Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 762 There were clearly three people...?
A memorial service for the victims of the Holy Blood Angels and other casualties was soon held on the surface of Murder Star.

Thanks to the Primarch's remarkably swift annihilation and the establishment of the landing zone's defenses, the Blood Angels, Shadowmoon Wolves, a small number of the Emperor's Sons, mortals, and the Titan Legion were able to land successfully and witness the grand spectacle of the three Primarchs gathering together.

While it's somewhat odd to climb up and look around during a solemn mourning ceremony, being able to see all three Primarchs appearing at the same time within sight is certainly a feat that most people would pass down for a lifetime.

The sky above the landing zone, which had been expanded to a radius of hundreds of kilometers, was clear and cloudless, but a fine drizzle, seemingly from nowhere, drifted down, like tears clinging to armor, perfectly reflecting the sorrow of the moment and conveying the grief of the angels.

The image of the Ninth Legion Primarch holding the Brood Warhorse's shattered helmet with a look of grief and indignation moved all who saw it. The angel's words that day, "I do not need to paint ceremonial tears, I have real tears," greatly impressed the chroniclers on the Spirit of Vengeance, inspiring them to create their own works based on this battle on the ground.

Unable to land for security reasons, they used their ingenuity to find witnesses who had returned after their rotation. Based on their accounts, they fully utilized their imaginations to create a large number of musical pieces, poems, paintings, and sculptures, which were then presented to the Primarchs.

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"One interesting thing is..."

After enjoying a breakfast with perfectly cooked soft-boiled eggs and perfectly heated coffee, and appreciating the new batch of dishes presented today, Ramizan turned to "Horus," who was wearing a wry smile (?), and said...

"what?"

"Eighty percent of the works attempt to depict the beauty of Saint Gilles's tearful moment with great detail, the remaining sixteen percent describe the tender moment of your brothers embracing each other and your bravery in fighting the Astartes, and the remaining three percent at least paints a few portraits of the others around you."

"cough."

"What about me and Iron Warrior?! Have we just been forgotten?!"

The Lord of Steel slammed his fist on the table and stood up. The neatly categorized documents on the War General's desk vibrated, swaying precariously as if about to fall off.

Horus reached out and pushed some annoying imperial tax documents back into place.

"...But people still mentioned you, perhaps it's just that there are more outstanding works later that need time to be polished..."

“I have already inquired, and only Ignas, Messadi, and Euphrates remember mentioning me, and of them, only Ignas has a written record!”

"Uh."

"I was the one who went down to rescue them! I was the one who fought the spider monsters! I was the one who led the team to open up the landing zone! All the key personnel were safely evacuated under my protection!" The Lord of Steel slammed his fist on the table in anger. "Are they all blind?! How dare they turn a blind eye to me?!"

"Is that really the case?" the third voice asked.

Lamizain immediately answered loudly, "Absolutely true! If that's not the case, then let me sit on gold tomorrow..."

"Cough cough cough cough cough!!!!" Zhan Shuai suddenly let out a series of earth-shattering coughs, interrupting this oath that had absolutely no chance of coming true.

From this point in the subspace, a silent, enormous, and terrifying wave erupted.

The dancers of the Silver Palace scattered and fled, leaving behind a mess of cups and plates; the fighting in the Brass Arena ceased for the first time ever, as the warriors listened intently to the new commands coming from the Brass Throne; Nurgle nearly overturned the cauldron he was stirring with his belly, and then a frantic sampling began in the garden; as for the Crystal Labyrinth, it was already shattered and its boundaries unknown, and a certain blue creature stood beside the Well of Eternity, once again hesitating.

From as far away as Terra, doubtful gazes were cast upon this place from among the lit star torches, yet their power was insufficient; as for a certain old pigeon, he was equally powerless—this was the price of power that could not be obtained at will.

Separated by the still-heavy veil of reality, the Vengeful Spirits' chief navigator and the Star Speaker leader were frantically exchanging discussions about the strange movements in the warp via internal communications.

"what happened to you?"

Are you alright, brother?

The third Primarch, who had remained silent in the room until now, finally spoke with genuine concern.

Every word uttered from her rose-like lips was melodious and beautiful, like pearls and jade. She was noble in bearing, with a mournful black veil still draped over her long hair. Her snow-white wings were folded behind her like those of a swan in its slumber, and silver decorative chains and pearls were faintly visible among her white feathers.

"I'm fine, Saint Gilles." The Warlord smiled warmly, his expression perfectly suited to the Ninth Primarch's concern. The Archangel rose, the tips of his wings gently brushing against the armrests of the chairs and the edges of the table in the room.

