Warhammer, I'm a nanny, not your father!

"Simple doesn't mean right, and complex doesn't mean wrong. Sometimes, shortcuts lead to thrones paved with bones."

Angron's emotions were unconsciously drawn to Wop. "What about taking a longer route?"

Wop: "Maybe this road will be more difficult, maybe this road will have more wonderful scenery. My advice is, no matter which road you take, don't let yourself regret it. The important thing is to follow your heart."

Angron: "If it were you, what would you choose?"

"I'll take the shortcut."

Angron was stunned.

Wop: "Actually, I've always wanted to be Homelander, not Superman."

In fact, Wop always felt that Cozee was the person most like him.

Chapter 84: A Brilliant Plan (5K)

"I'll take the shortcut."

Wop's words were like a meteor, smashing heavily into the young Primarch's incomplete worldview.

Angron lay in silence in Wop's arms, realizing that Wop was not exactly what he had imagined.

He still regarded Wop as his father, even though Wop didn't let him call him that. However, Wop's choice did not affect Angron's feelings towards him at all. He was more thinking about the struggle with himself.

Worp would take the easy way out, but he wouldn't make the choice for Angron.

"I will support you no matter what choice you make."

Angron finally understood the meaning of these words only now.

They are different individuals, on different paths.

He has twenty brothers, but how many of these twenty brothers would give up the shortcut and choose a detour like him?

I'm afraid most Primarchs would choose the shortcut.

They do not have such high moral standards and do not have such strict demands on themselves.

Angron's psionic power acts more like a magnifying glass for emotions; it doesn't distort light, but simply makes existing colors more vivid.

Just like the gifted orators of the M2 era who could ignite the audience's blood with passionate speeches and make an entire nation fight for them, Angron's ability was to dispense with those carefully crafted speeches and directly catalyze the dormant beliefs in people's hearts into a prairie fire.

There is no right or wrong law. If used in a right way, it is right; if used in an wrong way, it is wrong.

"Don't think too much." Wop's warm hand fell on his hair. "I said, no matter which path you take, I will support you."

Angron looked up and saw Wop still chattering like an old woman.

"If you don't understand, just ask. I'll definitely answer you. If you still don't understand, keep asking until you understand. Don't just ponder it in your mind. Overthinking can easily lead to getting stuck in a rut and becoming twisted, like Perturabo."

Angron: "What is Perturabo like?"

Wop was embarrassed. "It's hard to describe how twisted he was, but he was just incredibly twisted. He would draft a city wall with mathematical formulas, then personally smash his masterpiece with a battering ram. Finally, he would carve a line of small words into the ruins: See, this is what you forced me to do!"

“That’s pretty twisted,” Angron murmured. “I hope I never become like him.”

"I also hope that you will never become like him, otherwise I will suffer a lot."

"Have you decided how to educate him?" Angron asked.

"Not yet." Wop sighed. "So far, all the Primarchs I've educated have been good children like you. Of course, I'm not saying Perturabo is a bad child. His heart is good, and his starting point is not wrong, but it's best not to set off yet, otherwise the further he goes, the harder it will be to turn back."

Wop rarely shared his experience in educating other Primarchs, because no one except Angron would ask.

The reason why Wop was so persistent in telling them the stories of his brothers growing up was because he wanted the Primarchs to be closer. They were all born from the same father, so even if there were conflicts, they should sit down and talk it out.

Many tragedies in official history are caused by miscommunication, just like an absurd and bloody misunderstanding.

The family members held their breath and hid in the dark living room, the trembling candle flames in their hands illuminating the carefully prepared cake.

The child outside only heard an eerie rustling sound, their fighting instinct instantly tearing through their sanity. When the AR rifle's bursts of fire stopped, a mixture of cream and blood dripped onto the ground, and in the hands of their dead parents was still clutching a card with "Happy Birthday" written on it.

In the Warhammer world, don't create any surprises, otherwise there is a high probability that it will turn into a shock. Wasn't the Emperor's Webway a big one?

The whole subspace knows about your plan that is full of loopholes. They even revealed the color of your underwear. Who are you hiding this from?

Wop didn't want to see conflicts between the Primarchs, so he tried his best to teach them the importance of communication.

