I am Old Eleven?

Deep within the Imperial Palace of Terra, in a dungeon filled with gloom and oppression.

The thick stone walls were carved with complex runes and patterns; these runes seemed to contain an ancient and powerful force, used to seal and suppress some unspeakable existence.

At the end of the dungeon stood a door marked with the number 11.

"Know your enemy, cheers!"

Francis Crick raised the golden chalice before him and drained it in one gulp.

The viscous and foul-smelling taste made Francis want another glass immediately!

Immediately after, a surge of genetic information flooded in from the liquid.

"Ork DNA"

"Enjoys having a Grot scratch an itch."

"Born on a green field, the slightly toxic air even tastes a bit sweet~"

"..."

The chaotic information made Francis want to instinctively skip over it.

Until two massive Ork heads suddenly popped into his mind, roaring.

"Waaagh~"

Before Francis could recover from the shock, he saw his own arms swell violently, transforming into those of an Ork.

He couldn't help but roar along with them, "Waaagh~"

By the time Francis came to his senses, he saw—

His hands had already piled several scraps of junk metal together, and then the pile of junk began to hover!

"Huh???"

Francis stared blankly at this scene; this was even more stimulating than the fact that he had transmigrated.

He could actually gain the abilities of an Ork by ingesting their blood!

Yes, he had transmigrated.

Half a month ago, he was still watching the news on TV about the successful launch of Horus II.

He had casually remarked, "May the Four Gods not notice it."

Then, he woke up to find himself here.

Crawling out of a dilapidated black iron sarcophagus on the floor, he saw the lid was inscribed with—"Subject XI".

"It couldn't be that much of a coincidence, could it?"

Initially, he thought he was just someone who had consumed too much Warhammer lore.

Until an incomparably kind and warm voice echoed in his mind—

"Hmm~ How were you resurrected? Do you know where the thing that ran in here went? (Gold-leaf lettering)"

Clearly, this was the Big Golden Guy—the Emperor.

He was the leader who guided humanity into the cosmos, the pioneer who spread reason and technology, and the common father of the twenty Primarchs.

"Respected Emperor, I do not know what you are talking about."

Francis immediately knelt on one knee, feigning piety as he spoke.

"...Are you unwilling to even call me Father?"

At this moment, Francis's breathing became noticeably more rapid, and he tentatively replied.

"I don't remember anything from before. Who am I?"

"You are my son, Francis Crick, the eleventh Primarch who commands the Soul Drinkers Legion."

Boom!

Francis's consciousness exploded; what had he just heard?

His father is the Emperor?

And he is the eleventh Primarch who had been kept in cold storage?

As everyone knows, the Emperor created twenty Primarchs so that humanity could conquer the galaxy.

Every Primarch possessed their own legion of sons.

He had just arrived, and he already had a dad and hundreds of thousands of sons??!

And they were the kind that didn't require a wife—asexual reproduction!

"Oh my goodness, it's a good thing I don't have to buy them houses."

Francis patted his chest; it was hard enough!

Come to think of it, being a Primarch wasn't without its perks.

For instance, some possess the ability to handle hundreds of administrative tasks simultaneously, some possess berserk strength, some possess beautiful wings, and some can even achieve immortality and are skilled at grilling!

"It seems you have fused with an unknown substance; I will find a way to deal with it."

Hearing this, Francis felt his heart skip a beat.

Could it be that I possessed a Primarch?

Holy crap, or could this be a trick by ■■■■? I was always Francis.

At this moment, Francis's mind was in a whirl, and he could only reply numbly.

"Understood, Father."

The voice echoed in the air, followed by a long silence.

Then, the Emperor's loving voice came again.

"Do you believe that humanity can coexist peacefully with xenos?"

Though it was a gentle sentence, it felt like a bucket of ice water poured over Francis's head, instantly sobering him up.

This was a death trap of a question!

If he answered incorrectly, he would likely be "deleted" again.

Francis pretended to straighten his clothes, then stood at attention and said, "No, all xenos pose a threat to fragile humanity!"

Clearly, he had answered correctly.

