Warhammer: My Biological Father Emperor and My Demigod Brother

She gently patted Peturab's hand:

"Although that guy is bald, he is indeed quite handsome and has a strong physique."

Perturabo was so furious that, for the first time, he broke free of his inner constraints and revealed his truest thoughts:

"No, no one in this world is worthy of you. If anyone wants to become your husband, they must gain my approval, whether by beating me or by defeating me in a contest of skill and wisdom!"

Katherine couldn't help but laugh at Peturabo's posture; what a fine day it was.

She was surprised to see such a genuine side of her younger brother, something she had tried countless times to achieve but never succeeded in.

Perhaps, that bald young man really can bring about some change for them?

For some reason, Katherine felt a vague sense of anticipation for the next time she saw the young man who called himself Aaron.

600 BC, Yunu, the camp of the Pharaoh's army.

The Dionysian festival ended smoothly, with no major security incidents except for a few old men who drank themselves to death and a few couples who eloped.

The Pharaoh's army set off smoothly, and no one cared whether there had been any theft from the Pharaoh's fruit stockpile.

After all, if these inventories aren't used up, new batches will be delivered. Older batches will be disposed of locally.

Even so, when the officials saw these fruits that had been crushed and flattened but hadn't been stolen, they were still somewhat stunned, and couldn't help but wonder if their pharaoh was a pervert who liked this flavor? Or was he using this method to relieve stress?

Anda's family had already packed their bags and mingled with the Pharaoh's artisan team.

Many artisans brought their families with them, because they believed that after the war ended, they might have the opportunity to settle in Thebes or even occupy some land in Greece.

Those key transportation and trade locations have always represented both risks and opportunities.

Therefore, not many people cared about Anda's son and a donkey.

The Pharaoh's caravan was so far away that they couldn't even see it.

"This journey will be uneventful, with plenty of food and drink, and a regular schedule. Marum, now we can gather information about the fruit wine. The servants who serve the Pharaoh are in the same region as us, and they have their own winemakers."

Anda finally found some time to research the fruit wine he had been longing for.

Aaron, whose mind was clearly more active, looked at Marum and asked...

Will fruit wine still exist in this world tens of thousands of years from now?

He gradually came to understand that the stars in the sky were all worlds.

The younger brothers are scattered across those stars, each world with a different cultural background.

The world atmosphere of Guilliman and Peturabo is very similar to that of their own.

They just didn't know whether their world, the world Marum called Holy Terra, would have seen any progress in its food culture tens of thousands of years from now.

Marum pondered for a moment and said regretfully:

“I’m sorry, Aaron, I know very little about this part. From what I’ve seen, not many people in the future Terra will care about food and drink.”

Upon hearing this, Aaron exclaimed excitedly, "Is it because people have discovered higher-level spiritual needs to pursue progress?"

Marum was taken aback, and reluctantly replied, "I suppose so."

Anda was discussing with the old craftsmen whether the wheels should have eight or six rims when he turned his head:

"Let's discuss these issues from a distance and not disturb my study of the craft."

"Numbers are a terrible symbol; if used incorrectly, they can lead to disaster!"

Aaron was used to his father's occasional bouts of madness. He pulled Marum a short distance away and then asked:

"By the way, if you can still send messages to the future, please get some more fruit and liquor for your future father. Maybe it's because of the distance, but I think the father closest to me is a jerk. But suddenly I feel sorry for the father furthest from me."

"Well, I reserve my opinion that they're all bastards. It's just as awkward as Guilliman and Chagatai both thinking that the father who raised me is pretty good now."

Marum didn't want to get involved in Aaron's evaluation of His Majesty, so he could only nod and say:

"If that's the information, I'll pass it back."

More than 40,000 years later, the Holy Terra.

Recently, His Majesty's thinking seems to have improved in some way, and more and more clear statements are being expressed.

As a result, the state religion has already sent people to request an audience with His Majesty to verify the authenticity of this information.

Of course, all of them were rejected by the Imperial Guards.

They suspected that there was something wrong within the National Church as well, since the walk-in reservations had been booked for over 70,000 people, and countless National Church believers were still filling out applications.

They must have some daring schemes against His Majesty!

Today, the echo emanating from the throne, captured by the ritual of the Great Sage Kaul and synchronized as information, was acknowledged by the Royal Guard:

"wine."

I understand, Your Majesty wants to drink, but in this state where it flows out of your ribs as soon as it's poured into your mouth, is it really safe to drink?

