Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 788 Ah, this.
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*Warning: Massive Praise and Flattery for the War General
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The Council of Four Kings and the elite veterans of Shadowmoon Wolves had not been able to fight alongside the Wolf God on the front lines for a long time.

Despite the fact that Operation Kill Star was actually very effective, killing as many spider monsters as possible as revenge before the Interrex arrived with the fewest number of reinforcements killed.

But this didn't work.

Conversely, in private conversations, through subtle hints and hints, those who had initially intended to explore the tactical implications and strategic merits of the War General ultimately found that their prestige as commanders and War Generals within their own legions had been "subtly" damaged because "hiding on the tracks and throwing ammunition to the ground was not heroic enough."

After all, the Sixteenth Army Corps' warrior association has a history of decades, and its members were guided to be martial rather than scheming from the very beginning, weren't they?

But all of this changed after the night they evacuated the Zenobia system.

Apart from the mission members and Astartes who were in the banquet hall and on guard around the area, there was actually "no" other person who witnessed what happened.

However, when the magnificent battle scene of Horus Lupecal that night on Zenobia spread like wildfire through the fleet—the footage taken by panicked narrators, the godlike perspectives seen through battle helmets, and the firsthand accounts—it was a miracle.

Every now and then, the lucky narrators who were rescued by the war commander and his men and had just landed to attend the banquet would be surrounded by those who were not selected to land or by the ship's officers and servants, who would ask them to tell them the thrilling and exciting stories of that day, just like ancient bards.

"Tell us again how Lord Horus single-handedly held off those Interrex spearmen and centaur archers! You lucky bastard."

The playwright shook his head, not annoyed at all. On the contrary, he wore a radiant and proud expression, just like everyone who had the good fortune to follow the wolf god back to the spirit of vengeance that day.

"That was a miracle, you know? You couldn't even see it! Those Interrex people may not be very bright and they're full of slander and rumors, but their weapons are truly amazing! I saw with my own eyes that seemingly ordinary featherless arrow pierce through the Astartes armor and emerge from behind his chest!"

"Who wants to hear you talk about that!" someone shouted from behind the gathered crowd. "We want to hear about the legendary fighting style of the War General that day!"

“Ah,” the narrator, who appeared to be a playwright, shook his head, “Yes, yes, my words seem so inadequate once again. I can only say that we all thought we were going to die! But he strode forward, unstoppable, and grabbed the enemy chieftain, demanding that he confess the crime of their nation having long ago colluded with those aliens and adopted their culture…”

Another chorus of boos erupted. "Get to the point!" someone shouted. "Don't you pride yourself on being the best playwright? Get to the point with your poetic language!"

The narrator's face flushed crimson. "Of course!" he roared. "I am the best! This will be my best work! I wrote down the climax of the entire play the very day I returned! I will read it to you!"

So he looked around, found a few ammunition boxes, then jumped up, unfolded the crumpled, heavily scribbled scroll in his hand, and began to recite for them with great enthusiasm.

"...The sand whispered in the alien wind, the setting sun gilded his face with a dim gold, the wolf god turned and stood, like a lonely mountain standing between his comrades and the enemy lines."

He spread his left arm like an eagle's wing, with a faint blue light flowing between his five fingers. An invisible barrier rose up like a crystal dome, bringing the panicked crowd behind him into safety.
The Interrex were arrayed in a solemn and imposing formation, like an ancient mural. Spears stood like a forest pointing to the sky, while arrows, carrying the cold light of bronze, pierced through the air, only to turn into stardust before the barrier.

The weapons were ancient and legendary in design, with arrowheads engraved with unfamiliar spiral patterns and spearheads shimmering with unknown energy halos, yet they all trembled in vain before the wall of technology.
The blue light rippled like a stone thrown into still water, each ripple dissolving the attempt to reap lives;
Horus Lupecal's gaze was as calm as a deep pool as he watched the arrow shatter into gilded dust and the spear fall to the ground with a dull thud.

He lightly raised his right hand as if brushing away dust, his fingertips tracing an arc in the air;
Suddenly, a chorus of metal and stone rang out from the enemy ranks, and the weapons that were poised to strike fell silent. Bowstrings snapped on their own like withered vines, spear tips drooped like birds with broken necks, and energy cores dimmed like extinguished embers.

