Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 797 You have to admit, Irebas is really useful.
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When rumors of the Warlord's impending death quietly spread among the Soul of Vengeance, most people dismissed it as mere fantasy.

"As we all know, the Primarch is indestructible, invincible, and will never fall. So the person who came up with this rumor can only be described as extremely ignorant and absurd."

At the card table in the narrators' meeting hall, Ignas Calcacy's card-playing partner, a musician, casually played a card drawn by an artist, with a homemade cigarette dangling from his lips.

"is not that right?"

Across from him was a slender female painter. She nervously licked her lips, carefully selected a card from the deck she was holding, and threw it out. Then, she relaxed when no one else followed suit.

"The War General is a divine being; how could he possibly be injured on his own flagship? You must remember how incredibly powerful he was in the previous battle against the Interrex..."

Just as the woman was about to begin her enthusiastic retelling of what she had seen and heard, the poet pulled over someone who was watching the game and shoved the gold foil chips and the rest of the cards into that person's hand.

"Keep fighting."

He announced, "I'm going to be leaving for a while."

His poker buddies exchanged bewildered glances—Ignas Calcassie and his three friends were now favorites of the Warmaster and the Lord of Steel, and he wouldn't normally act like this…

So the musician asked.

"Where are you going? Aren't you going to finish this game?"

"Don't ask so many questions." The fat man's usually amiable face turned cold as he hurriedly pushed through the crowd and squeezed his way out.

The remaining people looked at each other again, and saw unease and fear in each other's eyes:
Ignas Calcacy's unease and panic upon hearing the news were finally impossible to conceal.

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How was your day?

As the poet slipped back into his room from the shadows of the corridor, a sudden female voice rang out beside him, startling him so much he nearly jumped.

Shh! Euphrates! You almost scared me to death!

"Humans are not that fragile."

The blonde female narrator emerged from the shadows of the room and casually turned on the lumen light.

The white light instantly illuminated the entire cabin, and Ignas saw that Messati and Sindemann were also there.

"Acting is too tiring, I need to have a drink to calm my nerves."

The poet walked to the table and rummaged through the wine bottles, but he couldn't find them and had to turn around to face the uninvited guest.

"Enough with the nonsense, how are people reacting to the news that the War General is critically ill?"

“As you know, not many people believe it,” the fat man shrugged. “After Zenobia, who would believe that such a powerful figure who could turn the world upside down would be on the verge of death? And who could possibly harm him? I can only be slightly alarmed and leave room for their imagination.”

"You'd have to ask the people who got us to spread those rumors why they did it."

Yupha crossed her arms and turned to look at the doorway.

A man with ice-blue eyes appeared there.

“First of all,” Ramizam said, stepping into the cabin and closing the door behind him, “this is not a rumor.”

Amid the gasps of the others, Euphrates' face turned especially pale.

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"So do you understand why we're acting this way?"

After explaining to them the key points regarding the "warrior's imminent death" incident, which were relevant to the life and death interests of ordinary narrators, Ramizam said the following.

"The reason why there hasn't been much turmoil within the Vengeful Spirits and the Sixteenth Legion yet is because of the existence of the Iron Lord..."

"Excuse my bluntness, but where is Lord Saint Gilles...?" Euphrates couldn't help but interject.

Ramizam glanced at her.

"To cope with the increasing orders, demands, and petitions from the Terra Council and other expeditionary fleets, Saint Gilles, along with the Red Tear and his men, had already set off to return to Terra. Didn't you notice the Red Tear left?"

"Ah..." She seemed taken aback by the news, then shut her mouth, frowning as if lost in thought.

Messati kindly came to her companion's rescue, saying, "We are merely narrators who have the honor of being favored by you." She gave a slight bow.

"But in reality, the information we can access is still very outdated, and the places we can go are also limited. Sir, perhaps you don't realize that the amount of information you come into contact with or need to process in one minute may exceed the total amount of data that an ordinary person sees in half a lifetime."

“Ah.” The blue-eyed man looked thoughtful. “Indeed, it’s hard to notice these unintentional shifts in the order of thinking. I should be careful. Thank you, Ms. Oriton. No wonder Loken mentioned that you are very good at conducting interviews.”

