Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 356 The Other Side of the Ark

When a certain "Sleeping Beauty" intentionally or unintentionally quietly stirred up an uproar on one side of the Desert Ark that would cause headaches for the two "Primarchs" of the Iron Warriors in the near future, the situation on the other side of the Glorious Queen's ship was... much more harmonious?

Saul Tarvitz took the lead, walking down the ramp of the transport plane with the graceful steps that were unique to the Emperor's Children ten thousand years ago.

Behind him, a group of glittering(?) warriors filed out, beautiful, majestic and magnificent.

Even the 7th Captain of the Ironheart Company, Balor, and the 9th Captain of the Ironheart Company, who were ordered to wait and greet this special team, had to admit that these ancient warriors had a different temperament from many contemporary heroes.

Everyone has his or her own legendary style.

legend.

indomitable.

full of hope.

They still have absolute confidence in the future and believe that the galaxy will become a better world in their hands and be passed on to future humans.

It is this invisible yet contagious aura that makes this ordinary hangar suddenly appear glorious and bright.

The characteristics of each of them were so distinct that Balor and Olympius could immediately identify each of them without checking the list.

Saul Tarvitz, the swordsman's silver hair was neatly combed into a cape style, wearing silver armor with patterns carved by himself, hanging a re-improved power saber of ten thousand years old on his belt, and proudly decorated the golden wings and motto of the Third Legion on the right side of his brand new shoulder armor;
Gaviel Loken, with a pair of beautiful grey eyes that look slightly worried beneath his short flaxen blond hair, his black shoulder silver armor is modestly surrounded by a sea pine green embroidered gold cape, the ancient emblem of the Moon Wolf that has disappeared in the long river of history is gleaming on the buckle of his cape;

Tariq Torgadon, a warrior with broad shoulders but a slender figure, the same black shoulder silver armor on him brings a unique sense of chic and ease, making people feel that he not only looks like a wolf but also gives people a strange sense of intimacy;
Caleb Morrow, wearing a Mark 12 with a silver skull paint job, with no extra decorations. His stoic and calm expression and still grayish skin color were the only clues to his gene seed origin;

Koragg, the "Singer of Miracles", a proud son pulled back from death by Angron Petra himself, a centurion of the World Eaters created by Angron Tark, carried his chainsaw axe on his back and had the same weapon chains on his wrists as the Ironhearts.

The last veteran, with his face full of battle scars, nodded as kindly as he could to the two captains who came to greet him - after all, they were all sons of the Twelfth Legion, and here, Angron Petra was their glorious Primarch.

"Hello, little Naklo, and little Ollie!" The old centurion's voice rumbled like thunder in the summer sky. "It's been a long time since we, old bones, came to inspect whether your fighting pit is suitable for bloodshed!"

"It's my honor, Singer of Miracles." The same call of blood surged in each of their bodies. Korag had already made a great name for himself in the fighting pit of the Desert Ark, and the others in this team were also highly respected fighters on the red sand.

As the top warriors among humans, the understanding they gained from each other through blades, sweat and fighting is worth thousands of words. They have already gained the recognition of others from the bottom of their hearts with their own strength and actions.

"But after all, Tarvitz is the captain this time," the Centurion smiled at them. A scar at the corner of his eye made his smile look kind but mixed with indelible cruelty. "So I won't say much to you for now." "Thank you, Koragg." The Emperor's Son said sincerely, and then walked up to talk to the two Iron Heart captains.

"How is the situation now?"

"In fact, the Black Templars - oh, that is, the largest sub-group separated from the Imperial Fists during the Second Founding. They are in good spirits at the moment. Lord Angron said, 'Fortunately, they at least still believe in the State Religion.'"

Saul Tarvitz frowned. "You mean they...?"

Captain Balor nodded. "Yes, just as you thought, anything is possible after ten thousand years. These sons of Dorne are firm religious believers. Very firm. Unlike most Space Marine chapters, they directly believe in the state religion and begin to carry out their eternal crusade throughout the galaxy in the name of the Emperor, God."

"What! A group of Imperial Fists who are fanatical about their belief in God! This is truly the funniest joke I've heard since I got here! I mean, it's second only to when I witnessed His Highness Perturabo split into two parts and the furry one could actually wag its tail..." Torgathon's excited comment was immediately suppressed by Loken beside him.

"Shut up, Tariq. That's why you always sit on the bench for the Honor Guard. His Highness Perturabo doesn't like you always staring at his ears and tail." Then Gavial warned with a stronger tone, "Besides, what we have experienced cannot be explained entirely by the Imperial Truth. You'd better be careful with what you say and do."

"Well, you're right, Gavial."

As they continued toward the bridge of the High Tyrant of Nuceria, Sol Tarvitz had already obtained most of the intelligence they needed from Balor.

The question now is, what do the princes need them to do? To lead this fanatical expeditionary force? But they already have their own leading officers and priests, and the current environment does not require a small team like them to come and command them... There is no need to fight like this, and the Black Templars cannot be subdued by pure force.

This issue was not resolved until they received some guidance after meeting with the Twelfth Primarch on the bridge, who looked a little tired for some reason.

"Oh, you are finally here," His Highness Angron welcomed them with a smile from his throne on the bridge. "It seems that our business operations here can finally begin. I am almost annoyed by Malcador."

"I'm sorry—? Your Highness—?"

"Ah, apparently our former Imperial Regent does not want to let go of some people who are destined to be useful."

Angron's golden eyes scanned their faces. "I have been getting tired lately, so before you leave me to join my brothers, I can warn you that although you are born warriors, you are meant to fight on the front lines. But our situation is not as easy as it seems. In fact, to be precise, once you are separated from the protection of the Iron Blood and its owner, most of us are like a lone boat on the Soul Storm Ocean."

"The vast majority of the Imperium we once protected still hold horrible views of you and me, and the Unborn and the Masters of Chaos will never give up on capturing us as tempting trophies."

"Remember, Saul Tarvitz," he said softly, "if we leave our sanctuary, we will be the enemy of the world."

(End of this chapter)