Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 800 Unexpected Extra Chapter—Even as a Woman, Horus is Still a Noblewoman Killer!
I've been plagued by the yellowish-brown sludge of diarrhea from my family's think tank all night and all day. Sorry, I don't want to write about smelly places today...
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For Horus Lupecal, the fact that he suddenly went black and fell into Euphrates Kira's body from a dark room where he had food and drink but couldn't get out was bad, but not so bad.

He meant that it was better than the situation he had back then, when he crawled out of the mine shafts beneath the surface of Kzunia in the dark, and shortly after being picked up, his face was splattered with the blood of the man who had found him before he died, right?

Besides, although Saint Gilles has left, at least he's out and can speak again. That's better than being completely powerless to do anything but watch things outside unfold in an unbelievable way, right?

Moreover, when he was most panicked when he first opened his eyes, the cooing of a pigeon came from the necklace, which was comforting—the pigeon pendant could even generate a kind of protective force, which gave her great confidence... Well... at least this is still the Soul of Vengeance, she has a normal single room, and the war hasn't reached the point where mortals need to be pulled in to serve as mechs.

As someone who led troops in two centuries of war, was educated by the Emperor for thirty years, and spent more than a decade in Krona, a place where there was nothing to do but kill and be killed...

Having a safe single room to go crazy when you wake up is enough to help you cope with the fact that you've suddenly transformed from a demigod male into a mortal adult female once you've calmed down.

Moreover, after confirming that the situation could not be changed for the time being, he took active steps and did a very good job.

See, at least he did his best to participate in all of Perturab's secret operations, and even when his brother fell in his body, he managed to squeeze into the inner circle to ensure he saw the body firsthand—he did a great job! Horus! You're awesome!
The pigeon cooed at the right time, a sound of approval, and she had now basically figured out the different ways cooing meant.

She touched the pendant where the pigeon had perched, and the warmth of the metal from human body heat gave her a sense of security.

"What time is it now...?"

Of course, no one answered her, but the pigeon cooed at her seven times. Okay, seven o'clock.

She noticed that the blanket had slipped to one side, so she grabbed it with one hand, hugged it to her chest, and rolled over, while reaching to the headboard with the other hand to fumble for the lamp switch.

Lumens illuminated the starship cabin, which was essentially devoid of day and night: the sheets and blankets were in disarray, the desk was piled high with a jumble of paper rolls, film rolls, photos, cameras and other items, and the back of a chair was completely obscured by numerous worn and unworn garments.

However, the ground and other places were relatively clean. Because she had made two clumsy mistakes while under Lucius's supervision, the swordsman now seemed to think she was even less capable of taking care of herself than he was, so he would come regularly to check on her and help her maintain the basic cleanliness of the place.

A wave of thirst washed over her, and she quickly grabbed a glass of water that she had poured in advance from her bedside and drank most of it in one go, which made her feel a little better. After she got up and crawled out of the bathroom, she clearly felt that her stomach was empty and she was starving.

It was past seven o'clock... If she hurried, she could easily make it to the breakfast of the nameless man who occupied Peturabo.

Horus and Euphrates' palates, having accepted one of each other's invitations to dine, were no longer willing to accept the rations from the vengeful spirits—isn't that human nature?
The human body is so complicated; it needs delicious food and clean water in very short intervals. Alcohol is actually not suitable. She tried drinking heavily as before because alcohol is something that can be broken down at high speed by the Primarch and Astartes. They don't get drunk, so it was a good opportunity to try what it is supposedly wonderful to be drunk.

The result was far from pleasant.

She had a splitting headache the next morning and found herself lying in her own vomit (let's forget what happened next!). Lucius had to pick his nose and clean her up, and the Emperor's son's disgust made the Warmaster's cheeks burn (let's forget that too!).

However, what she didn't expect was that the arrogant swordsman not only cleaned and tidied the room in a very orderly manner, as if he had obsessive-compulsive disorder, but he could even make hangover soup. Apart from not knowing why he wrote Angron's name on the soup with red cherry jam, it tasted pretty good.

But when he brought her the soup, he said something that was both mournful and strange—what did he mean by "If I could go back now, I would be willing to farm power armor for Lord Angron for sixty-six days"?