He placed a hand on Horus's shoulder. "Are you really alright?" The angel's eyes scrutinized the war commander with a hint of inquiry, while the latter's eyes were now filled with confidence and emotion. Only those who truly knew him could see the trace of fatigue and worry hidden beneath.

“It’s nothing, I just choked a little. You see, even becoming a Primarch and Warmaster can’t avoid choking on alcohol. This is clearly a limitation of our creation.” “It’s also a testament to our humanity,” Saint Gilles said understandingly, and they smiled at each other.

“...My two brothers, you’re being a bit too presumptuous, I say.”

The Lord of Steel stood opposite the War General and snorted coldly.

Are you also planning to ignore me?

“I had no such intention,” Saint Gilles replied gently. He did not want to put the master of this place in a difficult position, caught between his brothers, on the ships of the Sixteenth Legion.

“But perhaps you can be less irritable, Peturabo, because that won’t create a work of art out of thin air.”

"Then what do you suggest we do? What about the fact that nobody remembers the Iron Warrior's contribution here?"

“Is this really that important, Peturabo? Look.” The Angel Lord pondered, “If what you care about is the erasure of merit, that is indeed very wrong. I will personally supervise the relevant content in official records and battle logs to ensure that it is recorded correctly. But the artistic creation of the recorders… that requires inspiration and cannot be forced.”

"Hmph, the credibility of official history in the Empire... Just say that those artists are all bewitched by your beauty and can't come up with anything else for the time being! Sigh, this reminds me of an old friend. Why didn't you give me a bigger share!"

Even the angel, with his exceptional wit and resourcefulness, was momentarily speechless. Clearly, no one had ever spoken to him so bluntly, especially considering that the other party was Peturabo, who could keep a single sentence to himself for a thousand years.

“At least it’s in the battle records, better than nothing.” The War Commander broke the awkward silence at the right moment and tried to change the subject. “Our next course of action on this planet…”

"What's there to deal with? Just wait, someone will come. This is a prison planet; attacking it is pointless except for wasting resources and satisfying our fighting spirit."

“How did you know?” Saint Gilles asked, raising an eyebrow. “You knew all along?”

“No, I only found out when I got here. What happened?” Ramizam answered alertly, while Peturabo sighed inwardly.

"How do you know that?" the angel pressed. "These spider monsters are completely unable to communicate, nor do they possess the mindset to communicate with us. Their wisdom seems to be entirely of their own."

"Didn't you tell him?" Ramizan turned to Horus, who was already rubbing his temples.

"I called you all here precisely to discuss this matter."

The warlord turned to Saint Gilles, who looked puzzled and began to scan back and forth between the two brothers, whose atmosphere had suddenly become so familiar yet so strange to him.

“There are signals emitted by man-made objects on the outer edge of this galaxy. Expedition 140 reported discovering thirty man-made objects that have been repeatedly playing signals. They identified them as alien creations that they could not translate.”

“But it is actually entirely translatable,” Ramizam added.

The angel stood beside Horus, wings slightly spread, staring at the Lord of Steel.

“That certainly doesn’t sound like a normal language, but I’ve deciphered the meaning behind the musical rhythm.” Zhan Shuai coughed again, stood up, and walked casually to the Lord of Steel’s side, picking up the data tablet on the table while giving him a wink.

"This is a musical expression based on mathematics... It is very beautiful and very much in line with mathematical principles. Anyone with a certain understanding of the relevant theories and calculations can decipher it. God knows why they think it cannot be deciphered."

“I didn’t know you were so good with numbers, Lupecal,” the angel said with a smile as he walked toward them.

“Then we must mention the assistance of Peturabo, Sanguiles,” Horus said, a proud or rather arrogant look on his face. “I believe that Peturabo’s abilities in science and computation are unmatched.”

“It’s remarkable.” The angel examined the data panel and nodded slightly. “I will remember to update my assessment of my brother. Perhaps there were some misunderstandings before…”

"Not really. I used to be a twisted and awkward bastard. And I killed innocent people indiscriminately. It was only because my sons didn't hold it against me and still followed me to the death that I didn't give up the chance to make them famous in history."

To everyone's surprise, the other party readily admitted, "But I hope you can be more direct, Saint Gilles. At least between us brothers, there's no need to hide too many little secrets."

The angel froze instantly at the thought of the other possible hidden meanings in those words. He looked at the war commander beside him with difficulty and shock, his eyes filled with blame, disappointment, and the sadness of being let down.

Horus's short-shaved hair and the bulging veins looked as if they were about to jump out of his temples and explode.

(End of this chapter)