Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 814 Truly worthy of being called the Lamenter—I wonder what the Flesh Tearer is like.
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It must be admitted that the weeping man was indeed as kind as Ramizain knew, and his previous strange behavior was actually an effort to prevent Wandering Harbor from encountering more trouble.

Just as Sergeant Avilan told them.

“I know the curse and the glory we carry, and I will try my best to stay away from people who don’t need help.”

—Now they know that although Avilan wore the red armor of a Tech Sergeant, he didn’t even have the chance to receive formal training on Mars, because he was one of the last recruits to join before the Lamenters’ Redemption Expedition began.

Strictly speaking, Avilan's situation was simply that his predecessor picked a recruit from all the candidates who seemed to be smart enough to understand some mechanical knowledge, and then forcibly performed an interface surgery on him—then copied the contents of his own head to him, hoping that he would survive and slowly digest and absorb them on his own.

As for the power armor and mechanical servo arms, those were also a gift from the predecessor before his death—this former technical master, who had been trained on Mars, was clearly wise enough to do everything he could to prepare all the escape routes for the chapter and apprentices before he finally fell, so that the weeping bandits would not run out of technical sergeants they desperately needed.

According to Avilan, there were already not enough people, including technical sergeants and apothecaries.

The people in the static field were almost all people they had rescued or important veteran crew members on the ship, but the extreme shortage of doctors and medicines forced Avilan to shoulder such a heavy responsibility: to drive the wounded Thorn Oath back to the rear for a temporary rest, while also giving himself time to make another copy of the data legacy left to him by his predecessor.

Although he didn't know where there was anywhere to rest, at least he could take the wounded away from the battle zone with the Zerg fleet. As for the rest, he would figure out a way to survive first.

For those who are grieving, there is always a way. They are used to flexibly lowering their pride, and it is not unacceptable for them to work for others or scavenge in space, especially considering that their journey of atonement is not yet over.

“That’s why he was completely unwilling to send anything to the Thorn Oath,” Ramizan commented. “He simply couldn’t… could not protect what was left on the ship by himself, but it was important. Apparently, he thought Wandering Harbor was the kind of lawless, outlawful place teeming with traitors, heretics, aliens and criminals.”

“It’s amazing, my Lord. I always thought this place was a paradise and a lawless land.”

Hong Su chimed in, noting that the pharmacist's medical goggles were flashing as he carefully repaired a cracked artery in the chest cavity of an anesthetized patient, holding a laser fusion device in one hand.

"Wandering Harbor is not a lawless place."

"I'm serious," Ramizan said, carefully protecting his coffee cup—his coffee had inexplicably spilled nine times when he was near the patient, seven of which were due to sudden hiccups or coughs, eight of which were due to slipping, and six of which, no matter what position he fell in, ended up landing on the apothecary holding the surgical instruments.

The latter constantly distracted himself to avoid accidentally sending the patient on the operating table directly to the freezer.

“We originally had well-equipped and well-trained Cardia security forces, Astartes security forces and hound squads, as well as workers’ clubs, customs, schools, chapels, quarantine ports and other institutions here. Everything was in good order and thriving. How could it be a lawless place!”

Ramizan pointed this out seriously.

"Hmm, but now there are only a few old, weak, sick, and wounded Cardian soldiers left as a makeshift security force and the Hound Squad on duty. The square is filled with more refugees than ever before, and I can smell the fear and pleading for protection even on the Ironblood."

Hong Suo grumbled, but his hands didn't falter at all. He deftly removed the inflamed, stone-like kidney, connected a dialysis tube, then pulled over a purified water tube and a drainage tube, peeled open the peritoneum, and began to sort out the messy intestines.

"Well, this is only a temporary wartime measure, and the Ironblood is stationed on the route. Things will get better once the war is over, I'm sure of it. How is he?"

Lamizain, holding his coffee cup, kept glancing at the apothecary's treatment of the patient out of the corner of his eye, seemingly both hesitant and eager to watch. Honso replied in a very tolerant yet proud tone.

