Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 840 Is it possible that internal pacification must be the priority this time?
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As the grand "Dream Eleven Days" victory celebration in Wandering Harbor, which forced various factions in the sector to analyze and research new countermeasures for this new land, came to a successful close, an old man slowly opened his eyes in the medical room of the Destiny Steel.

Gregor Eisenhorn lay calmly on the medical bed, lost in thought. He figured that getting up now would probably be pointless, so he might as well lie there and enjoy the rare peace.

For the first time in a century, the sensations brought on by the enhanced prosthetic implant placed behind his head to resolve the conflict between the inevitable aging of his body and the need for mobility in his duty as a judge disappeared.

He savored the feeling—a sense of relief from the vibrations transmitted to his bones by machine pistons and motors, from the slight pain caused by screw misalignment or the lack of anesthetic for nailing into his flesh.

Eisenhorn has undergone several advanced rejuvenation surgeries throughout his life, so he knows very well what they have brought him. Although his appearance has been kept at the level of a tired and cruel middle-aged man, his muscle mass, bone density, joint ligaments and other things are not so kind as to accept the artificial preservation.

Therefore, a full-body support system from the back of the head to the legs is essential for free movement.

But it would also prevent him from ever lying flat on his back to sleep again—a result he had initially thought he could fully accept.

Eisenhorn lay on his back, gently exhaling a breath from his lungs.

His head and back were in contact with the sheets, the air was clean and there was no dirt in it.

He took another deep breath and decided to get up.

Such indulgence in the comforts offered by the enemy can easily lead to negligence in serving the God-Emperor and devastating consequences. As an Inquisitor, any lapse in vigilance could result in utter ruin. He knew this very well.

Even so, he freed Cherubel and sealed him away to become a demon host.

This was all out of necessity.

Suddenly he remembered something he had heard from his mentor, Halpsander, many years ago: “If an inquisitor begins to use the power of chaos against chaos, then from that moment on he himself becomes a greater threat than chaos.”

But Eisenhorn was certain he could control it; he hadn't used the demon host's power without reason, he was forced to. He was simply trying to survive and fight against evil heretics. He was fully aware of the dangers involved. He could distinguish truth from falsehood.

Eisenhorn pondered these words repeatedly in his mind, then placed them firmly in his heart and turned to think about other things.

What about the others? Cherubel remained unresponsive to his inner calling. And what about that special child, Zao? Could they have discovered Zao's true value? Perhaps it would have been better for the child to have failed to do so, killing him or turning him into a mech servant.

He tried to use his psychic powers to help him get up, and unsurprisingly, a slight warmth ran across his neck.

The psychic suppression collar is an old trick. As a member of the Alien Inquisition, Eisenhorn is very familiar with it. But this one looks like a very high-end product because it feels very smooth, like an ordinary metal collar, but it is very light and does not put much pressure on the wearer.

Perhaps he should thank the group that captured him for not cutting off his brain lobe, after all, he had launched a desperate attack on their leader.

He sensed the invisible contract connection again. Although there was only boundless nothingness at the other end, it did not seem to have been severed.

His mental energy began with a seasoned cunning, attempting to extend a tiny sliver, trying to visualize the human form of the demon with whom he had made a pact of enslavement.

The psychic suppression collar worked very well. He could feel the threads of his psychic energy that he extended were being rapidly retracted like fishing lines by a powerful hand, and finally "pressed" back into his body.

"Personally, I advise you not to do that. It will determine the degree of restriction that needs to be imposed based on your behavior."

A very distinctive voice came from the side; it was Astartes speaking to him.

These extraordinary warriors of the God Emperor had their chests modified, giving their voices a deep, resonant quality that was unmistakable.

As he spoke those words, a white power armor suit adorned with various colored instruments, indicator lights, and a black armor plate on one side appeared in his field of vision, along with a face covered by surgical goggles that partially obscured the face.

If the judge were to judge this face based on his years of experience in recognizing people and distinguishing the wicked, he would certainly say it is the face of a treacherous person who pretends to be loyal.

He was the kind of intelligent and capable man who, if he wanted to, could truly wreak havoc on at least one galaxy, but the undisguised impatience in his eyes greatly diminished that impression.

"Hello, how are you feeling, Judge Gregor Eisenhorn, who's wanted by the authorities?"

