Admiration is the farthest distance from understanding.
As the golden giant with a knack for charming humanity, the Emperor was born with an overwhelming ability to captivate others, making him unbeatable in communication—like a brain-dead aura, outshining even the most arrogant of protagonists.
Yet, this very ability led to a path of dependency. In his long life, the Emperor never truly learned to communicate. Coupled with his near-fantastical social anxiety, his parenting skills were less human than the old shark neighbor next door.
Fortunately, Diedrech Torismund had a wonderful childhood. After arriving in this world, he met old Thomas, a foster father comparable to the great Ymir, so he had no need for the so-called affection of his biological dad, the Emperor.
He wasn't some daddy's boy, was he? Did a grown man like him still need coddling?
Instead, over the past few days, these two morally flexible lumps of chaos developed a strange camaraderie, like that of mischievous friends.
After all, while the Emperor was a bit of a jerk, he wasn't wrong about one thing: for Diedrech, nothing in the entire galaxy held much worth clinging to. Perhaps only this ten-thousand-year-old turtle could alleviate his loneliness.
The two chatted about everything from 3rd millennium literature to humanity's past explorations of the stars, then from the Age of Sail to the current scattered and weakened state of mankind.
The conversation then devolved into mutual jabs and mockery, debating whether the Imperium would instantly become great if it had an Ultraman, only to end up arguing whether tofu pudding was better salty or sweet, concluding with a single line: I believe this world shouldn't end like this.
"Old yellow man, I think your methods for dealing with xenos are too merciful!"
"Huh? I'm too merciful?"
As soon as Diedrech spoke, the Emperor's slightly bewildered gaze turned toward his equally morally dubious son.
Since the start of the Great Crusade, the Emperor had been branded with all sorts of titles by xenos—tyrant, butcher—but never "merciful."
"Exactly! You're way too merciful, wasteful even!"
While absorbing knowledge in the library, Diedrech flipped open a tome and pointed to an entry about a xenos species called the Kroot.
"Take these lizard-like xenos, for example. Why wipe them out completely? We could totally raise them like meat pigs. They're not poisonous, so why not turn them into canned rations for the troops? How perfect would that be?
With the tech level of those mech-boys, using cloning vats and fully automated harvesting, a single planet could produce enough protein to feed an entire star system.
We could even go further—modify these meat pigs into cannon fodder legions, turn them into living wombs, control them with a gestalt network, and have them eat their own kind or enemy corpses to sustain themselves in battle. Create a flesh-tide disaster!
Such a simple idea, and you don't even use it? You're really letting us 3K folks down."
The Emperor understood now. In just a few sentences, he could see the efficiency of such a war strategy. But the problem was, how was this any different from the mad, dark-tech lunatics of old? It was just swapping Iron Men for bio-weapons.
"No. This violates the Imperial Truth. Tampering with xenos is a red line the Imperium cannot cross. You're going a bit too extreme, my son."
"Then I've got other plans."
Undeterred, Diedrech rattled off a series of war-crime-tier proposals: clone soldier legions, Warp fusion, scorched-earth tactics, chemical euphoria—each one a deliberate middle finger to the Imperial Truth. The eavesdropping Chaos Gods in the background were so thrilled they were practically waving flags.
But in the end, the Emperor used his fistfuls of fatherly love to make Diedrech understand the path of righteousness, sternly warning him not to commit such morally bankrupt acts that would taint the Imperium's purity.
Looking at his rebellious son, who, after a brief moment of compliance, began digging through files on abominable intelligence, the Emperor felt his blood pressure spike for the first time. He began to regret not vaporizing this troublemaker when he had the chance.
But then he recalled the psychic residue around Diedrech, coveted by the four Chaos Gods, and forcibly suppressed his skyrocketing blood pressure.
"Stop looking. The waters of AI are too deep for you to navigate. You'd be better off meeting your legion—they've been kneeling for half a month."
"Huh? Why are they kneeling?"
---
Tranquility.
Before the wreckage of the Titan pierced by the lance strike, ten thousand Space Marines knelt on the ground. For half a month, they hadn't touched a drop of water, waiting like the dead for their final judgment.
The initial joy of finding their gene-father had been replaced by panic. The thought that they'd blasted their father into half a body and that he still refused to see them made the Second Legion feel like the sky had collapsed.
Since the Great Crusade began, no legion had ever fired on their own Primarch. By Imperial law, the Second Legion was practically guilty of treason.
The ten company captains who'd collectively pressed the firing button were trembling, wailing over the internal vox.
"Gough, you're a bloody disaster! Why didn't you scout first? Now we're done for. We're the Second Legion's traitors—we nearly killed our father!"
First Company Captain Brian's accusations went unanswered, instead drawing a scoff from Fourth Company Captain Gawain.
