Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 576 Interlude You can make trouble if you want, what do you mean by letting Big Brother wear that?
This scene should not be delayed. Let us finish this Ascension Night Talk (? ) while we are still in the Emperor's Ascension Festival.

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Let’s not talk about how Sigismund, the first Emperor’s Champion, the former Black Knight and now the White Knight, led Perturabo’s Special Iron Guards to fight against the Bound Legion and the Emperor’s Advent Statue at the gate of the Ecclesiarchy on the Iron Blood under the watchful eyes of a certain Rogal Dorn’s electronic personality. The spectacular battle scene made the countless gods above and beyond the heavens cheer and place bets on the show—

Well, maybe someone still wants to see it.

However, they were definitely not the 2.5 Primarchs who had come to the officers’ mess on time to attend the Ascension Day dinner.

The Primarchs who now appeared in front of the officers' mess, which had been cleaned and decorated, were none other than Roboute Guilliman in the ultramarine, gold, and ivory power armour of the Ultramarines, Magnar Dorn in Dorn's iconic gold power armour, and Fulgrim Pallas in Phoenician purple, ivory, and gold.

They were each surrounded by several members of the Honour Guard from Isstvan III, and Guilliman expressed how strange it felt to have the Emperor's Children serving as his guards.

Strictly speaking, this only adds up to 2.5 Primarchs. When they came to the banquet, they all wore sashes and cloaks over their power armor. Guilliman also wore a crown made of fresh laurel leaves produced by the kitchen of the Destiny Steel to show his importance to this banquet.

"But why is the bay laurel produced in the kitchen instead of in the greenhouse botanical garden?" He once asked his fourth brother this question, and the latter replied that it was because bay laurel is a spice, so it was produced in the spice garden in the kitchen.

It sounds quite reasonable and elegant.

All in all, the officers' mess that had previously simulated the attack and defense of a famous hive city had now been demolished by the not-so-Iron Warriors of the Imperial Fists at an astonishing and high-quality speed, and a theater stage, viewing stands, and a banquet hall below had been urgently built.

Finally, large strips of red and blue silk and velvet trimmed with gold were taken out from the warehouse of a certain Primarch, stretched out and lavishly decorated the tall roofs and windows, while countless glittering star candlesticks floating in the air sprinkled down a faint scent of Lebanese cedar, cedar, frankincense and myrrh.

The Thirteenth Primarch almost choked as he walked into the officers' mess in full attire: the architectural style here could be described as a reproduction and stitching of the architecture of certain occasions he had attended before. Obviously, due to time constraints, some architects had adopted some previously built architectural styles and scaled them down to make them meet the standards for occasions attended by multiple Primarchs in the shortest possible time.

However, when he glanced at Magnar Dorn, who still looked happy and relaxed, and was chatting with Fulgrim Pallas, who came with him and was sitting on an anti-gravity suspended throne, he decided to pretend that he could not tell what buildings this place had incorporated into the occasions of important events in the history of the empire.

More festive hanging ornaments swayed everywhere with the breeze from the air conditioner. Guilliman took a look and found that in addition to various round human figures with wings, there were also some unique ornaments in the middle:

Small red round lanterns, even stranger red and gold strings that looked like plant tassels, symmetrical fish, some kind of fruit, intricate colorful knots, talismans with patterns made of words he didn't recognize and hanging with red tassels, etc., were very distinctive and reminded him a little of the decorations that Chagatai's subordinates would add to the edges of their cloaks and armor.

They were mixed on the connecting ropes of the conspicuous large emblem tapestries of the First Legion, the Third Legion (now it looked more like a whole phoenix than a wing), the Fourth Legion (it was just a silver skull mask!), the Seventh Legion (also the emblem of the Imperial Fists Chapter, no problem), the Eighth Legion (why was this? It was glaring!), and the Ninth Legion (still the familiar pattern). Guilliman's gaze moved to the other side of the viewing platform, where the legion emblem tapestries hung belonged to the Tenth Legion (the emblem of the Iron Hands Chapter, very OK), the Twelfth Legion (this had changed a lot, but the connection could be seen. He had heard Magna mention it, and was curious about what kind of Angron he would see in the future), the white emblem of his own legion (no change, thank God), the six-pointed skull (why was it here?), the sun beetle and some kind of canine (to be honest, although it could be guessed, it didn't feel real at all), and the Nineteenth Legion (no change at all, but why was it here again?). The connections between these tapestries were also decorated with those brightly colored small decorations, with a festive atmosphere that was more jubilant than sacred.