“Not bad,” Eisenhorn replied. “You could say this coma gave me the best sleep I’ve had in two centuries. No dreams, no sensations, just pure and clear-headed. What sedative did you use? Could you prescribe a few more?”

“That won’t do.” The soldier, who was probably an Astartes apothecary, raised an eyebrow. “This ship strictly enforces regulations governing the management of narcotic drugs and psychotropic substances.”

This unexpected answer surprised even the judge.

But this Astartes at least still appears to be human and can be spoken to, which is a good thing for an inquisitor like himself.

"Would I have the honor of knowing which famous ship I am receiving treatment on? A being capable of creating a collective illusion that covers the entire galaxy and emitting a light that can be seen by navigators in the subspace cannot be an unknown entity."

Astartes, who was standing to the side busily examining him, seemed to smile.

"You can take a guess."

"A game that Chaos likes? It'll cut off a finger or an internal organ if I guess wrong once?"

"Although I really want to, I have my own orders to follow. So, do you want to guess?"

This meant that he was at least not in mortal danger for the time being. Furthermore, so far in this conversation, the other party hadn't mentioned any throne or god-emperor, and he hadn't denied Chaos. Eisenhorn thought.

“Well,” Eisenhorn pondered for a moment, “forgive my ignorance, but I think your… dynasty? has certainly no connection with the Way of the Scholars.”

“Wrong.” The pharmacist bent down and removed the monitoring device probe from Eisenhorn’s body. The judge was slightly surprised to smell disinfectant, metal, sea salt, and damp grass on the other man, reminiscent of seaside fjords and distant glaciers, but without any of the sweat, blood, rust, and the smell of rotting and fermenting proteins and organic matter that he had imagined.

"Everything here is clearly unrelated to the fallen emperors' sons I've seen, nor is it the Blood God's Warband, so what about the Black Legion?"

The other person almost sneered, "You think you'd get this kind of treatment if you were captured by the Black Legion?"

"I can't say for sure."

The Astartes pharmacist gave a silent, cold laugh, deftly packed away the cables of the monitoring equipment, then tossed a hospital gown and a pair of slippers onto Eisenhorn, seemingly preparing to leave.

"It's a sign of some knowledge for a mortal to even mention the Black Legion's name, but unfortunately, you're still wrong. I've already repaired your injuries with newly cultivated organs and bones. Take the nerve tonic as prescribed, avoid strenuous exercise, and remember to change your dressings on time for the first few days..."

"Perhaps... Alpharis?"

Hong Suo paused as he was about to step out the door, then turned around.

“No,” he said. “We are not Alpharex.”

The pharmacist frowned as he sized up the judge before him. "But the fact that you suddenly said that forces me to bring you back to the interrogation room sooner rather than later."

-------

Zão Effernetti is being housed in a room with organic guard and protective measures.

Of course, there were also strict psionic suppression devices. After all, both Peturabo BC and Magna Dorn knew all too well what a psionicist could do in a short time if left unattended on a ship. Opening a warp rift or even a gate that could pass through the demon army, becoming a sacrifice or body for some great demon to come to the real world, were commonplace basic operations.

However, because Lord Ramizan Carlosini was present, Zao did not suffer any particular difficulties or punishment.

The boy was indeed a little scared, but after a dinner consisting of stir-fried groskewer with onions, some tender and delicious melon stew with green beans, and a savory custard with aquatic meat and eggs drizzled with soy sauce, along with steaming, sweet rice, Zano's opinion of the place rose rapidly.

Well, the desk with a lamp, the comfortable chair, and the soft, clean bed in the room deserve an extra five points.

After dinner, they brought him a card game machine for one person and a panna cotta with tropical fruit jam. Zao's shouts of "God Emperor, protect me, I will not join you" had turned into muffled humming.

He began to seriously consider whether to accept the offer of joining this group of "heretics"—well, his father, Eisenhorn, had told him about it. Seriously, they were offering so much. I was just a kid in Hive City whose family was all dead. It was hard to refuse!

As he was thinking this, he suddenly heard a noise coming from behind a door in the corner of the room.

That was the door to the small washroom that came with the room; he had just used the toilet there.

The washroom behind the door had no windows, but it had a toilet, a sink, a mirror on the sink, a lamp, a small exhaust fan, and a shower faucet.

