Emperor's Bane

Chapter 856: Grilled Skewers and the Arms Race

"Conrad."

"Ok?"

"Don't you think the punch I gave you this afternoon was really beautiful? Hey! It hit you right in the face!"

"..."

The shirtless Midnight Ghost took off his sunglasses, squirmed on his exclusive golden sun lounger, and glanced at the golden-haired man less than three meters away from him.

For a moment, the Lord of the Eighth Legion felt that he was not the most childish of all the Primarchs.

And look at the guy next to him: this idiot who had come out to sunbathe in his robe is staring at his own fist, grinning like an idiot.

He was not afraid that his robe would wrap him up like a roasted corn.

This is probably the expression that would be shown by a rich young man who has never even been slapped in the face since he was a child.

Conrad snorted twice, barely agreeing with his brother.

"Yes, yes, your fighting skills have improved rapidly in recent years, Robert."

"Yes."

Guilliman nodded seriously, then looked at his sparring partner with sincerity on his face.

"This is all thanks to you, brother."

"I have never met a sparring partner as good as you on Macragge."

"..."

Midnight Haunter took a deep breath.

He had to convince himself that for the sake of the pristine sun loungers, the marble pool that could accommodate a knight, the genuine solar-powered bath lights, and the priceless fresh ingredients, he should not be so mean to his host.

Well, if you think about it carefully, every time the Midnight Haunter comes to the Five Hundred Worlds, he comes naked and then goes back with a lot of bags: except for his mouth, the Lord of the Eighth Legion basically doesn't need to bring anything.

He didn't even need to bring Morgan: Ms. Euton could just temporarily guest-star as his mom.

Anyway, Morgan will automatically come to the Five Hundred Worlds because of Nostramo's matter.

Is there anything better than this?
In fact, if Conrad could be a little more shameless, he could even bring along half of the Eighth Legion: Midnight Haunter had done this before, but considering that the way Sevatar and others ate was so embarrassing, he hadn't tried it again for a long time.

That’s right: they ate in such a disgraceful way that even Conrad felt a little embarrassed.

Especially a certain Prince Crow, who, despite being extremely wealthy, was still keen on being thrifty and picking up scraps all over the place. He even tried to get a Glorious Queen for free from the Lord of Macragge: God knows what Sevatar learned from Morgan.

As for Guilliman, perhaps he was indeed a miser comparable to Grandet in governing the country and enjoying himself, but when it came to entertaining his brothers, the Macragge people were never vague: he could really build an entire resort with marble just because of a casual remark that even Conrad himself had no memory of.

Ever since he discovered that Guilliman would actually dig out a paradise on land behind the Hera Fortress just because of his boast, and that the rooms reserved for the Midnight Haunters were several times more luxurious than those of the Macragge people themselves, Conrad's emotional threshold towards this brother has been greatly increased.

He didn't even mind loaning Conrad his mom temporarily: what more could he ask for?

Guilliman is such a good man.

Good people should live longer: after all, there will be plenty of places in the empire that will need them in the future.

But Conrad is different. No matter what the empire encounters in the future, it will definitely not need Conrad: if they are desperate enough to need Conrad to command the overall situation, it would be better for this human empire to perish.

Midnight Haunter shook his head, lamenting his tragic fate.

Guilliman only needs to wait quietly and take over the supreme authority of the Human Empire after thousands of years, but poor Conrad can only indulge in fun in his short life of just a few hundred years.

"It's so tragic."

The bat groaned for himself, then he sat up and snapped his fingers: on the fully automatic grill not far away, the skewers of meat that were sizzling on the charcoal fire flipped over under the help of the psychic hand.

The Primarch blew his fingers proudly: in this era when almost every Primarch had psychic skills, Conrad was finally not left too far behind by his brothers.

God, Morgan saw it with his own eyes last time when Zhuang Sen used his white flame to burn a rebellious knight mecha to death.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk: As expected of a guy who was born to work hard."

Midnight Haunter tutted in amazement, then focused on what was truly important.

