Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 387 Encirclement by Allied Forces
In terms of appearance, none of the Primarchs are inferior to the others. Even Horus, who suffered a baldness crisis and eventually became bald, is full of a kind of intriguing roguish charm!

As the saying goes, beauty is justice. The emperor, who was the epitome of abstraction, put a lot of effort into sculpting the face of the Primarch.

In addition, with Erda being a looks-obsessed person, the two, despite being a crazy couple, still showed basic care for their offspring. After all, who wouldn't want their children to be good-looking?

Therefore, none of the Primarchs are ugly. Even the somewhat unkempt Mortarion could be a handsome top male escort after some grooming.

However, appearance is only one aspect; what truly drew mixed reviews about the Primarchs was their abstract manipulation.

Fugrim is a perfectionist, which can be described as obsessive-compulsive disorder or, more simply, vanity. When he has nothing to do, he likes to look in the mirror in his room and admire his unparalleled beauty.

How to put it... if you swapped the genders of Peturabo, Luojia, or even Sisyphus, it wouldn't make people feel like they were gay.

Mordred, who also possesses some of the characteristics of Forgrim, has the same problem, but unlike Phoenix, he always likes to tinker with his cool hairstyle, and his fashion sense is indeed impeccable, so he chose to steal accounts.

But that's not the main reason. The most important reason is that Mordred is a little guilty, especially to Inwitt.

Atlas provided aid to many worlds, and Dorne even told Mordred about his homeland out of trust, after which Mordred secretly planted a Cyclone torpedo in Inwit.

They also took advantage of Dorn's inattention to gather troops in Inverness, telling the people that they were the Angels of Blood, that they had a close personal relationship with Dorn, that they had all been released, and that they were the real leaders.

Ten thousand years have passed, and Atlas's tentacles have all been severed. Who knows if his little secret has been discovered? Rather than making a grand entrance, it's better to let the archangel reappear in the galaxy. After all, one's reputation is earned by oneself. When Mordred was being treated like a dog by the sheep tribe, he still called himself Johnson.

"So you planted bombs in Caliban too?"

"Not that little!"

"You son of a bitch, I should have impeached you at the Nicaea Conference back then, you deserve to die."

“I’m just taking precautions. Who knows which of you might betray us? I’ve made 22 plans, and I’ve even considered the possibility of me betraying you. We’re brothers, after all.”

The Lion King remained silent, thinking to himself that having a brother like him was the worst luck imaginable. But then he realized something was wrong; there were only 21 Primarchs at most, so where did you get 22 plans from?

"Emperor?"

"You really can't hide anything from me. That's right, I also have a deadly plan. If there is no hope left in the world, I will find a way to detonate Old Man Huang and make him end everything."

But rest assured, among all my plans, the defenses against the First Legion are by no means the most stringent.

"Then who's number one?"

"Is there even a question? Of course, it's the Ultra Warrior."

Mordred spoke so frankly about something so despicable, but what was most striking was that Johnson seemed to agree with it.

"Indeed, the Ultramarines are far too ambitious. I have personally witnessed them lose 10 men, and then turn around and produce another 10, just like the green-skinned creatures that spawn in the wild, forever maintaining a population of 25."

The two walked and talked in such a low voice that they were barely noticeable, not at all, especially to the fellow Inwit who was leading the way.

As the saying goes, everyone loves archangels. Inwete may seem like a poor, remote place, but its reverence for archangels is no less than that of the locals, or perhaps even excessive.

On the vast frozen wasteland, the towering Icecrown Citadel stands tall, showcasing the unique culture of this place. The most eye-catching features are the two statues on the citadel: one of Rogdorn and the other of Saint Gilles.

Upon closer inspection, there were actually more statues of the Holy Blood Angels than of the Imperial Fist.

Even though it was in Dorne's hometown, the symbol of the Blood Angel appeared, and this Blood Angel was fake, an imposter made by those bastards Atlas.

Zhuang Sen was unable to express his feelings at that moment in words. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't, so he could only choose to remain silent.

News of the Primarch's arrival reached the fortress instantly, and one Inviter after another emerged from the burrows to pay homage to this incomparably sacred demigod.

If the Space Dwarfs are a group of short people who are 1.2 meters tall, then the Invites are half-humans, somewhere between normal humans and Space Dwarfs. They are only 1.5 meters tall, but are particularly strong.

The people here are unaware of the great rebellion, nor of the empire's eternal cesspool. It's like a small, artificially isolated world, preserving the purest happiness. Most importantly, the people here believe in the empire's truth.

Compared to Inwitt, even Holy Terra seems a bit heretical.

Dorn's departure sealed everything off, but it didn't mean he abandoned everything. Before leaving, he had built Inwet up very well, and with Atlas's nearly two centuries of subsequent renovations, the Inwet people lived quite comfortably.

There are starports, colonies, and a guard legion of its own, composed entirely of Invites. The traces of the Empire are few and far between; only the statues indicate that this place was once part of the Empire. The harsh winds of Invit forged their unwavering will and cultivated their strong sense of collective honor. This place is like a paradise, untouched by the darkness and decay of the outside world.