He has always set an example by himself and never hides anything, and his educational results are very significant.

Curze became the Batman in his mind, Lorgar became the Messenger of the Golden Word, and Russ... well, he traveled through time again before he saw Rus return to the empire, but he believed in Russ.

Besides, Russ in the official history was not bad at all, except that his preference for using fighting instead of words was a bit difficult.

Wop: "Have you figured it out?"

"Yes." Angron nodded. "I won't look back."

"Mira." Wop called out.

"I...I'm here." The little girl instinctively shrank back.

Wop: "Have you figured it out?"

"Actually, I don't blame them," Mira whispered. "Everyone in the village is a very good person." She thought for a moment and added, "Except the village chief."

"If someone else turned into a witch, I would definitely be as scared as they are. Mom only let me go to protect me. My older brother is also very good to me. Everyone is a very good person."

She repeated it at the end, lowering her head in embarrassment. "I'm not as smart as Angron. Maybe it's because I'm stupid that I can figure it out."

"Who said you were stupid? Just because you have this kind of awareness, you're already better than many people!"

"Hehe." The little girl felt sweet in her heart at Wop's recognition.

Wop's big hands covered Angron and Mira's heads at the same time. If you want the Primarch to grow up healthily, you must choose the right education method and the right environment.

The ideal symbiotic environment for the Primarchs had long since turned to ashes with the explosion in the Emperor's laboratory. The Primarchs who were supposed to sharpen each other's spirit are now scattered like lonely constellations in the galaxy.

But this best environment has been destroyed.

Then we can only settle for the second best and find some people of the same age for the original body.

There are definitely no real peers. Wop can't bring two babies over to be playmates for the Primarch, right?

Therefore, we can only choose teenagers, who can make up for the original body’s lost childhood.

Although the Primarchs' development time is very short and they can reach adulthood in a few months, which will severely compress their childhood, a shorter childhood is always better than no childhood at all.

Curze has Night Haunter, Lorgar has Erebus and the Ring of Ash, and Russ has Brother Wolf and Jorin Bloodhowl.

It's a bit too little for Angron to have only one Mira, but his birth environment was indeed harsh, and Wop could only try his best to make up for it.

……

"stop!"

The slave-hunting leader shouted loudly, and the others surrounded them tacitly, slowly approaching Wop and the other two.

"What do you do?" The slave catcher's eyes moved down along the indigo texture of Wop's clothes.

While in Terra, Wop wore the same plain gray-and-white work clothes as the other workers.

While at Nostramo, Wop wore clothes designed and sewn by Dorothy and Fili.

Even after so many years, Woppe has always worn this suit.

The stitches that Dorothy and Phillie had made back then were still as fine as ever, and the cuffs were embroidered with stars in silver thread, symbolizing the spark of life.

He didn't change his clothes because he couldn't bear to do so. After all, he was the first Primarch, and it was the first time someone had sewed clothes for him personally, which was of great significance.

This suit would be worth a fortune even in Nostramo, and it would be equally valuable in Nuceria.

The slave-hunting leader was obviously afraid of his clothes. The red light in his mechanical artificial eye swept back and forth over it, and the modified visual processor was estimating its value and craftsmanship.

"Are you a slave-catcher?"

Wop's gaze passed over the hyena-like slave-hunting team and fell on the creaking prison carriages behind.

The rusty iron cage glowed a dark red, like blood scabs, in the damp air. Each bar was wrapped with a barbed chain. The huddled figures within the cage were bruised by the collars, and they swayed mechanically with the carriage's jolts, like a group of marionettes whose souls had been drained away.

The slave-hunting leader suddenly realized that Wop's gaze had never really fallen on him. The feeling of being completely ignored was even more painful than the voltage of the neural whip around his waist.

"Snapped!"

The slave-catching leader suddenly raised the whip in his hand, and the tip of the whip exploded a dazzling blue-purple arc in the air.

"Now I'm questioning you!" the slave-catching leader sneered. "I now suspect you're a spy from another city-state. According to Article 17 of the City-State Border Control Law, I have the right to take suspects back for questioning!"

