Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 585: Both Ends of the Story
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"Mortal eyes cannot gaze upon the face of the Primarch for long, just as mortal eyes cannot gaze upon the sun for long."

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The gentle ticking of the brass timer woke the old man.

The air conditioner hissed and spit out a mixed gas with a slightly filtered smell into the air, allowing the entire room to maintain a certain oxygen content and temperature while sleeping, so he felt that his mind recovered well after this sleep.

The room was dim, but bright light similar to sunlight poured into the hotel room they had regarded as "home" for several weeks from the gaps behind the heavy blackout curtains, reminding him that it was already late - the public lighting facilities recently built in Wandering Port miraculously replicated the 24-hour circadian rhythm of Terra in this remote place at least hundreds of thousands of light years away from Holy Terra - it was said that the next ambitious plan of the administrators here was to replicate Terra's four seasons and more different weather.

This is all very nice and makes the residents talk excitedly about the future. But it is also too extravagant to be considered suspicious, because Port Wandering is not for the rich and powerful, nor for those who come to participate in some unknown and exclusive island vacation activities like the guests of Quatis.

As a small port originally built for supply, there has always been a garrison here, but more often than not, people have to rely on themselves to defend themselves from attacks by orcs, pirates, or crazy wandering traders.

After three rounds of expansion, Wandering Port is now a rich void nest filled with more and more vulnerable and tempted ordinary people and more job opportunities. It is like a piece of cake that becomes bigger and sweeter with the hard work of the people on it, suspended in this area surrounded by aliens, heretics, pirates, criminals and lawless adventurers. It exudes a tempting atmosphere, and it should only be a matter of time before a large-scale attack or multiple tentative attacks occur.

But judging from the Rogue Merchants Dynasty and the security guards of the Carlosini Dynasty that the old man had seen in the past week, who had actually completely controlled the place - or to put it bluntly, the number of Astartes that were "extremely contrary to common sense and gathered in extremely dangerous numbers", at least the Wandering Port itself should not have to worry about the manpower in case of a siege, and its ability to resist boarding attacks is definitely very good.

However, there are too few offensive vessels in the fleet here, and too many merchant ships and giant freighters. If, during this window of rapid development, a large group of enemies engage in a high-intensity war, or if low-intensity battles occur simultaneously in multiple locations, such as cult infiltration, orc attacks, or pirate plots, it will be difficult to send out support from the port in a timely manner to support the scattered asteroids and orbital platforms, and this prosperous situation will eventually be turned into a pot of decadence that carnivores and scavengers love the most.

——But considering the shops and restaurants in the center of the Square of Miracles and the colorful lighthouse that is impossible to exist but exists, it is difficult to directly apply the tried and tested experience of other empires in the world to what the consequences will be if such a thing happens.

——The intelligence collected is still not enough, and the depth of the investigation is still not enough to reach the level of the Archons. Originally, it was said that these two mysterious and powerful Archons would often appear directly in the window box of the restaurant, but recently it was said that they were going to inspect the surrounding farms, so now it is impossible to approach and observe them from the restaurant.

It must be said that the shock he felt when he saw the Astartes's face that looked so like his own in the restaurant that day had lasted for a long time and was one of the reasons that delayed his investigation of this place.

But did the consuls really go to inspect the farm? Judging from the clues so far, this is most likely a trick. That is to say, there may be more important and urgent things than handling government affairs and inspecting the farm... If they can take this opportunity... And... Why do two consuls appear and disappear at the same time? The two-person ruling was originally designed to deal with going out and staying behind. It is actually very unreasonable for them to keep doing this, unless...

The old man pondered and got up from his simple but comfortable bed. The tour guide lady had indeed not lied to them at all. This hotel could be said to be the second best place he had ever stayed in. The first and most comfortable one had been destroyed in the battle during the pursuit.