The best ant beef is finely scraped to remove the larvae with a small knife, and then only needs simple seasoning to become delicious: the golden skin exudes an attractive luster, and a little seasoning is sprinkled on it at any time. The plump skin can't hold the crispy meat juice inside, and the red and blue flames burn a light white color, and you can smell the most beautiful aroma.

No need to put it in your mouth, no need to taste it, just a careful look at it will make your tongue and teeth uncontrollably drool.

Conrad hummed a tune, leisurely watching the bright red roasted into light white, the light white smoked into light yellow, and the light yellow finally turned into a mouth-watering burnt gold: when the first drop of refreshing hot oil slowly slid down the plump texture, the Primarch looked at his brother.

"Do you like spicy food?"

"Less."

Guilliman stretched lazily, still a little uncomfortable with slacking off so early.

It is only one o'clock in the morning. According to common sense, he should be reviewing documents from the agricultural and education departments as a break between two working hours.

However, his brothers invited him, his adoptive mother threatened him not to break the contract, and the descendants and heroes also patted their chests and guaranteed that they could complete the task for him: plus, there were indeed some small issues that he wanted to talk to Conrad about.

It’s okay to take it easy for a night.

Guilliman took the skewer and took a bite. The delicate temperature melted on his tongue, and the aroma of spices and oil danced like elves. The Primarch enjoyed it with satisfaction, then nodded casually to Conrad.

"Not bad, Conrad: your skills have improved a lot since you went out."

“It’s an old skill after all.”

Midnight Haunter smiled.

"At least it used to be...the ability to eat."

Guilliman didn't hear anything wrong with Conrad's words.
He stood up, walked to the grill, picked out a few flavors he liked, then picked up a plate of freshly grilled skewers, took a bite, took a sip of the light beer on the table, and let out a long, spicy sigh as he blew in the cool but not cold summer night wind.

Burp again.

Guilliman smiled.

He hadn't felt so vividly alive in a long time.

"It's really good."

The Primarch nodded again.

"Honestly, Conrad, when the brothers have finished their current tasks, we should get together when we have time. I think it's a good idea to do what we did: have a barbecue, drink some wine, eat some meat, and discuss recent events."

"Wait until we have time."

Conrad paused as he was turning the cake over.

"After all, everyone is busy."

"Is it?"

This statement piqued Guilliman's interest.

"Why, did you encounter anything new in this Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?"

“It’s not fresh, but it’s not new.”

Conrad took himself a bunch of roasted potato slices, which were golden on both sides. He stared at these ordinary crops carefully, as if he was thinking about something in the past.

"Have you seen Corax lately?"

"I met you once."

Guilliman nodded.

"Five years ago, he brought his fleet to me on a state visit."

"Of course, the main purpose is to open up some markets for his industrial and agricultural products."

“Agricultural products?”

Conrad smiled.

"I remember that Corax's neighbor didn't have any outstanding agricultural products, but the one next door to him might be different."

"Yeah, I know."

The Macragge nodded.

"Although I always heard that the Death Guard and the Raven Guard were in conflict, and the mortal auxiliaries of both sides had fought blood feuds around many key worlds, in fact, it is not impossible for the two of them to cooperate: when Corax visited, he brought a delegation from the Death Guard with him."

"But..."

Guilliman paused, confusion evident in his tone.

"I don't know if it was an oversight, but the person who signed the letter from the Barbarus Autonomous Territory was not Mortarion, but his captain of the first company, Typhon. The diplomats I sent to Barbarus also expressed the same problem to me, and it was Typhon who finally received them. Mortarion doesn't seem to like meeting outsiders."

"Is it?"

Conrad nodded, not surprised by the question.

“I thought I was the only one who encountered this.”

"What happened?"

"I visited Corax before and spent quite a while at his place. I also helped him scare off a tax delegation from Terra. Don't look at me like that. I didn't do anything. I just happened to let the adults from Terra know that the hotel they were staying in had a legend of being haunted. Then, during the few days they were staying at the hotel, I went there twice more every night."

"As for Corax, he really has no talent in governing a country, but he is better than me, and he is better at it: he insists on visiting each of his own worlds and personally selects every governor and official. Although the country he governs cannot be said to be very rich, the infrastructure and social welfare are good, and generally speaking, it is a very united country."

