Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 807 So Horus decided to become an idol (not really) -
The prayer gathering convened for the Warlord's recovery was finally held as scheduled in the Vengeance Souls' hangar amidst the undercurrents of various factions.

Today, following several inspiring speeches, the Word of God cult has rapidly grown among the lower and middle-ranking officers, technicians, soldiers, and other mortals in Expedition 63, and there are even rumors that some Astartes are beginning to have doubts about it.

Meanwhile, the Shadowmoon Wolf officers who originally had the authority, ability, and determination to immediately suppress them with force were either hesitant or unable to get up and work.

For example, it is Malhohorst's duty to send soldiers to capture those audacious leaders or so-called saints, but he is currently resting in the medical room receiving treatment because his previous descent in Devon Moon has greatly damaged his precarious health.

For example, the chief company commander, one of the first senior officers to lead his men to the bridge and rush in, now becomes extremely agitated and starts to deny or even violently shove anyone who mentions the name Euphrates in front of him—even though no one knows what he is denying.

Horus Asimand the Younger, who had always been a quiet and reserved person, became increasingly gloomy and low-key, spending his days in his room or only appearing on necessary occasions, and often disappearing without a trace as soon as he learned of something.

With Gavial Locken transferred, Taric Togarden had never seemed so lost and anxious. The second company commander now often mingled in the crowd in civilian clothes, seemingly trying to find some definite answer or a companion to confide in.

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"Although Taric Torgarden doesn't actually like mortals that much, one thing is certain: when he makes judgments, he always tends to be fair rather than based solely on personal likes, dislikes, or personal relationships... and that's enough."

"That's true. He was an upright man, but uprightness is often the cause of death for upright people."

In the Warlord's room, which has now been converted into the Primarch's private ICU, the apothecaries and mortal nurses are once again sprawled out on the floor (?)—so the rumor that keeping vigil for the Warlord makes one more energetic is probably not just a rumor (?)—Lamizane and Peturabo are watching the grand prayer gathering, which is attended by Euphrates Qile, through the latter's newly installed surveillance system.

Unlike before, when these devout believers only dared to secretly slip mimeographed leaflets under the doors of ordinary residential areas or leave rough pamphlets of sacred words on the dining table before slipping away, now that they have a saint, they have dared to decorate the venue in the hangar in a grand manner in just a few days, and even brought in an troop carrier to build a temporary stage with a backdrop for this gathering.

"Um, I have to say, doesn't this look a bit like a medieval religious drama?"

“To be precise, it’s the Miracle Plays in the religious dramas…” Peturabo frowned. “That’s not a problem for now. We’ll be landing at the Temple of Devon in a few hours. We just need to make sure that all the major threads of destiny before Istvan III are connected.”

"...But it doesn't necessarily have to be the original lifeline, right?"

“Perhaps something that isn’t original is better for older things,” Peturabo replied meaningfully.

Just as they were talking, the crowd on the surveillance footage showed a commotion, and then a woman—a living saint—an extraordinary person appeared from the small door behind the troop carrier that had been disguised as a stage.

"Oh... this new look, I must say, perfectly matches... the stereotypes that the general public in the empire have of a prophet or saint. This outfit is a really good choice."

Ramizan described the narrator, whose blonde hair was braided and coiled like a crown at the back of her head, with a few strands falling just right beside her pale cheeks and slightly furrowed brows, who wore a loose, floor-length coarse linen robe, was barefoot in sandals, and held a pendant, rosary, and a book of scriptures, as follows: "She looked like a gilded statue that had just stepped down from the wall of some ancient Terra temple."

"Sindeed had some influence in this. It was no wonder that he was able to preside over the Inquisition for a thousand years."

Perturabo scrutinized Euphrates Kilal's slender, tall figure, draped in a raw linen robe. The rough, unadorned fabric conveyed a sense of approachability, yet it also accentuated the sculpted, snow-white purity of her skin and the natural, powerful charm she exuded in her movements. Perfect lighting and spotlights fell from above onto the stage, highlighting the sanctity of her slightly furrowed brows and illuminating her golden hair with a soft glow—some people had already begun to pray spontaneously.

"You see, actually very few people actually start praying. Those few who lead the way in praying loudly or kneeling exaggeratedly—have you noticed?"

Peturabo pointed a few times at the surveillance footage, "These people."

"What's wrong with them? Are they trying to muddy the waters? Or do they have ulterior motives?"