As soon as he moved, gravity made the permanent scars and mechanical implants left by old injuries in long battles and journeys more prominent. His flesh and bones felt the soreness of the heavy burden, and his lungs worked tenaciously, squeezing out a long sigh.

His coarse black hair had turned soft and silver now—but that didn't matter, since most of it was gone forever anyway.

Just like everyone else he had met for most of his life.

He glanced at his demon host-servant, still imprisoned in the metal frame niche, and saw the other party grinning silently at him, extending all the way to the gray gums.

The psychic servant boy he brought with him was still sleeping soundly on a small bed made of a sofa at the other end of the room. Unlike when the old man met him in the ship wandering in the warp and took him in as his follower, just a few weeks of comfortable life in Wandering Port had quickly erased most of the traces of the boy's previous wandering and gang life. Only a few - especially the tricky ones in Wandering Port - could not be overcome.

"Zael."

The boy grunted but did not wake up, so the old man raised his voice again, and this time the boy finally woke up, grunting and rubbing his eyes - ever since the old man encountered and eventually recruited several more capable, even overly capable, new followers during an unexpected investigation more than ten days ago, the boy had less things to do, so it was no wonder that his vigilance deteriorated so quickly.

"Water," he grumbled. "Medicine."

"It's not time for you to take your medicine yet. Get up, they will be here any moment. Today you have to accompany them to investigate near the restaurant. They can't go too close without you." The old man said sternly.

"Then why not let it go?" The boy said dissatisfiedly, pointing at the demon host whose mouth was still grinning from ear to ear.

He looked extremely thin, with rickets and atrophied limbs. The traces of long-term malnutrition and deficiency of various trace elements since childhood had not yet completely faded from his body, so it was difficult for people to estimate his age accurately. He looked to be between eight and fourteen years old, or older or younger, but the most striking thing was his swollen eye bags, dark circles and that weird complexion - many people would think that he was too tired or sick, but in fact, experienced law enforcement officers would understand at a glance that only a real drug addict would have such a horrible face.

After getting a new helper, the old man has been trying his best to solve this problem for the boy. The current effect is in the early stages of withdrawal reaction. They have found some alternative and relatively "mild" drugs for him, but the boy's special psychic power is also extremely valuable. He himself can't explain how he did it, but he seems to be able to make the lighthouse and the alert sleepless guards lurking in the dark near the lighthouse "invisible" to the new followers sent by the old man.

Moreover, the new followers he recruited not only had their own ideas and goals, but also needed the boy's psychic power to help conceal their appearance.

The smile on the demon host's face was now twisting and swirling, almost overflowing from its human face, and it actually did so. The flesh began to dissolve like a candle, tentatively trying to leave the confinement of the metal frame. That exaggerated smile was more of a flattery and fawning that concealed fear than a smile.

Something is coming.

"Tap." There was a very subtle sound coming from the window. Then three tall black figures appeared at the window like shadows emerging from the light. Just standing there, they almost made this originally not-so-small room seem cramped.

"You are here."

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Although all members of the Eldar delegation had arrived, they did not stay in Macragge for long.

Now, in the banquet hall that originally belonged to the Chapter Master, the ten company commanders who had been present with their respective champions and sergeants were nowhere to be seen, the heroic warriors of Macragge were silent, Malcador was not there, and the former Imperial Regent was dealing with the affairs of the sector with the eighth Primarch, who went by the alias Kant Cratchit, in an incredibly angry manner - the latter agreed to do so because he could always see Malcador being annoyed, and he claimed that "it was very good for my mental health."

Regardless, there is now a "Regent of the Imperium", the "Primarch", "Robert Guilliman" working on Macragge and beginning preparations for what most people think will be a pilgrimage but will in fact become an expedition.

Another Primarch, whose existence no one knew and no one could feel, had used his abilities long before to travel deep into the Webway where the Dark Eldar were, so apart from Julius and the silent Ahriman, only Varo Diglis's Librarian Power Armor, which was more cobalt blue than ultramarine, was here to represent the Ultramarines in the fulfilment of the banquet.

