Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 650: Mantis Catches Cicada
- Uh, Pepe, do you really want to fight a wild bear? Although I know you are the most perfect Perturabo in the world, this is a Space Wolf. This guy looks very capable. He and his armor are probably more than twenty times heavier than you. Your teeth are not long enough to bite through his outermost layer of ceramsite, and your claws - oh, my, their sheared tips have always been carefully filed off. How can you fight? Do you want my help? After all, the Primarch's height and power armor should still have an advantage over the Astartes...

——As the saying goes, even an old dog has a few teeth. Ramizarn, what's more, you are using my body now! You should know that the old man is 300% suspicious. I can explain it because of this body, but it is obvious that you are the only one who is not attracted by him and his inherited charm aura from the beginning to the end. This is good, but maybe you can consider whose face you are wearing? ! And if you don't plan to kill everyone here like I said, just be a little restrained, think about Magna, Pallas and others who are still waiting for us to return in our nest!

——Okay, I'll try to... act a little more like the other Primarchs. Uh, the word lair does sound very wolfish. Fortunately, we shouldn't be restricted by accents and languages ​​when we communicate telepathically... You really don't need my help? I can let Soltarn create stumbling blocks under his feet...

——No, no, you just need to have faith in me. Those wolves will definitely be suspicious, which will prevent us from carrying out subsequent affairs. You...even if I defeat the wild wolves, I am still your Perturabo, right?

——Of course! Pepe! You are the most handsome, perfect and smartest treasure in the world!
——Okay, Ramizarn, just watch.

The black and white fuzzy sheepdog nodded and turned his wise dark brown eyes towards the crowd in front of him.

- Once we've solved the "am I Leman Russ?" problem, we can solve the "mysterious orphan who suddenly broke in" problem. Keep an eye on him, Ramezan, until I get the Sixth Legion.

——I would have done it without you telling me. I remember that even if he wasn't a double agent who knew what he was doing, he was considered a key evidence and bait. Although I don't know the details... he should have encountered the blue soft monster's subordinate demon once. I will keep an eye on him.

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"Ahmad ibn Rusta, or, Kasper Ansbach Hauser."

When the wild bear's request for a duel was granted, the bard from the third company of the Sons of Fenris stood up with them. Just as he was about to step aside, he heard a voice he had never heard before calling him by his name. The voice was like pure gold falling on steel. It was not crisp, but very special. It sounded very convincing, and it had a lazy feeling that reminded people of a few yawns before a nap on a warm but not hot afternoon in spring.

The people of Fenris were crowded together like a pack of wolves, their ceramsite armor, hanging teeth and ornaments making tiny sounds as they struck against each other, but they naturally parted ways. The poet stood in the middle, looking a little dazedly at the noble man sitting next to the Emperor of Mankind who was waving to him.

In Hawser's eyes, the Primarch was not as tall or graceful as the Primarchs he had seen and approached, but rather square and stocky, and the modified Iron Knight Terminator armor deepened this impression. In front of the impressive weapon platform were broad shoulders, and the shoulder armor on both sides guarded a steel hood that had been modified by personal customization. Staring at him from inside was an unexpected face.

This was a face with ancient Terran bloodlines, but the complexion was paler than those Hyperion warlords or members of the Nicea Tech Tribe that Casper knew. It could even be said that it was as pale as the alabaster used in ancient statues. However, his features were not as delicate and perfect as the snow-white face of the handsome phoenix that Hawser had seen in the underground command center of Nicaea. His face was made up of cliffs and snow-capped mountains. Originally, it should have been the gloomy, cold, expressionless face of a dictatorial warlord and tyrant.

But now the unexpected thing about this face is that it is more like the face of a philosopher-king or a scholar-leader. It is friendly and wise and has a real smile, and not the kind of deliberately artificial social smile that makes the bard breathless.

This smile conveyed ancient wisdom, tolerance and confidence. The ice-blue eyes were so clear and warm that Hawser even felt a subtle sense of guilt when he looked at them: as if he had done something very sorry to the owner of these eyes.

