Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 737 Today, the Primarch Living Saint, the Grand Inquisitor, and the Vengeful Spirits gather...
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One hundred and twenty minutes later, the Lord of Steel finally stopped teetering on the edge of battle nerves with the most warlike company commander and soldiers of Vengeance Soul.

Because this Primarch, who had just received authorization second only to the Warmaster, had thoroughly searched the archives and document repositories, he finally decided, in a moment of great compassion, to end his stroll for the day and, with his Terminator guards and a few mortals, returned to his own compartment. This gave the auxiliary patrol members, who had almost thought they were doomed that day, a sense of relief at surviving a catastrophe.

When this news was presented to the incredibly efficient yet taciturn War Marshal by Malhohorst and Chief Company Commander Abaddon, the latter's reaction sent a chill down the spines of both veteran soldiers:
"Understood." Zhan Shuai looked up from his simple desk, which was covered with ink stains and other marks. The documents he had reviewed and the plans he had written were piled up on the desk and were placed on another chair of the same size.

—How tragic, the thought suddenly surged in Abaddon's mind. Now the Commander seemed more like a boring engineer or bureaucrat than a warmaster who should be leading his pack across the battlefield and making the galaxy bow down.* It was all the fault of the damned Terran Council and those reckless mortals…

Horus flipped through the remaining pile of documents. "Malohost, in a little while, call someone from the Council of the Four Kings—Asimand or Loken, either one will do. The two of you will work together to revise this pile of requests for instructions on the replanning of 63-19 and the plans submitted in advance. The guidance will be as I will send you later."

"Why aren't we here? Do you think that Togarden and I are incompetent and only good at fighting, Commander?" Azekel frowned, looking like a jealous mastiff.

“Of course not, Aizekel.” The war general said without batting an eye, and the affectionate address of his name immediately eased the chief company commander’s expression.

"With a planet that has not yet fully submitted to us right here, the Council of Four must have someone on guard at all times. We are not in a peaceful and prosperous place like in the solar system. I think you and Togarden, the two most senior members, can appropriately take on some important tasks in place of Asimand and Loken, don't you think?"

“That’s right.” Abaddon bowed to his Primarch. “Everyone in the First Company is happy to help our new recruits.”

“I am very pleased. As the best son of Horus, you have never disappointed me, my son.”

Just as the proud smile had not yet completely faded from the chief platoon leader's lips, Zhan Shuai's next words froze his expression once again.

“Malohost, inform my private chef to prepare the snacks and drinks on this list in advance, and tell my brother Peturabo that I will be visiting him in fifteen minutes. I do not wish to be disturbed by anything or anyone for the next two hours except for the highest level of alert.”

"But there are still fourteen more audiences from Terra and other fleets to come..."

"No buts. I am the War Commander. If I tell them to wait, they have to wait. Or they can challenge me. If there is a winner, I will gladly hand over the War Commander title to him."

Horus had already stood up and, with a demeanor they had only seen in resolute and upright figures like the Seventh or Thirteenth Primarchs, began to tidy up his desk by category.

"Do you intend for me to repeat myself a second time, squire?"

Abaddon's eyes lit up again—it was long ago that he should have been so stern with these guys who came here to point fingers and whine at Shadowmoon Wolves! The commander's unusually tough demeanor was truly captivating!
The general's attendant leaned on his cane and bowed deeply down, revealing his deformed spine.

"No. Everything will be as you wish, my lord."

The cabin areas designated for use by the Fourth Primarch are mainly located on the port side of the forward hull, not far from the Warmaster's private quarters. Incidentally, Prince Dorne's cabin on the Vengeful Spirit is on the starboard side.

Now, the living room of this suite is bright and clean, the lights are adjusted to a bright but not glaring level, every chair is very comfortable, and the smell in the room is also very pleasant, but the mortals who are sitting here today at the invitation of the Primarch still look very nervous.

On the left side of the coffee table sat Ignas Calcacy, the poet wearing a proud smile as he quickly typed the draft of the prologue to his new poem in his notebook; two ladies sat at either end of the long sofa in the middle.

Besides Euphrates Kira, who was secretly trying to tuck the bottom of her trousers back into her work boots to make them look neat, sat a woman who was equally slender but had an even smaller frame next to her.

Her skin was as black and shiny as an oiled pearl, and there was no trace of hair on her scalp. However, her skull, which flowed smoothly back to form an elegant oval shape, gave her an ancient and noble appearance.

Her unusually long head was rumored to be the result of surgery she underwent for documentation and interviewing—she could record everything she saw in photographic and video form simply by blinking her eyes—this practice of conducting interviews and recordings without any external or handheld equipment, relying solely on her eyes, greatly helped her career as a biographical interviewer. People were often more willing to let their guard down and speak freely in front of her eyes rather than in front of a camera. This is Messati Oriton, one of the best documentary interviewers and recorders of our time.

As for the single seat on the right side of the coffee table, an elderly man was sitting there. He was also quite thin, with a straight back, and was one of the taller men among ordinary men. His face resembled that of an ordinary old scholar, with a full head of silver hair neatly combed back. However, he had a pair of thick, dark eyebrows that gave him an authoritative and persuasive presence.

This is Carell Sindman.

"My lord, forgive my intrusion, but who are we waiting for?"

It was an ordinary sentence, but when he opened his mouth, his blessed, melodious, deep, clear and mellow voice naturally resonated in the room, almost drilling into the listeners' ears from all directions, as if he were singing a magnificent hymn, unforgettable and stirring the thoughts in people's hearts.

This is the biggest difference between selecting speakers and narrators. If the selection of all narrators is based primarily on artistic talent, then the selection of speakers is based on the most persuasive, passionate, and trustworthy voices of these talented individuals. And Sindman excelled in all these areas, whether in vocal talent, critical thinking, history, politics, or grammar and rhetoric.

"Yes." The voice made one want to say more, but fortunately, the person had been tormented by 3K Terra video readings and still had some resistance to it. "There are also people who will come to witness for us."

Very few Primarchs would say such things about the Soul of Vengeance. The narrators' faces showed a clear mixture of surprise and delight, while Hindman, who already knew the man, showed an expression of understanding.

The gilded black steel gate split open to the left and right, and the Tyrant Terminators outside stood in neat rows, greeting the newcomers.

“Excellent.” Horus Lupecal, dressed casually, entered the drawing room like a shining morning star. “What a distinguished gathering today, my friends.”

(End of this chapter)