Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 734 City Walk, But the Spirit of Vengeance-
After nearly an hour of this city walk, in which the more amiable the person asked, the less willing anyone was to give directions and some even avoided him, a chubby man who looked so timid that his legs seemed about to give way and he could kneel down at any moment finally stammered that he was willing to lead the Primarch to a place he knew that was closest to the word "cafeteria".

The reason why no one has dared to step forward to compete for the honor of serving a Primarch for so long is not only because the Fourth Legion's reputation has indeed made many mortals hesitant, but also because Ramizan believes that several of the Gastalin elites following behind him have already placed their hands on their weapons in a threatening manner.

— Ramizan later learned that although they looked quite like the Black Legion at first glance, they were not the Chaos Warriors of ten thousand years later.

He privately felt it was hard to say whether the paint scheme Abaddon later chose for the Black Legion had anything to do with them.

As for this fat man who dared to step forward, seemingly intending to gamble something, to be honest, if the Primarch of the Iron Warriors hadn't been present, he would have almost fallen victim to the Gastalin's treacherous scheme—these Terminators all possessed a temperament that dared to fight anything without regard for the consequences.

Although Ramizane was confident that if Peturabo himself were present, he could very coolly use LOGOS to show these black Terminator kids what a war machine and technological superiority were, he wasn't very confident about personally carrying out such an operation.

However, a man as vulnerable as the Steel Lord Ramizane wouldn't make the mistake of recklessly charging forward alone while strolling on an unfamiliar flagship.

Look, these are the six Iron Warrior Tyrant Terminators who arrived at the Vengeance Souls hangar this morning and came to report immediately.

With its heavy and powerful armored Ironclad Terminator, its imposing Thunder Hammer, Composite Bomb Gun, Reaper Auto Cannon, Multi-barreled Furnace, and Heavy Flamethrower, this is the perfect companion for your city walk, a powerful and reassuring walking aid!
It was these Tyrant Terminators who successfully pushed the menacing Widowmaker squad ten feet away, and it was they who saved the fat man's life when the Gastalins tried to fire at him.

As for why the situation didn't quickly escalate into a battle between the Tyrant Terminator and the Gastalin Guard, it was because the War Commander's ship-wide announcement was promptly sent to everyone's communication rosary.

It must be said that in this matter, Perturabo BC really understood his ninjas' tendency to wander around and cause trouble. The ship-wide announcement, though seemingly shocking, was actually more appropriate and timely than any other means at this time.

Under the dual pressure of the commander's order and the urgent summons from the fifth company commander, Horus Jr., Gastalin's squad retreated in a huff, leaving only the fat man, who was so scared he almost wet his pants, sitting on the ground.

“Terra by your side!” said the fat man with short, curly black hair and a beard, his hands trembling as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I thought I was going to die just now…”

"To be shot while talking in front of a Primarch?" Ramizane looked at him with amusement. "You know that such a thing is not allowed to happen."

"It is truly reassuring to hear you say that, Your Highness. The words that come from your noble lips are as solid as the axioms of the universe, just as you and your guards are as unshakable as an iron fortress."

"You speak very eloquently when you don't stutter."

The Lord of Steel's icy blue eyes scanned from the expensive, well-fitting clothes covering the man's tall, broad body all the way down to his round, slightly panting, ruddy face.

This person is unlikely to be a member of the Shadowmoon Wolf Legion or the Byzantine Guard, but at this moment, dressed in civilian clothes and appearing educated on Vengeful Spirit... could it be...?

It seemed that only now did the other party dare to raise their eyes and take a real look at the true face of the Lord of Steel.

Immediately, the man opened his mouth wide, looking surprised.

"My God! I mean! Oh my God! You... I didn't expect this, I'm so sorry, Your Highness!"

"What? Do I look scary? What's your name?"

"No, sir, it's just that I didn't expect your true appearance to be so... astonishing."

After admiring Ramizan and his armor for a long time, the bold mortal realized he had been impolite again and quickly bowed. "You have given me an unprecedented and refreshing feeling, stirring my very soul. Now I feel inspiration flooding my mind like crazy..."

Those who are close to him can hear him muttering to himself.

“So many years…so many years…” The fat man looked at the pair of curious, icy blue eyes with a look of wild joy and satisfaction, then took out a black notebook and a fountain pen from his pocket and began to write furiously on the spot.

"Hello? Hello?!" What's going on? Guseris may have a thousand words to say, but he doesn't seem to talk like this to strangers, does he?
The Tyrant Terminators remained silent. These valiant and powerful elite warriors were the opposite of the energetic (?) Gastalin Squad: they would act only according to their lord's will and would not act without orders, no matter how absurd the situation before them.

Finally, when the fat man put away his notebook with a satisfied expression, he realized that he had left a Primarch standing there for quite some time.

This terrible thought instantly turned his rosy face as pale as a corpse, and he began to stutter again.

"I'm so sorry, Your Highness..."

Ramizan sighed and reached out his massive, armored hand—enough to cover the shoulders and most of the chest of an adult male—to support the trembling fat man.

"I would never touch this without the gauntlets on," he said, his clothes soaked with sweat from the shock.

"Your name.

After being "grasped" by the giant god's iron hand, it seemed as if his soul had finally returned to its place. The fat man took a deep breath and realized that he had to answer this question.

“Ignas, Your Highness! My name is Ignas Calcacy!”

Lamizain blinked: Doesn't this name sound a little familiar?

"What is your position here, Ignas?"

“The Chronicler.” Calcasi puffed out his chest proudly. “The Chronicler, Your Highness! To be precise, I was chosen as the Chronicler as a poet.”

Aha. See, I told you, what you've been searching high and low for can come to you effortlessly.

"So, which 'cafeteria' are you planning to take me to?"

“It’s the deck where most of the chroniclers on Vengeance choose to eat, Your Highness,” Karkassy hurriedly turned to the side, leading the Iron Lord with great courtesy and respect. “I think it fits perfectly with what you call ‘a large space where many people dine together.’”

"That's true. Lead the way."

Perhaps I'll find the person I'm looking for soon, and more than one.

The eyepieces of the Tyrant Terminators, who silently followed behind the Iron Lord, kept flashing, and the combat phrase communications in the squad channel were in complete chaos.

(End of this chapter)