So which noble son of the Lord of Mankind could this be?

In a split second, he could not find any candidate who fit the bill, such as Ferrus Manus and Rogal Dorn. Hawser's eyes moved away from the other man's face with difficulty, and the next second they were fixed on a small legion emblem on the power armor: it was a silver steel skull mask...

The Iron Warriors? The Fourth Legion? The Iron Lords?

Hawser, who had heard a little about the first thing that happened to the Fourth Legion after welcoming their father back, looked away quickly in disbelief.

Is this really the character of the Lord of Steel...? How could such a person do such a thing? Could it be that he has a personality that is both extreme and extreme...

"Casper Ansback Hauser. Bard of the Third Great Company of the Sons of Fenris."

The other party repeated it in a kind and most standard High Gothic language, without any impatience.

Hawser realized that he had been very rude to make a Primarch wait for him and summon him twice. Although he was still very uneasy, he walked out of the protection of the wolves.

As he walked forward, he even felt for a moment as if he was in this hot hall deep in the magma, being blown by a gust of Fenrisian wind.

"Your Excellency. Gasper Hauser sends his regards."

He saluted again before the Primarch, aware that he had a quadruple storm bolter in each of his hands. As he sat there, there would be more than four black muzzles pointing forward at any given moment - to mortals, the caliber of a Primarch-sized bolter alone was like a miniature cannon, and just thinking about the scene of being hit by its mass ammunition was enough to make one's scalp numb.

But the Lord of the Iron Warriors and the Lord of the Wolf Pack had never had much interaction. Even though he had brainstormed why he might be here before coming, Hawser was still confused. Judging from the seating arrangement, was he trying to stand up for the red-haired giant beside him? But now they were in front of the Lord of Mankind, and even a Primarch wouldn't be so bold...

The Lord of Iron stared at him for a long time, until the bard was frightened, and then he turned to the reluctant Marshal of the Custodians.

"Is it him? Waldo, you've seen him, please confirm it."

The Grand Admiral of the Custodes was not wearing a helmet. His white hair was only a thin layer close to his scalp. The combination of his deep eye sockets, high nose bridge and other facial features made his face look like a falcon on guard at all times. He nodded, not smiling. "It's him. This is the witness in our previous report, a long-term agent of the Fifteenth Legion, a double agent lurking in Fenris."

"What—" Magnus, who had been curled up in a chair with his red giant body since they entered the room, just came back to his senses when he heard the accusation. The Fifteenth Primarch was about to ask more questions, but was pushed back by his brother again.

"Magnus, don't be anxious. I will give you and your son a fair judgment later. Now let Casper follow me, and then we can watch the duel between 'Russ' and his offspring. Eat one bite at a time and do one thing at a time. After all, this matter has a higher priority now."

As soon as he mentioned this "witchcraft accident", the Thousand Sons Primarch's emotions miraculously calmed down as he glanced at the angry black and white sheepdog.

The Red Lord was radiant under the angry stares of the Space Wolves, and he answered in a good mood, "Oh, yes, you are right, my brother, let's go and see how poor Russ deals with the suspicion of his heirs. Alas! They actually doubt their own father! How shameless! In my legion, such a thing will never happen!"

"You great evil spirit!" Othrel roared and took a step forward. The rune stones and amulets in his beard and hair clinked against his blue-gray power armor. "It is you who brought the dark disaster to us!" He spat on the floor to get rid of the bad luck, and the other wolves followed suit. For a moment, the floor of the hall was filled with the hissing sound caused by the acidic saliva burning the basalt.

The Grand Marshal of the Imperial Guards gripped his weapon tightly, his hawk-like and resolute face twisted imperceptibly.

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This strange but theoretically noble and glorious duel was finally scheduled to take place in the presence of the Emperor.

But before it began, (in fact, to the shock of most people) the Primarch of the Iron Warriors Legion made several willful and even rude requests to the Emperor, and the duel had to be held in the center of the Nikaea Amphitheater.