Icarus answered the questions of the younger guards in this way:

"Prioritize fulfilling His Majesty's needs. Over the past ten thousand years, many messages, even those that can be described as absurd, have echoed across the throne, but we have fulfilled them all."

For example, the entire Imperial Guard on duty would remove their armor and hold a skiing competition on motorized skateboards, with the winner receiving the reward of continuing to serve on the throne for another term.

No armor.

A hidden chain began to turn, and the Terran nobles who enjoyed a life of luxury all received letters of coordination from the Imperial Guard.

They had to offer the freshest fruits from their tribe to make fruit wine, which was then presented to the throne.

This at least doesn't require them to kill the youngest child in the family and offer him as a sacrifice.

For a time, a strange sacrificial ritual became popular among some nobles. They believed that after the best young men of each generation were sacrificed to the emperor, the area where the emperor's consciousness remained would serve him.

In the end, these people realized that this was just the ramblings of some madman from a state religion.

But after they took it seriously, no one said their behavior was inappropriate, right?

This trend gradually subsided after the Imperial Guard discovered this sordid act.

After that, some battle nuns began to assist in the management of the development of some long-established Terran nobles, so that they would not be wiped out if one day the upper world of Terra was discovered to have become a human sacrifice site.

Chapter 81: The Fifth Time He Was Killed by Peturabo (32K)

Aaron didn't know how his father finally convinced the nearby craftsmen that only five of the wooden wheel hubs needed to be kept.

He didn't care much about that; he was busy figuring out how to get closer to his new brother, Petulabola.

He had already earned the respect of Guilliman, Loka, and Chagatai. Only with Peturabo was progress difficult.

For some reason, Aaron felt like he was being targeted by Peturabo.

After entering the dream for the first time, he tried three more times to search for Peturabo's whereabouts, but before he could finish speaking, the irritable demigod rushed over, grabbed his neck, and crushed him.

Today he's going to try entering the dream for the fifth time. The moment he opens his eyes, he dodges, then shouts:

"Little brother, I'm your older brother!"

He made up his mind, but then suddenly felt uneasy, so he went to find his father.

“Father, I need you to find me a helmet. I’ve been killed by Peturabo four times. He doesn’t even give me a chance to speak.”

The father was busy convincing the craftsmen that everything on the machine that involved numbers could be changed to five, instead of any other number.

He casually pointed to the shield and sword in his luggage:

"You can just take those things with you; I've blessed these weapons."

"Wait, who did you say, Peturabo?"

The father finally turned his head, his voice rising, and casually grabbed a helmet from the side, unadorned and put it on Aaron's head:

“Tell that bastard that if he dares to do anything ridiculous like killing one out of ten, I’ll lock him up with Dorn, naked!”

"Strange, did I just say something nonsense again? Go on, don't bother me while I'm doing my business."

Aaron feels that the connection between his present and future fathers is growing stronger, and he doesn't know if that's a bad thing.

He put on his helmet, gripped his shield, but did not carry the sword.

He then lay back down in the tent and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, he opened his eyes again, and the surrounding environment seemed to be in a young girl's boudoir.

You can see those girly decorations and a large number of thick books.

It must be Katherine's room, Aaron thought, his gaze wary.

In fact, during the previous few times I dreamt of Peturabo, Katherine was always by his side.

Aaron felt he had said something wrong about his younger brother's adopted sister; he shouldn't have said she wasn't as pretty as their mother.

I need to find an opportunity to apologize.

He crept to the window, observing the layout of the garden, determining his brother's location, and figuring out the escape route after they were attacked.

Looking down from this window, it seems as if a banquet is being held in this garden.

His brother, Peturabo, was in the center of the banquet, receiving everyone's attention.

This must be a celebration of his younger brother's coming of age, Aaron thought, taking stock of the information he already possessed.

She decided to sneak into the banquet kitchen to find an opportunity to get close to her younger brother.

He looked around again, but this time he didn't see Katherine.

Then he turned around and saw the girl holding a short sword to her shoulder with one hand.

"Um, good evening, Katherine. It's me again, Aaron."

Aaron was thankful that his helmet offered some protection for his neck, and he gripped his shield tightly as he leaned against the window.

If I had stepped back any further, I would have fallen out of the window.

"Pfft—" Katherine laughed out loud. Her eyes were really beautiful, but not as pretty as her mother's. "Alright, Aaron, what's your relationship with Hermes?"

"They always appear out of nowhere, like a thief."

The girl sheathed her short sword, turned around, and sat by the window, observing the mysterious figure.

She could sense that Aaron meant no harm, and she could even keenly realize that Aaron was after Peturabo.