"However, I think Corax still has a few areas where he is not doing well: his country is still a little too scattered, and each star system is too independent. I rarely see large-scale collective plans and actions."

"Moreover, it is too biased towards the people: I feel that the armaments of the 19th Legion have never been up to standard."

"That should be fine."

Guilliman raised his objections.

"Corax told me that he intends to maintain a legion of 280,000 men."

“Do you think that’s a lot?”

Conrad snorted.

"The Death Guard next to him has at least 300,000 men, not counting the Seventh Company stationed outside the domain. The World Eaters on the other side of him also have over 300,000 men. Even my Night Lords, without recruiting on a large scale, can maintain a strength of around 270,000 to 280,000 men."

"Do you think everyone is like Morgan, who still only has 130,000 people?"

"Thirteen isn't quite enough."

Guilliman turned back and got himself a few more slices of meat.

"After all, I have 100,000 civilian soldiers in the reserve."

"Clerk...Soldier?"

"Ah, that's right."

The Lord of Macragge spoke vaguely.

"I have sent some veterans who are tired of military life, as well as some new recruits who are more interested in administration than combat, to the core world of Ultramar. They will assist and supervise the local mortal officials. There are about 100,000 of them in total, and they also serve as the reserve of the Thirteenth Legion."

"One hundred thousand people."

Conrad shook his head.

"Don't you think it's a bit too extravagant?"

"Luxury?" Guilliman smiled.

"Please, brother, we are now living in an unprecedented era of peace: the Ultramarines recruits recruited in the past twenty years have never fought a war. The few battles they have fought were just chasing pirate fleets or conducting security operations with some greenskin remnants who were like scattered soldiers."

"This isn't really a fight."

"As for those veterans who followed me to participate in the Great Crusade, they haven't touched a gun since Ullanor and Nikaea, and haven't fought in a war for almost thirty or forty years. Although they haven't fallen behind in their daily training, many of them can't stay on ships and military bases and do nothing for the rest of their lives, right?"

“Instead of leaving them idle, let them try their hand at administration.”

"I am currently implementing a pilot program. If all goes well, I intend to have half of the Ultramarines engage in clerical work, and the remaining half serve as a standing army: 250,000 to 300,000 men will be enough to guard the entire Five Hundred Worlds."

"Yeah, indeed...wait?"

As soon as Conrad nodded, he realized something was wrong.

"When you say the remaining half, you mean: 250,000 to 300,000 people?"

"How many men do you have in total, Guilliman?"

"Five hundred and fifty thousand."

The Macragge shrugged his shoulders: Although things like the overall strength of the troops are absolutely confidential to any legion, for Guilliman, he has no reason to hide it from his most trusted brother.

"I expect to conduct the last round of large-scale conscription in the next decade. After completion, the total strength of the Ultramarines will be maintained at about 650,000. Excluding the 100,000 clerical reserve personnel for the pilot project, I still have 550,000 mobilizable troops."

"Not much."

Conrad tilted his head.

"I remember that the Word Bearers' First Crusade Expedition Fleet had 110,000 men."

"Not everyone is Luo Jia."

Guilliman snorted: ever since that incident, his opinion of the Seventeenth Legion had dropped another level.

"I bet that the country governed by Luo Jia is not very good."

"Then you will be disappointed."

Conrad laughed.

"I've been to Luo Jia's place."

"Is it?"

The Primarch became interested.

"I remember that Luo Jia's Crusader State didn't allow any outsiders to enter?"

"Come on, I'm his brother."

"Well, so what do you see?"

"how to say……"

Conrad licked his fangs.

"If you exclude the few places that feel wrong, it is indeed a paradise. Although the living standards of mortals in most worlds can only be described as ridiculous, they do live happily and the society is stable and safe."

"...rule by fools?"

Guilliman's face looked a little bad.

"What can you expect from a country founded on religion?"

Conrad was quite open-minded.

"Oh, there's one more detail."

"What details?"

