Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 330: Well, if you want to say it is flesh and blood, that is correct.
Ultramar 500, the promised land of the Imperium's Far East, the realm once ruled by Robouti Guilliman, and the location of the new beacon during the turbulent years when the Emperor and Holy Terra were extinguished by the Astronomican in the Heresy.

Of course, if you hear anything extra, it's all just rumors. (BANG!)
Because even the Ultramarines themselves, after so many years, so many deaths and cover-ups by people with ulterior motives, no longer know certain details of their past history.

After all, this universe is too vast for the time and cognition of a single human being, and don't think too much about things in the subspace.

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"Thinking leads to doubt, and doubt leads to change, my old friend," said Varro Tigris.

This respected and powerful Chief Librarian was walking under the corridor of Hera Fortress with Marneus Augustus Calgary, the leader of the Ultramarines, Lord of Macragge (Note: Guilliman has not yet woken up), and the Guardian of Greater Ultramar.

They walked through ancient gardens filled with spice plants and shrubs. Both of them were unarmored, the Chief Librarian in a modest shirt and Hellfire robes, the lining of his psychic hood still attached to his head, with tubes and cables extending to the back of his neck and behind his ribs; while the current Chapter Master of the Ultramarines wore a warrior's tunic, with leather swordsman tassels and a few gold and white carved Ultramarines chapter symbols and skulls and golden wings adorning his shoulder armor, belt, wrist guards and greaves.

"Indeed, Varro, I am always amazed by your cautious approach to your own great gifts."

"My psychic power is just a tool, a weapon, Calgar." The Librarian's face, which always looked melancholy, added a hint of sadness. "A weapon that can enable me to turn the tide of battle and fate. If you want to say it is a gift, then it might be a curse."

"Why do you say that, my old friend?" Calgar paused, and they stood in the shadow of the white and yellow marble columns in the hot afternoon sun of Macragge.

"The guards reported to me your recent mumbling and restlessness in meditation." Calgar's warm blue-gray eyes stared at the Great Librarian. "If you have any foresight about the future of the empire and our future, I implore you to speak up, Volo. You know you don't need to hide anything from me."

"My lord." The chief think tank sighed softly, and the end of the standing staff in his hand stopped on the marble floor that had become uneven but smooth after thousands of years of trampling. "I did see some... pictures of the future again."

His brows were tightly furrowed, and the look in his eyes was so tangled and painful that Calgar almost had the urge to reach out and smooth his brows.

"You know, my predictions have been changing frequently recently... and..." Tigris paused, "It's incredible. I think." The current chief think tank of the Ultramarines, one of the most powerful prophets in the galaxy, admitted painfully, "I may have begun to be corrupted by Chaos, Calgar. You should probably find someone to lock me up and keep me under strict guard, or let me go to the cell in a dignified manner."

The Ultramarines' Chapter Master was obviously shocked. "Has it come to this?" he asked. "I have not received any reports of Chaos omens nearby, and the monitoring stations and patrols have not sent back any special emergency reports yet."

"But I saw it! Calga!" Tigris roared in a low voice, and the think tank director's eyes flashed with a faint blue light of psychic energy. The air around them suddenly rolled up a strong wind, blowing the plants and flowers in the garden all over the place. "I saw the enemy coming from deep space! The ruler of blood! Born in blood! Everything they did was to try to completely destroy the will of the warriors, corrupt and desecrate our companions! I saw traitors and betrayers partying in front of the Hera Fortress! I even foresaw myself swallowing the flesh and blood they gave me without resistance..." His lips trembled and he couldn't speak anymore. He knelt on the ground with his staff.

"My Lord! I beg you, for our future and safety, to let me go into the dungeon until the prophecy is revealed or you need me to prove myself in battle."

"Get up, Varo, you know there is no need for this between you and me." A deep furrow appeared between Calgar's brows at this moment, "But considering your status and past glory, if you insist..." "I insist! My lord!" Tigris raised his head suddenly, "I even saw more blasphemous omens... I willingly accepted the gift of the enemies of the empire, and I voluntarily served under the heretic..." When these words came out, the director of the think tank almost couldn't raise his head because of pain and shame, and Calgar froze for just a moment, and then helped his old friend, old comrade, the Eldar, Orc and Tyran Destroyer Tigris up.

"I'll arrange it," he said at last. "Don't worry, old friend. Before that, let's go to the greenhouse outside the throne room for a drink. I heard from the kitchen steward that the newly developed colony has brought a large amount of high-quality and delicious fruits and vegetables to the market in Macragge. We can first taste your favorite fresh cheese with tomatoes and basil..."

As they walked away, the psychic wind gradually died down, leaving behind a mess of fallen flowers and leaves in the garden, which emitted a faint fragrance under the scorching sun.

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"Hmm, what a satisfying growth curve! I love to see the walls high and the granaries full."

He was slumped in the command throne in a haphazard manner, with a pile of cushions behind him. Octavia, who was also a cushion lover, enthusiastically made a large number of cushions for the Lord of the Legion after learning about the Lord of the Night's hobby.

The popular decoration style of the Eighth Legion's power armor now is to hang a pendant made of small bones, beads or cloth strips made by slaves on the waist, which will swing when walking. The shoulder armor and helmet are the key cleaning objects. They must be wiped clean! Bright! In this way, if you are lucky enough to leave a beautiful and complete meat pad shape, you can immediately find someone to copy it and nail it on as a small symbol.

The blood-red claw marks matched the power armor, which was reforged with Nostramo adamantium and displayed natural lightning patterns.

Ramizarn took a sip of the hot milky Rekha coffee and squinted his eyes in satisfaction - yes, after the initial first-level product trade routes and markets were established, a large amount of goods were immediately imported. After all, the refined gold ore guaranteed the payment - the Macragge market had a rich variety of products, and his Rekha coffee was finally available again!

"At this point I think we can start considering going to the 'moon', after all - what do you think?"

(*If it was before, I would say yes, but now, the more knowledge I learn, I would say that place looks more dangerous. - I hate you! You make me more and more like to follow reason instead of instinct to make judgments! This really makes me feel annoyed.)
"You said that, but I saw that you often asked Talos and his men to take you down to search the library of the Temple City."

(*…I just went to see if the text there was tainted by Chaos just in case!)
"Yes, yes, by the way, find some old books to sharpen your claws, and then throw the books to the offspring you think they need them, that's it."

(Several Night Lords exchanged glances with each other - or rather, began to exchange malicious glances)
But a sharp voice from the gargoyle's mouth broke the comfortable atmosphere on the bridge at the moment.

"Your Highness! Mistress! Mistress she!"

(End of this chapter)