The slave-hunting leader was initially worried that there was someone behind Wop, but he soon figured it out. If there really was someone behind Wop, how could he wander alone in the wild with two children?

Most likely he is a fallen nobleman. Such people can usually be sold at a good price, and the noble lords of Desia like to play with people like him.

Those two kids are pretty good looking, and if they were sold as a package, the price would be much higher.

Wop sighed. He knew that there was a reason why he was being harassed. They were too conspicuous.

The caravans we met along the way were all in groups, with dozens or even hundreds of people traveling together.

He was the only one there, unarmed, carrying a little girl and holding a small child, walking through the wolf territory like three sheep straying from the flock.

Wop could even imagine what the slave-catchers saw: a moving ransom note, a walking black-market equivalent, or a combo package with two premium juvenile goods.

Wop asked, "How much do I usually sell one like this for?"

The slave-catcher was stunned, thinking he was frightened and sneered hoarsely. "If the buyer was a noble, they would be willing to pay 800 Decia gold coins, but that has nothing to do with you. Do you still want me to give you two as a commission?"

"Oh." Wop nodded, and the slave-catching leader also nodded. The head flew up along a perfect parabola, and the mechanical prosthetic eye continued to rotate under the action of inertia, projecting the last captured image on the retina - twenty-three headless corpses were like harvested straw, stiffening for a moment, and then the spurting blood intertwined into a scarlet spider web in the sunlight.

The slaves in the cages in the distance trembled collectively, holding on to the cages tightly with both hands, as if they wanted to stick their eyes out of the cages to see clearly how they would die. The rattling of the chains sounded like some kind of distorted cheering.

With a slight turn of his wrist, Wopp's blood-stained gold coins floated out of the corpse's pocket, drew an elegant parabola in the air, and finally fell into his palm with a jingle.

Although he is still not as good as the Emperor, he is now becoming more and more proficient in using psychic power.

"Do you want freedom?" Wop's eyes swept across the cage.

"Are you a wizard?" An old warrior in the cage raised his scarred face. "Never mind. Who you are is none of my business. I just want to know if you can help me seek revenge on those high-ranking knights."

Wop said, "If you're lucky, you can chop off their heads yourself. What's your name?"

"Oenomamus." He knelt before Wop in his cage. "My Lord."

“Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!”

The links of the chain seemed to have been precisely cut by countless invisible blades, and the broken parts were as smooth as a mirror.

The metal shackles that bound them fell like harvested ears of wheat, making dull sounds on the car floor.

Angron watched the staggering slaves silently, knowing that he would lead these people in rebellion.

He could feel their emotions. They had nothing and didn't even have a chance to resist.

But the fire of awakening burning in their eyes at this moment was actually the fire that had long been buried in their hearts. Angron had only blown away the dust that covered it, adding another spark that could ignite the world.

He influenced them with his power.

Unlike the villagers who wanted peace and quiet, these slaves themselves wanted to rebel, so he helped them.

……

"That is Desia." Onomamos pointed to the magnificent city.

While the city's buildings weren't as grand and towering as the hives, they were equally breathtakingly vast. Its silhouette wasn't like the hive's spires piercing the heavens, but rather like a sleeping steel behemoth, its low, yet kilometer-long body stretched across the wasteland.

But it also has similarities with the hive city. For example, the cities of Desia are also full of tall and magnificent spires.

Nuceria, like Macragge, is entirely populated by Space Romans.

Macragge focuses on the Senate and the conflict between Rome and the barbarians, while Nuceria focuses on the city-states and slaves.

But the technological content of Nuceria is no less than that of Macragge, and in some aspects it is even higher.

The winding column outside the city gate was like a dying snake, and the ragged civilians hunched their backs and slowly crawled in the dust.

Wop: "Are you sure the soldiers at the gate won't check us?"

Onomamos chuckled hoarsely, "My Lord, I know the virtues of these people so well that you don't even need to speak."

The wall of Desia stretches across the wasteland like a rusty scar, and its two gates divide the world into two distinct parts.

The civilian passage on the east side huddled in the shadows, the winding queue like a dying centipede.

The noble passage on the west side and the ground outside the city are paved with exquisitely carved marble.

"Get out of the way and make way for my master!"