Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 320 In the Infirmary
“This is totally unexpected.”

Talos - now fully stripped of his power armour for the first time in centuries of service, donning simple linen robes - had been urged to return to the Armoury for an overhaul due to the dire condition of his hardware and the even worse condition of his Machine Soul, which had caused the Mechanic Priests, save Dietrian, to begin chanting strange binary prayers.

At first, these oil men were a little hesitant in their service, trying to hide their precarious loyalty to the human incarnation of Ohm Messiah. However, after discovering Dietrian's simple but extremely rich military database and the S·T·C· template fragments promised by the Lord of Night, they now want to serve as mechanical donkeys pulling the mill for the Eighth Legion.

That was the STC template fragment promised by the Emperor's son who was probably the best second vision in the universe (as for whether he was a demon, the machine spirits had given extremely positive signals at present)! Even if he didn't have it now, judging by the excellent foresight performance of the Night Lord in the battles and rule of Tessaguassa for several months, it was certain that if this person said he could have it, he would definitely have it!

"Indeed." Valere sat aside and swiped the data tablet in his hand. This former pharmacist who was born in the Red Pirates and was the apprentice of the Corpse Lord had looted the infirmary of the Crown-Coronation and now he had upgraded his weapons to other ones. At the same time, he was also making the only pharmacist brother of the Third Company run around in circles. The poor Astartes was so busy just remembering Valere's instructions on ward rounds, dispensing medicines, taking samples for testing, writing reports, etc., which he would never repeat a second time.

"I didn't expect that after ten thousand years, the probability of new colonists on Thessaguarza producing psykers through natural mutation alone would be so high. Although this place was once our Legion's second home and corpse world, it is so remote and barren. At least before we left it for the last time, there were actually no Unliving Beings or Soul Sea Rifts here, and even the Warp Channels were mediocre. I have never seen such a psyker production rate - perhaps the Sorcerer Star of the Fifteenth Legion can be comparable to it, but I haven't seen it with my own eyes."

"Rumors about that planet - it's better not to have seen it with your own eyes. When I was in Hell's Iris, I heard that the Scarlet King of the Thousand Sons wizards seemed to be a little strange recently."

"You mean those rumors that he's beginning to lose control of the Legion?"

"Exactly. Although being a warrior under the wizards of the Fifteenth Legion is definitely not something that people would flock to, and the servants of the Lord of Change are always unpredictable. Too many inexplicable actions are taking place every moment in every corner of the universe."

"But there are also some of them in the Black Legion. Abaddon has always been interested in more powerful prophets. I guess this is a part of everyone who tries to be the leader. The time he recruited me was not a pleasant experience. Luwen is really a complete idiot."

"With all due respect, Talos, until we met the Night Lord I always thought that your insistence on bringing our entire ship to this frontier corpse world, Tessaguarza, in your feverish delirium was an irresponsible and mad act, just like your father was. Of course, now you are considered by all the Blazing Claws to be the greatest prophet brother the Eighth Legion has ever seen, and I heard that they have recently begun to think that you may be the greatest prophet of the twenty legions in the galaxy in the past ten thousand years."

"Ahem! Don't ever mention this in front of the Primarch. My talent is not even one ten-thousandth of my father's - but the Thousand Sons were still loyal to their father."

"That's true. But before I left the Maelstrom, I also heard that some wizards' silver towers appeared in places they wouldn't normally appear. Let's not talk about them... By the way."

Talos stood up slightly, and the densely packed tubes on his body moved with his movements. The pink implants and sutured scars of the new wounds were neat and beautiful, showing the superb and calm technique of the operator. He carefully took out the sympathy gifts and snack boxes in front of his bed and put them away. The sympathy gifts could only come from Septimus and Octavia, a couple who were really living together on this ship, and the snack box decorated with midnight-colored wrapping paper and red wax claw marks was terrifyingly from the residence of the Lord of the Eighth Army. He had to hide them all before others knew about it and came to rob them, especially the snack box he was reluctant to open. "How are 'those'?"

Valer stopped fiddling with the instruments beside Talos's bed and raised his lightly pigmented eyes. "Two hundred and thirteen failed, and one hundred and nine are ready to be harvested." He answered briefly, "Sixty-one were successful, all in a dormant state in sterile tanks."

"Does the Primarch know?"

"I haven't told him yet. If you want, I can just destroy them or write them down in the next report." "...Tell him. After all, I didn't intend for you to die here with us, Valer."

"What do you mean? You mean you didn't want me to fight to death with you in this worthless hellhole?"

"We are the remnants of the past, the echoes of the curse. We return here and die here... Yes, but you are different. You are a Night Lord, but you are not cursed. You hold our final future in your hands... Malcharion and I were planning to send you away before the final landing."

Valer took a breath. He seemed to be smiling, but it was more like he was using a smile to suppress his anger. "Do you know how annoying your words can be sometimes, brother?"

"I rarely see you lose your temper, Valere."

"You always asked too much of me, expected too much, Talos."

"But it's all right now. Our father, our Primarch, our Legion Master has returned."

"Yes. And looking more like a human father and lord of the Legion than ever before that I have ever known."

They were all silent for a moment, and only the smell of instruments and disinfectant filled the new infirmary.

As one of the facilities that the Primarch had requested to be rebuilt, this place was completely different from the one they remembered: the place filled with densely packed rusty steel dissection beds, filled with the smell of blood, littered with broken limbs and wounded groaning in pain, with the ground always wet and filled with sticky blood and suspicious biomass, like a slaughterhouse.

Talos lay back on the white linen pillow, letting the back of his neck, which was coated with anti-itch and anti-inflammatory ointment, be gently and comfortably supported.

"You did a great job, thank you, Valer." The worst pharmacist of the Eighth Legion thanked him sincerely. "Although you slapped me twice, I am still very grateful that you were willing to come and join us at that time. You are a true member of the Night Lords."

"Thank you. I also think I am very professional in my field of work. Also, we no longer owe each other anything, and there is no need to thank each other in such a special way. This is what I should do when I leave the Maelstrom and put on the winged skull of the Night Lord. I will always stand with you because we are brothers who will die together, Talos. No matter what, we have come this far together, and we are all members of the Eighth Legion."

The prophet lay on the pillow with his eyes and mouth closed, so the pharmacist couldn't see his expression. He adjusted the nutrient intravenous drip inserted into the combat potion port on Talos' wrist to a low speed, and then walked away quietly.

(End of this chapter)