“Really?” Messati’s eyes lit up noticeably. “Thank you for your praise. I’ll have to submit more interview requests next time.”

"I'm more concerned about what you just said."

Hindman then spoke slowly. The old man looked extremely thin and tired, and his bloodshot eyes indicated that he had been staying up all night lately.

"You said that the Warmaster's critical condition might cause the crisis that had been simmering within the Sixteenth Legion to erupt, and that if the Warmaster is unable to exercise his power to suppress dissenting voices within the legion, Astartes' attitude towards mortals might change drastically..."

“A portion of Astartes,” Ramizam corrected.

“Yes.” The old man nodded. “But if you say that this matter poses a threat to mortals, I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Perhaps the situation isn’t as bad as you say.”

"Is that so?" The Lord of Steel remained as calm as ever. "Your opinion should reflect the views of the vast majority of officers in the fleet and even the military. I'm willing to hear it."

"For example, first of all, you are here, the brother of a war general, the blood brother of the divine son. Just your presence is enough to suppress the legion. Even if, with all due respect, it is not your legion, your authority and status are sufficient for you to step forward, both publicly and privately."

"Hmm, but your assumption is based on the premise that 'Horus,' as a warmaster, can tolerate a brother like me, who should be under his control, suddenly overstepping his bounds while he is critically ill and unconscious, and that I must also be able to shoulder the possibility that 'Horus will definitely not wake up later to settle scores with me and be dissatisfied with it.'"

"As far as I know, Horus Lupecal is not such a narrow-minded person," said Sindemann, who was also a close friend of the warlord.

“That’s not necessarily true…” Ramizam said. “It’s hard to say. It’s normal for him to be unhappy about something like this. It’s a serious problem that the alpha wolf’s authority has been challenged! But… I think, I think he won’t at least go looking for trouble as soon as he wakes up.” Euphrates couldn’t help but mutter.

"Thank you for your insightful comment, a very good analogy, Qile."

The Lord of Steel turned to the chief preacher, “But as I said, strictly speaking, I shouldn’t be doing this. In fact, to put it bluntly, you can’t be sure if my involvement will provoke an even bigger backlash from the Shadowmoon Wolves.”

“But if you intend to do so,” Sindman said with a mix of confidence and politeness, “I will have my most capable disciple lead a group to create momentum for you. This should only take a few days to a week and a half, and public opinion will then believe that your intervention was merely a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. And the second point is also based on this: the Imperial Army Commander-in-Chief, Valvarus, is a capable and upright man. He is loyal to the Emperor, and if public opinion is favorable, he will be a very good witness to ensure your innocence afterwards.”

Lamizane smiled. "You, Keryl Hindman, have spent your whole life studying politics and propaganda on Terra. Surely you can understand the dangers behind this? Or do you think that even Primarchs need to consider the opinions of mortals most of the time?"

"What do you mean?"

“You are just as arrogant as the Terran Council, Hindman. You always think that mortals should have a firm grip on the Astartes, ‘because the Emperor created the Primarchs and the Astartes for mortals, so it is only natural that the Primarchs and the Astartes fight for the needs of mortals.’ Horus and my other brothers are somewhat hampered by your views.”

The Lord of Steel's voice was soft, yet it brought a terrifying sense of oppression.

"Unfortunately, Sindman. I value ordinary people, but ordinary opinions will not be the primary factor in my actions."

Cold sweat gradually appeared on the forehead of the preacher leader. Euphrates, meanwhile, widened his eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You speak so bluntly," the old man asked, "aren't you afraid I'll tell others? Aren't you afraid I'll tell the beloved emperor?"

"Could you, Sindman? Even just in words, not in actions?"

"I will." The old man pursed his lips and straightened up.

"Then tell him," the other person laughed. "I don't care."

Someone gasped in terror, as if suffocating.

“Look?” said the Lord of Steel. “Your only support is that man on the throne of Terra, but if someone says, ‘I don’t care about his opinion or his punishment,’ your fear will be detectable even ten cabins away.”

“You just mentioned ‘the child of the gods’.”

