Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 829 My Lord, please give the order!
-
*Transition Chapter
-
"But that doesn't make sense."

In the commander's office, Diocletian felt that his self-control and common sense were once again seriously challenged.

Behind the desk sat a broad-shouldered being, capable of bearing the weight of the human sovereign's avatar, leaning back on a footstool and sipping Reca coffee; next to the desk, behind a table, sat a being who exuded the aura of a formidable foe within the netherworld, yet somehow managed to refrain from arousing hostility, rambling on and on about the other two beings as he worked.

...What is this? What are the brothers and comrades who died in the War of the Internet? What are the years of confusion in the Terra Palace? This sense of ease carried a heavy sin, and he frowned as he scrutinized everyone in the room except his lord.

"Diocletian, relax." It was his lord's voice, and ignoring the fact that the words coming from the pigeon's beak were as grand as ever, "You'll get used to it."

The sound immediately and stealthily switched to vibrations that could only be transmitted to his eardrum.

"...After all, there is no one here, but if we don't use human appearances and things that humans can understand as the basis for communication and cognition, then not only will your mind instantly become an indescribable thing that even I cannot save, but the degree of distortion and deformation of this place will be no less than that of the second Eye of Fear, understand? I know you are straightforward and will faithfully fulfill your duties, and you are proud of not letting your emotions affect your actions, but you should still restrain yourself a little in front of 'him'—try your best."

He tilted his head slightly toward the crowned dove, indicating that he understood his lord's meaning, and the dove's small face looked very pleased.

"What doesn't make sense?"

Despite his busy schedule, Peturabo BC still managed to pick up where Ramizan left off.

"Hmm... It's normal that Eisenhorn and his assistant don't recognize us, and it's also normal that Diocletian doesn't recognize us, but judging from the description of our appearance, Ventress and the others should know us, and probably have a pretty good impression of us..."

The dog gave a dismissive, noncommittal grunt. The person continued speaking, absentmindedly flipping through the book in their hands.

"...So, if, as Diocletian said, their activities included monitoring our restaurant, why didn't they recognize us...?"

The Imperial Guard cleared his throat.

“Eisenhorn himself rarely goes out because he needs to monitor that demonic host…” Diocletian’s expression changed slightly with disgust. “He sometimes uses that beast for divination or surveillance.”

"Ventris and Passanius, due to their conspicuous physiques, also did not operate in the upper or middle levels. Purchases and other operations near areas patrolled more frequently by the security team were mainly carried out by Zaan and me. The recruit who smelled of the undead operated more in the lower levels. The three of them rented another place there, and the public's story was that they were a widower with his son and brother."

Ramizan didn't think anything of it yet, but Peturabo BC frowned after receiving a message from the Ironblood.

"You mean the lower levels? The bars, casinos, and shacks of the lowest-ranking sailors?"

"I guess so. I usually don't go there to avoid arousing suspicion."

“I thought we didn’t have any homeless people or slums here anymore.” Ramizan frowned. “Haven’t our factories been complaining about not having enough manpower? We’ve sent everyone who is willing and able to do long-term or temporary work to factories and farms. Especially the farms, which are like bottomless pits after the harvest season starts.”

“We don’t have slums.” Peturabo BC shrugged, completely unaware of the shock his words caused Diocletian, who had served as tribune of the plebs and witnessed the vast slums at the foot of the palace walls. “But we do have urban villages.”

The waves in the highest heavens caused by someone's anger subsided instantly, and demons of all sizes jumped up like shrimp soldiers and crab generals who had fallen on the beach, running to their respective territories or taking the opportunity to swat each other in the back.

Lamizan plopped back down in his seat. "Oh, it's an urban village. Never mind then. Urban villages are indeed good places to find hiding places."

“We can’t possibly catch them all in one place, and usually we try to keep it that way,” Dirk said. “However, tonight is a coincidence.”

"Oh?"