Why does Fugrim's son keep thinking about his brother who is difficult to control?

But these are no longer considered problems.

The problem at hand now is...

She wanted to freeload at the Steel Lord's breakfast table.

But she was stopped on the road.

He was stopped by a woman whose attire was completely out of place with his vengeful spirit.

She couldn't remember ever offending this woman who was standing in front of her with a fierce look on her face and bodyguards blocking her way.

...To be honest, I don't even know her at all, do I?
Why does she look at me with such intense resentment?

Could it be that Euphrates Kilar had a grudge against her in the past?

So all I need to do is deal with her for now, right...?
She was starving and needed to hurry to get breakfast. She resorted to her usual makeshift method...

Thinking this, Euphrates Horus raised his face and gave the opposite side the smile he usually gave to all the fleet members before speaking in the strategy room.

The pigeon blinked inside her pendant.

"Goo."

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Pedronela Viva is a chronicler from Terra.

But she was different from those mediocre and unsuccessful folk artists; she was a high-ranking court writer and chronicler for the Capinus family.

She departed from her family mansion in Cairo, boarded a beautiful private speedboat alone from the Egyptian Starport, and arrived in a comfortable VIP suite to catch up with Expeditionary Fleet No. 63, rather than crammed into the noisy, canned cabins of the slum chroniclers.

The Capinus family is one of the most prestigious families in Terra, and the most honorable, respected, and authoritative mortal family in the Terran court.

It was because her family faithfully and meticulously documented the emperor's emergence, rise, and victorious unification before, during, and at the end of the war of unification that her family was so highly regarded.

At this moment, the administrative authorization order, personally written by the Imperial Chancellor and Regent on double-headed eagle letter paper, lay quietly in the drawer of the expensive maple-inlaid desk in her personal cabin—a desk that her father had proudly told her was a commemorative gift personally given to her great-great-grandmother by the Emperor himself after that great oath in the Urals, and had now become one of the family heirlooms of the Capinus family.

She came prepared, possessing the family's heritage, the prime minister's support, noble blood, and a determination to write an excellent historical work and continue the family's prestige.

She was determined to be the most successful of all chroniclers, to correct the errors in her work of calling Horus—the emperor's appointed warlord—and even the absurd title of "god" used by some delusional people. Moreover, she would write the greatest work of her life with her golden quill, and just as Horus, the subject of her chronicle, was the greatest hero of the time, she would be immortal as his biographer.

She couldn't possibly fail. The first few batches of works by these commoner chroniclers had already been sent back to Terra, and she had seen them everywhere. The musicians' works, while passable, were nothing more than a few pieces that could be changed in the ballroom. It was said that the new works depicting the majestic Primarchs were very popular, but she had already set off and was too late to go to the theater. As for the painters, for some reason, the one whose previous landscapes were unremarkable was recently rated as excellent but unsuitable for dissemination, which was a portrait of the previously unknown and even infamous Fourth Primarch.

Although Pedronella admitted that the portrait was breathtakingly handsome and rugged among the predominantly ornate and delicate portraits, it was not the warlord!

Even if the Fourth Primarch, such an ordinary person, were to have a face worth boasting about, how could he compare to the status of a war general personally appointed by the Emperor?

The Capinus family has a history of recording the rise of human emperors, and now, as a direct descendant of the family, she will record the rise of the warlords, becoming Horus's exclusive chronicler.

This is something only her noble bloodline and distinguished learning could accomplish; entrusting it to any other chronicler would be an insult to the War Commander's nobility and status.

She arrived full of confidence, and remained so after ascending to the Soul of Vengeance, until one after another, earth-shattering events struck her before she could settle in.

The war commander is in critical condition!

No one paid any attention to her application!
Even with the Makado warrant in hand, she was firmly told to wait!
This is an utterly incomprehensible and barbaric place!
Even the lazy refugees in Egypt's slums are probably more polite than the people here!
Thus, in this state of anticipation, Pejolla Viva, a direct descendant of the Capinus family and a noble high-ranking court official, witnessed—with great, even intense, anger.

The person now taking over Horus's work on the ship is none other than the Fourth Primarch, Peturabo, whom she had previously scorned. And the narrator who has the privilege of being with this Primarch and being allowed to visit the Warmaster in the ward—is not her! It is Euphrates Kira, a commoner!

