Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 813 Alas, the Lamenter
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“Why do they think we’re so unhospitable?” Ramizam muttered.

He then jumped off the rhinoceros first, and almost simultaneously grabbed the mechanized soldier walking alongside the troop carrier—for some reason, his feet suddenly began to slip on the clean, dry, and oil-free port ground.

Fortunately, the mech was tall, heavy, and reliable enough, and the LOGOS he had put on beforehand immediately activated the leg gyroscopes—at least it allowed him to finally stand still.

The mechanical eye of the Sage Desimar flashed, and a piece of data, after passing through his own dedicated encrypted network, effectively deflected the spying of those academic thieves and fraudsters in the roaming port. It was sent to the main control machine of the Ironblood and simultaneously appeared on the desk of a Primarch who had now returned to his busy schedule.

A heavy, helpless sigh came from the desk.

"I knew this would happen. I hope Desima can perform consistently. I really can't spare any more people."

He glanced at the empty squire's seat beside him—the entire Honor Guard had been deployed, and he was considering hiring a few temporary employees from Wandering Harbor.

“Should we bring Sigismund back from the front?” Magna Dorn asked.

"No, now is the best time to deal with the Greenskins as soon as possible. Their numbers are at the lowest point in the recent cycle. It would be too troublesome to wait until the next wave of spore reproduction to clear them out again."

Peturabo BC said, picking up the next data panel, “By the way, Ruth…” He hesitated, “I mean, did Ruth show any abnormalities after we returned?”

“No.” Magna’s eye gleamed as he checked the monitoring database. “At least it doesn’t look like it.”

“Strange,” Peturabo BC commented. “How can the hot-blooded young Leman Ruth be so calm? And is there any update on the Space Wolves Chapter?”

“Which one are you referring to?” Magna Dorn answered calmly. “I have many, but it’s not exactly good news—the Space Wolves Chapter still retains some fighting strength, but I must say the First Legion and the Inquisition may have done no less damage to the Empire’s own power in the absence of more suitable leaders.”

I like how you used "we," and I hope others can learn this skill soon.

The Primarch of the Iron Warriors scoffed, “But Leon has his own business to attend to…though I think he could just walk right into his potato-headed sons’ bedrooms or torture chambers and whip them with a belt.”

"In fact, he probably can't do it."

Magna said, "Because strictly speaking, the skill of traversing the dense forest cannot be entirely considered his own. He is just walking on the path that appears in front of him, and he cannot completely control where the path appears."

“I know,” the dog growled, revealing his worn canine teeth. “Things might have been better when I was there. Besides, the pigeons are here now.”

“That’s right.” His own vehicle’s spirit, which was also his most prized student, met his gaze without flinching. “So, after analyzing the current situation, I guess what you most want to hear right now is about the losses Fenris suffered after being bombed by the Dark Angels, and the current situation of Ragnar Blackmane and the others.”

"Then put it on my desk."

"Then I went and increased the level of defense and fire protection measures for the Wandering Harbor against the Weeping Warriors by two orders of magnitude," Peturabo BC said. "My sense of foreboding grew stronger and stronger."

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HMS Thorn Oath was a typical standard-issue strike cruiser, equipped with a plasma reactor, subspace engines, torpedo launchers, macro guns, and attack vehicle launch bays—well, that was before she was damaged.

The ship's commander is still hesitant about accepting the unexpected offer from the Wandering Harbor Mechanical Temple.

“I really don’t understand what they’re still hesitating about,” Ramizan muttered during a break in Desima’s negotiations. “No matter what, repairs are always necessary, especially since their rear section is almost exposed to a vacuum. It’s a miracle they can even dock.”

"Hush!" Sage Desimah uttered disapprovingly. "You can't say that! Join me in praising the glory of Ohm Messiah! How can those wicked green mushrooms be compared to him?!"

"...Seriously, it's ridiculous that this place can even exist. It's strange that you've been worshipping Om Messiah for so many years and haven't produced a single one, don't you think?"

