Dad... You're Not Dead?!
"Waaagh!!!"
"Kill them all!!!"
"Bones! Teeth! Loot!!!"
The Ork Warboss was so excited that he forgot all about the Gene-seed, grabbed his huge, blood-stained cleaver, and strode towards the chaos.
Seraphax followed behind, a satisfied smile on his face.
"Yes, that's it, kill!"
Kill them all!
He shouted, his voice mingling with the Orks ' battle cries, almost in sync.
These Orks are just as useful as the Imperium's Imperialis Militia.
Whatever you ask the Imperium's logistics forces for, they'll give you men!
You want weapons, they give you people; you want transportation, they give you people; you want food, they still give you people!
And what about the Orks?
After they die, if you smash their bodies on the ground, new Orks will immediately grow.
It was a strange form of spore reproduction, the root cause of this swarm of Orks ' ability to wreak havoc across the Milky Way.
Then, all you have to do is coax them one more time, and these newly emerged Orks will howl and continue to follow you.
They might even treat you like their Waaaghboss.
With the blessing of that special Psionic Energy energy, he essentially gained another way to receive the blessing of Chaos.
Seraphax felt the strange power surging from the Orks horde—it was Waaagh Psionic Energy.
It is the embodiment of the collective consciousness of the Orks, and the most powerful weapon of these seemingly savage creatures.
The power surged into his body, intertwining with the blessings of the four gods he had just received, making him even stronger.
A cold smile appeared on his lips.
"Waaagh!!!"
He shouted along, his voice carrying the majesty of Chaos Lord, as well as a fighting spirit that Orks could understand.
"Yes, that's it! Kill!"
He quickened his pace, rushing towards the edge of the camp, towards those ignorant bastards who dared to invade his territory!
From the cries of pain from his men, he could tell that a formidable opponent had arrived.
He could easily wipe out his subordinates; his strength is at least at the Chaos Lord level.
But he wasn't an ordinary the Fallen either!
He has ten thousand years of combat experience, and more importantly, he is blessed by the Four Chaos Gods!
Four of them in total!!!
Holy crap!
Why are there some on the other side too?!
In his eyes, a figure shimmering with four colors appeared.
The figure was nearly four meters tall, as imposing as a god descending to earth.
He was surrounded by four-colored light.
But that radiance was completely different from the one emanating from him.
The four-colored light emanating from him is a mark of the blessing bestowed by Chaos, proof of the empowerment of the Dark Gods.
The four-colored light emanated naturally from the figure's body.
Like the sun radiating light, like the stars radiating brilliance.
Through that radiance, he seemed to see four indescribable figures, who were giving him a cold laugh.
!!?
Who are these four gods, so idle?!
The figure held a gleaming golden sword in its hand.
The light seemed to come from a more ancient, more primordial era, from humanity's past before its decline.
The figure held up a golden shield in its other hand.
Ancient script was engraved on the shield, the Emperor's own words, each letter glowing faintly.
The figure, wielding a sword and shield, resembled a war god descending to earth.
He charged towards the group of Orks.
One shield--
He smashed the head of an Ork Warboss to pieces!
Before the Ork Warboss could even react, the shield had already smashed into his face.
The moment the shield touched it, the enormous head exploded like an egg being smashed by a hammer, brains and blood splattering everywhere, and the massive body crashed to the ground.
The surrounding Orks were stunned.
Then, an even more frenzied Waaagh! erupted.
But the figure didn't care at all.
He simply swung his sword, and the golden light flashed, cutting three charging Orks warriors in half at the waist.
With another swing of the shield, another Ork Warboss's chest caved in, and he spat out blood mixed with pieces of internal organs.
The figure moved swiftly through the Orks, like a tiger among sheep, leaving a trail of corpses in its wake.
With each flash of the golden sword light, an Orks fell; with each swing of the golden shield, an Orks was sent flying.
Then, the figure seemed to sense something.
He stopped.
He took off his helmet with some disbelief, revealing his face—
That face.
For a moment, Seraphax's heart seemed to stop beating.
It was a face he knew all too well.
Ten thousand years ago, he looked up at that face countless times, followed its guidance on the battlefield, and obeyed its commands in training.
That's the face of his Gene-Father.
That was the Primarch of the Dark Angels, the founder of the First Legion, and the Emperor's first son.
Lion Al Johnson's face.
Seraphax's pupils suddenly contracted.
His mind went blank for a moment, and all the calmness and rationality he had cultivated over thousands of years vanished.
He stood on the chaotic battlefield, among the frenzied Orks, and among the scattered Chaos Cultist.
They remained motionless, as if petrified.
Only those eyes remained fixed on that face.
That face was exactly the same as the one he remembered, yet completely different.
Those eyebrows, those features, that innate majesty—all of them were the lion in his memory.
But that expression—
There was something in that expression he had never seen before.
That was not the arrogance of the dictator from ten thousand years ago, nor the suspicion of the paranoid, nor the tyrant who isolated himself in solitude.
It was something deeper, more complex, and more ineffable.
That was someone who had awakened after ten thousand years of slumber.
He was a monarch who witnessed the rise and fall of Imperium, the changes of the world, and countless joys and sorrows.
Seraphax's lips trembled slightly, and a word he hadn't uttered in ten thousand years almost burst from his throat.
Father... you're not dead?!
Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, Lion was also watching Seraphax.
His gaze fell upon the Chaos Lord, whose body shimmered with four colors of light.
Then, his brow furrowed slightly.
He sensed something.
That is a perception at the genetic level, an unbreakable blood connection between the Primarch and its offspring, an imprint etched deep into the genes ten thousand years ago.
Within this Chaos Lord—
His blood is flowing.
Lion's gaze became complicated.
This guy is his offspring.
They were soldiers of his First Legion.
They were the Dark Angels he personally selected, trained, and led onto the battlefield.
Is this guy really that badly doing?
They've really sunk so low as to be with Orks barbarians!?
From now on, even if they go out into the world, they can't be allowed to say they're my offspring, let alone be considered morally corrupt!
Lion decides to kill him and keep the secret forever.
The Secret of the Dark Angels +1
Even the Fallen wouldn't allow his genes to be reduced to mingling with Orks!
How could he possibly accept the title of Imperium Warmaster under such circumstances?
Even at his lowest point, the Dutchman only led his legion in a mutiny.
These Orks scum don't even deserve it!