Warhammer 40,000: Mortal Gods

"Also, about the Primaris Space Marines."

Before the communication ended, Guilliman suddenly remembered something particularly important.

The Primaris Space Marines are no secret by now, but Guilliman has not yet sent the Primaris Space Marines to various Chapters because he can't find any good reason for the time being.

Caul once said one thing, that is, Lord Tyron asked him to help upgrade the Weeper Chapter's Primaris, so Guilliman felt that Qin Mo should know which Chapter needed and was willing to accept the Primaris Space Marines.

Qin Mo has the ability to predict the future.

Guilliman needed his advice.

"My opinion is, communicate more." Qin Mo said, spreading his hands, "Most war groups think that the Primaris Space Marines are colorful ultramarines, so you have to talk to them more and tell them about the defects of the gene seeds and so on. Said otherwise they are unlikely to accept the Primaris Space Marines."

"I think the hardest thing to deal with is the Space Wolves," Guilliman said.

"That's right." Qin Mo couldn't agree more. "Do you know what would happen if you sent Primaris Space Marines to the Space Wolves? You would kneel down to Logan and beg him, but Logan wouldn't It will give you face, and they will even start discussing whether to kill you when they learn that you are going there."

After hearing this, Guilliman laughed at first, thinking it was impossible, but after thinking about it carefully and reasoning step by step, he felt that he could really do what Qin Mo said.

The Primarch knelt down to Logan.

This may seem unbelievable, but Guilliman felt that if forced to do so, he would have to kneel down.

Otherwise, why don't the Primaris Space Wolves created by Caul just go and stay?

"The heirs of Russ really don't give me face." Guilliman sighed, feeling helpless.

Qin Mo curled his lips, not surprised.

The differences between Space Marines are not differences in culture or tradition, but differences in the genetics of the species.

For Space Marines, warriors sent by a seemingly ambitious Primarch are very untrustworthy. In their eyes, Primaris Dark Angels Primaris Space Wolves this and that are all nonsense, colorful extremes Just a warrior.

"Isn't Ryan on Terra?" Qin Mo suddenly remembered something, "Ask Ryan to send the Primaris Space Marines and let him deal with the most difficult Space Wolves first."

Guilliman shook his head without thinking: "Llane? Forget it. I have enough things to deal with, and I really don't want to deal with the fight between Lion and the Space Wolves."

"Lian has changed." Qin Mo pointed at his head, "Brother Primarch is now very wise. Although he was once just a barbarian pretending to be a civilized person, he is not now."

After hearing this, Guilliman thought about it carefully and felt that it was true.

Ryan has definitely changed now.

But there is another problem. The Dark Angels also need to supplement the Primaris Space Marines. What if Ryan also thinks that the Primaris Dark Angels are blackened Ultramarines?

What if Llane went to the Space Wolves and ended up agreeing with Logan and deciding to oppose the Primaris Space Marines together?

Guilliman expressed this concern to Qin Mo.

"Lian has never been in contact with his heirs?" Qin Mo asked a seemingly irrelevant question.

"No, he's probably hesitating. Although he doesn't seem to care on the surface, I can feel that he is hesitating," Guilliman said.

"Then Ryan should be quite happy to accept Primaris." Qin Mo said thoughtfully.

Guilliman thought for a moment and finally made a decision: "I will contact Lion first and ask him to see his Primaris Space Marines. If he chooses to accept it, let him take the Primaris Space Wolves to solve the most difficult problem. Children of Russ, if you don’t accept it, then I have to find a way to make him accept it, but that must be after this war is over.”

Qin Mo nodded: "I'm still in a hurry, so I'll hang up first."

Communication ends.

Guilliman leaned back on his chair and thought about Qin Mo's matter.

"hehe."

"Ryan is hopeless."

…

Espando.

This world that was previously synonymous with tranquility and peace has now become the most intense battlefield.

On the plains covered with putrid mud, five hundred world auxiliary troops prepared to defend against the next wave of enemies in the trenches they dug.

Facts have proved that the five hundred worlds run by Guilliman have always been the backbone of the human empire. Whether it is the combat effectiveness of the mortal army or the logistics supply, the five hundred worlds are the best after Talon.

The individual protective equipment produced in the industrial world is distributed to every soldier. The Four Elites and Space Marine managers would rather withdraw the troops who do not have complete protective equipment supplies than let mortal soldiers breathe the stinking air. Fight hard despite the situation.

An infantryman named Valens stayed in a trench at the front of the entire position.

He and his good brother sat in a pile of mud mixed with excrement, took out food sealed in an iron box, and inserted a straw from the gas mask into the iron box.

Then after the cleverly designed straw is inserted into the iron box, the sealing structure in the straw automatically opens, so that the soldiers can suck the food inside.

"Valens, what are you licking?"

The soldier named Burroughs was holding the iron box, and his eyes under the lens of the mask cast a puzzled look at his best brother.

Burroughs saw that under Valens' mask, a tongue would appear from behind the eye lenses from time to time, as if he was licking something vigorously.

"I was looking for a straw." Valens continued to search with his tongue. Fortunately, he found it. He rolled the straw with his tongue and put it into his mouth. "The shell in the middle of the night blew the straw in my mask out of shape."

Burroughs sighed helplessly, leaned against the metal plate next to Valens, and continued to suck the food from the iron box.

"eat quickly!"

"It's two minutes to seven hours. We don't have much time to eat."

While all the soldiers in the trench were sucking their lunch, the masked officer, followed by an escort, walked into the trench.

Valens dismissed the officer's words. He knew that the officer was a nobleman. He could go directly into a sealed cabin and take off his mask to eat, instead of sitting in a trench like a big-headed soldier and being hit by shrapnel in the mud. Holding his buttocks, he struggled to suck food from the iron box.

God Emperor.

Valens sighed inwardly, feeling like he was almost deprived of oxygen due to the vigorous sucking action.

Ding ding ding ding ding!

Alarm bells suddenly sounded in the trenches.

All the soldiers, including Valens and Burroughs, subconsciously threw away the iron boxes, picked up their laser rifles and lay down on the shooting position, waiting with bated breath.

The warning just now was a seven-hour warning.

Because on the battlefield of Espando, after the enemy's offensive was broken down, the attack would start again every seven hours.

In seven hours, plague warriors, plague zombies, and those weird monsters will emerge from the dense forest at the front of the position.