Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 770 A Little Interlude: The Viewer Watches You from the Building
You stand on the bridge admiring the scenery.

The person viewing the scenery is watching you from the building.
The bright moon adorns your window.
You have embellished someone else's dream.

—Fragments of an Unknown Poem from the Old Earth—
"Why on earth does he do this? Every time he kills Irebas, the world goes back to where it was before the argument started, and he's even gone so far as to kill innocent Irebas eight times in various ways! My brother's chief priest was just ordered to come for backup, right? What did he do to offend this guy?!"

Horus Lupecal sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the bed, a bowl of freshly made fish and chips resting on his ankles between his legs—don't worry about where this or the other furniture came from, and if you see the black and white cat and the gray wolf pulling something bigger than the original from under the wing of a tiny pigeon, you'd better pretend you didn't see it.

Of course, the animals wouldn't answer his question. There were no other people here, only his animal friends, so there was no need to adhere to the rules of a palace or a legion.

The black and white cat yawned lazily on the edge of the bed behind him, while the gray wolf lay beside him, resting its furry head on the noble Zhan Shuai's lap.

The pigeon was clearly trying to build its throne on the warlord's head, but unfortunately, the hair was growing at a very slow pace.

So the pigeons had no choice but to settle for a place to nest in the folds of the robe's chest.

After trying various methods, both those that could and couldn't be broadcast (mainly those that were too gory and violent and would be reported by animal protection organizations), to escape this space without success, Zhan Shuai now has no choice but to accept the following fact:
His own soul, spirit, personality, thoughts, or anything similar, should now be inside Fourth Brother's body, looking out through the eyes of this strange stranger named Ramizain, who is inside his brother's body.

Furthermore, since Ramizan clearly had an unusually close relationship with Perturabo, Horus had to watch his own body perform all sorts of absurd and seemingly plausible acts under Perturabo's control, giving his most troublesome company commanders and soldiers a good beating, and also disciplining his other nephews and nieces.

—Well, to be honest, sometimes it's really satisfying to watch the two of them team up, bantering and even throwing punches. There are some things that Warlord can't say, and Shadowmoon Wolf Horus Lupecal can't say, but Horus Lupecal, who has no idol baggage and personally stepped in to support him, can say it.

The Council of the Four Kings, being limited by Astartes, cannot compare to the influence and support of a Primarch.

But seeing Perturabo and Ramizan transform his legions beyond recognition, and the training of his warriors, which had initially been a source of roars and curses, had become a daily occurrence that required sighs after months of trials. What Horus found most unbearable was that his own body and the Lord of Steel were even more unconventional than he and Sanguiles.

Moreover, what hurt him most recently was that his angry protests, vicious curses, or cries for help were all in vain.

None of his movements were heard by this man or his brother—Horus was very saddened to discover that even Saint Gilles had not heard his sincere pleas for help.

Even after being invited to several breakfasts, the Archangel began to try to reintegrate into the relationship with his two brothers. Although he did show some doubt on several occasions, he did not consider the possibility that the person before him was not Horus himself.

An unprecedented bittersweet feeling flowed between Horus's lips and tongue, and he viciously grabbed a handful of fish and chips and stuffed them into his mouth.

In my field of vision, Iribas's face, covered with Kolchi script, came into view once again.

"What kind of death did they get this time?!"

"Oh ho ho, I bet poor Uncle Lupecal is jealous. Look how wonderful and carefree the other three brothers are having on Vengeance!"

"Palas."

Magna Dorn, clad in golden armor, sat solemnly at his desk. Countless cables extended from the bulkhead behind the room's decorative panels, connecting to his central chip and processing matrix, maintaining the monitoring and operation of the Ironblood and even the vast political, defense, and reactor systems of the Wandering Port.

In the center of this room, which has now been transformed into a second office, there is a suspended pool of water that looks like a clear spring, displaying Horus and his view in front of him.

“First of all, that’s your brother Horus. You can’t call him ‘uncle.’ That’s not appropriate.”

"But he seems more suited to be called uncle than brother, doesn't he? I do have memories of knowing him and fighting alongside him, but it's more like I'm watching a videotape of my forgotten memories—it doesn't feel real, Magna. You want me to call him brother with deep affection? I just can't bring myself to do it."

"...Then, secondly, why do you look so gloating? We still lack reliable manpower here, and the situation remains far from optimistic. Shouldn't you consider today's administrative work..."

"...I've already sent all my men out to maintain order and provide public services. I'll be there immediately if there's any problem. Besides, Sigismund has also managed to distribute the soldiers' patrol routes very well... And what could possibly defeat Sigismund in the area between Wandering Harbor and Carrick? I'm truly grateful they didn't take him with them."

Fugrim Pallas had his long hair tied up and wore black armor inlaid with understated personal emblems and patterns in gold and silver—most of the decorations were the work of the Phoenix Guard, whose poor captain's hair had been thinning lately—his long legs were crossed at the other end of the sofa, the weapon on his belt hanging to the ground, and he was happily eating a plate of frozen grapes, completely lacking in decorum.

"As for gloating," Pallas said, munching on a sweet, refreshing grape, his eyes narrowing as he savored its taste, "I absolutely didn't. It was just a normal reaction to seeing the War General so embarrassed by his own actions that he started burying his head under the covers like an ostrich when no one was around."

He glanced at Magna, who was sitting upright.

"Do you dare say that when you and I saw this scene, you didn't erase your facial expressions?"

"...Where did Clark go? Haven't seen him lately? What about his surveillance reports on the Macado network?" Magna immediately changed the subject.

"After his last purification and awakening, he felt embarrassed and felt the need to strengthen his mental defenses again, so he probably went into the Net Path to train himself. I guess he might try to infiltrate the Silver Palace again to get revenge."

“Then let’s hope Clarks returns safely,” Magna said. “Oh, the ninth cycle has begun.”

"Seriously, does the galaxy really have to rely on this guy to keep it running? If so, this galaxy is a bit too much like Irebas."

(End of this chapter)