“Tonight, apart from that recruit named Samoquan, everyone else should be gathered at Eisenhorn’s quarters,” he thought. “But it’s been too long since the time I agreed to return with them, and I can’t be sure if they’re still there. If they know where I am, it’s very likely that the Space Marines have already returned to their hideouts.”

“Oh no,” Ramizam said, then shared a message with Peturabo BC: “Barabbas has notified the entire port in accordance with emergency management procedures.”

Dirk blinked first. "What was the notification?"

"The entire port was notified about the accident you caused in Central Park and the resulting road closures."

"...You just casually tell information to lower- and middle-level officials like that? This will cause a lot of problems."

"...Huh? Of course not."

"Therefore, we should first take control of those high-ranking officials according to the list..."

“Almost every legally employed family in Wandering Harbor has been issued a radio to receive information about factory schedules, time off, holidays, and overtime,” Ramizan said with surprise under the astonished gaze of the guards. “So most people in Wandering Harbor know about this now. What’s wrong? Isn’t it basic to notify every household about accidents and traffic conditions?”

“Unbelievable!” the Imperial Guards cried. “How could such valuable, timely information be allowed to fall into the hands of these foolish, ordinary creatures…”

The pigeons' loud cooing silenced Diocletian, while the blue-eyed one of the other two looked at him with even more hostility.

“I think I have a pretty good idea why you’ve been here for a while but haven’t made any progress in monitoring us,” Ramizan began with a sneer.

“Gregor Eisenhorn’s biggest mistake was choosing to trust you, this antique frozen meat guard, instead of coming in person. I was wondering why such a shrewd judge would remain inactive for so long.”

"If it weren't for you, Your Excellency, the moment the phrase 'antique frozen meat' left your mouth, that mouth would have been smashed by my fist to uphold the honor of the Imperial Guard."

Lamizain raised his eyebrows even higher. "So what do you want me to say? A remote-controlled toy of the King of Figurines, or..."

The pigeon cried out, "For the sake of anything else, please, all of you, shut up!"

“My lord! Why should you be so humble to him! Someone of your stature needs no such treatment! If you allow me to go and gather our comrades, the vast army scattered across the galaxy will surely stand guard by your side as it did ten thousand years ago!”

Diocletian could no longer contain himself. "Eisenhorn chose to believe me not because he 'miscalculated,' but because he knew that the loyalty of the Guards was not based on human cunning, but solely on the Emperor's will. His inaction was a weighing of the pros and cons of worldly power struggles; while I stand here to fulfill my duty to protect the survival of humanity..."

"All the filth of Terra! Diocletian, did you even listen to what I told you?! I told you to shut up!"

"I apologize, Your Majesty." The Imperial Guard knelt on one knee and lowered his head. "We have been under your command for far too long. I was just too indignant. If you give the order, I will go through fire and water for you."

Perturabo BC watched coldly, while Ramizan began to grumble again, "This black corn head is probably beyond repair, otherwise we should send it to Honso..." "That won't do!" Pigeon raised his voice again, "My masterpiece, which I have so carefully crafted, must not be handed over to others to ruin!"

“...Listen to this, is this even human? I truly feel that the Imperial Guard is your real son, while the Primarch is more like a tool you created.”

Lamizane suddenly seemed to remember something and revealed a malicious smile. "Oh right, I suddenly remembered that there was a fallen emperor's son, an apothecary named Fabius Bayer, who kidnapped the Imperial Guard to conduct human experiments in an attempt to fuse them into something new that could reproduce..."

"what?!"

"what!"

The pigeon cried out, “Why didn’t anyone tell me about this when I was up there?! I couldn’t sense any related emotions or whispers! Damn it, some guys must have secretly tampered with this to block it out… otherwise Fabius Bayer would be worth a whole warband, no, at least three warbands hunting him down!”

"...Then why didn't you react so strongly when you found out that Pallas was Bayerkron's Fogrem?"

“I thought he just happened to be lucky at the time, and this is normal in experiments,” the dove said somberly. “Besides,” He glanced at Perturabo BC, “here, as the third Vograim, Pallas’s existence has achieved a higher level of solidification, and he has almost parted ways with the Vograim on the warp level.”