"My God, you're amazing! Are you the heroes who went out to save the world ten thousand years ago?"

Out of curiosity, a group of teenagers surrounded them, asking all sorts of questions. They would climb onto Mordred's shoulders from time to time, asking if they could have a feather, or come up to them to look at and touch this and that, wondering what the outside world was like and why they looked different from angels.
The question was unanswerable. The Dark Angels remained silent, burying their heads in their food. Although they were disguised as the Imperial Fist, they were more like their Gene Father disguised as Oglin.

Among them are veterans of the legion who fought the entire game, angels of forgiveness who were found by the Lion King and stopped breathing, and of course, there are also madmen belonging to this era.

Looking at this group of enthusiastic little dwarfs full of curiosity about the world, they couldn't help but wonder what they had fought for and why they had become Astartes.

The more they thought about it, the more powerless and confused they felt. But in the end, they chose to accept it, forcing a not-so-friendly smile as they answered one question after another that they also wanted to know.

Unlike the group of dark angels who had attained enlightenment in Longchang, Mored returned to Inwitt as if he were back home. He boasted without ever preparing a draft, speaking with such vivid detail that it drew cheers from a crowd of onlookers.

Soon, news of the angels' arrival in Inwitt caught the attention of the local governor, who invited these figures from mythology to a banquet.

Perhaps due to the climate, despite their short stature, the Invites have a penchant for strong liquor. A large pork knuckle with sauerkraut and a bottle of 96-proof "water of life" makes for a truly delightful meal.

That being said, let’s eat first.

Every time they arrived at a dungeon, Mordred and his companions would go back and forth to eat voraciously. After a whole month of this, even Zhuang Sen's jawline had swelled up. But they eventually managed to find out the whereabouts of the giants, or rather, Dorn hadn't been hiding at all; he was just lying low in the Arctic.

According to the locals, every hundred years, the Invites would make a pilgrimage to the Arctic to hear the awe-inspiring wisdom of the Primarchs, where there were giants as tall as you. The holy site was also called the Royal Palace by us, which is the one depicted in the murals.

The so-called palace truly is a palace, except for being slightly smaller in size; it is exactly the same as the palace of Holy Terra, clearly the work of Dorne.

Especially those lemon-faced people on the murals—no wonder we didn't see the Imperial Fist; they've all gone here!

After all, he's a big guy who's always slacking off, so he'll definitely find something to do, like doing some civil engineering in his spare time, which fits Dorn's personality perfectly.

The thought of soon dragging Dorn over and making him suffer made Mordred and Johnson hum softly. They stopped eating and drinking and flew their Stormraven transport ship toward the North Pole.

There was no abstract indication of a plane crash, and the Storm Raven quickly flew to the so-called palace. As soon as it landed, a group of Imperial Fists rushed out from inside:
"Hello everyone...Bang!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than a bomb was embedded in Mordred's skull. The burning propellant charge, which had just stopped burning, triggered a small explosion, completely stunning Mordred.

After a full 0.01 seconds of stunned silence, Mordred's face instantly darkened. He kicked Rambo, who was almost caught in a barrage of bombs, and with a bark, he vanished in an instant.

The cold, damp, supernatural mist concealed everything, preventing the Dark Angel from being killed by the Imperial Fists. The Lion King's figure leaped out of the mist and, together with Mordred, who also appeared from behind the enemy, unleashed a flurry of punches.

Even the strongest Space Marines cannot defeat the Primarch. In a mere instant, two figures flashed out from the crowd. Before the first Imperial Fist fell, all 50 large lemons were taken down without a single casualty.

These Imperial Fists, however, acted as if they had been poisoned by rats. After realizing that two Primarchs had appeared, they not only refused to surrender but continued to increase their firepower, even bringing out tanks and disregarding friendly forces, launching a barrage of heavy firepower.

Mordred and Johnson can unleash their full potential with their superior mobility, but others can't withstand it.

Without any hesitation, a verdant psionic barrier rose from the ground, directly enveloping everyone, including those Imperial Fists who had fallen to the ground.

It's strange, even incomprehensible. Mordred is currently in the form of Saint Gilles, and the Dark Angel is still wearing the Imperial Fist's clothes. He came up and started fighting without saying a word. What's going on?

"traitor!"

"Who? Is he talking about me?"

"Nonsense, I'm just an Oglin."

"It's you! You despicable traitors! We've all come here to hide, and you still won't leave us alone!"

Grabbing up the Imperial Fist, whose neck was broken and who was paralyzed but not dead on the spot, Mordred pointed to his large face and said:
"Open your eyes and take a good look. I am Saint Gilles. Even if you don't recognize me, that Dark Angel is still wearing the clothes of your Imperial Fist!"

"What! You're not the Imperial Fist? You're the Dark Angels!"

"Damn it, you even sent the Dark Angels! Backup hidden energy—activate!"

(End of this chapter)