Warhammer: I don't want to become a stinky can!

Kahn knelt down on one knee.

As if on command, the sound of power armor slamming into the ground filled the air, and blood scabs mixed with dirt were thrown up.

Sunlight streamed down, making the armor gleam.

His sister Kleist in the arena looked at him, gave him a sly yet encouraging smile, and knelt down along with the giants.

The brothers and sisters knelt down.

Silence. He was now the only one standing. Angron spoke slowly.

He is a son of the mountains, his voice like a crashing boulder.

“I do not know where you come from, nor do I know why you are loyal to me.”

"But you followed me in conquering Nutheria and beheaded the slave owners,"

"You have shown me your sincerity."

"If you are still determined to follow me, then Angron will not let you down!"

Angron took a deep breath and shouted, his powerful voice tearing through the sky.

"In the history of Nuseria, those invincible armies were known as city-devourers, swallowing up city after city."

"But you, you!"

"You powerful beings can devour this world!"

"You are the battle axes that I used to cut down slave owners, you are the war machines that I used to devour all worlds!"

"You are the Devourers of Worlds!"

"You are the Devourers of Worlds!!!"

The Twelfth Legion, the World Devourers.

It was established from then on.

"I'm guilty."

Within the ruins of the First Gladiator Arena, two figures lurked in the shadows of the viewing platform.

Company Commander Kahn of the Eighth Company buried his head absently, his gaze wandering.

"You were the first person to discover the Primarch Father; you did the best you could."

Legion Commander Rock stood ramrod straight, arms crossed, but looked exhausted.

"We've done our best."

he murmured.

But no one spoke.

The expectations that the warhounds once held now pierced the World Devourer like sharp, vicious daggers.

They are too arrogant, they are too vain.

arrogant.

The return of the Primarch was a resounding slap in the face to them.

"I used to look down on it."

"Shh, Kahn, don't say it."

Rock looked at him, his eyes dark.

“We are fully aware of this.”

"I imagine myself standing on that high platform, looking down at him."

This will become his eternal nightmare.

Rock patted him on the shoulder.

"There is nothing we can do about it."

"The most urgent task is to restore our original body."

"I have already contacted the Empire—"

The gladiator horn sounded, interrupting their conversation.

They exchanged a glance, stepped out of the darkness, and walked into the brightly lit arena.

There, led by Angron, countless World Eaters stood atop the red sand.

Today, they will carve their first rope of triumph.

The Rope of Triumph, a tradition of Nuseria.

Kahn stood among the warriors.

They removed their armor, revealing scars covering their muscular upper bodies.

Angron was at the very front, a winding red line climbing up his spine from his tailbone.

Every extension of the red line is a successful battle, a glorious moment worth remembering.

Without hesitation, the Primarch stabbed along the very tip of the red line with his dagger, and crimson blood dripped down.

Following their father, the World Eaters also slashed their skin with blades, the tips penetrating deep into the lowest layer of black carapace.

Anglong scooped up a handful of red sand and poured it into the wound; the coarse sand became embedded in his flesh.

To commemorate this eternal glory, Angron reached into the freshly cut wound and ripped it open, preventing it from healing too quickly.

Blood dripped down his fingers.

Blood dripped down their fingers.

Kahn braced his wound with his fingers, his fingertips touching the slippery black carapace, the pain burning like flames.

He took a deep breath, but did not pick up the fiery red sand.

He picked up the jet-black sand.

Black sand, a symbol of shame and defeat.

Shame will be the beginning of the world-devourer.

The black climbing walls numbed his aching heart.

Visibility was blurred; all that could be seen was a mixture of black and red.

Angron was delighted to have gained another group of new brothers who followed him and inscribed the red rope of glory.

But what he didn't know was that not everyone among the Devourers chose Red Sand.

The black line meanders.

【Imperial Dream】

future.

"Reporting, sir, the Twelfth Legion has discovered their Primarch."

