Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 833 This is also part of the plan -
The operation to arrest—or rather, to "invite" Judge Gregor Eisenhorn and his party to the Ironblood was a close call.

Or at least, in the realm of mortals, this would be an exceptionally thrilling battle, and perhaps even a tough nut to crack for many new members of weak or near-extinction chapters—after all, Gregor Eisenhorn is a veteran inquisitor, psionicist, wanted heretic, and a demon host who has been active for centuries and escaped the Inquisition's pursuit, and who is also a demon host as his servant companion.

Although he was very old, he was by no means unarmed or inexperienced. The idea of ​​him surrendering without a fight after just listening to a few words while wandering around the port was completely unrelated to his many doubts.

"He's a very stubborn guy. In some ways, it's a shame he didn't become a member of the Imperial Fist—oh, I forgot, the Imperial Fist's think tank prefers people who are good at moving mountains and building walls. I'm afraid Eisenhorn's psionic abilities are still a bit too sophisticated for them." This was the sarcastic tone of one of the Iron Lords. "So you should be fully prepared."

Given this, the group of veterans, who had experience from the Great Expedition ten thousand years ago, did just that.

The former Second and Tenth Company Commanders of the Shadowmoon Wolves, Taric Togarden and Gavial Locken, led a mixed task force of Iron Warriors, Imperial Fists, Deathguards, and Sons of the Emperor, laying a trap along the way—the Space Wolves members in this area were not invited to participate in the operation because their tails were too big and their teeth and claws were too long.

Since there were no think tank members—well, it should be said that their "band" or "dynasty" was quite extreme in terms of think tank members. The vast and rich libraries, think tank rooms, and ritual halls showed that the place was at least prepared for powerful think tank groups, and there were signs of use, but when they went to request support from the psychics of the band, one of the band leaders shrugged: Nobody here.

“I miss them very much too,” he said sincerely. “If any of our think tank members were here, I would be happy to transfer one to you. But as you know, recruiting new think tank members has always been a big challenge, especially finding ones who can work for our group.”

This is true, and there is indeed no problem with it. A think tank is not something a warband can just grab any Tom, Dick, or Harry psionicist and convert.

So now that there was no support from the think tank members, and they needed to capture a psionicist, they discussed it and went to the armory, where they used their battle points to exchange for a good item from the sage Desimar.

"Can this thing really work?" Togarden turned his gaze away from the target's residence and looked at the mysterious object beside him with suspicion.

"This thing looks more like a dubious altar offering than an instrument."

...And doesn't it look a bit like one of those things at the entrance of a temple we visited? Togarden swallowed the question. He had a persistent feeling that he had missed some sad but important event, but he couldn't find a single clue. That feeling of déjà vu returned.

“Indeed, but when has anything from the armory ever failed to work?” Loken replied, carefully opening the small bag that came with the item according to the instructions. Inside was some fine white powder.

"Uh, what kind of evil witchcraft is this? It can't be bones..."

“It’s salt.” Loken dipped a little in the salt and brought it to his nose, then carefully tasted it. “It’s just salt grains.”

"...Just ordinary salt, and you take it and draw circles and spells around this thing, and you think you can seal that guy's psychic powers and demonic host? Don't you know this looks a lot like we're doing some kind of witchcraft? And neither of us are psychics, won't this cause a backlash?"

“According to the sage Desima,” Loken began to pour salt grains into a special line-drawing tool and started drawing lines according to the array instructions in the guidebook.

"The reason this simulated Soulless equipment can be called equipment and costs so many points is because it allows non-psychic users to exert the effect of a psychic void field after using it."

"So once you finish drawing it and the psionic void field appears, they'll realize something's wrong, right? Wouldn't that be like alerting the enemy?"

“Actually,” Loken pointed to another object in his hand, which looked like a timer switch, “…they designed this thing to trigger at a set time after completion.”

"...Okay, that's very thoughtful. So, all we need to do now is test its reliability, right?"

“Exactly,” Loken nodded. “The rest of you are in position. How’s your sack?”

