Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 798 This moon smells awful.
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Alchemist Walton has served in the Sixteenth Legion for many years as an apothecary. Although apothecaries and technical sergeants are quite inconspicuous in the Legion because the Shadowmoon Wolves admire warriors more than technical officers.

But as a healer and guardian of the gene seed in the Legion, he was respected by his Legion brothers to some extent—he had been comforting himself with this thought until today.

But now, leaning against a corner of Zhan Shuai's room, panting heavily, he touched his throat, which was somewhat deformed and beginning to swell, and a nameless sense of doubt arose once again.

—His hand, clad in sterile latex gloves, touched his neck, where a large Astartes hand had just gripped him like an iron clamp.

If it weren't for the fact that he himself was an Astartes, and that someone had stepped forward to pull away the seemingly out-of-control chief company commander, Walton suspected that he might have died from suffocation caused by a collapsed trachea and shattered cartilage.

Attacking the doctor and his own brother... The chief platoon leader's mind and emotions are very unstable. Under normal circumstances, he would definitely recommend a full physical examination and some appropriate medication and psychological treatment. But now that the war commander's condition is the priority, he doesn't have time to examine Abaddon.

The apothecary frowned, panting as he glanced at Abaddon, who was being pushed away by the other members of the Council of Four Kings.

The chief platoon leader's gaze met his as if by fate.

The deep fear in Abaddon's eyes surprised the pharmacist, who paused for a moment.

However, the emotion and forgiveness that welled up in him were immediately suppressed by the other party's angry and threatening roar.

"You can't let him die! Do you hear me! He's a Warmaster! You can't let him die before we reach Devon!" Abaddon roared like a trapped beast. "If he dies, I'll make you pay with your life first!"

"Cough cough! Get him out! Get out of here! Don't cause trouble here!" Walton could no longer contain his anger. He stood up, leaning against the wall, and shouted angrily while coughing—especially when he saw that another Primarch had actually walked behind them.

"Get this madman away from my team members! Don't let him near my precious apothecary apprentices!"

"Who are you calling a liar—" Loken shoved Asimand, who reluctantly stepped forward to appease the chief company commander. Although the commander was still angry after seeing Horus, he was half-pushed and half-pulled away by Loken.

Seeing this, Locken curled his lip and gave a cold smile—all of this was seen by Togarden, but the second company commander did not cause any trouble at this moment.

"What's wrong now? Has Horus's condition become unstable?"

With a subtly leisurely demeanor that would make most people feel suffocated, the Lord of Steel entered the room filled with rescue equipment and devices.

“He’s the War Master! He’s still the War Master! He’s still your War Master… um…” Asimand and Togaton quickly went over and pulled the enraged Abaddon out of the room.

“Ah, I know, I know. Azekel, you are truly Horus’s good son—so, how is the Warmaster? What went wrong again? I remember telling you just before I left not to keep injecting Lariman cells into his veins, but to use more poison neutralizers.”

The Lord of Steel did not take offense at the other party's rudeness and outrageous words as the legends suggested. He even casually changed his words, which only made people feel more shocked and indignant, yet they did not know where the fear came from.

"You should be nicer to the chief company commander; at least he's acting this way because he's worried about his father..."

At this moment, the others noticed that there was a tall, fair-skinned woman with blonde hair standing next to the Iron Lord, looking up at him at a distance that was far too close for the Primarch and mortals to be in, and telling Peturabo this.

"Who is that?" The apothecary straightened up. "Who allowed a mortal to come in? Only servants and Astartes are allowed here—and of course, you, sir."

"Ah, Euphrates is among the best of the chroniclers. I approved her application to write this record, and she has already undergone full-body disinfection for this recording."

The Lord of Steel waved his hand. They noticed that she had indeed changed into a jumpsuit, and her skin and hair smelled of cleaning and disinfectant. "But indeed, she shouldn't be too close to the bed. You should stay in the corner by the door and keep quiet, Ms. Qi Le. Otherwise, I'll have someone send you back to the Chroniclers' quarters."

