Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 832 A touching reunion scene (Really?) and an unexpected problem with the Imperial Guards -
"Thank you so much, Master. May the Emperor's glory forever protect you..."

“...I will humbly offer it to you, madam, you clearly need it more than I do.”

"Throne! What a merciful angel in white you are!"

The old woman cried out, her face, full of wrinkles and the hardships life had brought her, was filled with gratitude. Her arms, which were peeling and swollen from washing clothes, were wrapped with tattered prayer beads.

"Thank you, Master. I will pray for you."

"It would be even better if you could add 'steel inside, steel outside' to your prayers, ma'am. Here, take this hand cream and remember to apply it after each work session."

"Of course, of course..."

The old woman walked away, muttering to herself.

Hong Su watched her leave with a standard business smile that turned up 15 degrees at the corners of his mouth.

As her faltering footsteps faded into the distance, the open space beside the lower ring road gradually returned to calm, with only the rhythmic background noise of a reactor working, like a distant echo, reverberating regularly in Hungso's Lyman's ears.

It's now "night" on the 24-hour color-changing artificial lumen sign of the roaming harbor, and most people who have work or things to do the next day have already gone home or gone to bed.

The old woman we just saw must have been the last patient of the day.

She is now a laundry worker at the laundromat in Wandering Harbor. Recently, the upper floors have started to popularize the "Warrior" brand washing machines developed by the locals; the middle-level residential area also has a public laundry room; only the lower deck still needs laundry workers, but it is foreseeable that her job will be replaced sooner or later, so she is very worried.

She recently fell ill, and just as she was leaving get off work, she saw this doctor from the Imperial Hospital offering free medical consultations. She hesitated for a long time before finally coming to see him.

Hong Suo immediately saw her problem. In addition to some multivitamin tablets and hand cream, the prescription he gave included a few words of advice during the examination, such as, "I heard that the cafeteria in the middle-level nursery is recruiting women like you who have childcare experience and are clean and tidy, to do kitchen and hygiene work..."

After finding out the location of the recruitment and how to get there, the old woman's condition improved greatly, and her address to Hun Sue was upgraded from "Doctor" to "Master" and "Angel".

Well, anyway, Hong Suo is a super scoundrel. He didn't tell her that working there meant working from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m., with her hands constantly soaked in hot water and detergent! She only had an hour to leave her post for lunch! These were outrageous employment conditions in Wandering Harbor these days; only someone desperate would go!

The apothecary was quite pleased with the evil deeds he had committed that day. For example, he had killed two unborn children; bled them (classic, needless to say); severed over a dozen different limbs; gouged out three eyes; extracted dozens of teeth, destroying the will of many; and caused countless agonizing screams (especially while they were strapped to his horrific dental folding chair)...

What a Chaos Space Marine with such excellent skills! He straightened his back, packed up his stall, and headed home, planning to come back tomorrow.

Just after he and his anti-gravity cargo sled walked into the shadows...

"Master Hong Suo, please wait."

He stopped.

It's not because he's very obedient.

The speaker had that deep, resonant voice characteristic of the Astartes, though it was disguised—Great! I recognize this voice, fantastic! Looks like I'll be able to finish the task today, right?
In the instant Hong Suo turned around, his facial muscles transformed from a wide grin to surprise, doubt, and wariness—a transformation that would make even the best Eldar clown in the Ark Network feel inferior.

"What? Huh?! What are you doing here? Uriel Ventress? Pastanius Lesani, is that you?"

“Yes, it’s us. Now raise your hands and walk over slowly, Master Honso. I have the Marksman’s Badge of Honor, and you wouldn’t want to test its reliability at this distance.”

"What's wrong?" The apothecary master did as he was told and slowly walked over, still with that surprised and honest look that would make any good person feel guilty.

"What happened, brothers? You shouldn't have pointed a gun at me, should you?"

—Of course, given that Hunsso was unaware that the two Ultramarines had been living in his hometown for quite some time, he was still trying to play the role of the Silver Skull Chapter's apothecary brothers, just as they had when they parted ways.