Even though the other party said nothing more, judging by the fact that he hadn't been killed, he had made the right choice.

In the days that followed, a swarm of court physicians and apothecaries examined Francis's body in every conceivable way, many of whom were women.

"Holy crap, such a long tube—is this how you perform a gastroscopy?"

"Ugh~ you guys~ ugh~"

"I am—ugh—I am the son of the Emperor!"

"I—ugh—I have bled for the Empire—ugh—"

Francis's limbs twitched incessantly as he tried to make his body, now riddled with various tubes, feel a little more comfortable.

"Relax, just hold on a little longer. It will be over soon."

"Doctor, you seem to have forgotten the anesthesia!"

"...Let's just leave it at that!"

Under the examination of these unscrupulous doctors, one physical indicator after another was successfully calculated.

"Appearance is fine!"

"Internal organs are fine!"

"Brain is normal!"

"Genetic mutation level is slightly high!"

"..."

Francis shed tears of regret at this moment; he never wanted to come to this world again!

"Everything is normal, except for that change."

The Emperor's words left him somewhat confused, but it didn't matter; he felt completely hollowed out now.

At other times, the Emperor would occasionally converse with him, seemingly confirming something.

However, Francis also gleaned some information from these dialogues.

For instance, the unprecedented civil war had not yet occurred, and humanity still had hope at this time.

As for what had happened to him before, he did not receive any specific information.

The only thing Francis knew was that his abilities seemed to have become more powerful after experiencing certain events.

For example, just a moment ago, by consuming the blood of an ork, he had gained the other party's most exaggerated "Waaagh Energy"!

When Francis emerged from his memories, he saw his hands return to their normal state.

Even if he shouted "Waaagh~" again now, nothing changed; he even took the 'junk pile' down from the air.

When he tried to make the 'junk pile' fly again, he couldn't activate it; it seemed to have turned back into a real, literal pile of junk.

Clearly, he had not yet fully understood his own abilities.

Fortunately, his dear father had gradually sent people to provide him with items for his experiments.

Just like the blood of these orks, these were the items he had mentioned earlier.

Otherwise, he would have gone stir-crazy in this pitch-black cell, even if he hadn't been sick to begin with.

Compared to the beginning, when the room contained only a few strange blueprints and a sarcophagus, it was much livelier now.

For instance, there was a golden chalice placed in the left corner, and another golden chalice in the right corner...

Of course, these were mostly devices for researching genetic modification; he simply wanted to familiarize himself with the items of this world in advance.

Francis was absolutely not placing power armor parts on his bed while he slept.

Just as he was pondering what species of flesh samples would be delivered in a moment.

Heavy footsteps echoed from outside the room, accompanied by the metallic clanking of armor.

Clack, clack, clack~

"Francis, the samples you requested have arrived."

Constantin Valdor's distinct, magnetic voice drifted in; even without seeing him, one could tell that the owner of the voice was incredibly masculine!

"Hey~ Constantin. When will I be able to get out of here?"

He watched as the other man placed the samples into a box made of blackstone, then used a tool to pass the box through the psychic barrier and into Francis's room.

"I do not know; only the Emperor can decide whether you may leave this place."

As he spoke, the vigilance in Constantin's eyes never wavered.

Francis: "..."

The man's demeanor even made him feel as though he might strike him down at any moment.

"The Emperor is in a dangerous situation right now. Let me out, and I can resolve it."

Upon hearing Francis's words, Constantin revealed a pair of cold eyes beneath his massive golden helmet and replied silently, "Indeed, your existence is very dangerous to the Emperor."

Francis: "???"

He was the dignified Master of Ten Thousand, the Aegis of the Emperor, the first Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, the Shield-Captain Marshal of the ancient Custodian Guard, and the elite personal bodyguard of the Master of Mankind.

How could he treat the Emperor's son this way!

The more Francis thought about it, the angrier he became, so he grabbed the samples from the box and began to chug them down.

The texture this time was significantly better than the ork blood; although it made his mouth go a bit numb, the texture was delicate, with a faint hint of fresh grass.