"no problem."

--------

Zão Eifelnetti was squatting in the corner of the room, pretending to be bored and picking at the paint on the wall with his fingers.

The big guy and his superior went to their own den, while he had to stay here with his father and that devil.

The demon host's gaze toward Zaun has become increasingly strange lately, but he doesn't know how to describe it to Eisenhorn. After all, it's just "seeing" and "feeling." He's even starting to miss that unpleasant guy who claims to have worked in the palace. After all, Cherubel was very well-behaved during the few days that guy was there.

The atmosphere was tense, because Zao heard that "Dad" had spent a lot of money to buy a spot on a smuggling ship through some very secretive black market channel, and that they would probably have to move tonight.

But Zao didn't really want to leave. Even though he hadn't seen many other worlds in his short life of just over ten years, and hadn't had many opportunities to go shopping in Wandering Harbor, he could still realize that this place was now very, very, very suitable for human habitation, and a place that could give a child like him such an opportunity.

...However, the chances of a minor psychic being released after being chosen by the judge are extremely slim, and Zao doubted whether he would immediately become an unidentified corpse at the bottom of the lake after he brought it up.

His original plan was to survive under his father's command until adulthood, to become a grown man, to have his own weapons, and to learn some combat skills or other ways to make a living. Perhaps then he could try to leave Eisenhorn. But everything in Wandering Harbor was too good, and Zao didn't know if he would ever have the chance to return there in his lifetime.

Suddenly, a scene flashed before his eyes.

The boy blinked.

The image flashed back, this time clearer.

Many battle-hardened ancient warriors, dressed in understated yet elegant and powerful silver armor, are slowly walking towards him.

He glanced furtively at Eisenhorn, who was resting with his eyes closed in the room; there was no movement. Meanwhile, Cherubel…

A thin, pale, but smooth-skinned hand reached out.

Its exposed skin was covered with tattoos of binding runes, marks of enslavement, and symbols of purity. Sealing wax wrapped parchment scrolls inscribed with prayers around its entire body. Chains bearing blessings were wrapped around its neck, torso, and limbs. It had two bony protrusions on its forehead. Although it did not look as terrifying as its name suggested, the aura it exuded under its hood was still full of corruption, chaos, and coldness.

The demon host placed the hand of its former owner on Zano's shoulder.

"What's wrong, our little one?" The demon host's voice was soft and had a strange resonance, like vocal cords resonating on both sides of a curtain. "You seem guilty."

Eisenhorn opened his eyes and glanced in his direction, but Zao quickly looked away.

All the windows in the room had their blinds closed and the curtains drawn, with only a small lumen lamp in the corner emitting a warm yellow dim light.

“No,” he muttered. “Leave me alone for a while. You’re getting more and more annoying to me lately, Cherubel. It’s because you’re here that I feel uncomfortable.”

“There’s a reason for that,” the demon host said. “I have to be nice to you.”

"What do you mean by that?" Zao blinked again.

This time, what appeared before him were the shadowy figures behind the silver-armored warriors. Now, both the warriors and the shadowy figures appeared much clearer. Those shadowy figures possessed a beauty and nobility that the boy's limited vocabulary could not describe; they were extremely, extremely, extremely ancient and powerful, making the main sequence star of this galaxy seem like a firefly in comparison.

Moreover, they were all extremely tall, taller than the tallest mortal Zao had ever seen, and taller than Cherubel, who was floating in the air and chained up.

The screen disappeared.

"He who takes a bribe is bound to be obligated to feed it."

A smile appeared on the demon host's face, which had once belonged to an inquisitor. Zao noticed that where human fangs used to be, his canines had grown abnormally, extending all the way to the outside of his lower lip.

“Many old acquaintances in the Warp have come to me and told me to be nice to you and help you fulfill your wish.”

Cherubel lowered his voice, so low that Zao suspected he was the only one who could hear it, because Eisenhorn would never allow Cherubel to say such things to him.

"...Please remember the help we gave you...Don't forget it...It's part of the plan too."