“I don’t think so.” Sage Desima impatiently typed back the transfer code. “It seems there are only two and a half lowest-ranking engine maintenance workers and one technical sergeant on their ship. It’s a real pain to talk to them; these two can’t even understand slightly more advanced binary phrases. But I think we can finally board the ship.”

"Thank God."

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A moment later, they finally met the helmsman of the battered warship on the bridge.

The reason it is called the helmsman is that, generally speaking, the bridge is not just filled with a few sparse but barely sufficient machine servants, and many of them are ordinary people in tattered uniforms trying to operate things that are obviously unfamiliar to them. And there is no technical sergeant sitting on the command throne.

The sergeant's red armor was badly worn, and there were traces of an explosion on one side of his body—clearly related to the ship's now silent power source. Yellow and weeping heart patterns, representing the mourners, were draped over his shoulder armor, while the other side featured black and white gears representing Mars.

Given that a technical sergeant often finds it difficult to gain genuine brotherly warmth and authority among his fellow members of a sacred order due to their dual allegiance to Mars, it can only mean that there are probably few survivors left on this ship... few who are truly weeping.

When the Sage Desimah began to dominate and suppress his opponent on the bridge (mainly because the Sage had preemptively inserted his mechanical tentacle interface into the bridge to control the Thinker), Ramizan, as planned, made the request to "go to the rear to check the specific situation".

Clearly, the (?) technical sergeant Avilan, who had already breathed a sigh of relief because of the Sage of Desimar's cursed attitude, immediately agreed to this approach, which would have caused great dissatisfaction or opposition in other warbands, especially the founding ones.

"He has clearly become so skilled at dealing with blame and trouble that he has become quite ordinary... or rather, his reactions are too ordinary, which is rare among the sons of Saint Gilles."

Sage Desimah said in the private channel, "This is a good thing, at least it makes negotiations easier. I made some inquiries, and there are indeed no other active Weepers on this ship besides him, and he is unwilling to mention anyone else, but my mechanical crawler reports that some of the ship's remaining energy is continuously supplying the apothecary's stasis medical bay. Here is the map."

Along with a thoughtful (?) ship map came the marked locations and suggested routes.

"Oh! Isn't this the new tour guide map interface we were planning to launch in Wandering Harbor? It was a project that was temporarily halted because of the Greenskin attack."

"Yes, by the way, I personally think the name 'Sublime Virtue' is excellent and very suitable for promotion. I will have two mechs accompany you, no more than that, sir. It would be strange if I didn't leave any with me."

“Two are enough. This is an Iron Ring mech. I’m just here to see if there’s anything good… I mean, to check the damage. We’re docked in port, so there shouldn’t be any problems! You just hold him off on the bridge.” So Lord Ramizan, filled with the joy of a treasure hunt, led the two mechs and a prototype map of the Exalted Journey out of the bridge control room and headed straight for the main road… the engine room—and the adjacent apothecary’s medical room.

The damage to this wrecked warship was clearly worse than they had anticipated. It was evident that the technical sergeant, Avilan, had done everything in his power to repair it—no wonder he had been so reluctant to let anyone board the ship. In this situation, if this were still the original Wandering Port, they would probably really see it as a burden and even have designs on the few people and wreckage left on board.

After all, Wandering Port was originally a semi-autonomous interstellar trading port with relatively low imperial control.

In a place where pirates and traveling merchants could switch identities at any moment, Avilan's caution was not excessive; he was clearly not out of touch with worldly affairs.

But who can resist a sugar-coated bullet? The maintenance list provided by the Sage of Desima included reactor parts and engines that they desperately needed. If Avilan still wanted to leave, he certainly couldn't refuse such thoughtful repairs delivered to his doorstep.

The visitor thought to himself as he carefully stepped aside the still twitching remains of a machine servant, a mixture of dried tendons, skin, and steel.

The Iron Ring Soldier used his long-handled thunder hammer to clear away the tangled cables hanging down in front of him, which resembled intestines and entrails. This was the middle section, the place with the most corpses and bloodstains. Many signs of attacks and the dead who had not received timely treatment were everywhere. The rear section, having been blown into a vacuum, would probably appear much more spacious.