"No, they have no problem, but they are all apprentices of Sindman, preachers, extremely good at stirring up and getting people to respond to each other, which is their job."

As Peturabo pointed out, more and more people in the crowd, influenced by the atmosphere, began to make prayer gestures toward Euphrates, and more and more people knelt down.

The female narrator, who was giving a speech, looked even more distressed because of the situation, which made many believers show even more admiration.

"...Sindeman was born in the wrong era. If he came here and started an idol company, he would definitely make a fortune."

The speech continued, and as the final words were spoken, more spotlights shone on Euphrates, who was reading the scriptures in her hands and lighting prayer candles. She looked as if her whole body was glowing, and the believers followed along with her in reciting.

"The pacing of the entire live performance was excellent, and the atmosphere was just right...wait, what?"

Suddenly, the crowd near a large door surged in panic, then quickly moved away from the center of the commotion.

“That’s an Astartes…isn’t that Abaddon? That thing he’s holding…”

"...No wonder I didn't find it in Archive Number Three. I thought I could find it earlier since Carell Hindman didn't go to school this time."

Ramizan stared at the chief platoon leader, who was being gripped and struggled by the terrifying monster's tentacles and claws, and at the book from which the monster emerged.

"The Book of Loka... Eribas is truly ruthless."

While people retreated in terror, shouting slogans like "By the Emperor" or "May the Emperor protect you," Abaddon continued to fight the strange but powerful monster.

The company commander was fighting hand-to-hand, and anyone could see that he might be killed within seconds, especially since weapons were not allowed at the assembly.

Euphrates Kira broke free from the followers who were trying to pull her back, shoved aside an officer in a Titan crew uniform, and rushed to the front of the crowd.

Then she shouted something and charged at Azeroth Abaddon without hesitation. Bright, brilliant light emanated from her chained hands. As soon as the light touched the monster's body, the hideous creature howled and began to burn, gradually turning to ashes.

Then they saw Euphrates embrace the head of the hot-tempered expeditionary hero who always looked down on ordinary people, seemingly gently comforting him.

Abaddon moved slightly but did not push her away. Then, amidst the admiring and joyful gazes of the believers, he accepted her reassurance and lowered his head.

"..."

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"So our dear brother, the war general and imperial regent personally appointed by the emperor, has now become a beautiful living saint and will be the imperial idol for the next ten thousand years—wait, when did Horus get the title of imperial regent? How come I didn't know?"

Lehman Russ picked up the enormous coffee mug beside him—well, it might have once been a Fenris bone-carved beer mug—took a satisfying sip, and then said.

“I don’t know either,” said Fograine Pallas. “If you don’t know, I certainly don’t know either! My dear Uncle Ruth! My memory isn’t as complete as my snake body.”

“That’s a good thing—I mean, it should be a good thing.” When talking about his other brother who killed his brother and betrayed them, Ruth became noticeably cautious and didn’t even retort, “I’m not your uncle, don’t call me old.”

“So you should know about this, right, Magna?” Pallas casually turned the question to another companion present.

"Why do you think I know?" Magna, whose power armor interfaces were fully open and which was wrapped in more coolant pipes, slightly opened his eyes, his eyes filled with the brilliance of the data streams passing by at high speed.

“Terra Guard, huh?” Pallas began winking at Russ—clearly, aside from his appearance, this Vograim was becoming less and less like “Vograim.”

Of course, he is still a social butterfly, but in a completely different way – not only does he take Magna to the lower bars of the Starport, but he has also recently become close friends with Ruth through drinking. One wonders what the Fearless Phoenix and Garuda Feralus, far away in the southwest of the star system, would think if they knew about Pallas's current situation.

"...I do have some photocopies of old documents in my database, but I cannot guarantee their authenticity or legal validity." "Hmm, and then?"

"...Then the term Imperial Regent actually refers to Imperial Chancellor Macardo in all the documents. Only one document marked as being from the M31 period mentions that 'the Warmaster believes that, as Imperial Warmaster and Imperial Regent, he has the right to...'."

"Gone?"

"Gone."

"Tsk tsk tsk. What do you think?" Pallas turned to ask Russ.

"Either he has an inflated sense of self-worth, leading him to interpret some of the old man's words in his own way, or he has an inflated sense of self-worth, causing him to misunderstand some of the old man's words, or the old man gave him some hints that are easy to misunderstand."