In an instant, a bright, pure white light flashed before the boy's eyes, startling him so much that he fell backward.

Then, a strange emptiness he had experienced before descended upon him.

Eisenhorn's crude bio-engineered server roared and hummed, supporting the old man as he stood up. He tucked his psionic cane back behind him, drew his divine weapon Barbarisat, and pulled out his pistol with his other hand. His chiseled, aged face stared sternly at the doorway of the room.

"What's wrong?" Zao asked in a panic.

“You should have sensed it too,” said the extremely experienced old inquisitor, “the soulless. The rulers here have powerful soulless subordinates. Very powerful. With the throne upon me, my psychic powers are certainly unusable. What about you?”

"I..." Zao frantically assessed his surroundings. "I'm not sure? But I feel like I'm alright?"

He hesitated for a moment and then closed his eyes, and then Zao's voice rang in Eisenhorn's mind.

[I seem to be able to use it normally. Although I can feel the emptiness, it doesn't seem to have any effect on me.]

A strange light flashed in the eyes of both Eisenhorn and Cherubel.

“Then we must not let them have you, child. Perhaps I should contact the judge who knows where to send you…”

Zan'ao trembled.

"Come on! I must get you out of here as soon as possible, Cherubel. Move us. Can you manage? How much strength do you have left?"

“Oh, dear Eisenhorn. I’m always much stronger than you think. I’ve told you this so many times, but you never believe me. Oh, poor Greg, you always break my heart.”

The judge slapped the demon, and Zanother cowered, as did Cherubel.

"Stop this pretense, it disgusts me, you demon. I am a steadfast and devout Imperial Inquisitor, and you, for the rest of my life, will forever be a slave, understand? Don't try to confuse anything."

“Of course… well, as you wish,” the demon host bowed to his master with a strange smile, then floated over and grabbed the two with his icy fingers. “I’ll try my best. The opponent is very strong, but if our little one can help guide us… I can only get us to… the rooftop? That way I can fly you to the vicinity of the airport.”

“Don’t go to the roof,” Eisenhorn said. “Just move the two of us to the lower deck where this house is, okay?”

"I try my best."

Zao saw the demon host wink at him.

-------

Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists, boarding shields raised, smashed open the poor apartment door and rushed into the room, while Shadowmoon Wolves and the Sons of the Emperor, carrying flying packs, charged in from the other side, shouting battle cries.

Glass and building debris littered the area.

But there was no one.

"Where are they?!" Lucius shouted in frustration. "There's no way we could have let them escape! The intelligence couldn't be wrong!"

"It's teleportation."

"how do you know?"

“Look.” Loken pointed to a spot on the wall where the plaster had peeled off. When Lucius looked closely, he found that someone had carved the words “teleport” and “save” crookedly with their fingernails (there were even serious spelling errors).

"Teleportation device?"

"It's most likely psionic teleportation; they probably don't have a teleportation device."

"Didn't we agree to set up a psionic void field?! Did the Red Robe sell us a fake?! My points! I demand a refund! I could have used them to buy the latest wargame from the Hall of the Twelve Temples!" Lucius said, hands on his hips, clearly dissatisfied.

Of course, if a certain chapter leader were here, he would say that the Exorcism Dead Zone is awesome, but in a place where there are many such entities in the warp, it's just for fun. This matter has been recorded as early as 39,000 years ago.

"Now what?"

“Oh… I think, things turned out unexpectedly well.” Loken listened intently to the words in the communication bead for a while, then nodded. “Motug and his men may have ambushed their target near the port area.”

The Death Guards' process of dealing with the Inquisitor trio was also quite simple, because their squad leader was none other than Kreiss Motug, whose entire body was over 95% mecha-like.

After Motug personally took down (?) Cherubel, Eisenhorn and Zaanor, the old and the young, became easy to deal with—Eisenhorn's two followers could be said to have been shirking their duties.

Thus, under someone's expectant gaze, the trio of judges were packaged and delivered to the lavish meeting lineup in the warband leader's office.

(End of this chapter)