With the messenger's words, Angron's message was transmitted.

The emperor glanced at it casually.

"Oh."

"Notify the Twelfth Army Corps that I need to schedule an operation for Number Twelve."

When the battle reports from the front came again, the Emperor's mind was only distracted for a moment before he had no time to pay attention to them again.

Although size 12 is damaged, it is still usable.

Wonderful Mini-Theater:

"Why didn't you stop them, Eighth Brother?"

The seventh brother muttered to himself and nudged the eighth brother.

"His anchor point is no longer here."

Lao Ba laughed heartily.

"Besides, I don't care about these things, as long as there are heads and blood, that's enough!"

"Stop staring at that gas canister, man, I like them all!"

With a gloomy expression, the seventh brother muttered words that no one could understand, such as fate, perseverance, and benevolence.

[Bonus chapter has been released]

Hmm... The crux of the matter here is the Emperor's attitude. In the original work, the Emperor was extremely indifferent to Angron, which led to the saying that "the Emperor was intentionally abandoning the Primarch he disliked."

However, in the latest book, the Emperor himself values ​​the Primarch and hopes that everyone will eventually retire happily, which is completely inconsistent with the image of him being emotionally withdrawn and reclusive, unlike the biography of Angron.

In this book, the portrayal of the emperor in the section about Anglon will largely follow the biography of Anglon.

I will provide a transitional section on the other emperors.

Chapter 106 Going to Mars, Going to Show Off

Mars, now.

How many waves can a single person's words stir up in the future? The future is turbulent and unpredictable, a battle of life and death, the howls and whines of warhounds echoing in the blood-soaked Nuthria, the roar of Angroth's Butcher's Nails thundering, fate has already been altered beyond recognition—

But now, at this moment, none of this has anything to do with Hades.

He was eating porridge.

Even though his life would involve witnessing the life and death of a civilization and a race, eating porridge was undeniably an integral part of Hades' life.

Hades picked up a spoon, scooped up some Martian algae, dripped a vinegar-colored seasoning into the porridge, stirred it casually, and continued eating.

It's lunchtime now. Brother Perez the war dog has left. He's been sitting with the wolf lately, and ever since that unpleasant experience with wild game, the wolf Manning's curiosity about him has clearly increased by more than one level.

As for Mortalian and Macado, Hades, after waiting a week without any news, decisively put this information in the "don't bother thinking about it without notification" section.

However, it turned out that the notification did arrive, but it came a little too late.

The dining hall door was flung open, and a group of servants rushed in carrying piles of incense and scarlet silk, while hymns began to fill Hades' ears.

The entire hall instantly became sacred, except for the soldiers inside eating their meals.

"what?"

The Jordanian sage hurried in; his enormous frame moved with unusual speed.

"Stop eating! The Son of Ohm Messiah is coming to visit the Tech Sergeant Base!"

The Ultramarines, Imperial Fist, and other warriors immediately put down their bowls and helped the servants clear the table of dishes.

The other technical sergeants were doing the same, some even tidying up their uniforms, as some were preparing to leave and change out of their usual work clothes.

Hades, on the other hand, was busy eating.

This is the last bit, finish it!

A few seconds won't make a difference!

"Stop eating it!"

The Jordanian sage reached for Hades' bowl; a distinctly Martian-style suit hung from his long, slender limbs, gold threads interwoven into his scarlet robe.

"Your Primarch is here, stop eating!"

"Stop eating, quickly change into your dress!"

Time was of the essence, and the Jordanian sage's superiors suddenly informed Jordan of this matter, and told him that the adults had already set off for this place.

Oh Messiah above!

Hades was still wearing work clothes like a technical sergeant, with engine oil still stuck to them, and he didn't even have a Mechanicus badge with him!

However, compared to the tense others, Hades's passive reaction was triggered by Jordan's actions—

No food waste!

This is the last bite, this isn't good!