"Shut up! You've got the nerve to blame Gough? You're the one who suggested the bombardment! Traitors to the Second Legion? It's not even certain the legion will survive. Even if we die to atone, the Soul Drinkers will be mocked by the other legions. It's over!"
Gawain's words silenced everyone. The truth was undeniable. The Second Legion's reputation was already poor, and now they bore the sin of attempted patricide. If they didn't hope to see their father one last time, they'd have likely died for their sins already.
Worse still, their Primarch hadn't spared them a single glance—not even to execute them!
"So you're kneeling here to repent, hoping to see your Primarch one last time before judgment? Why not explain yourselves? Are you mourning a death?"
"Explain? How am I supposed to explain?" Gough, kneeling at the forefront, sounded on the verge of tears, shouting into the internal vox.
"I gave the order. I'm the one who shattered our father. When I reached the surface, he was only half a body. I couldn't even find his arse!"
The voice came again.
"You're afraid?"
"Yes, I am afraid. I don't care about the other legions' whispers behind our backs, but I fear seeing disgust in our gene-father's eyes. I don't want the beauty I've chased to vanish. I'm just a coward."
The vox fell silent again. Clearly, all ten thousand Space Marines of the Second Legion felt the same. Eavesdropping, Diedrech couldn't help but feel exasperated.
Is this my legion? Why are they all so melodramatic? Am I inheriting a bunch of kindergarteners with the mental age of eight?
At that moment, Diedrech finally understood the Emperor's struggle. Leading a group of oversized children across the galaxy was no easy task.
But as he looked through the viewport at the ten thousand trembling giants kneeling below, a connection rooted in their shared genes made him realize—these were his sons.
"Sigh, you're right. But I refuse to see my sons kneel to anyone, not even to me."
The voice in his helmet began to distort. As the stormbird's hatch was pushed open from within, accompanied by the gust of wind rustling the grass, Diedrech stepped out.
Escorted by a ring of plump beastmen, clad only in a linen robe, Diedrech stood against the sunlight, facing his sons.
"Stand up. Let me see my sons!"
The voice of their gene-father instantly soothed the Second Legion's unease. As they raised their heads, they saw a smile bathed in sunlight, as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.
—Picture Here-
Unparalleled pride and joy surged through every warrior of the Second Legion, overwhelming them to the point of instability, forcing them to crank up their servo-motors to steady themselves.
"Father, I… I…"
"Shh!"
A hand pressed down on Gough's head. Amid the 9,999 glares that could've killed Gough, Diedrech halted his repentance and declared loudly:
"My children, warriors of the Second Legion, the moment I came to your side, I felt your loyalty and indomitable spirit.
My proud sons! The bond of our blood connects us. You may not be perfect, but in a father's eyes, everything about you is my pride.
Even if suddenly gaining ten thousand sons troubles me, we have plenty of time to mesh and achieve our great cause together!
This glory I won't hoard alone. In the name of Diedrech Wayne, master of the Second Legion, I swear to lead you to victory after victory.
Glory to the Second Legion!
Waaaagh!!!"
The long-suppressed longing was fulfilled in an instant. The warriors of the Second Legion welcomed their gene-father, cheering and celebrating their rebirth, howling like a pack of five-hundred-pound silly children:
"Glory to the Second Legion, Waaaagh!!!"
Meanwhile, two figures—one large, one small—watched the scene unfold through a holographic display.
[My lord, are you finally satisfied?] The old man at the chessboard raised his head, his eyes—mismatched with his aged appearance—fixed on the Emperor, whose grin stretched to his back molars.
[Yes, Malcador, our plan succeeded. The Second Legion will be the bond that anchors Diedrech. We've gained an ally beyond fate.
As for those filthy dogs still spying on him, I'll settle accounts with them. With my supreme will, I'll blast those four wastes to slag, ya hear!]
Ignoring the odd verbal tics, Malcador realized the Emperor had been corrupted again. He grabbed his staff and swung, the force creating a sonic boom in the room.
"Urgh~"
After a few dry heaves, the Emperor reverted to his stoic, stone-faced self, though the smugness in his eyes remained unchanged.
[Mere cognitive corruption. As long as it makes humanity great again, it's all worth it. What's more, Diedrech is now my son. With this deep bond, I'll be the one laughing last!]
Pfft… cough cough!
[My friend, what are you laughing at?]
[I… I thought of something funny. But my lord, the future we glimpsed shows your son will…]
This time, it was the Emperor who couldn't hold it together. But the golden giant quickly slammed the table, deflecting.
[The second is different. He's a bit… abstract, sure, but I can see he's like me—maybe even more human than I am. He's got enviable golden hair and calls me father!]
Hearing this, Malcador felt the weight on his shoulders grow heavier. But before he could respond, the door was kicked open from the outside.
"Old yellow man, what secrets are you and Malcador whispering about? Get over here—Daddy's got questions for you!"