Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 702 When Sigismund died in a galaxy with Perturabo BC... (4)

*Finally, it’s time to make dumplings with vinegar. You can start reading this chapter. You can start reading it (Hey!) -
What a magnificent picture will unfold for him in his first mission since being "reshaped".

Or perhaps it was one of those regrettable events that always ended in tragic consequences in this dark universe.

Such frustrating mistakes and crimes happen every day all over the galaxy.

Or, he will be thrown into a dilemma by his creator this time, facing the choice of giving up the mother in front of the child or giving up the child in front of the mother.

In more extreme cases, in order to complete the mission, the entire population of a planet will be destroyed.

He put down the book in his hand and thought, the smoldering flames of the forge reflecting the face and brow service spikes where he had just received the biological skin.

As the tests progressed smoothly and the amount of data from the personality module continued to accumulate, it seemed that the Fourth Primarch was decorating him like an elaborate puppet, but had not yet told him what his ultimate purpose was.

Will he be able to figure this out after this "test"?

These were the options Perturabo might offer in his "tests," according to the thousands of predictive models the Mind Matrix provided him with.

Even higher up in his prediction model was the possibility of sending him to attack positions that were guarded by his battle-brothers when he was still a mortal.

Ordering the being that was once Sigismund to obey and attack the Imperial Fists' fortresses and plunder their gene-seed was an act of the utmost evil.

He had no doubt that this approach would please Perturabo and the dark gods behind him.

——An important point on which such predictions were based was that the outer power armor, which had remained in its original steel color during the first ten tests, was coated with a layer of bright yellow paint unique to the Imperial Fists before he set off.

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"attack!"

A familiar shout, and at the same time, his radio captured a sound that he had heard countless times.

This is the movement on a battlefield where a firefight is taking place.

His sensors had listed the composition of the air, gravity, and other things - he concluded that he was in orbit around a giant planet, and that this was probably an orbital station with factories and residences.

His weapons were an Imperial-issue bolter, with plenty of ammunition for the time being; a simple power sword, a pistol, two grenades, and himself.

There was the sound of an exchange of fire, and he caught a faint tactical cry sent to the comm beads: it sounded very much like that of the Imperial Fists, audible because the commander of this strike team was not wearing a helmet, but it seemed slightly altered from what he was familiar with, and the Gothic language itself sounded different.

Mortal weapons, lumberjacks, twenty-nine—six life signals disappeared from his sensors in the last charge.

Twenty-three of them formed a loose line of defense behind the cargo and equipment.

Astartes bolters, five of them, matching the footsteps of the power armor, but there was one particularly heavy footstep, a Terminator?
He was dropped to the flank of the battlefield, in a corner that just blocked his view, but he was not sure whether he should expose his presence immediately.

He tilted his head and listened for another two seconds.

A five-man tactical assault team, no Terminators. No other support nearby.

The mortal garrison were not professional soldiers.

This was basically a one-sided situation, and the calculation prediction given by his matrix was that if there were no more variables, the Imperial Fists would kill all the defenders in fourteen seconds at most and successfully capture this position.

No unexpected results, just an uneventful match between the two sides.

So, the instructions are…?
A line of instructions unfolded on his electronic eyeball, but it only made him gain more codes representing questions in his emotional module.

The relevant logical conflicts in the thinking matrix are reported to the core module for a final decision.

Instructions are instructions.

Sure. He judged that he was now in a state of anthropomorphic free action and he could make his own decisions.

Sigismund put on his helmet, strode forward, and drew his sword once again for the first time in thousands of years.

——————————“You just came at the perfect time! Brother Vulpes!”

The commander of this Imperial Fists assault squad, Assault Sergeant Kolisius, said this with the greatest enthusiasm a Imperial Fists could have to welcome his battle brothers.

Just now, they thought they had cleared out the enemies here and were searching this intricate position when they were caught off guard by the Iron Warriors who suddenly rushed out from above. One of his team members was injured in the first encounter, and another had his weapon dropped and went into close combat. He and the other two were suppressed by firepower and could not get close for a while.

Just when the situation was taking a turn for the worse, the Volpes brother appeared like a miracle warrior from heaven.

In just a few seconds, they watched as a figure dressed in Imperial Fists armor suddenly charged out from the side and rushed towards the hail of bullets.

This man had no fear of the massive bullets that could penetrate his armor - and miraculously none of them hit him directly - just like a lion shaking its fur after walking through the rain, the bullets bounced off the temporary tilt formed by the ceramic surface due to the slight movement of his body like water droplets.

Then he rushed to those evil enemies.

His swordsmanship was not fancy at all. Although elegant, it was not very entertaining to watch. The experience in his soul personality and the computing power provided by the heretical technology brought the significance of weapons and combat itself to the extreme.

Every time he struck out with his sword, he would chop down or cut open an enemy, and the fatal flaw would be as obvious as a red mark in his eyes.

The Iron Warriors' ancient and sturdy power armor was like butter meeting a hot knife under his blade. When he cut them, the fresh and clean internal organs and blood flowed smoothly onto the oil-covered floor with steam. The same ancient guns also immediately misfired due to the death of their users.

By the time the stunned members of Team Colisius reacted, everything was already settled.

Now, they are ordered to rest here until the next order from the company commander arrives.

"He killed five Iron Warrior bastards in three seconds! I've never seen such swordsmanship!"

His deputy Myrdor came over in amazement, while Hellion, who was a head taller than the others, supported the limping Goruz, who had just run head-on into the vanguard of the Iron Warriors' assault and was most seriously injured.

"Really." The fifth member of the team came over, with a blackened commemorative mark on his helmet. "Are you the new recruit of the Tenth Company? I don't even remember seeing you at the last Blade Festival with such skills. You are definitely capable of competing for the championship. If you were active at that time, the Chapter Masters would never have been able to resist not sending you into the arena."

"This is Velisus," Korsius nodded at him, "the best swordsman in our team. He once participated in the last Blade Feast as one of our chapter's representatives."

"Negative... I'm not new."

After this sentence was spoken, the atmosphere on the scene immediately became subtle and tense, and the members of the assault team exchanged glances with each other.

"What do you mean?" Myrtle asked in the end. "I can't say that I know everyone in the regiment, but I can definitely recognize most of the battle monks - but I don't remember that your name and skills can match any of the brothers."

"Lost in the Warp."

The thinking matrix loaded with part of the Iron Blood's database provided him with this reason and told Sigismund that the acceptance success rate of this reason was as high as 86%, so he accepted it.

Then the sergeant's eyebrows relaxed along with his tattooed face, "It's a blessing in disguise."

Myrdor looked him over. "This place has been occupied by the Iron Warriors and their minions for some time."

"Yes. But my escape pod hasn't been here long."

His voice was calm and collected. "So what time is it? I'm trying to calibrate my helmet time, bro."

When Mildor answered him, the sensor on the back of his head told him that Helian, under the cover of the injured Goruz, was quietly sending identity verification information to the ship in orbit.

He wasn't worried about that, it would be unreasonable if he was dropped here without Perturabo making other preparations.

also……

Sigismund's other hidden sensor cryptically glanced at the bodies of the Iron Warriors not far away: Those bodies... have exactly the same DNA characteristics.

He hadn't even just killed five Iron Warriors.

They are all the same person.

This "test" is not going to be that simple.

(End of this chapter)