Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 772 There is a road to heaven, but don’t take it
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Although this piece of cosmic debris was shattered quite badly this time because of Irebas's notorious social terrorist behavior as a bald, tattooed, and over two-meter-tall muscular man, he was so "enthusiastic".

However, it was eventually repaired again thanks to the tireless efforts of many well-known, albeit not philanthropic, donors.

But at the same time, Peturabo, who had already made the Milky Way observable through some means and had been keeping an eye on it, also sent a message to Ramizan.

"The universe is already overburdened."

"Now you are a human being, baby, speak like a human."

"...This time you need to complete the mission in one life until we are sent back to the Destiny Steel. Don't 'accidentally' kill him again."

"I get it now! I'll be more careful! Don't worry, Peipei, I'm good at pretending!"

"..." Peturabo thought for a moment, but still didn't remind the other party.

"hope so……"

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Perturabo was in the strategy room preparing to meet with the tax collector's representative. He pulled his thoughts away from someone who might once again slip out of his control. The angels and the warlord's attendants could tell that the warlord was somewhat absent-minded.

A recently appeared "川" (river) shaped wrinkle was deeply etched between Horus's broad eyebrows, making his handsome and noble appearance appear slightly weary.

"What are you worried about, my brother? Are you concerned about the current state of public opinion? Then perhaps you should consider taking the Emperor's advice."

As soon as Saint Gilles made the suggestion, the other party responded as if he had been waiting for it. The subtle difference of a fraction of a second caused the angel to frown slightly.

“I refused this honor when I was in Ulano. It was indeed an incomparably generous gift, but since I refused it, I will not consider it again.”

“But times have changed,” the angel gently pointed out. “Now that the Emperor has returned to Terra, and you have taken on the mantle of the expeditionary force, the status of your legions should naturally be different from what it used to be. Some legion members may still not see things clearly from the past relationships, so this honorary mandate bestowed upon you by the Emperor can help them recognize that you are the true Warmaster.”

Horus sneered with extreme satisfaction, "Since Horus doesn't need his pack of wolves to disguise themselves as civilized people to gain respect, then the Shadowmoon Wolves need even less."

The terminology and way of speaking are still somewhat strange, but they don't seem to make no sense.

“It was you, not Ruth, who was appointed Warmaster by the Emperor. He is far less beloved among us brothers than you are. While the Space Wolves’ reputation for combined operations is better than some legions, it is by no means as renowned as the Sixteenth Legion. Moreover,” Saint Gilles patiently pointed out, “this serves not only as a reminder to other legions but also to your own legion, reminding you that you are now a distinguished Warmaster.”

"Perhaps. We can talk about this later."

The warlord remained noncommittal, then, with an obvious but inappropriate annoyance, began to summon Ionid Rasbon, the Imperial Tax Collector, for an audience.

The thin, red-haired woman had a stern and unapproachable expression. She was the leader of the massive tax collectors' delegation sent by the Terran Council, and her only concern was how much tax revenue she could collect from all the conquered and subjugated planets.

She wouldn't listen to any explanations from anyone, or even try to calmly discuss the consequences of such hasty taxation and how it should be implemented.

Several times, Saint Gilles thought that if intimidation could kill, then this woman, who actually represented the Terra Council and kept saying "this is the Emperor's insistence," would probably have been punched into the wall by the Warmaster and could only be cleaned up with a shovel.

Even so, she could remain oblivious, repeating like a broken record, despite the murderous aura, "Taxes must be levied from all planets," "The beloved Lord Macado emphasizes that this is the Emperor's insistence," "This is the Emperor's insistence." Perhaps this was one of the reasons she was chosen to lead the delegation. After the meeting, Malhohorst, the Warmaster's squire and arguably the most politically astute member of the Shadowmoon Wolves, was entrusted by Horus to personally deal with the tax collector and her delegation.

"I doubt whether the emperor knew the consequences of his retreating into the background and delegating power to these mortals."

The warlord paused for a moment, the stars shining silently through the porthole. "But even I wasn't told his true intentions for leaving the expedition... not even me." Horus turned his head, lowered his head slightly, and raised his hand with the pinky ring to rub his temples weakly. Even Saint Gilles couldn't help but sigh with empathy.

“Alright, I know we can’t drag this out forever. I also know those Terran bureaucrats are already impatiently setting up tax rates and collection requirements for every planet they haven’t even seen yet, so eager that they’re completely disregarding the fact that this will inevitably cause riots in the newly surrendered territories. But, Mal, please, find a way to hold them off for a while, just so I can catch my breath.”

What more can be said under such a request?
Malorhorst nodded. "I understand. Take care." He then rose to take his leave, leaning on his scepter, and with a cold, resolute determination, dragged his crippled body to fight the tax collectors.

Meanwhile, when the Council of Four Kings finally reunited in the gladiator cage training room, they had a few more guests with them.

The chief priest, needless to say, was already an acquaintance of the three members of the Council of Four Kings, except for Loken. Dining, training, and sparring together in the gladiatorial cage were common practices for them.

The Emperor's sons, Thor Tavitz and Lucius, were invited by Gavial Loken—well, to be precise, only Tavitz received an invitation, but for some reason Lucius ended up coming along too.

Tavitz had already proven himself to be a true hero, so no one said much about Lucius's appearance.

Togarden overheard the mortal beside Loken mutter something like, "Hell has no gates, yet you insist on knocking."

Yes, this gathering, which was originally only for Astartes, now has a mortal with shining eyes.

The chronicler, Ramizan, claimed he wanted to leave some unique memories of the gathering, so he showed up at the event with his camera and a large stack of papers, vouched for by Gavial Loken.

"I don't see any need for an ordinary person to get involved in this ordinary gathering."

Abaddon muttered, now like everyone else, he wasn't wearing power armor, just a simple training shirt and trousers, with his hair tied up in a high ponytail.

Togarden and Asimand have clearly appeased him.

Surprisingly, it was the chief pastor who spoke up for this mortal first, saying, "It's not a bad thing to record some of our private daily gatherings as a memento of our brotherhood. Perhaps our words will become classic dialogues that future generations will regard as the golden rule."

As he spoke, he glanced furtively at the narrator with a look that was a mixture of hope and greed.

Abaddon found this very amusing and burst into laughter. Ramizam's earnest act of taking out parchment and asking each of them to sign and write their wishes was quite novel to everyone.

Soon, the blue-eyed narrator's mood visibly improved, and he now carried a stack of papers with signatures and comments from everyone present in his pocket.

After a round of toasts and drinks, someone suggested that it was time for the most popular form of entertainment among the soldiers.

Tarik Togarden was in high spirits. He first took off his shirt and stepped into the gladiator cage with his training sword.

"So, who comes first?"

(End of this chapter)