The soldiers, clutching their malfunctioning weapons, looked at each other, their eyes filled with surprise and fear.
The wolf god parted his lips slightly, and the words that came out were as loud and clear as a great bell, each syllable vibrating through the air.

The Interrex armor began to tremble, the rivets came off like startled insects, the shoulder armor flipped like withered petals, the breastplate cracked like dried mud, and the greaves fell to the ground with a crisp crack.
The enemy soldiers suddenly realized that they were exposed to the sea breeze, as vulnerable as snails that had shed their hard shells;

Without that strange alien technological weapon, the ancient tactics crumbled instantly before the Wolf God;
The charging formation turned into scattered stars, spears and arrows piled up like abandoned farm tools, and the enemies looked around blankly with empty fists.

The Kambraco people removed their helmets, and the alien's cry suddenly exploded, like thunder splitting the frozen air. The voice was indistinguishable, carrying a fanaticism buried beneath the taming of reason, yet it was faithfully played by the translator's terrified chant: "God! You must not! This is the hand of God! The hand of the god of machines!"

These words, once spoken, were like sparks falling into withered grass; their words, which ran counter to the truth of the empire, swayed gently in the light and shadow of the barrier.

It was as if the ancient proverb had found fertile ground to take root, and a sliver of light leaked through the dam of rational perception, allowing the name of miracle to grow quietly in the wind.

Horus still stood on the steps, holding his captive in one hand, the deep blue of the sky reflecting off his calm face as he and his people were protected.

Behind them, the wolf god's offspring, weapons in hand, watched warily, holding their breath, as the ancient weapons bowed before the wolf god's power, and as the ignorant cries blossomed on the edge of absolute might.
The alien wind, carrying smoke and dust from the burning palace, swept past my ears, gently treasuring this contradictory moment…

The crowd held their breath, followed by excited chatter. If someone were present, they would notice that many people in the crowd were joyfully and devoutly clutching some kind of amulet around their necks or making a specific gesture.

"And then?! You rascal! You always keep us in suspense!" "Exactly! We'll definitely be there to support your script! Tell us about the even more amazing miracle that follows!"

"Don't rush! My throat is a little dry..."

"Alright! Shut up! Here! This is the best light snow wine I could get my hands on! I only added a little water!"

The playwright, standing on a platform made of ammunition boxes, gave an exaggerated bow to the growing crowd around him. "Thank you for the generous supplier of the light snow wine! I'll also find time to write a short play for him, I suppose. So, next..."

"When the flames that ignited in many parts of the city turned the battlefield amber, Horus's gaze had already pierced through the smoke of battle."
A faint light, like morning dew, emanated from his body once more, and an energy vortex rose from his palm, reflecting countless tiny spatial fissures.

Those members of the mission who had not returned and were scattered throughout the city, bewildered and at a loss, or those who remained in the foreign affairs area, all turned into specks of light on the map that appeared in his palm, like stars twinkling in the darkness.

He walked slowly and majestically forward, standing tall in the center of the open square, where fluorescent patterns began to appear on the stone slabs beneath his feet.
The arrogant governor of Zenobia was now being held hostage by two Astartes, his finely crafted silver armor a cumbersome shackle, his face etched with primal terror.

The survivors of the delegation supported each other; some had bleeding wounds, and some had charred clothes, but they all held their breath when they saw the wolf god's next move.
"Hold on tight to each other." The Wolf God's voice was deeper than usual, resonating with a steely strength that seemed to shake the very fabric of space. "I will follow this path and lead you straight to the stars."

When the energy vortex reaches its peak, we mortals suddenly feel our feet sink into the void;
The stone pavement did not disappear, but became as soft as water, and the view began to be strangely distorted—the outline of Zenobia in the distance blurred as it stretched, the towers bent like melting candles, and the city walls turned into flowing colorful ribbons.

The cold air was filled with the smell of ozone mixed with metal, like static electricity enveloping the whole body before a storm.
The first to exclaim in surprise was the clerk of the delegation. The data board in his hand suddenly became transparent, and the skeletal outline of his companion on the other side could be seen shimmering under the skin and flesh.
Then came a slight dizziness, as if the soul had been gently pulled out of the body a little bit and then suddenly put back into place.