Well, she admitted that Qile was indeed very talented in photography, and she even considered whether to use a few of Qile's photographs in the book to generously give her a glimpse of her talent.

But now! Don't even think about it!

Pedrone Viva's once-beautiful eyes, now streaked with antimony sulfide powder eyeliner, seemed to have lost some of the exquisite beauty that came with wealth and technology due to anger and other emotions. Her long black hair was skillfully styled into a high bun, a fashionable trend in Terra, by her personal maid. A silk hairnet, adorned with sparkling teardrop-like diamonds, morganite, and red spinel, cascaded down from her bun to above her neck.

Although her anger would make it hard for her to breathe due to the pearl-studded corset on her scarlet velvet dress, she couldn't help but vent her anger on the female photographer in front of her.

Why?! Why can she so easily stay by the side of the two Primarchs?! Why can she surpass me, who is of noble birth and wields the authority of the Imperial Chancellor?!
Her gaze swept sternly over the blonde female photographer's tall, healthy, and slightly muscular figure, lingering for a moment on the white tank top that shamelessly exposed her cleavage and the tight-fitting trousers that were as tight as a man's, before scrutinizing her attire, which resembled that of a woman who had mingled in the lower ranks of the military.

“Euphrates Kira!” she shouted angrily, “You shameless woman! How dare you usurp a position that doesn’t belong to you!”

Then she saw the blonde female photographer blink her sky-blue eyes, seemingly puzzled, and give her a charming yet slightly dashing and sincere smile.

Pedrone Viva was horrified to realize that her cheeks were burning and her heart was racing, as if she had suddenly become a teenage girl attending her first adult social dance.

"what's wrong?"

In a moment of unbelievable dizziness, Pedronella suddenly realized that the other person had such a perfectly proportioned figure and mesmerizing eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes were now gazing intently at her, as if they considered her the most precious and valued person at that moment.

No! Pedrona desperately told herself that this was a woman! A woman! She had never had any interest in women in all her years of life!

She secretly pinched her arm hard behind her back. For the first time, a hint of emotion appeared on the cold, expressionless face of the golden-armored bodyguard beside her.

“I…” The eloquent senior court representative of the Capinus family, who was usually fluent in any social setting, was now speechless and at a loss for words.

"Do you need any help? What's your name?" the blond photographer continued to ask politely.

“I…I am Pejolla Viva of the Capinus family…”

“Ah,” the handsome man opposite nodded, his golden hair, which shone like sunlight, made his appearance as delicate and elegant as the finest ancient alabaster sculpture. “The Capinus family, I have heard of them. It was you who recorded my… Fu… the rise of our beloved emperor from humble beginnings before the war of unification, right?”

"You've also heard of our family's reputation and history?"

A surge of joy welled up in Pedronella's heart like a clear spring. Ah! Once she obtains the status of Primarch's exclusive chronicler, it's not impossible for Euphrates Kira to lend a hand...

“Yes, so, is there anything I need or what you need?” She glanced hastily down the corridor—which led to the Primarch’s reception room at the other end.

"That's why I came here with a letter of introduction from the Imperial Regent to pay my respects to the War Marshal and write a factual account for him, but I have yet to be able to meet him..."

“It is indeed not a good time for the Warlord to receive guests right now.” Euphrates frowned, looking quite hurried. “But I am about to meet another Primarch. Would you like to come along?”

Pedronia's prejudice against the Lord of Steel lingered in her mind for only two seconds. When she raised her eyes to refuse, she was immediately overwhelmed by his captivating and affectionate gaze.

“Okay,” she heard her own voice reply sleepwalking, and gave the other person a courtly curtsy. “Then I’ll trouble you…”

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Ten thousand years later, on the Destiny Steel
"...Shouldn't we have a serious discussion about what exactly our father added to Horus's culture tank?"

Fograim Pallas was deeply saddened.

"Why didn't I get any points for this talent?!"

"Are you adding more because you want the emperor's son to conquer the galaxy through a marriage alliance?"

"There's nothing wrong with it..."

“Of course not.” Magna Dorn stated sternly, his already expressionless metallic face hardening. “Don’t add any more excess profits to any client’s books!”

(End of this chapter)