“…Yes, I understand…Petulab…Sir.”

The pharmacist couldn't help but speak up, "Sir! Forgive my bluntness, but this kind of thing shouldn't be publicized..."

“It’s just a record. I didn’t say we were going to print a hundred million copies of my brother’s pale… sickly appearance and distribute them throughout the universe—uh… wait? I suddenly think… you can write this down for me, Qi Le.”

For some reason, the already pale female narrator suddenly became even paler.

The Lord of Steel glanced at the apothecary. "So what if she's making a private record for me and my brother who's about to awaken? What my brother and I—and even you—need right now is a reputable chronicler like her. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

Walton shut his mouth and then began to talk about work-related issues, “We increased the dosage of the antidote and neutralizing agent as you suggested, and it did work at first… but not long after you left, it seemed to start to lose its effectiveness, like… like…”

"It's like this poison can evolve itself to fight off antidotes, just like a living organism, right?"

The Lord of Steel walked to his brother's bedside and bent down deeply, seemingly checking on his condition.

“Yes,” Walton admitted. “At this point, our ship’s medical facilities and laboratories are at their limit. We need more specialized biological and genetic experts. Perhaps you could find a way to get the Cult of Asclepius to send more biological sages as soon as possible…”

Have you taken samples from near the wound and tested them?

“Of course, sir,” the pharmacist replied. “My choice of neutralizing antidote is based on this. We extracted some kind of degradation residue from the blood near the wound. It should be a special, never-before-seen biological toxin. Its genetic code is disguised against the original, and it can even fool the War General’s extraordinary immune and detoxification system from the Emperor’s hand…”

"...Oh, I really can't stand them seriously spouting nonsense from some workshop..."

After a mumbled murmur, the Lord of Steel immediately raised his voice, “All we have to do now is hold out until Devon. The voyage is only a week long, apothecary, and there are only twenty-one hours left. This is the bare minimum, and you should be able to do it.” “I can, my lord. If it’s just to sustain him for a few days, that’s fine. We can use the ship’s blood bank to continuously transfuse oxygenated blood—but why, my lord? Doing so is just a waste of time and will never cure the Warmaster. Please forgive me for not having left here and therefore not knowing some new information.”

“Because.” The Lord of Steel stood beside the unconscious War General’s bed, gently placing a hand on his forehead and stroking it. He looked down at the other man, and a ray of pale golden starlight from the porthole happened to shine in, illuminating their faces and one side of their bodies.

Walton, Loken, and Euphrates all trembled. The latter silently raised his camera, took a picture, and then silently lowered his hand.

That certainly didn't look like a murderer looking at a victim or a subordinate looking at a war commander.

—That looks so much like…

"Because, according to Iribus, the Legion of Word Bearers discovered that the locals had unique healing methods after they took over Devon."

Before Walton, who was frowning, and Loken, who was deep in thought, the first to speak out and question was Euphrates, who had just been awakened from that sacred scene.

“Absurd!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Daven?! Why Devon?! Devon is just a barbaric planet that was only reclaimed by Expeditionary Fleet 63 sixty years ago. It’s full of native towns and nomadic tribes. They haven’t even invented a steam engine yet! How could they possibly have a laboratory that surpasses the Vengeful Spirits’ and a treatment plan that my… our Legion’s apothecaries have? If things are truly beyond our control, I think… we should put the Warmaster’s body into a stasis field and urgently escort him back to Terra to seek the help of the beloved Emperor!”

"Yes, you think it's absurd too, right... But since you know about Devon's history, you should also remember who Devon was handed over to later, right?"

Euphrates seemed to suddenly regain her composure. "—Yes, although the native warriors were commendable in courage, tenacious in their fighting spirit, and highly valued their honor, they were still no match for the Shadowmoon Wolves. After a swift battle and proving themselves to be stronger and equally honorable, the local tribes all surrendered to the Empire. Our...legion was in a hurry to move forward, and just then the Word Bearers Legion arrived. The Legion then handed over all subsequent affairs to their leader, Captain Cole Fallon. However, I...remember that at the time, Yugan Tamba, originally from the 63rd Expedition, was appointed as the new governor of Devon, along with his flagship, the Terra Glory."