I and the people around me couldn't help but close our eyes, but in the darkness we saw countless colorful light streaks flashing by, as if we were traveling through a galaxy;
Everything was caught in a dizzying vortex, and the wolf god's figure appeared exceptionally tall in the halo. He maintained the energy field with one hand and continuously brought the light spots on the map back to us with the other.
Those who were rescued and I felt our bodies trembling slightly, and tiny particles of light seeped from our faces. A regular buzzing came from the soles of our feet, as if we were stepping on some kind of invisible stairs.
The moment the space folded was without warning, without violent turbulence, only a strange feeling of weightlessness;
The rescued people found that the medicine bottles they carried were floating in the air, with the liquid condensing into spheres inside the bottles without spilling a drop.
I felt countless overlapping whispers in my ears, as if I were passing through a crowded throng, but when I looked up, I could not see any figures.
The outline of Zenobia shrank rapidly behind us, folding and shrinking like a page of paper crumpled by an invisible hand.

The figures of the pursuing Interrex reinforcements, wielding spears and with their metal hooves pounding the ground, suddenly became flat in their field of vision, their movements slow and sluggish like puppets.
The city walls, towers, and squares are stacked layer upon layer in the folds of space, eventually shrinking into a single spot of light and disappearing into the void.

At this moment, the senses of mortals become exceptionally sharp and confused; some taste the mixture of rust and rosemary, some see their palms become transparent, and can see the blood flowing in their veins turn fluorescent.
We looked at each other, and we could feel our memories flashing back in each other's eyes: childhood homes, the oath we took when we enlisted, the moment we left Terra, the instant we were on the battlefield. They all intertwined at this moment, yet they were as clear as if they were right in front of us.

The warriors holding the governor hostage felt their captive trembling violently. The proud alien ruler was now deathly pale, and fragments of his armor were peeling off in the energy field, revealing skin covered with burning blisters.

He opened his mouth but could not make a sound. The low growl in his throat was swallowed by the spatial vortex and turned into tiny bubbles. No one could recognize what he was shouting. Only Horus had a cold smile on his lips.
When the feeling of weightlessness subsided and the sensation of solid ground returned, everyone felt a sudden wave of dizziness.

Some staggered and helped their companions up, while others knelt on the ground and began to vomit.
We suddenly realized that we were no longer in front of the brick square of an alien planet, but on the hangar deck of the Vengeance Soul. The metal floor gleamed coldly, and the ventilation system brought out the familiar smell of engine oil.
The communications officer noticed his hair standing on end as if by static electricity, and the patient's medicine bottle had returned to normal, with the liquid settling securely at the bottom.

The clerk looked down at the data board; the transparency had long since disappeared, but he noticed a strange beetle-colored mark on the edge.
The Astartes looked at each other and noticed that the remaining particles of light at the seams of their armor were slowly dissipating, like morning dew evaporating in the sunlight.

The moment Horus withdrew the energy vortex, the captured governor's legs went weak and he collapsed to the ground. Looking at the unfamiliar metal bulkheads around him, he suddenly let out a roar that was hard to understand.

The members of the delegation looked around in shock, and some couldn't help but reach out and touch the bulkhead to confirm that the solid feel was not an illusion.

"Are we... really back?" someone asked in a low voice, their breath still carrying the embers of the Zenobian night air.
No one can accurately describe the experience—it wasn't flying, it wasn't sailing, but a more fundamental movement, like being cut from a piece of cloth in reality and sewn into a new place.
There was no physical injury, no damage to the clothes, only the lingering dizziness of the dancing light bands in my memory, and the brief, wondrous tremor deep in my soul that resonated with the universe.

Horus looked at our pale faces, his gaze sweeping over those who were still trembling slightly.

He did not explain the principles behind this trans-space power to us; he simply nodded to the bridge officer who was there to greet him, and then turned and left.

And we, as survivors, gazing at the alien planet receding into the distance through the porthole, finally understand that some forces, even if incomprehensible, can still leave an indelible mark on our memories, like the faint light still dancing on our fingertips at this moment.

The crowd had fallen completely silent, with only a few emotional individuals wiping away tears of emotion.

The playwright began his closing remarks in a low voice.

"I believe that without the most magnificent theater and the most outstanding actors, it would be absolutely impossible to recreate the scene 100% accurately... No, I should say I think that no one but His Highness Horus himself could..."

He paused, then his eyes blazed with an even more terrifying light. “It can only be the Son of God,” he said. “Only the Son of God can explain all this.”

"Son of God," the crowd murmured along with him. "Thanks be to the Holy Emperor for giving us his Son...for our salvation..."

(End of this chapter)