"I don't need to worry about who was originally in those boxes." When he said this, he was the only one in the hall who dared to look directly at the center of the brilliant light like a supernova.

"But I demand that when the Sons of Fenris confirm the identity of their father, there must be a widely recognized, publicly effective message that is actually passed on to others. That is to say, those brothers who are still allowed to return to the disguised boxes should be required to sit back, and then also as our brothers, witnesses recognized by the Empire, watch the duel from beginning to end, and provide strong evidence for Russ who is now unable to speak. - I don't want to hear any rumors from our brother legions later, any doubts about... Leman Russ and his right to rule the Sons of Fenris."

In response to this request, the wild wolves maintained a silence that was beneficial to them, and even had some wary surprise and other complicated emotions towards the Lord of Steel who seemed to be speaking for them.

After all, even if they were to make these demands, they could not ask for more - for a legion like theirs, if the name is not right, then the words will not be right. If the command and the rights of the legion are not immediately determined to their Primarch, then the blow to the Hunt and Fenris will be extremely fatal.

It is true that this black and white "Leman Russ" had neither sharp teeth nor claws, and was far smaller than the smallest beast on Fenris. He even had a faint, strange and complex perfume on his body, and the strange connection between him and his offspring was almost non-existent. However, with everyone from the Human Emperor to their own warriors and priests present at the scene, it was impossible to refute the fact that "Leman Russ" was hit by Magnus's sorcery and turned into a "sheepdog" due to an unknown distortion. After all, many of them heard the roar when the Red King threw the flaming spear, and many people, especially those who could feel the anger and power contained in that spear, thought that was the final outcome of Leman Russ.

In the end, the wolf king did not turn into dust in the blow that could shatter the continent. He retained his brain that could communicate and even his oily skin was not scratched at all... Well, it can only be said that it was a blessing in disguise. At least he left his physical body and could try to recover it.

So, in the center of the amphitheater, which had become empty but still had a few spectators in the boxes, the wooden podium had been moved away, and the two duelists walked onto the black marble floor decorated with golden eagles from both sides.

"Who do you think will win?"

Fulgrim asked, the person he was asking was Sanguinius, the two Primarchs who had not been accepted by their father in the closed-door meeting just now. If the Phoenix might have had any thoughts about this in his heart, he did not show too much on his face, and his brother trembled his snow-white wings slightly. "It is difficult for me to judge, Fulgrim. If you ask me to judge the victory between an Astartes and a Primarch, or the victory between a mortal and a sheepdog, these are all judgeable, but an Astartes and a..."

He paused, as if looking for a word that would be less biased and less likely to give people a chance to err. "I can only give an ambiguous answer to a brother who has been transformed by witchcraft and turned into a creature whose body is much weaker than ours. Brother, I don't have any experience or knowledge to follow. I am more worried about how to deal with Magnus and Russ in the future."

"I'm not worried about that. Our father is here today and he will make the final decision - so you think it's fifty-fifty." Phoenix laughed. "That's a huge overestimation of the dog that Russ turned into, Sanguinius. Even if the dog contains Russ, it will only take one round. The Astartes' enhanced body can easily deal with a canine creature of this size."

"In my opinion, this duel is more about the distribution of management rights of the VI Legion. Even if he loses, he will still be recognized as Russ, but his control over his legion may not be as solid as before. As far as I know, among the Space Wolves present today is their original commander, the legion commander before the return of the Primarch, and the current First Captain, Gunnar Gunhilt. He is of Terran descent, and as far as I know, their relationship..." Sanguinius paused and commented, "It's quite average."

Phoenix sat back in his seat and watched as two opponents, whose height difference exceeded that of an adult male, walked from the exits at both ends to the center of the theater.

"Indeed. Then let's see." A hungry but still beautiful smile appeared on his face, and Phoenix's voice was very light, "If Russ loses control of his legionnaires this time, who can share some wolf meat to eat their fill?"

(End of this chapter)