Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 736 must be recorded as a memento.
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Strictly speaking, there are no halls or decks on Vengeance Spirit that were originally designed for these activities.

For the expeditionary fleet, which has been sailing far from Terra and the solar system, heading towards the unknown sea of ​​stars, and whose combat readiness status is only divided into high and low with no possibility of being lifted, it is necessary to strictly limit entertainment activities during the march.

“Otherwise, you would never imagine how many lazybones, brawls, and drunken malfunctions would arise,” once complained the experienced commander of the Void Fleet, Commander Comenus.

"Managing so many crew members and sailors, and keeping them obediently maintaining the safety of these beautiful and enormous ladies as they carry us through the void of the Milky Way, where a person can be killed in an instant, is not something that can be accomplished simply by talking."

But things quickly spiraled out of control within weeks when hundreds of artists, social critics, and thinkers recruited from Terra and spoiled by their respective fans and patrons suddenly flooded into Fleet 63 and Vengeful Spirits.

If it weren't for the legion's supreme commander's leniency, the fleet commander would have long ago ordered all these undisciplined, dissolute, hedonistic guys who relied on alcohol and other things for inspiration to be thrown into the fleet's prison ships.

It is said that Horus may have calmed the furious fleet commander at the briefing, and believed that the reason the Emperor sent these chroniclers to every ship was to let them observe all the details and produce a great work as a lasting memorial to this human empire's expedition.

Based on this rumor, the narrators eventually obtained the auditorium deck, which might have been some kind of memorial hall, from the fleet commander who wanted to avoid seeing it and worry about it, and used it as their activity and dining center.

When news spread that the hall contained wine, music, card tables, dice, and other things, all the free people on the Vengeance Souls, except for the crew and officers still on duty and the Astartes who remained unmoved, immediately flocked there to find some fun and pass the time during their long and tense voyage.

—That sounds reasonable, and it certainly won't be as conventional as it appears on the surface.

Despite being somewhat prepared, Ramizane was still taken aback by the chaotic state he witnessed when he stepped into the room with his Primarch's imposing height.

This hall was originally a long and narrow rectangular building with an extremely tall vaulted ceiling and rows of beautiful steel columns. Exquisite colored murals recorded the achievements and great battles of the Emperor and the Primarch. The iron-gray steel column tops and the exquisite carvings around the murals were originally decorated and covered with pure gold leaf. Before anyone entered, it must have been solemn and magnificent.

As for now... Ramizan's first thought is of those old churches that were sold due to lack of funding or other reasons and subsequently converted into restaurants open to the public.

Those meticulously crafted colored murals have been haphazardly covered with patches of paint or paper, creating flat surfaces. Various slogans, theories, random musings, drafts of new murals, doodles of musical scores, or simply meaningless images have been covered on them. The gold leaf covering the columns on both sides has been peeled off and used as chips on the card tables, piled up on each card table here or held in the hands of gamblers.

The once-dusty colonnades were now partitioned into individual booth-like rooms using building materials from a military warehouse of unknown origin. Inside, there were either painters and poets with papers scattered all over the floor and impromptu calligraphy on the walls, or rooms filled with smoke and filled with drunken men and women laughing and joking.

However, the most common activity here is gambling tables. People gather around gambling tables, either playing cards or watching. Some musicians also use this place as their salon, playing music or accompanying a tenor who suddenly jumps onto the table to sing a popular tune.

Every table was littered with empty bottles, some labeled and some unlabeled, along with countless glasses. The floor was covered in scraps of paper, shoes, and other trash. The smell of distilled spirits in the air even overpowered the ship's ventilation system. Clearly, the alcohol supply here far exceeded the normal rations that could be provided on Vengeance Souls.

Frustrated and rude curses, the sound of cards being thrown, table-slamming, arguing, debating, teasing, singing, gossiping...

All the commotion, along with the breathing of what were probably nearly a thousand people here, seemed to freeze instantly, as if a pause button had been pressed, after someone finally noticed the tall figure at the door that could not possibly be ignored or mistaken.

There wasn't even a whispered conversation or a prying look.

All their minds and spirits were taken away.

"Thump." An officer at the card table closest to the door knelt down, his lips trembling. Judging from his insignia and shoulder boards, he was a supervisor in the gunnery room. One of his five card-playing partners, a dumbfounded ship's guard officer, rubbed his eyes and, after meeting the Primarch's curious gaze again, simply rolled his eyes and slid off his chair to the floor. Another low-ranking deck officer desperately began searching for any other way to get him out of there. The narrators were somewhat better off than these three officers who were terrified into delirium.

A pale-faced woman with dark circles under her eyes stared blankly at this uninvited guest who seemed to have descended from heaven, then screamed, grabbed her handbag, emptied all her belongings, found a lipstick, and began frantically writing in scarlet letters on the nearest wall.

“Inspiration! Madness! Passion! My article!” she cried. “It’s back! It’s back!”

As if awakened from a deep sleep by her scream, the entire auditorium erupted into chaos.

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Finally, thanks to the unyielding and resolute wall of six Tyrant Terminators, the Iron Lord managed to escape unscathed from the horde of narrators rushing toward him: these mortals, their eyes gleaming with greed, pushed aside the officers and crew, charging toward the Primarch like wolves drawn to fresh meat. Some of the bolder ones even reached out to touch his distinctive armor, their eyes brimming with tears as they cried out, "Beloved Emperor!" "Terra above!" They then began to compose on the spot, muttering in their native dialects or gibberish.

Heaven knows what prevented the Tyrant Terminator squad from firing freely here, but the poet Carl Casey, who witnessed the whole process, genuinely believed that the Iron Warriors' strict discipline and iron will deserved a poem in praise of them, and wrote a satisfactory draft for it in his Bondsman No. 7 notebook.

Now, the auditorium was finally cleared out. Some of the narrators lingering outside were still engrossed in their writing, while others began excitedly discussing what they had just seen and heard, until the arriving patrol team herded them all back into their living quarters.

All the fleet members had already taken advantage of the chaos to slip away as far as they could. As auxiliary troops, they knew all too well the terrible fate that awaited them in serving as auxiliary troops for the Iron Warriors of the Fourth Legion.

Amidst the mess, Ramizan looked around and realized that this place was not like the flagship of the Perturabo BC, which was designed with Primarch-sized seats and facilities everywhere for Primarchs to stay at. Sigh, it was still not as good as the Ironblood.

No problem, he found everyone he was looking for here except for one person.

His icy blue eyes slowly swept over the few mortals standing before him, whom Karl Kathy had just helped him find—the poet happened to know all the people Ramizam was looking for, which was undoubtedly a good omen.

This self-introduction meeting was quite memorable, and Ramizam secretly turned on the camera on the armor.

"Although Mr. Carl Casey has already identified you all for me, you may as well introduce yourselves first."

Under his expectant gaze, a tall woman dressed in loose trousers and ankle boots, a white tight vest and a men's jacket exchanged a glance with her dark-skinned companion and stepped forward first. She had skin that was almost pale and shiny blonde hair, and long limbs, displaying a unique and eye-catching temperament.

—She's the kind of person who gets stopped by talent scouts even when she's walking down the street in casual clothes and without makeup. She's born to be the center of attention. Lamizain thought to himself. She possessed a charm that naturally drew ordinary people to her actions, even overshadowing her beauty.

The female narrator cleared her throat and then bowed to him. She was clearly somewhat nervous in front of an Primarch who had personally come down to the deck to find them, but for a mortal, this was quite remarkable.

“Euphrates Kilo, Your Highness. I am honored that my work has been heard by you.”

Ramizam curled the corners of his mouth.

(End of this chapter)