The washroom had only one door leading to his room.

He's been here the whole time; no one else has come in.

A sound came from the bathroom again, more distinct than before. It sounded like voices, and this time it was definitely not a mistake or the sound of water pipes.

Zao stood up alertly, quietly placed the card machine he was playing on the desk, and turned to stare at the closed door of the bathroom.

What should he do? He glanced nervously at the doorway.

He knew that two mech guards, like Vajra demons, were standing outside the door. The twin gun barrels on their shoulders were as big as his fists, and the thunder hammers in their hands, as big as his head, looked incredibly reliable.

Should we immediately call for help from these steel and cable guards? Will they hear us right away, report to others, and rush in? Or should we quietly walk to the door and knock to notify them? Would that be better? If the door opens and there's nothing there, will he be considered a lying child?
The sounds in the bathroom had been quiet for a while while he was deep in thought, but they started again now.

The boy pricked up his ears and listened intently.

“Zan’ao…”

Sweat streamed down his forehead, and he blinked nervously.

"Zan'o... come here... little guy..."

Zão Eifelnetti trembled; in his short life of just over ten years, there had only been one person who would call him that.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” he whispered. “Now I’m sure you’re a liar.”

"Why?" the voice asked, clearer now, as if the speaker had moved behind the bathroom door.

"Because you are not my sister. You are not Naofu."

"Oh, my dear little brother, you know I am. Come here, let me take a good look at you."

“No,” he replied, “you can’t be her.”

The voice seemed to be sighing, and there was a wet sound of bare feet walking on the tiled floor. "Why? Have you forgotten our parents, forgotten our grandmother, forgotten our home?"

“No, I haven’t forgotten. But Naof is dead. She fell out of the window when she was eighteen and her head was smashed. I watched the coroner mark the spot where she fell. They said she died from an accidental fall caused by a drug overdose.”

"Perhaps." The voice from behind the door sounded clearer and more nonchalant. "And what did you do after she died?"

"I……"

Just then, Zao's hands and feet suddenly turned icy cold. He suddenly realized that in order to hear the conversation more clearly, he had unknowingly walked past the doorway of the room.

He was standing right in front of the bathroom door, just one step away.

He jumped up and ran towards the door, not daring to look back at who might emerge from the suddenly opened bathroom door behind him—

The boy's sharp, puberty-like voice echoed in the softly lit room.

"save--"

The door suddenly opened, and two mechs rushed in one after the other, simultaneously activating their multispectral aiming and automatic tracking vision.

But the room was empty, with only the bathroom door swaying slightly from side to side with the airflow.

------

"Missing?!" Lord Ramizan Carlosini was shocked to receive the report.

"You're saying a perfectly healthy person just disappeared from our ship in the middle of a calm sea?!"

And so, quite naturally, the imposter "Silver Skull" Chapter Master, the legitimate patriarch and consul of the Calosini dynasty, one of the current de facto controllers of Wandering Harbor, Pearl Moon, Carrick, and the world of Bellacarn, and the highly regarded and beloved Lord Ramizan, arrived at this mysterious restroom with Lord Peturabo BC.

"There seems to be nothing unusual here."

Hongsuo frowned as he put away his bio-fragment spotlight. "The boy's latest footprints were from here toward the door, and then they suddenly disappeared."

"Are there any other suspicious footprints?" Peturabo BC asked, while Ramizan curiously surveyed the entire, unobstructed washroom.

"Hmm, there are some warp imprints dissipating rapidly, but the psionic countermeasures here are functioning normally, and the surveillance footage provided by Lord Magna has been replaced with a short, imperceptible, normal still image..."

Suddenly, Peturabo BC cursed and swiftly turned to grab at nothing.

The small mirror regained its last ripples, then began to split in the blink of an eye into a labyrinth of crystal fragments composed of countless silver spiraling sequences.

"What's going on?! Father?! Sir! Should we immediately...?"

“No, not for now,” Peturabo BC said grimly, bending down to pick something up from the shards of the mirror. “We’re back in the office immediately. Magna, do you hear me? Gather everyone right now!”

When Hong Suo frowned and looked over, he seemed to see a corner of a white feather peeking out from the tightly clenched palm of another father.

(End of this chapter)