Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 350 "How are you?"

The white-haired old man in a plain old green civil servant robe leaned against his flaming golden eagle staff on the side of an armchair, sipping his tea and slowly began to screen the candidates for the next private agent to go to the world of Ocasos (Note 1).

Opposite him was the body of the Demon Lord and Fourth Primarch of the Iron Warriors Legion, who was posing in various postures to make himself feel comfortable, drinking coffee while diligently pre-processing (providing his wetware brain computing power to process) various raw data for Perturabo. His aide-de-camp stood beside him.

On the upper right side of the white-haired old man, behind the central desk, sat a beautiful black and white dog, with gorgeous, thick mane surrounding his noble face in an imposing manner.

Perturabo was surrounded by countless floating datapads, servoskulls holding them or other files - these things were still widely used due to replacement costs, interoperability and inventory - and other projection panels and input devices, making it impossible for people who walked in to see what was behind them at first.

This was the first scene that Pastor Geratos of the Black Templar Saint Redemption Expedition saw when he walked in.

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Indeed, as a person who lived ten thousand years later, even if he was an Astartes monk, Geratos should not have recognized the true identity of Kadur Malcador.

But he now had the vision of the Emperor's Champion, which cut to the chase and revealed what lay beneath the first veneer.

So of course (not of course).

When he first directed his sharp gaze, filled with righteous holy wrath, sternly toward the heretic wizard psyker who seemed to be full of evil power.

Geratos was horrified to find that not only was there a bright halo around the old man, but also an indescribable magical power was silently transmitting a piece of information into the depths of his consciousness, telling him who this person was. At this moment, the built-in monitoring system of his power armor began to sound the alarm on his physiological indexes.

Because the great power bestowed upon him by the God-Emperor clearly told him: this is the hero of the Empire, the former Regent of the Empire, the Prime Minister of the Empire, the Saint of the State Religion, the Alpha+ Psychic (Note 2), the Magic Mark Malcador.

Just a day or so ago they had pointed their fingers and weapons at Malcador's nose and called him a heretic, a blasphemous, evil wizard.

Feeling almost suffocated, the priest turned his gaze to the other side of the room, and then he met a pair of friendly ice-blue eyes.

The being on the twisted throne grinned at him.

"Are you OK?"

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"What's up with him?"

The former Imperial Regent in the room was still leisurely recording and flipping through books, and the busy Border Collie Primarch behind the desk showed no intention of condescending to come over to see the little priest.

So before their noble Primarch began to move himself, the attendant first moved from his standing position to the unconscious priest with an agility that was inconsistent with a Terminator.

After some inspection.

"I think he suffered a cardiac arrest. My Lord."

"What?" Ramizane sat up halfway. "Does he have congenital heart disease? This is not a dangerous place. What now?"

"His power armor's built-in emergency rescue system has injected adrenaline and started the AED. His heartbeat has begun to return, my lord."

"Oh." The fourth Primarch slowly lay down again. "First aid has been given, so quickly get professionals to take care of him. Send him to the Desert Ark's infirmary to observe his condition. It's not appropriate to move the patient at this time."

"As you wish, my merciful Lord!"

——————Geratos looked into those eyes.

His true vision allowed him to see things that no one in this world should ever see.

No, no, is this still a real thing or existence?

No, no, it exists...it is not anywhere...it is everywhere...

So vast, huge, complex, and numerous...

He couldn't tell.

His soul flew forward involuntarily like a comet attracted by a star.

Geratos' feet suddenly left his body and he fell into the long stream of time that was roaring and surging in the highest sky.

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"I see!"

Ramizarn shook his head as if he had suddenly realized something, and the biological cables tied into a bundle behind his head swayed with his movements.

"It must be because they are black orcs... Black Templar! They are different from other chapters. They really believe in the state religion. Geratos is a priest of the Black Templar. Oh, I have no experience with this type of people... I really didn't take it too seriously. I should have called Li Kevin from the Destiny Steel to give poor Geratos a shot of prevention... I vaguely remember that as long as they are sincere enough, they can see a lot of marks that others can't see, right? It's a bit like, um, a halo appears in the eyes? It circles a target and tells you who is the most powerful and threatening here, and then you have been strengthened and you go to fight him quickly? This is very idealistic, no wonder they are called black orcs."

He took a sip of hot coffee. "He must be frightened by a dog like you who is perfect, powerful, and intimidating without even getting angry. Hey, he's so fragile. I'm beginning to worry. Are the three monks who went on a business trip to Wandering Port really okay?"

"Why do you need to change your words? You just said the name anyway." The black and white dog snorted mockingly, exhaling air from his nostrils, and began his 671st attempt this week to balance the accounts.

And there is no rebuttal to the statement about perfect powerfulness.

"You can't say it too fluently, otherwise you won't be able to hold back..."

One leg of the Fourth Primarch's body was resting on the armrest of the sofa, one arm was draped over the backrest of the sofa, and the remaining hand was holding a cup of "self-deception" milky Reka coffee without sugar but with his latest invention of caramel flavoring.

This salty fish attitude was praised by Ahlin as "so elegant and leisurely, your every move represents the supreme nobility!"

Although the man's dog, His Royal Highness Perturabo BC, made a comment that sounded very strange to others: "It's a pity that you don't wear a vest, big shorts, shark slippers, and a palm-leaf fan to eat a watermelon."

This time Angron Petra had wisely slipped away early to "get some fresh air" on the bridge.

"It seems that you have indeed experienced many interesting things that we have never experienced, Perturabo." A huge parchment notebook was spread out on the knees of the former imperial regent. His quill was still writing intermittently. The golden pen tip engraved with a small magic circle moved on the paper, making a rustling sound.

"Hey, little thing, has no one ever told you that it's actually rude to record other people's words without permission?"

"Little one? Alas, alas, you have neglected even the slightest courtesy to show your respect for elders. But you have soft fur now. I ask for your permission, Olympian Tyrant Perturabo?"

"No sincerity!"

Ahlin grabbed his black combat boots and silently dragged the unconscious Geratos out of the office.

(End of this chapter)