunately, the Dog-men didn't like drinking, which allowed him to capture this precious image. Later, you can take this photo and slap it in Horus's face, calling him a good-for-nothing, and he won't dare utter a single fart."

Even though he didn't say anything, Koz still treasured the photos, seeing the Emperor in the pictures drunk on yogurt while tightly embracing him.

"Second Brother, do I have to break up with you?"

"Yes, but you don't need to participate in the Great Crusade immediately. I, your Second Brother, am Warmaster. If anyone dares to gossip behind your back, just tell Second Brother, and I'll punch their dog's head off."

Looking at Nostramo, which was now completely shrouded in Fel Energy and had become Chaos Beacon, a bold idea began to take shape in Mordred's mind.

Kou can go, and so can I. What does it matter if our numbers are few? I will control all the armies in the world! Atlas will have its own Astronomican.

Perhaps suddenly remembering something, Koz sighed and lamented about his hometown, successfully attracting Mordred's attention:

"What's wrong? Why are you crying here? You're just a little kid who's not even 1.2 meters tall. Don't be so abstract. You're not that old man Malcador."

Speaking of which, Malcador seems to be a cute little white-haired boy. His old-looking appearance is just a disguise. Could it be that he really has something going on with the Yellow Skins? Should I call him "Stepfather" then?

For the first time, Mordred hated his own overactive imagination. This wasn't a small horse driving a big truck; it was a 100-ton truck powered by a Weichai WP13 diesel engine.

The young boy with 100 hairs affectionately stroked the steering wheel, watching the wild chariot, which had existed for 38,000 years, rise and fall. The accelerator was locked, and it sped along at breakneck speed, with only the headlights, which Majula, flashing wildly. It was a wild horse named Malcador.

Mordred couldn't think about it anymore. He deeply regretted watching Transformers, especially the scene where Megatron went to the dealership to have Optimus Prime, disguised as a two-dimensional itasha (a car with anime-style decorations), unclog its exhaust pipe.

But once he started thinking about it, he couldn't stop, forcing Mordred to pack up and destroy this blasphemous memory, throwing it into the Warp cesspool.

"Wow, thank goodness I'm a gentleman. No wonder he's a veteran artist; his films are so exciting. Where was I?"

"You told me not to use abstract language, and what about whether Great Hornet gets a green or blue license plate—basically, all sorts of things I didn't understand," Koz recounted truthfully.

"That's not important. Let's not talk about Great Hornet anymore. Let's get down to business."

Mordred took out a Dataslate and beckoned for the actual Legion Commander of the Eighth Legion to come over, including Sol, a veteran of the legion.

"Nostramo belongs to your Night Lords, Atlas won't steal your assets; you can rest assured about that."

Everyone nodded. This was their biggest fear. After all, their master was still in doubt, and Nostramo was far too important; he was a real Adamantium nugget.

"I know your situation. You're like an unwanted stepchild among all the legions. Not only are your supplies a complete mess, but you're also disliked by everyone."

But what we at Atlas have no shortage of is supplies. From now on, let's focus on mining Adamantium on Nostramo. We'll take as much as there is, and we'll also take other resources.

"What the Adeptus Mechanicus can give you, Atlas can give you; what the Adeptus Mechanicus can't give you, Atlas can still give you, guaranteeing you'll make a fortune."

This is no longer cooperation; it's outright imperial domination, blatant patronage. If their Primarch hadn't been there, they wouldn't have succeeded.

Sol wanted to kowtow to the Warmaster, and the entire bridge was filled with a joyful atmosphere.

"So where should we recruit soldiers?"

The sudden question made Shen the center of attention, but Mordred had already planned ahead:

"We at Atlas have extensive experience in relocation. We'll use anti-gravity engines to move the Hive City to the satellites, where the Nostramo will live."

As for conscription, I really don't understand it. What's the point of focusing on fighting in one world? The empire is so big, there are plenty of worlds that can provide soldiers.

Don't you Night Lords know how to abduct people? Just send them here and train them yourself. Do I need to teach you such a small thing?

Once the population grows, you can Mechanicus over more unemployed men to serve as your lackeys.

?

Mordred patted Kragg on the shoulder and said, "Arch-Magos, you're the best. Unlike them, only I care about you. We'll be Atlas together for life."

As Mordred explained, a thirty-year development plan, divided into six five-year plans, was presented to everyone. The children were very excited, but Sol quietly came to Mordred's side.

It would be a lie to say he wasn't tempted, but Sol, a seasoned veteran of the Legion, knew that the Legion was merely a tool in the Great Crusade, just like the Thunder Warriors who had already been wiped out.

"Your Highness, wouldn't we end up like Guilliman, being labeled as Ambition, but—"

"There are no 'buts'." Grabbing Sol's arm, Mordred adopted the same Walking Arm-in-Arm as her older brother, soothingly saying:

"I'm sure the Emperor won't care; he doesn't have the brains for it. As for Malcador, you don't need to worry about him either; he'd love to relieve his administrative burden."

