Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 698 Mortarion (30K version), finds himself back on the Endurance.
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When Mortarion opened his eyes in his usual plain bedroom, his first reaction was "Finally, I don't have to think that alfalfa and timothy grass are delicious anymore."

What’s even more wrong is that the second thought is “It’s a pity that I may never be able to eat the amaranth stems, fermented bean curd and shredded grass at ‘that’ house again…”

Yes, in a small, fairly functional apartment of a Seresian, the Fourteenth Primarch, while frantically learning the local language and culture and how to hack into websites to secretly modify images and texts, also went from being shocked to calmly accepting several facts:
1. A brother named Perturabo became a dog in this world, and he always had a slouch face like in his memory, but he obviously became much more "alive". The border collie even used the microwave to cook noodles, make tea and boil water, and called it a great invention created for people without fingers. The Mechanicus should worship the omnipotent microwave oven instead of the toaster, which can only make toast.

Second, there were many more brothers who had turned into various animals in this universe than he had thought. Although he did not admit it, he did calm down a little when he learned about the experiences of some of his brothers.
3. It is said that this country currently has no emperor, let alone tyrants, in every sense of the word. Although Lorgar mentioned when he climbed up from the drainpipe to drink tea with them that there are many temples of different gods here (he seems to have checked them all out), and there are kings and popes in other parts of the world, but at least there are none here, and there are many farmlands. For some reason, this is enough to keep him in a certain cheerful mood;
4. While he was taking the time to delete and modify his own relevant information and check the things that concerned him - he swore that he really "accidentally" clicked on some related titles next to his name, and then found that all his brothers were almost equally unlucky - at this time he could gloat to see who was more unlucky - but after scanning some horrible things with this mentality, Mortarion began to seriously consider for the first time that working here for Ramezane might be a very good backup option. After all, the room for advancement is really very, very, very large, and he doesn't have to call him father, nor does he have to consider whether to kneel or not - rabbits don't stand on two legs anyway.

Although it cannot be included in the important entries, he sincerely thinks that the stinky fermented bean curd, stinky amaranth stems and grass shreds that Ramezane placed in the corner of the kitchen are simply the best taste in the world - as for why these jars and pots that are obviously gifts are covered with a thick layer of dust, Mortarion commented that "even such a supreme being has the defect of not understanding the true taste at all."

Afterwards, Perturabo would often remain silent and indifferently spray the deodorant on the places where he had eaten.

Unfortunately, the Angora rabbit is still slightly inferior to the Border Collie in terms of weight.

He thought with some regret.

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The soft, hoarse hum of the Endurance's warp engines, far away in the depths of the ship, brought his thoughts back to the reality of this galaxy.

He sat up slowly, an unpleasant smell wafting through his nose.

Mortarion frowned.

Who on earth is so bold as to release something that smells so strongly of witchcraft...

His eyes were fixed on the incense balls that exuded the lingering scent of Barbarus' air.

——He suddenly realized that if he had never used his nose and lungs to breathe in the smells of the Ramizarn universe—the smell of sun-dried quilts, the bitter smell of brewing coffee, the aroma of roasted jerky, the smell of rain running through wet soil and grass—he might never know and anchor what "air" should be like for "human beings" again.

——How do you make a stubborn child who has been repeatedly abused believe that there is such a friendly atmosphere in the world that will not hurt him? Being hurt, suffering, enduring pain, and turning them into hatred and contempt for everything in his heart have become part of his past muscle memory, life and soul.

If he had been like that, without having smelled those scents and felt those warm hands, he would have been able to endure everything completely and use the contempt in his heart to turn them into his own weapons.

He endured...

Bullshit! Do you really think that his nine years of compulsory education textbooks and those horrible works were wasted?
Mortarion stood up suddenly, strode over, opened the door, and stuffed all the incense burners that exuded an absolutely unignorable stench of witchcraft into the arms of a death shroud standing at the door. The latter obviously didn't understand what was going on and almost stood there.

"Throw them all away—no," he said, a muscle moving in his thin, pale face, "throw them all into the reactor core, and watch them get destroyed. Then go to the armory and tell them I want some new, hollow replacement incense burners."

Deathshroud took his orders and left, and their silent companion took seven steps forward to fill his place.

"My Lord! That's great. When those imperial guards brought you back, we thought..."

He turned around and saw Kefa Morag's face that did not conceal his anxiety, comfort, and other expressions. A trace of tenderness slowly seeped into his heart, but was immediately sealed away by the Primarch who returned to the galaxy he was familiar with.

"I was sent back by the Custodians? Did they say anything?"

His companion and attendant shook their heads. "You looked like you were asleep then. We heard some rumors, but we couldn't be sure. We could only wait anxiously for you to wake up." "Where are we now?"

"Mandeville Point in the Nikea system, my lord. We dare not initiate a warp jump without knowing your condition."

"How...how long have I slept?"

A hint of hesitation crossed Morag's face, but he quickly replied, "Eleven hours, my lord."

Strangely, although it was not the seven hours he wanted to hear, Mortarion did not find it particularly harsh and uncomfortable or angry as before.

He exhaled.

The humidity on the Endurance is still a bit high.

"Where's Karas Typhon?"

"The Captain of the First Company did not return with you, my Lord," Morag replied, a look of anger on his face. "The Custodians arrogantly refused to explain! They only said that Lord Typhon had violated the rules in the presence of the King. It seems to me that this must be some kind of retaliation -"

...Indeed, this is like a layer of window paper. Typhon is so widely supported in the legion... Even his own servants can't avoid it...? But that is Karas... Maybe...

"Don't worry too much." He turned around and slowly walked through the tall bone-white pillars inside the Endurance. The Death Shroud followed silently behind him seven steps away. "We have plenty of opportunities to see him..."

Morag followed the Primarch's footsteps, and was somewhat surprised to find that the scent on his body was unusually... light. Yes, light. Morag didn't know how to describe it except this word, but if a Terran recorder were here, he would probably describe it as "refreshing soap smell".

"What's new while I'm asleep?"

"Yes, we have received an order for you to rendezvous with the Warmaster's expeditionary fleet..."

Horus.

Warmaster.

Rebellion.

The Siege of Terra.

a thousand years.

Mortarion pondered the fragments in his mind, which was now operating at a new level of underlying logic that he had never experienced before. Many of the details that had previously made him feel as painful as poison and as suffocating as thick fog now seemed like dark clouds being blown away by the wind of knowledge.

This time...

"Perhaps, this is also an opportunity for everyone to realize our strength and tenacity and to give us the respect we deserve..."

(End of this chapter)