"If he met someone else, his best-case scenario would probably be entering the Fearless—ah, but does the Weeping One even have any Fearless slots available? Heh. However, if he met me, he should be able to gradually recover within a few weeks. Once I remove these extra life support channels and make enough replacement tissues and organs to re-implant him, it's simple and effective—it takes so long to recover, which is indeed a terrible injury for Astartes, especially for the genetic lineage of the Holy Blood Angels."

"Isn't the usual arrangement to let the other person choose between a prosthetic body or reconstructed organs?"

"I cannot be a master of pharmacology, genetics, and biology, and at the same time a skilled forger and technical sergeant capable of creating mechanical prosthetics suitable for intense combat, my lord."

"Can't you?"

"These are two directions of research, if you want to delve into one of them. So, you can't."

Hongsuo sighed deeply. The recent back-and-forth travel between various battlefields had made the skin on his face look taut against his bones, and his skull showed characteristics of two legions at the same time. His armor also thoughtfully outlined the physique he had in Medrengard.

"What about the Armory? Isn't the work of the Armory Masters in creating mechanical organs and limbs?"

"The Sage Desimar only knows how to cram reactors, sunburst cannons, and molten claws into cybernetic bodies. Then he turns them into Dreadnoughts, Azure Dragons, or some other kind of mechs. Our guest hasn't reached that level yet."

Honso rolled his eyes where his master couldn't see. "Lord Pallas may be skilled at forging sophisticated combat prosthetics and organs, but is it really necessary to disturb his rest time for this uninvited guest? I don't think it's necessary. In the end, we have no other sages in the armory, my lord."

“…We really should have taken one or two of Belisarius Caul’s clones. We made a mistake; he definitely had them with him.” Lamizane frowned. “Is that all? Strange, I have a feeling there’s still one…?”

Hongsuo flushed the intestines clean and used a suction device to remove the excess fluid, then put them back into the patient's abdominal cavity before beginning the suturing.

"That's all, sir. And I'd like to know when we'll be able to retrieve my poor, needy apprentice from this cannibalistic, terrifying universe?"

“We have no relevant information, but Peturabo… I mean, the intelligence I’ve received says that he will eventually send us some kind of message himself. We can only search and wait. Seriously, aren’t you considering taking on a few more apprentices? One person can’t handle it all, really.”

"So far, I haven't found anyone I'm compatible with." The pharmacist's refusal was both tactful and bold.

"Perhaps you could reconsider sending troops to plunder... I mean, to reclaim a few nearby chapter homeworlds. Generally, there are always one or two apothecaries in the homeworld monasteries who are responsible for guarding the chapter's seed vault. We can then transfer some of those apothecaries to supplement our medical personnel reserves."

"Hmm..." The Fourth Primarch's rugged, broad face fell into deep thought. "...I'll bring it up with him after we solve the green-skinned pest problem...cough cough cough cough cough!!!!"

The warband leader, who had just finished the last sip of Reca coffee, suddenly started coughing violently, as if he had choked on coffee. Then he began to spray coffee-smelling droplets everywhere like a runaway sprinkler.

The master pharmacist, maintaining a practiced composure, immediately activated the force field on the operating table, obscuring the view, and initiated the procedures for further rinsing, disinfection, and aspiration. ————————

“Not bad.” He said to the patient afterward, “I thought you were going to suddenly explode on my operating table and leave the only stain on my medical career, so as soon as you can get up, get back to your room and rest.”

The astonished expression on the other person's handsome, angelic face lessened the surrounding sorrow and sense of destruction, even making him look somewhat dazed. "Excuse me, what did you say..."

“During your treatment here, my experiments have experienced an unprecedentedly high failure rate—they were originally almost 100% successful.”

The apothecary stared at the other person with his original eyes and medical goggles. "Of course, as per the warband leader's request, we shouldn't bring up too much supernatural stuff. So, for the sake of rigorous comparison, I require you to move out of here immediately and go to the officers' quarters on the barracks deck. Then I will conduct the experiment again."

"Of course." This time, the other person seemed to understand and nodded, his long golden hair brushing against his hospital gown.

"Chapter Commander? Would I be fortunate enough to know which chapter came to my aid and saved my life?"

Malakin Forros saw that the highly skilled apothecary he was facing seemed to be smiling, a very…pleasant smile.