The Empire is too dependent on the Adeptus Mechanicus. You know those Mechanicus are just asking for trouble. The Legion must have basic self-sufficiency.

You guys say Ultramarines Ambition, do you think I don't know what's going on? It's all just sour grapes. Who wouldn't want Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar? Even I do.

"Besides, I'm the Imperial Warmaster. With me here, what are you afraid of? Are you afraid I'll take up my sword and march on Luoyang, making the Milky Way Burning Fiercely?"

Hearing this, Sol laughed and said, "How could that be? Everyone knows Atlas's ambitions lie elsewhere. How could he possibly betray us? Besides, the galaxy isn't some kind of flammable material; it won't catch fire."

Mordred didn't say much, but picked up the video camera and recorded Sol's appearance and demeanor, to be kept as a Dark History for everyone to enjoy later.

Seeing that the plan had been approved, Mordred began the next step of his deception, this time mainly targeting the Night Lords.

"Sol, Koz is too young, so I've decided to take him to Macragge to be raised by a great mother. You don't want your father to be a good-for-nothing who knows nothing in the future, do you?"

Sol certainly didn't want that. As an old member of the Plain Blue Banner of Terra, Sol faced the same problem as Frix: they could kill and set fires, but they had no idea how to raise children.

After a moment's thought, he readily agreed to the request, but the Night Lords had to accompany him, as he didn't want his Primarch to be corrupted by the Ambition Guilliman.

The problem was finally solved, Mordred summoned the Khan and had him send a message to the Ultramarines, saying that Achiras and the Night Lords would arrive in a week.

"But Father, I already sent the telegram last week! You personally ordered me to do it."

"Hmm? Oh no! I finally remembered what I forgot. I hope Guilliman won't mind!"

This was Guilliman's third time standing on the tarmac waiting. Unlike the first time, he was not conflicted, nor was he angry like the second time. Instead, he felt only relief and composure.

She even set up a deck chair and, without bringing anyone with her, enjoyed a rare and beautiful holiday all by herself.

Angry? Absolutely not. Guilliman is a civilized man. How Could he get angry over standing someone up a few times? He just wants to punch Mordred in the face and give him a good beating on the butt.

Just when the blue man thought he had been tricked again, Euten, wearing a Macragge Archon's robe, walked over, accompanied by the Ultramarines honor guard.

"Mother, what brings you here? Go back and rest. That Second Brother Mordred is probably doing it on purpose again."

Holding his adopted son's fingers, Euten smoothed Guilliman's hair, which had been bent over.

"This time they've really come, and they're with the Night Lords, formerly the Eighth Legion. You've gained another brother."

It's obvious the Warchief stood you up because this new Primarch caused the delay. Don't let such a small matter damage your brotherhood."

The fact that Lady Yuton could educate such an easily angered, burly man to be so rational shows how important she was to Guilliman. He was his mother's good boy, and even if he was still unhappy, he had to put his mother at ease.

"I will. If this important matter really delays my trip, I will definitely apologize to Mordred in person."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a member of the Glory Guard approached Guilliman and reported that the Orbital Defense Array had detected the target, and that Atlas and the Night Lords had arrived.

Soon, as the mighty combined fleet sailed into the starport, Mordred finally saw his long-awaited second home.

"It's so beautiful! Is this Macragge? Terra can't compare to it at all."

"Yes, yes, is that blue sea? This is the first time I've ever seen the ocean with my own eyes. But Second Brother, is it really okay for you to look like this?"

"Shut up! I'm doing this all for you. Do you think I wanted to become like this? Don't forget to stick to the rehearsal later. We need to board the plane."

As the landing craft descended, countless flower petals were scattered into the air, and under the watchful eyes of reporters with their cameras and microphones, the hatch finally opened little by little.

Guilliman hurried to greet them; this was the first time his brothers had come to visit, and two of them at once.

As the political center, Guilliman's every move is watched by countless people, and he must present his stance in a perfect manner, especially since Mordred is the Imperial Warmaster.

"Bro, where am I? --- Hey? -- Where is everyone?"

Guilliman, who was about to give his brother a hug with his arms outstretched, froze. He didn't see any Primarchs at all, only a group of Space Marines and a few dogs.

"Why is this dog so big?"

Before he could even think about why the dog was so big, Guilliman saw the big black dog point behind him, followed by two gasps and his mother's laughter.

"I am Koz!"

"I am Mordred!"

"Mother, we miss you so much."

Already sensing something was wrong, Guilliman turned around abruptly and witnessed a scene that sent his blood pressure soaring.

Two little boys, each less than 1.2 meters tall and dressed in traditional Macragge attire, one with blond hair and blond eyes and the other with black hair and black eyes, were hugging their mother and rubbing their heads against her chest.

Especially the blond guy, who was looking at him with a provocative gaze, while his mother was completely infatuated.

"No! You damned thief, how dare you steal my mother! I'll blast you to pieces!"