"What's wrong with you? Are you alright, Guilliman?" Fulgrim Pallas was the first to notice that something was wrong with him. His light lavender eyes looked over at him, full of solemn concern and rigorous scrutiny. Guilliman had no doubt that if he said he was feeling unwell, the Phoenix trainee would come over and begin reciting the professional first aid manual that Honsou had taught him and immediately let him lie down and wait for the pharmacist.

"No, I'm fine, I just felt sad to see so many flags that I thought I would never see lined up again."

"Indeed." The young Phoenix turned his gaze to the tapestries with the legion emblems. "They look so strange and yet so familiar that it makes my eyes wet."

... Am I really not having some special precognitive dream or real dream again? I remember last year on the Feast of the Ascension of Sanguinius... or something... Did I have a dream too? Wait, was that really a dream? Or is it now? ... Stop, Robert Guilliman, don't think too much.

With such questions in mind, they were led by the Silver Skull Honor Guard and sat on the viewing stand.

The familiar feeling of the viewing platform... makes me miss it.

But it seemed unlucky to mention the ceremony, so as not to spoil the fun of the two younger brothers Magna and Pallas.

Guilliman still shut his mouth and turned his gaze to the stage. The Astartes sitting neatly below looked very happy. They saluted the Primarchs, and even the coldest warrior had a rare smile on his face.

This is... good.

The Thirteenth Primarch also had a smile on his face. Although this was not his offspring, he hoped that one day he would be able to see them hold such a banquet on Macragge.

The lights on the stage went out temporarily, and the curtain opened under the spotlight.

The play dedicated to his brother's death anniversary is about to begin.

Guilliman found it absurd, but at the same time he was very curious about what kind of drama would unfold.

Large masses of cold fog that was gleaming with light seeped out, and the space began to become illusory and flickering as shadows of people appeared around.

The Primarch's face changed, and he grabbed the ceremonial sword at his waist - but he could only grab the hilt, while Magnar had already pulled out most of the blade, and Fulgrim had already pulled the gear axe from the armrest of the wheelchair and lit it - that was it. The reactions of the spectators below varied, but most of them were frozen in the moment before they tried to fight back in astonishment.

"Next..."

Countless slender and light shadows appeared from the suddenly emerging dimension.

“Please enjoy the new play, Hera’s Wedding, brought to you by our Hazy Path Theatre Company! Please believe that although it is as short as morning dew, it will definitely bring great shock and a refreshing new experience to everyone present!”

As the play progressed, the other audience members who were frozen in the dimension of the crew did receive great shock and unprecedented novel and terrifying experiences, but here.

Only Robert Guilliman's eyes revealed a genuine and rare look of horror:

Among the Eldar buffoons performing for the crowd on stage, one was clearly portraying himself, Roboute Guilliman.

And what the hell is this show called?!
The Primarch's blue eyes trembled violently.

Whose wedding?!
No no no no this is not a prophecy! This must be an alien conspiracy! Smear! Rumor!

————————“Sigismund…”

There was such a sacred and pleasant voice in the golden light, which called the Knight Commander's name like a sigh. It was ethereal and distant, with infinite charm, enough to move ordinary people to kneel down and cry bitterly.

But his heart is as hard as iron.

"The man is gone."

The summoned resurrected calmly threw the ammunition in his hand, sending a fire warrior who rushed up back into the opponent's territory. Without looking back, he made another elbow strike. The sound of the collision between alloy and ceramic steel covered up the sound of the more fragile things in the power armor breaking. Then, the third attack ammunition used on him was caught by him and returned in full.

“I am the only one left here.”

The last warrior with flames on his body was thrown back to the feet of the golden light, and then began to distort, blur, and melt, like the shadow of heat waves steaming on the road under high temperature.

The long-range multi-frequency detector of the Templar leader told him that on the altar deep in the chapel, the warriors beside the throne who had just been "killed" by him according to the rules were reappearing from the flames burning high on the altar.

"Sigismund..."

"It's the ninth round." The Yulong Improved Robot said coldly, "I noticed that the rebirth time of your team members has begun to lengthen. It seems that even now after the Great Rift has opened, your power growth is not unlimited. There are still many limitations in terms of intensive rebirth in a short period of time."