As Peturabo, Walton, and Loken began to look at her with a newfound appreciation, Euphrates Kira pursed her lips and straightened her back again.

"This is exactly what I read in the report while I was gathering material in Archive 1 recently. I'm planning to write some articles about the history of the expedition. — Anyway, Devon and its two inhabited planets are in the state of ancient tribal civilization, and only sixty years have passed. I don't think there are any medical solutions there that are better than those of the Vengeful Spirits and Terra."

“That’s pretty good. It means the archives have at least preserved the original documents. You read them very carefully, and your memory is also quite good, Euphrates.” The Lord of Steel praised, “It was definitely the right decision to choose you as the narrator.”

"Thank you for your kind words."

She gave the Primarch a rather awkward and crooked lady's bow.

"So, can we now consider sending a return communication to Terra and begin preparing a sufficiently large stasis field generator?"

“Of course not.” The Lord of Steel shook his head with a smile as she stared at him with wide, incredulous eyes.

“We should still go to Devon. There are supposedly suitable medical facilities there. The fact that there is a medical sanctuary in Devon capable of treating the dying was guaranteed to us by the chief priest of the Word Bearers Legion, Eribas, with his life and the honor of the entire Seventeenth Legion.”

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"I can't believe it!!" Euphrates was alone in her cabin, pacing back and forth angrily like a caged beast. "I've made myself perfectly clear! He still insists on taking my body to Devon! We should activate the stasis field immediately and return to Terra!"

If anyone were here, they would be horrified to find that the room is actually empty, but the blonde photographer continues to talk to himself.

"I remember the situation on those two planets very clearly. They were the eighth world conquered by Expedition 63, so they were registered as 63-8 in the Ministry of the Interior. Their civilization and people were severely degraded, and even the civilization from the Ancient Kingdom period had disappeared! Now there are only tribal people and a few slightly decent towns left! What's wrong with this person using Peturabo's body?! And what's going on with Eribas?! What is his motive for doing this?! Why did he do this?! Why did he have to send my body to Devon?! This doesn't make any sense!"

Then she stopped and listened intently, as if trying to hear something.

“Oh,” she said, “you are such a loyal and wise friend, even though you can only respond to me with ‘coo’ and ‘coo-coo.’ But that’s fine too.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling frustrated, and sighed dejectedly. "At least the fact that you haven't left makes me feel like I haven't completely gone mad. And the life and animals in that strange space aren't friends I imagined after I went mad."

She paused, then stroked the pendant in her hand, which shone brightly in the lumen due to recent handling: it was a silver Imperial Eagle pendant—or, of course, you could say it was a dove, without any problem.

She listened for a moment, then frowned again. "This can't go on, it's just ridiculous," she said. "I have to think of something. Maybe I should subtly inquire with Irebas?"

Amidst the pigeons' frightened cooing, she rose to search for the one who carried the message.

However, she soon learned some bad news: the chief priest had left the Avengers, reportedly intending to land on Devon ahead of schedule to prepare for the Warmaster's treatment plan.

Out of some intuition or perhaps embarrassment that she herself couldn't quite explain, she did not attempt to reach out to the members of the Council of the Four Kings to persuade any of them.

So, after a day that flew by, she stood beside the Steel Lord with a sorrowful expression, watching Devon and the satellite blocking his way from the bridge.

But what's with the color of Devon Moon...?
The blond wolf god frowned, looking at the Devon satellite that he remembered as being covered by dry red deserts, golden savannas, and green forests. Now it looked like it was enveloped in a suspicious, yellowish-brown, thick, and heavily polluted atmosphere...

"This moon looks really smelly."

The Lord of Steel spoke with perfect accuracy what Horus was thinking at that moment.

(End of this chapter)