Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 353: Guide (Part )
An eternal battle.

In the end, they saw through each other's every move, every look, and every intention.

Geratos felt great remorse, for he had the feeling that the heretic's actions were in sync with those of the saint, like a person attacking his own reflection in a mirror.

For a moment, their faces even began to overlap, and the foul psychic energy of the Night Lord was guided and extended to fill the entire body of Sigismund, who had no psychic energy at all.

He blinked, and the feeling immediately disappeared like a bubble.

The strange Midnight Lord, who had been fighting for two days and two nights and was able to maintain a speed and fighting skills that was not inferior to Sigismund, suddenly hit Sigismund with his helmet. The latter had no time to defend with his sword this time.

The Templar Captain's helmet was cracked, but his sword still cut through the visor of the Prince of Crows.

Half of that handsome, pale face was covered by his own red blood, but there was a strange smile in his black eyes as he looked at Sigismund.

"Your first blood, mine. Sigismund."

"Hey! You're breaking the rules!" a tall Imperial Fist shouted from the side, and Geratos noticed the double axe logo of the Executioner Chapter appeared on the front of his yellow armor.

The Midnight Lord turned a deaf ear to this. He just shrugged, showing a slightly bored expression, casually and coolly put the halberd on his shoulder, and prepared to leave.

Just as the two first captains passed each other, Geratos heard a whisper that no one else heard, but only Sigismund could hear.

"There are no winners here. And, you see, my brother," the voice of the sinner almost did not exist in the world, "things do not always develop in the same way. This is true for honor, and for you and me."

What did he mean by this? How dare this hateful and abominable traitor pollute the ears of his Lord Templar and injure his honor with such vile words?
But to Geratos's surprise, Sigismund remained silent.

When the pastor turned around, he saw a hollow and suspicious smile flash across the corner of that handsome face that was as firm as a rock.

The Black Templar priests were surrounded by nameless panic.

Then his feet were empty again.

He found himself standing in a place that looked like a command post in an underground air-raid shelter. Men and women with dishevelled hair and dirty faces were shouting and running around in uniforms with Imperial Sky Eagles that he had never seen before.

And in front of him stood another shining, tall, but tired person. No, how could it be a person? The moment that great figure came into his sight, the overwhelming supreme ecstasy ignited Geratos' body and mind.

"Is it you?! Holy Dorne?! It's you! Is this the reason why I was sent here?! How can I bear such an honor!"

For the first second, Geratos really thought that he was sent to retrieve the soul of Dorne, who was already far away from them.

But the experience of three consecutive scenes with different scenes made him realize that things were far from simple.

He noticed the haze on their godlike gene-father's resolute, immovable, almost stiff face, and the darkness in his eyes. It was not caused by physical damage, but the pressure could only come from the invisible and huge expectations felt mentally, as well as his overly upright and stiff standing posture. The priest couldn't believe his eyes. He had only seen this posture when some unqualified new blood went to the battlefield for the first and last time. It was like - it was like -

The voice sounded again.

"It was as if he was already overwhelmed, facing the endless demands of his father's responsibilities and the equally endless malicious destruction of his brothers. They wanted to attack him from both sides and destroy him completely, but he was unwilling to give up, because he knew that at present, he was the only one who shouldered the fate of the entire tribe, the entire species, and the love and hate, fragility and strength, despair and hope of all of them."

The voice sighed sadly.

"How he wished that any of his brothers would stand by him and help him at that time! But they didn't! Geratos! No one! No one! Although there may be some proof afterwards that they did what they should have done, it can never change the facts that happened at that time. Do you understand?"

The voice became low. "Dorn, father, my lord, only I can protect him... I will do it for him..." The priest saw Rogal Dorn speaking, his voice was stiff, cold, and as desperate as the smile on his lips.

"So all those things the girl told you about, which I thought were superstitions, are really happening one after another, aren't they? I even made you suffer for it. But now even Malcador is beginning to waver. I don't know what's worth holding on to, unless we can survive this."

The lines on the Primarch's face softened for half a second as he looked at the person in front of him, and then he put on the stone mask again, which could not show any sign of wavering, fatigue, weakness or giving up.

A determined and sharp face with pursed lips was reflected in the white-blue pupils that were even beginning to show bloodshot.

Dawn smiled again as he looked at his proudest son.

The smile was as empty and sad as his eyes.

"Remember what I told you after the ceremony at Ullanor, Sigismund?"

"I remember, my Lord."

"We talked about the end of war. We talked about the imperial truth, humanity, unity, progress, and tolerance. We talked about how we will eventually eliminate ignorance and let reason and fairness rule everything, put an end to warlords and exploitation, and make hunger and war disappear from the galaxy. We will no longer let the species we protect be threatened by fear and live in fear. After the arrival of true peace, what amazing things will future humans create and how will they build their own brilliant and bright future."

The Seventh Primarch's voice was barely audible, he was almost talking to himself.

"If that time ever comes, my son, you will be by my side even if you don't believe me."

The voice that answered Rogal Dorn overlapped with the one that Geratos heard.

"I will always be by your side, father. No matter where you go."

"So."

Geratos thought he would have the honor of hearing the Primarch's words in person, one of the most famous orders given by Holy Dorn to Saint Sigismund, and the beginning of Saint Sigismund's becoming the first Champion of the Emperor - I set you free, my beloved, my best, son., to fulfill the mission you were originally created for (Do now what you were made to do.), to hurt them. (Hurt them.)

"My dearest, best, son, I will..."

Suddenly, the face of the Primarch, whose face was almost broken by the weight of the Emperor's will, the nascent empire, and the fate of the entire human race, began to twist and change, until a brand new face carefully recast from moon silver and adamantine emerged from his neck.

Geratos, who was witnessing this sacred and solemn scene, leaned back and let out a choking sound, his hair standing on end at this change that was not in any record or possibility.

"I will no longer let you sacrifice for me, let you be driven by Him. I have witnessed the coldest and cruelest darkness, it has repeated again and again for ten thousand years. This time."

So said the death mask of the relic of Dorne that Geratos knew as the dead, opening its cold, graceful metal lips.

The white-blue eyes behind the mask rekindled the blazing flame of will and determination.

"This time, my son, this time our dreams will come true."

"And this time, you and all of you will be by my side."

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And this is the sick, melancholy Peiren and his dirty paws that everyone is concerned about.

(End of this chapter)