"With Luo Jia by my side, I have traveled through many worlds: but I have never seen even one disabled person."

"Yeah, and except for some places, there don't seem to be many babies and elderly people."

"But these are not the most important things, Guilliman."

"Then what's most important?"

"The most important thing is, I am sure that your legion is no longer the largest one."

"The Word Bearers are."

"Luo Jia has at least 700,000 people under his command."

"At least."

"Besides, even he himself couldn't tell exactly how many people were left in his expeditionary fleet."

"Of course: I think it's still unwarranted to doubt your fighting ability."

At the end of his words, a scornful smile appeared on the corner of Midnight Haunter's mouth.

"They are still...very Word Bearers."

The two Primarchs' chuckles echoed amid the starry summer night.

"Seriously, Conrad, it's not nice to talk about your brothers behind their backs."

Guilliman smiled and shook his head.

“But I have to admit, it’s pretty interesting.”

"What else have you heard?"

"The rest is just clichés."

Conrad glanced at his brother.

"Are you sure you want me to lead the conversation?"

"of course."

Guilliman extended a hand, pointing to the grilled wings in Konrad's hand.

"After all, you are the [Male Master]."

(In some European and American cultures, at a family barbecue party, the person in charge of the barbecue is generally assumed to be the male host of the extended family.)
"what!"

Conrad called out, then neatly packed a few tin foil plates and walked to the edge of the swimming pool with Guilliman. The two Primarchs rolled up their trouser legs, sat on the ground, placed the meat and wine beside their legs, and felt the cool liquid in the pool moisturizing their skin.

"Then I have to say: you won't take advantage of this opportunity to take notes in your notebook, will you?"

"No: I have it in mind."

Guilliman smiled proudly and slowly opened a can of lager.

"Go ahead."

"I went to Terra, but I didn't see our father."

"Didn't you go into the palace?"

"I went in, but the number of guards in the palace was unexpectedly small. I estimated that there were only a few hundred in total. But they strictly prohibited me from entering the core area of ​​the palace. Moreover, except for me, no one, including the high lord, was allowed to enter."

"Where's Malcador?"

"do not know."

"What about Don? He doesn't care?"

"Dorn has other things to do. The High Lord has been arguing with him."

"What's the argument about?"

"You won't believe it if I tell you."

Conrad came up with a grin.

"Listen carefully."

"The High Lords Council strongly requested that Dorn's Imperial Fists must expand their forces, but Dorn believed that this was unnecessary. The Imperial Fists' existing forces were sufficient to defend Terra. However, I heard that the High Lords forcibly signed an executive order, demanding or even begging the Seventh Legion to expand its forces."

"……what?"

Guilliman was stunned for a moment.

"You heard that right, brother."

This was the look Conrad was waiting for.

"According to the High Lord, they feel that the Imperial Fists' military strength is too unreliable."

"How many people are there in Dorne now?"

"One hundred and twenty thousand: ten thousand less even than Morgan's Dawnbreakers."

"..."

"It's really an unsafe number for his duties."

The Macragge nodded.

"One hundred and twenty thousand. Tsk, tsk, tsk, probably one of the smallest legions."

"If I remember correctly, even the Iron Hands have almost 170,000 people?"

"More than that. The Emperor's Children now have 280,000 men. The White Scars have fewer men, only 230,000. The Salamanders have about 140,000 or 150,000. Some say the Space Wolves have 280,000, but others say they have more than 300,000. It depends on whether you include the Norman recruits."

"But these are not the most important things."

"So what's the most important thing?"

"On top of that, I heard a hot rumor in Terra."

"gossip?"

Guilliman laughed.

"So it's not true?"

“Whether it’s true or not is not important: what matters is that everyone is spreading it.”

"Everyone?"

"From the palace to the streets: I suspect it won't be long before transport ships and diplomatic missions spread the news to all corners of the empire."

"Do you know what the Terrans are talking about?"

Konrad leaned close to the Macragge's ear.

“They’re all chatting.”

"Malcador and the High Lords: have actually secretly harmed the Emperor."

"..."

"What?!!"

(End of this chapter)