“Although I didn’t understand, it seems like good news. I’m really impressed by you… But what if I told you that Bayer also cloned your other Primarchs… uh, your sons?”

"What!" the pigeon cried out again.

"...including Horus."

"We can't let these insects run rampant any longer!" Pigeon turned sternly to Diocletian. "We must strike hard! Diocletian, issue orders to the 10,000-strong regiment immediately..."

“That won’t do,” Peturabo BC interrupted their conversation with a forced smile. “We can’t accommodate so many Imperial Guards here right now. We’ll discuss this later! And…”

He turned to Ramizam, “Weren’t we discussing at the beginning how to wipe them all out in one fell swoop and as little as possible without alerting the others and all those ‘eyes’ watching here?”

“That’s how it is.” Ramizan thought for a moment, “...So, if Ventress and the others see someone they know, they’re very likely to try to approach or contact that person. In that case…”

"We should send someone with the right identity, who can spare the time right now, and who would be perfectly reasonable even if they were to appear in a chaotic urban village to lure them out."

"And we happen to have just such a person here."

--------

While sitting in the laboratory of the Destiny Steel, attempting to conduct a multigene free hybridization experiment, a certain master pharmacist suddenly trembled, and a whole row of liquids flowed out from the tip of his electronic burette.

"Tsk."

These precious samples had to be discarded entirely.

He immediately dumped them into his specialized processing furnace, ensuring that the samples and containers were completely destroyed on both a physical and psionic level before leaving.

So what's going on? This ominous premonition, yet one that made his heart pound... hadn't happened in a long time.

Could it be... Parogov?
The call from the warband leader's office immediately invigorated the alchemist. Could it really be true?
--------

"We must move to the safe house on the lower level."

Vintress wore faded terracotta power armor, the surface still bearing the distinctive blue of the Ultramarines, while the green edges of the shoulder armor indicated their past affiliation with the Fourth Company.

"Samo went to the underground tavern and casino district today to gather intelligence. He disguised himself as a genetically modified slave laborer and should be heading back soon. Once we meet up, we'll move to a less-used shack."

He nodded to Eisenhorn. "Ten hours have passed. The chances of 'Chorus' returning on his own are close to zero, but the chances of him being caught are increasing every minute. He started from here, and the last psionic contact point is also here. I suggest you perhaps come with us. It's no longer safe here, Inquisitor."

“Diocristian was a Throne Guard, a member of the Imperial Guard,” Eisenhorn pondered, his face aged yet resolute, a trace of unconscious sorrow and weariness flickering in his breath, only to be concealed behind a resolute and ruthless expression the next. “I think if he possessed even a tenth of the legendary… the chances of him being willing to be captured alive are slim, and even if he were, his honor wouldn’t compel him to reveal his comrades.”

“It’s not high, but we can’t take the risk,” Ventress said. Passanius was clearly uneasy about his superior’s distrust of a member of the Imperial Guard, but he said nothing.

"On another note, there are countless things that are amiss here, but we haven't been able to find their weakness. And now, something capable of colliding with a member of the Imperial Guard is right here. I don't think we can take this lightly. —Your—" He carefully chose a word, "What do you mean by 'tool'?"

Kerubel let out a strange, muffled laugh from under his cloak.

The old man sighed, “Asking a demon host about the unknown? Ventress? Your attitude of trust and intimacy toward demons is not like that of an Ultramariner who claims to have completed his atonement and is returning to your chapter.”

The air tensed for a moment, then Eisenhorn waved his hand dismissively, "But who isn't like that?"

He turned to Kerubel and released it from its restraints, saying, "Tell us what you see."

The demon sighed. "Ah, it should have been done sooner." It said, "What do you want to know, dear Gregor?"

Who is our next guest?

Kerubel's voice was full of joy.

"destiny."

"what?"

"Fate, belated fate, important fate, someone's fate, the devil's misfortune."

(End of this chapter)