"..."

"Considering the types of weapons and the effects that both of us have been told to use in this special space-time field, can I assume that if more conventional combat weapons are used, the number of times your soldiers can recover and the time required will become less and longer?"

The White Knight continued to talk to himself, and the defensive positions of the Iron Ring Robots silently formed a complete defensive circle behind him.

"And you personally use this incarnation to lead the troops... It's an honor, Your Majesty. The last time you personally led the troops was before Ullanor."

Sigismund's visor retracted into his helmet, and with a slight and short mechanical click, a human face made entirely of metal was revealed. The electronic bionic eyes imitated the color of the former azure irises, and the golden laurel wreath was tightly integrated with the steel forehead. "So I personally went into battle because there was no other commander. It is indeed not decent enough, Your Majesty. So, what do you want? Or who do you want? Let me make it clear that my current state is no longer able to match your strength."

"…Dorn. I want my son."

"My father is indeed... dead." The Templar Knights General's fists clenched quietly and involuntarily, "But he can no longer serve you. You cannot take him away. His soul still stays in his recast body, connected to the main system here. Lord Perturabo will not allow his flagship The Thinker to go offline like this. Even if I can convey your request, I don't think your request will be met, Your Majesty."

"..."

The other party continued to propose a few more names.

Sigismund paused and clenched the "snowball" formed by cold energy in his hand, while more "snowball ammunition" began to condense and take shape around him.

"It looks like our 'Ascension Day Snowball Fight' will have to continue, Your Majesty. Until someone changes their mind."

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Ramizar was lying comfortably on the super-large hospital bed in the office, assisting with work (due to his recent mortal body transformation, the amount of help he could provide was reduced a lot, and he could only provide his own brain interface), reading a book, enjoying Rekha coffee and the delicious roasted venison, fermented pickled bird eggs, fermented sauce and cold vegetable protein extract gel from the cafeteria's patient kitchen. Suddenly, he remembered something. He turned his head to look at Perturabo BC, who had a frown on his face, a serious look in his eyes, his canine teeth slightly bared, and his tail curled up.

Light from dozens of screens and monitors were all reflected on the border collie's face. Since the dog's fur was shiny but not a mirror, Ramizarn had no idea what he was looking at. He just looked like he was not in a very good mood with his teeth bared. So Ramizarn waited for a while until Perturabo BC, who had already noticed his sight, gave him half a look and asked him what was the matter.

"That's right." Ramizane secretly pushed the book he was reading into the quilt to avoid angering Perturabo BC, who seemed to have a greater workload. "I suddenly remembered something. The Assumption of Saint Jarles... seems to be equivalent to Christmas in Ancient Terra."

"It is the same time indeed," said the dog impatiently, typing out several commands in reply. "You interrupted my work just to tell me this?"

"Ah, no, that is to say, I suddenly thought of something. In this way, after his Ascension Day, it is said that the Emperor's Ascension Day is to commemorate the day when the Emperor sits on the Golden Throne. It lasts for a week. Does that mean that today is also the Emperor's Ascension Day? During Christmas?"

"So what?!" The dog exhaled hot air from his nostrils.

"Christmas... I just thought about who would be the best person to be Santa Claus, pfft."

Perturabo BC suddenly turned his head and stared at Ramizarn who was laughing to himself with a terrifying look.

“Don’t…!”

The dog caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye that the data of two items on an account that had finally been balanced at the end of the year began to jump wildly again.

"I mean, considering the fact that he can appear in any residence at any time to surprise people and is very mysterious, and he lives in the forest, and considering his appearance..." Ramizane said with interest, "Then your eldest brother, Leon, seems to be the most suitable to be the Santa Claus of this galaxy!"

"[Gutaira swearing] Shut up...!"

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This day on the dark side of a distant empire.

Both Chaos and Alien suffered devastating, sudden and close blows.

Countless citizens of the empire were rescued, but according to subsequent investigations, they all said in unison that the savior from heaven refused to leave his name, nor did he allow them to leave any images of him. In the description, he was a tall old man wearing a red power armor with white edges, a white beard, a kind face, a red hat with white edges, and accompanied by snowmen, green trees, strange mounts, and a big bag full of endless weapons.

(End of this chapter)