The man, the embodiment of the Lord of Steel, narrowed his eyes as he looked at the preachers and narrators. “Tell me how far the story of the ‘Child of God’ has progressed.”

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The atmosphere in the warlord's private room was now solemn and tense.

The pharmacists spoke in hushed tones, their brows furrowed as they arranged more transfusion equipment, medicines, and tubing around the war general, whose eyes were closed on the bed. They used all their knowledge to try to bring the war general back to his senses. The entire Council of the Four Kings had arrived.

The chief platoon leader paced back and forth, his long hair tied high with a silver ring, as if he needed more outlet for his excess energy; Asimand, his face ashen, observed everyone in the room with a somber expression; Togarden made no attempt to hide his concern for the warlord's condition, and the three of them were as anxious as relatives outside the emergency room, while Loken displayed a unique incongruity: he seemed somewhat... indifferent.

Although it wasn't obvious, it was still too easily detected by the keen senses of other soldiers in this chaotic room.

“Gavial,” Togarden nudged him, “you seem too calm, which is not appropriate.”

“I’m sorry.” Loken regained his composure and nodded to his worried companion. “I was just a little… distracted. You know, I… was worried about the Commander, and…”

“Perturabo, is it!” Abaddon walked over, his voice gruff and undisguised, his words dripping with rage. “The Lord of Steel is clearly here, yet he claims he has nothing to do with this! Hmph! Just an excuse! Right now, we only need to protect the Warlord. As soon as the Warlord shows any improvement, I will be the first to go and punish him!”

“…Perhaps the Commander will tell us how things happened after he wakes up,” Loken said cautiously. “After all, if he did it, he would have no way of denying it once the Commander wakes up.”

“Otherwise, what are we all doing here?” Togarden shrugged.

“But he’s still too suspicious.” Even Asimand agreed with Abaddon this time. “In the room where the two Primarchs were, who could have injured a Warmaster? And the fact that Perturabo was unharmed is too suspicious.”

"Then you can't directly question a Primarch..."

“But we can temporarily lock down the Spirit of Vengeance, including the hangar,” Togarden said, and Loken looked at him in surprise.

"Why are you so surprised? No one can imagine escaping unscathed from the wolf pack after injuring the Wolf God!"

Abaddon gritted his teeth and said, "Mere Iron Warriors? Do you think Shadowmoon Wolves would be afraid of them?!"

Someone clapped their hands, "Is this your true thought? It's quite...Abaddon-esque."

A giant much taller than Astartes strode in, seemingly oblivious to the hostility of almost everyone in the room.

"Don't look so gloomy. I've read the pharmacist's report, and I'm aware of your concerns."

“Then you should know that there is only one thing we want right now,” Abaddon roared, raising a fist at his opponent in an almost threatening manner.

Such disrespect towards other Primarchs did not elicit gasps from the Astartes present; instead, Loken found a hint of approval in the eyes of many of his comrades. At the same time, he was horrified to realize that all those who approved of Abaddon were people who had appeared at the Warriors' Association meeting.

"Which one? Ezekiel Abaddon."

The Lord of Steel remained unperturbed, which only fueled the Chief Company Commander's anger.

But then, the Fourth Primarch raised another finger. "The way to cure Horus." These words silenced the room abruptly. "Or, do you wish to challenge me now? Which do you choose?"

The Lord of Steel's eyes were filled with nothing but amusement, and this flippant attitude made the Shadowmoon Wolves even more dissatisfied, but the matter he had just mentioned was something they cared about very much.

Asimand stepped forward and pulled Abaddon back, while simultaneously offering the Iron Lord a proper salute, his anger barely concealed.

“Please forgive me, sir,” he said stiffly. “Aizekel was blinded by concern. If you know a way, please tell us. Once the Warlord has recovered, Shadowmoon Wolf will always remember your kindness.”

“I don’t know the solution,” the Lord of Steel laughed, “but someone came to me saying he has a way.”

“Who?” Togarden called out.

"It's me, my brothers from Shadowmoon Wolves, it's me."

The chief priest of the Legion of Word Bearers wiped the radiance from his face and appeared before the Council of the Four Kings with a worried yet slightly relieved expression.

(End of this chapter)