After several rounds of polite exchanges, in which each side used ancient poems, dramas and legends to make malicious quips or ridicule the other side for being not advanced enough, and after a few ambitious elves adventurously tried the rough and overly seasoned food of humans, the polite conversation, which was originally quite boring, began to gradually come to an end.

After the suffocating silence spread eerily in the hall for a full six seconds.

Julius put his napkin aside.

This seemed to have triggered some kind of signal that transcended races. Starting with Si Zhan and the Harlequins, the Eldar left one after another, and in the end, only Ivrenee and Eldrad were left here.

The Daughter of Shadows performed an elegant court curtsey to this modified being, whose position as the Thirteenth Primarch in the fabric of fate was firmly established to her, even though she still did not understand why. Indeed, any other bioengineering result created by crude and crude genetic modification and drug infusion would not be worthy of a noble Eldar like her. She had originally expected to only bow to the demigod creation of the ancient emperor, but the vague and ambiguous hints from Eldrad and Inad told her to make the right choice at the right time.

Therefore, the Daughter of Shadows, who had chosen many paths, did not uphold the usual arrogance of the Eldar. She saluted politely, and then praised the other party's achievements in the most sincere tone. Finally, she said goodbye with the most regretful tone, saying that she had equally important things to do, and that those things would be very helpful in jointly fighting against the more, bigger and darker dangerous times that were about to come with the Human Empire.

So she received the farewell words from him with an expression and tone that seemed extremely sincere. "I really don't know how to express my intention to keep you." His voice seemed to come from another dimension. "Next, if we can continue to get your help on the journey we are about to embark on, it will surely be even more powerful. Bjetan's daughter, can you really not stay by my side for a few more months?"

The words were so sincere and the psychic power in the voice was so strong that the Death Army mistress almost agreed. At this moment, she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her calf, and someone was secretly pulling her skirt from behind. Her strong-brained cat was furry and arched its body to hide under her skirt to scratch her, and it was the Supreme Prophet who pulled her skirt to remind her.

So she immediately and gracefully unfolded her blade fan to hide her fear, and replied with a smile, "We have completed our mission to weave fate. Great magician, you have obtained the armor called fate, and seized the power and kingdom of a primarch under the nose of fate. Even the owner of the Harlequin Troupe would admire such an achievement. How dare we take credit for it? I only hope that you will not forget our enthusiasm to come all the way to help you, and let my relatives still have a place in the future grand plan."

Julius, in the form of Guilliman, nodded. "Someday, ma'am."

His eyes swept over the Great Prophet who seemed to be relieved but whose muscles stiffened because of his name. "Great Prophet, I hope you understand that it is definitely more beneficial for you not to speculate or disturb my father without authorization. Well, then, I wish you two good luck in fighting and can teach your great enemy and our common enemy a lesson."

"I also wish you a successful start and a smooth journey. I hope that when our destinies cross again, we can achieve a better result, my lord."

Julius nodded in greeting.

After watching the two Eldar leave the banquet hall with graceful and light movements, Ahriman also stood up and left, leaving only Varo Digris and Julius Robert Omar.

The Chief Think Tank turned his gaze towards the head of the table, only to be met with a pair of eyes that were already staring at him as sharp and clear as flint.

Diglis realized immediately that this was the time he had been waiting for, the moment alone that Julius had left for him.

He leaned forward and saluted the almost lifelike figure of the Primarch at the top.

"Perhaps you would speak to me of this, my Lord, or of those who serve a master I know not. The fate of a Primarch is not easily replaced, and if there is anything in it that can help those we serve, those of our bloodline, I would listen to your teachings."

The other raised his hand and stroked the prominent tear scar on his neck that ran across his throat.

"It is indeed convenient to talk to smart people. Dear Digris," he said. In an instant, it seemed as if tens of thousands of years had flowed through him. "Then let's start with this scar."

(End of this chapter)