"They don't even have enough people to clean all this up... Ugh, ugh!!!"

A stench of cold, rotting flesh mixed with engine oil and excrement, along with other foul smells, wafted over from an unknown wind in the tunnel. Only then did Ramizan suddenly realize something he had overlooked for a very long time: he seemed not to have seen the LOGOS helmet when he put on his armor.
Why did it take you so long to remember this?! If you'd remembered earlier, you could have worn a helmet... Ugh.

"Ugh... Ugh... Ugh!!! Huh?!"

He grabbed the iron ring that reached out to him, and was about to empty his stomach contents towards the side of the bulkhead when he suddenly realized that he was looking down at a tattered yellow helmet in the shadows. He froze for a few seconds before his malfunctioning brain realized that the pale yellow, multi-layered, near-circular hole looking at him through the gaping hole in the helmet's face was actually some kind of structure on some object.

"[Extremely intense Old Earth profanity]!"

Ramizan stepped back and then realized he had bumped into something on the wall, and he suddenly felt his stomach jump into his heart.

The two iron-ringed mechs did not raise their weapons behind him.

Uh, that's a good sign, it means it's not alive, so...

He slowly turned around and saw the terrifying face and sharp teeth of a licaterworm staring straight at him, reflecting the light from the iron rings.

"Ouch!! [Extremely intense Old Earth profanity]!"

One of the Iron Rings stepped forward, raising the Storm Shield in one hand to pull their main target behind him, and raising the Thunder Hammer in the other, smashing the head and body of the Tyrann corpse that had been trapped in the wall and killed.

As the body shattered, the spent cartridge cases from the explosive shells lodged inside it fell to the ground like marbles.

"[Old Earth profanity], okay, now I think we know what they encountered. This seems to match the records of their final route, a tentacle of the Tyranid fleet. I guess they're lucky they even escaped... uh, it sounds weird to say that to the Lamenters."

After one of them recovered somewhat, the three-person (?) group continued on their way. After all, they had already been through a lot, and it would be unpleasant to leave empty-handed without finding anything.

Sage Desimah clearly benefited greatly from his previous encounter with Belisari Kaul, at least in terms of downloading some kind of professional grave-digging investigation code.

The newly generated navigation route led them through empty rooms and warehouses, now deserted and covered only with dust and a few broken items ("This place is as empty as a newly built ship's hold, so empty it makes me uncomfortable," commented one librarian), and very precisely led them into a hall filled with exquisite carvings.

The frost on the cables around the hall, indicating that some additional energy source was still at work, the extinguished melted candles on the ground, the faint aftertaste of incense, and the huge niches surrounded by exquisite works of art imbued with a sense of sacred mourning all suggest that this was a place where extremely important things were kept.

"Turn on all your lights. Oh, and the shields too."

The two mech pilots did as instructed, and as several searchlights suddenly lit up, the place, which had been dark for weeks or an unknown period of time, became as bright as day again.

This Hall of Stasis is clearly a treasure of the Chapter. The exquisite white marble and yellow sandstone carvings, along with other materials, are all the work of the Sons of Saint Gilles. However, they are not entirely the same as the magnificent and heavy sacred feeling of the Blood Angels. The works here have a softer, more sorrowful and solemn atmosphere.

This feeling just feels kind of familiar...

Ramizan pondered as he approached a stasis chamber. The ancient equipment was covered in a thick layer of frost and dust, and a series of marks from a bomb gun drew a sharp curve near the hatch.

He reached out and brushed away the cover on the observation panel, then cautiously peered inside.

"……what……"

He took a step back, and the mech soldier alertly raised the Storm Shield and weapons in his hands.

"It's alright." Ramizan let out a breath, then sighed, before going to check the other stasis chambers.

"……Why."

He pondered for a moment, while the statue of a drooping angel at the top of the hall watched him.

“…Sage Desima, tell the Ironblood that there are many mortals here who need help.”

He turned around, looked at the last stasis chamber, and pondered.

"...and tell Hong Suo to come over immediately when he has some free time."

(End of this chapter)