Pastanius glanced at Ventress, the gist of which was: Should we ask him as originally planned?
Ventress nodded slightly.

"We haven't returned to Maclag, nor reclaimed our rightful honor at Hera Fortress, Honso. But you should explain to us which chapter you belong to."

“That’s a real shame,” said the apothecary master. “I was so eager to tell you about my feelings for your father… and so on.”

He turned his head and looked the two of them up and down. "...I mean, did you just crawl out of some corner of the world and are a bit out of touch? You must have heard about Robert Guilliman being kidnapped and then resurrected, right?"

"what?!"

"What did you say?!"

In a flash, the war blacksmith leaped up and kicked Vinttress, who was pointing a gun at him. Vinttress was stunned for a fraction of a second by the sudden news, but that was enough.

Honsau kicked Uriel in the side of his breastplate, then took a step forward, leaped up, and turned to strike Uriel's temple with his knee. As Uriel landed, the former Ultramarines Fourth Company Commander also collapsed to the ground—Passanius had fired thirteen shots into his back in an attempt to get him off the ground—but the Alchemist's precious armor was more effective in defense than the Terminator's—these high-quality bullets had no effect on him, not even affecting his stability.

"Mental and physical stability are crucial for the hand that holds the scalpel!"

The words of the father of blue eyes still echo in my ears.

Hong Su smiled slightly.

“That was reckless, Lesani brothers. The sound of the grenades will attract more people soon, and they will report to the security patrol.”

Honsau pinned the stunned Ventress down with one foot, casually pulled out the power axe hidden under his medical backpack, and looked at the furious Pastanius. "He's not getting away now. How about you? Come visit us again, big guy."

--------

"Hey! Hey! Isn't this a case of the flood washing away the Dragon King's temple? Hong Su is truly our lucky charm!"

After receiving the report from the apothecary master, someone in the chapter leader's office made the following sound.

"Bring them here quickly! The Ultramarines are fantastic in logistics and administrative work... I mean, after ten thousand years of tradition, the Ultramarines have become famous all-rounders, and we desperately need their talent!"

“I think you have overestimated the Thirteenth Legion, Your Excellency,” Diocletian said politely but with a livid expression.

After his identity was verified and he was spoken to, the guard was given a new set of Guardian power armor and a new powered halberd, sourced from the Pigeon and Ironblood databases, made in the Armory, of excellent quality, but requiring only one-thousandth the time of the traditional craftsmen's guilds within Terra Palace. "Rest assured, they are manufactured exactly according to Diocletian Kross's original data. Even if Marshal Trajan of the Guard came, he would have to admit they are genuine!"

Clad in golden armor, with a Dorne mask cast in metal, Magna Dorne made this promise when he came to deliver it.

Diocletian Cross, who had once worked with the real Roger Dorn, turned his astonished gaze once again to the pigeons upon seeing this blasphemous and unspeakable creation.

The pigeon had no choice but to pull the retired royal guard into the next room once again and assure him that he was truly his sovereign.

—The others could only feel that the room next to them seemed to light up for a moment, the light penetrating and illuminating everything, as if a sun had appeared there for a very short time.

Then the former tribunal reappeared, but with a stronger sense of worry and resentment. However, he managed to barely accept this "blasphemous intelligent creation that has crossed the red line, the dark replica of Number Seven."

His Excellency Ramizan Carlosini commented on this: "Killing their parents, then adopting the sons of dead kings, queens, and chieftains and raising them to be more like their own sons than their own genetic sons, I don't really understand what kind of ancient Earth fetish this is."

As for Eisenhorn and his group, Lucius had already led his men there. Diocletian didn't mind going himself, but Ramizan suggested that it would be better not to let anyone see such a golden throne representative for the time being.

"Only when the follow-up move is unknown to everyone can it be considered a follow-up move."

That's certainly true, so Diocletian was left here to "receive some education and learn by listening" for a while, and Pigeon was quite satisfied with that.