“Hmm… Silver Skull.” He spoke of the name with a unique joy and nostalgia, perhaps a sense of pride? “You are currently on the Silver Skull Chapter’s battle mothership.”

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"Malagin Forros".

Ramizan nodded, carefully and cautiously assessing the warship before him from his mechanical sage disguise.

This warship was in much better condition than the Lamenter's; at least its rear section was still intact. However, it was also dark, with every dent in the hull being completely black, creating an eerie atmosphere.

"Although there are only two Lamenters on this ship, one of them is their chapter commander. Well, that explains why the Lamenters didn't respond to the Blood Angels' request to summon their sub-companies to defend Baal. As far as I remember, they replied that they 'didn't have enough capacity to provide support.' According to Avilan, after Malakin's near-death experience, they only had three tattered companies, no senior officers, and had lost a lot of equipment and fleet... Judging from his expression, I guess they might even have started to develop a dark rage, adding insult to injury... Unbelievable. But this completely explains all the inexplicable setbacks we've been experiencing lately."

“I’m afraid ‘stumbling’ would be an understatement, my lord,” said Honso with the kind of elegant politeness that only the most wicked villains possess. “Recently, the ship has been looking strangely dilapidated, inside and out.”

"Have it?"

"Yes. Even the plates served in the cafeteria are getting more and more chipped every day."

"Aren't those ceramic steel plates in the cafeteria? Where did the tear come from?"

"There is a gap."

"Hiss... This is terrifying. The front lines..."

"It's alright for now, probably because of the distance, there hasn't been a particularly noticeable increase, but it's different for the others left on board. The number of people with minor injuries for no apparent reason has increased by more than 50%."

The pharmacist's prosthetic eye glowed red. "I've already ordered the armory to urgently equip more patrol aircraft with basic surgical first aid and bandaging procedures and medical bandages. Otherwise, I can't handle these flesh wounds all by myself!"

"It's good that the front lines are alright. I know that Pallas and Ruth are planning an operation to end the Greenskin War... We need more luck than bad luck."

"Perhaps I could try to put Malakin Forros into some kind of thirst or dark fury state?"

The apothecary coldly pointed out, "If the rumors about the Weepers that I obtained from the database are correct, and their genetic seeds have been modified by those red-robed men to remove the negative statuses that plague the Blood Angels, but at the cost of being plagued by misfortune, then can we assume that as long as they are awakened to thirst and dark rage, they can bring the luck of everyone nearby back to normal?"

"If we can't turn things around, wouldn't it be a pointless loss to have even lost a VIP seat? That's not right, not right."

Hong Su gave Ramizain a strange look.

"Anyway," Ramizam asked finally with concern, "do you think you can manage going up alone? Don't you really need to send a few more guards?"

“They said only apothecaries are allowed on board, my lord,” Honsor replied, flashing a businesslike smile with four teeth. “I think it’s time for me to meet the other group of renowned sons of Saint Gilles. Please wait here for good news.”

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Thirty minutes after boarding the Flesh-Tearer warship, the Heavy Claw Dragon, Honso met the ship's leader.

"You don't look too good, cousin."

Warren, the commander of the 10th Flesh-Tearer Company, leaned the remaining half of his body against the control panel, his other arm supporting his chainsaw sword, revealing his bloodstained teeth and gums, the black blood already dried.

“Perhaps,” the company commander replied, “but can’t you find any decent messengers here? The last person who came here to investigate was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I thought he went to our ship, glanced at it, and then went back not to find the apothecary, but to find some promethium and firewood to burn us down. And you, to be honest, always remind me of those unpleasant steel warrior scum.”

“Ah.” Hong Su nodded in understanding. “After all, he doesn’t usually worry about these trivial matters. But I’m just a Silver Skull Apothecary who came at your request. As you can see.”

“Furthermore,” Hong Suo glanced again at the bridge, littered with gruesome corpses, severed limbs, and disemboweled bodies, and the walls and ceiling splattered with the blood of the dead. “I can understand him, too…”

He suddenly drew his pistol and fired at Warren, who was still grinning.

(End of this chapter)