"That's absolutely brilliant!" the young phoenix began to applaud. "I told you Ruth was the funniest of us!"

"I am honored." The Wolf King stood up and bowed in a mock courtly manner, then he and Pallas laughed heartily with their hands on their hips.

"...two drunkards."

Magna Dorn streamed the footage to his internal storage and encrypted it, while simultaneously beginning to receive frontline messages from Sigismund.

The pressure on the anti-invasion operation against the Greenskins has eased. On one hand, the naval fleet of the Calissis Sector has arrived at the request of the Admiral of the Wandering Harbor; on the other hand, the Black Templar Expeditionary Force stationed in Wandering Harbor has successfully tricked... no, summoned a large Black Templar Expeditionary Fleet that was originally in the southeast of the sector, relieving the urgent manpower shortage.

If you're talking about fighting green-skinned enemies, the Black Templar truly lives up to their reputation as a professional.

As for the saying "it's easy to invite a god but hard to send him away"? What a joke! Sigismund is right here. Even if he doesn't say he's Sigismund, does he think the chief company commander of the Imperial Fist can't even coax a descendant from nine thousand years in the future?

Magna casually slid the to-do list to the next page. Wait, didn't Ruth say he had it all done?
"Leman Russ!"

"Hiccup, w-what's wrong?"

"I told you to go to that Astartes warship that drifted over and was salvaged and towed into port to deal with them, and how did you manage to do it? Did you not even go there and instead take the opportunity to fool around in the lower levels of Wandering Harbor?! That's not how you use the Primarch's Phantom Camouflage loaned from the Armory!"

"Huh?" The wolf king opened his mouth slightly, looking equally surprised. "I went? They were quite easy to talk to! Uh, I mean, they did smell a bit strong! But the leader was quite approachable... I liked him a lot! I even think this kid's energy is a bit like mine in the past!"

"What……"

"what?"

A Primarch and a Glorious Queen Mech Spirit stared at each other in bewilderment.

"Are you going to the designated quarantine port outside the port of roaming?"

"Yes."

"An Astartes warship?"

"Are you insulting me, Dorn? I once commanded the Wolf Pack's Sky-Shrouding Fleet, traversing the starry seas. How could I possibly mistake him? Besides, it was Astartes who received me!"

"Then why did I receive a secret request from the Inquisition to assist in the investigation of that newly arrived Black Sanctuary expeditionary fleet? And it even included relevant intelligence!"

"You received it? Those crazy judges wouldn't be so kind as to send you a copy, would they?"

“I intercepted it.” Magna’s face remained calm and expressionless. “So what?”

"Let me see!" Ruth grabbed Magna's hand, then realized that the other party should have directly read the data. At this moment, the machine spirit, which looked a lot like his brother, pressed the side of one of his electronic prosthetic eyes, and then projected a Tribunal information marked "Top Secret" into the air.

The message indicated that they suspected the Astartes warship docked in the isolated port of Wandering Harbor of serious violations of Imperial law, but they could not intervene in this matter and therefore hoped that the Black Temple would provide assistance.

"what happened!"

“Uh,” Pallas made a sound, “I think you could just ask him.”

"what?!"

"Who greeted you when you went there? I mean, did you meet their leader?"

"Of course. If not with the leader, who would we contact?"

"Uh. So, did they tell you their chapter's name?"

"Of course I told them. You didn't think I'd leave a ship full of traitorous brats there and walk back myself, did you?"

Are they the sons of Saint Gilles who still retain their true nature?

"Yup!"

Even Pallas straightened up. "Huh? That doesn't match up? Which warband did you encounter?"

"The Flesh Tearer!"

"Those who weep bitterly."

"?"

"?"

"..."

"Unbelievable...! I told you that the sectarian activities in Wandering Harbor have been a bit too biased towards Tzeentch lately because the security team went to the front lines! We have two quarantine ports, one in the south and one in the north! And right now, there's a heavily damaged Astartes warship docked in each of them! I bet Bluebird is definitely behind this!"

"What about the hound squad we placed in Roaming Harbor, specifically responsible for maintaining order?! Isn't that your offspring, Pallas?"

“Good question,” Pallas said. “Do you remember that their captain, Lucius, with his keenest sense of smell and most powerful intuition, is still lying dead in the cosmic cycle ten thousand years ago?”

"..."

(End of this chapter)