Surprisingly, Peturabo BC did not object, while Diocletian looked at Primarch No. 4 with suspicion. He should be considered one of the monsters in the web.

—He could still sense that the other person wasn't human, yet he couldn't muster any hostility towards him. It was so strange… Also, did this room smell like animals?

But since Diocletian's lord was now also an... animal, it wouldn't be appropriate to say it aloud, so he could only bear it and keep it to himself.

“Is it high? Not at all!” Ramizan said in an extremely archaic Old Earth language. Diocletian blinked in surprise, realizing he might have heard such words before—but when? No one had spoken this language during his conversion into the Imperial Guard and in the thousands of years of learning that followed.

"In fact, I think that although the characteristics, variations, chapter cultures and personalities produced by the genetic seeds of each Primarch are very fascinating, when it comes to real combat, the final form of all the Legions should be to fight as a composite chapter, either mixed or not, as needed. This is the optimal solution."

Ramizan pondered, his hand brushing the pages of the book in his hand. “The equipment and weapon configurations prescribed by the Codex Astartes are clearly no longer suitable for the actual needs of the battlefield today… Speaking of which,” he raised his curious eyes, “I have a few questions for you, a veteran of the Imperial Guard who has served for so long.”

"I'm not sure I can answer all your questions, Your Excellency."

"Ah-ha—so—"

“Answer him, Diocletian, I have granted you permission to reply honestly with all that you know!”

The guards bowed solemnly to their lord, signifying their readiness with a gesture that was both solemn and tragic.

"...So the first question is, after the 'Emperor' sat on the Golden Throne, did all the Imperial Guards in the Throne Room really only wear helmets, loincloths, and cloaks?"

"..."

"..."

"..." Even Magna Dorn's metallic face couldn't help but reveal a subtle expression that was half curious and half morbid.

"...Yes, Your Excellency, this is to express your repentance."

“Wow, wow, wow.” Ramizam picked up his notebook and scribbled a few notes.

"So, the next question is, do you think the 'Emperor' would see you dressed like this walking around in front of him?"

"...You shouldn't be asking me that, sir."

The pigeons suddenly became the center of attention.

"You asked about Diocletian, so why are you looking at me!"

“…Okay…” someone said regretfully, drawing a question mark, “So you guys put oil on each other? Do you put it on each other?”

The veins on the temples of the Imperial Guards were visibly bulging.

"...paint".

"Oh wow, what the microphone said was actually true. So you guys really have some kind of fraternity Thursday or something similar group activity specifically for releasing stress and hormones...?"

Dirk was stunned for a second, and then, after realizing what was happening, he looked like a volcano about to erupt.

"No! No! Your Excellency! Even you cannot insult us like this..."

"Dikeli first said that all their activities were in compliance with regulations! There was absolutely nothing that couldn't pass the review!"

The pigeon immediately interjected, "When I created all the Imperial Guards that I personally crafted, I ensured that their influence on the Warp was inert! So, outwardly, this manifests as them having no interest in certain vulgar entertainments! They only train, meditate, contemplate, and discuss philosophy in their spare time!"

"Ah, that sounds pretty professional, but it's a bit boring..."

“Or you could fight in the arena while loudly debating philosophical topics with your opponent,” Diocletian added seriously. “It’s very interesting, and we’ll hold multiple philosophical wrestling matches or duels at the same time during off-duty hours.”

Ramizan and Magna Dorn both had very interesting expressions. The pigeon's claws clenched awkwardly, while Perturabo BC curled his tail where no one could see.

So, amidst this irresistible ("I think I understand why the Emperor keeps the Imperial Guard around him"—someone's words) question and answer, the task of capturing Inquisitor Eisenhorn and his party was quietly assigned from under the paws of some dog to the employees of a delicious and nutritious restaurant who had just finished get off work.

“Honestly, I prefer the feel of the power armor to the reception uniform,” Taric Togarden said sincerely. “It feels like a second skin when I wear it.”

“Who says otherwise?” Gavial Locken replied, giving his explosive pistol one last check.

"Let's take our target to the Ironblood."

(End of this chapter)