Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 869 The Grey Knight, a true tycoon; Hyperion, with ulterior motives.
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"What--?!"

His Excellency Ramizan Carlosini stared wide-eyed at the dressing mirror, drawing out his words.

"Gabriel Seth!"

He shouted, "Is that Gabriel Seth from the Flesh Rippers?!"

"It is absolutely true, my lord."

Hyperion's voice came from the projection beside him. The chief prophet of the Grey Knights had a calm face. He was young and handsome, the kind of reliable young man that would make the Seres people feel good about him.

Peturabo BC glanced sideways at the gray knight who had been running around to Fourth Uncle (?) very frequently lately, while the laurel dove beside him was preening its feathers—the pigeon seemed to think it had become much more capable lately, and had been sneaking around to fight in strange places quite a bit.

But Peturabo BC didn't bother with him.

It's fine for the old man to have his own hobbies, as long as he doesn't squander the children's money—no, as long as he spends his own currency—the Black and White Flower Demon Lord wouldn't care. Ramizane didn't expect that he wouldn't meddle in other people's business.

What a joke! Does anyone really think they have too little work and will work overtime?
"He really agreed to come and serve me... uh, he's really going to serve me?"

“That is absolutely true, my lord,” Hyperion said in an empathetic tone that suppressed a joy. “As a celebration of our preliminary agreement with the Blood Angels, Commander Dante has approved it, and Gabriel Seth and dozens of Flesh-Tearers who survived in Baal will board your flagship and leave with you.”

Lamizan couldn't suppress the urge to smile. He rubbed his hands together gleefully, looking like a shut-in who had just found a super bargain at a cyber flea market and was already planning how to deal with the unfortunate object he had acquired from every angle.

—What a disgrace! Look at this disgrace! Why must we keep a close eye on him and not let this guy develop freely according to his own ideas? This is why! He's absolutely capable of creating things like Leon's masked hooded angel legion and Vulcan's low-cut dress with black pearls for his own wild ideas!

Just imagining this horrifying scene made Peturabo BC's face scrunch up completely, as if he had just eaten a salmon covered in wasabi. —Should I say, isn't it the peak season for salmon fishing in Pearl Month...?
Just as the Border Collie was beginning to dream of plump, fresh salmon appearing in his bowl, Ramizan had already ordered Magna to quickly prepare a new suite, training room, and private armory.

"Hehehehe... This is Gabriel Seth... One of the most charming special characters you can get at 42K... Hehehehe, so what if he's been kicked out of the rules? The old version's decorations and features are still the best... Magna, remember to also prepare a large swarm of drones to follow him around..."

“I must speak frankly,” said the Dove, “The Flesh Tearer? Your taste is really questionable. I think the golden-haired Blood Guard of the Holy Blood Angels is the true symbol of good taste.”

"...The old Holy Blood Guard and their armor decorations from ten thousand years ago are more to my liking as a middle-aged man. The new Holy Blood Guard... well, I don't want to make any impolite comments, I just hope that I'll see something exciting after we land."

As Ramizan walked toward the door, the laurel wreath-wearing pigeon asked Peturabo BC with great confusion.

"Has the appearance of the Holy Blood Guard undergone any significant changes in the last eight thousand years?"

The sheepdog glanced at Him from its fearless driver's seat.

"Think about why Belissau Caul came into being in this era."

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"The Grand Masters are not pleased with the ships and equipment you promised to the Flesh-Tearers."

In the barracks assigned to the Grey Knights on the Destiny Steel, Makadir, who was temporarily serving as Hyperion's second-in-command, said that this Grey Knight, who was skilled in telekinetic shields and attacks, was one of the members of Hyperion's personal squad.

"We received many complaints about the extra orders for our foundry, Timos, when you left."

"I bet Vardan has some complaints?"

Hyperion stood in place, with a mirror in front of him as well. His tuxedo-style Terminator, like the other Grey Knights, retained its original ceramic steel color without any paint or plating, only it was wiped very clean.

But as ceremonial armor, this set of power armor is covered with some kind of unknown script, Trisentient and High Gothic runes. Their concave surfaces are filled with molten gold, moonsilver and other magical materials, protecting the prophet along with his demonic namebook, the crystal circuits embedded in his psionic hood and the golden halo.

"The First Grand Instructor, as the manager of the armory, would certainly complain, but the Second and Sixth Grand Instructors also had their complaints."

“Ignore them,” Hyperion said. “We won’t get anything done if we listen to them for everything. I just want to know what the High Master and the Hall of Champions have to say.”

"The High Master means that the power armor and equipment are minor issues; it just needs to be modified to suit non-psykers, which will take a little time. Also, although we have eight unnamed cruisers in the Timos shipyard that are ready to be launched at any time, we ourselves currently need a large number of void ships to operate throughout the galaxy. He thinks you should consider delivering three or four to the Fleshbreakers first."

"What about the combat barges?"

Makadir shrugged. "Do you want to hear the exact words?"

"Hmm, what were the exact words?"

His combat comrade cleared his throat, stood with his legs apart, and the reliquary swayed, tapping against the terracotta armor on his leg armor.

Then another powerful, knowledgeable, and resonant voice came from his mouth.

"Hyperion! You worthless spendthrift! Do you know how much precious time your promises are worth these days! Our family fortune has been accumulated over thousands of years! You're selling off your family's wealth without a second thought. Just wait until that lord returns and punishes you!"

The chief prophet laughed upon hearing this.

"So he agreed. Please send my sincerest thanks to the High Master, Mal, thank you for your hard work."

"Hmm, if you would deign to personally conduct interstellar communication, I wouldn't have to go through all this trouble as a mouthpiece."

"Then I won't be able to find a reason to avoid the noise from the other mentors."

Hyperion carefully straightened the last battle honor emblem with an internal force field in front of his shoulder armor, then stepped back and looked at himself in the mirror from left to right.

"Alright, you're very handsome, Brother Hyperion. If we weren't forbidden from showing our faces at the Terra court, you'd surely be able to collect a whole bunch of donations from the duchesses, along with gold and jeweled reliquary boxes." "I'm just fulfilling my diplomatic duties and have to take care of myself. I'm not as naturally handsome as you or Sosis."

"I will pass this message on to him."

Makadir smiled. Sosis was his twin brother. They both served in the Grey Knights and were selected for Hyperion's squad. However, Sosis was more skilled in using weapons and assault combat, and Makadir would protect him from the rear using telekinesis.

"I will be meeting up with Lord Ramizann and the others in three minutes."

Hyperion began walking towards the door. "Please tell Grand Tutor Gao that I have fulfilled my mission. Both my volunteering as a much-needed diplomat and the gifts I brought have pleased Lord Ramizan. We should now be considered within the sphere of influence of the Destiny Steel."

"Are you sure? If that's the case..."

"Tell him that I will propose that we be stationed in the divination hall here as think tank personnel when Lord Ramizan is in the happiest moment. This matter is already 90% done."

A hint of hesitation flashed across Makadir's face.

"Although... but would Lord Ramizain agree? After all, this is Lord Peturabo's ship, and strictly speaking, he's not entirely clear about our connection with that lord, is he?"

“We still have a lot to do.” Hyperion opened the door, turned around, and a bright blue light shone in the prophet’s eyes.

"The first priority is to ensure that when that great man returns with an unknown number of lost souls, the Hall of Divination will be ready. We must ensure that our ancient and lost brothers quickly adopt our training methods and chapter rules. At the same time, we must strengthen the forces here to ensure that the Hall of Divination is not overly interfered with by that chosen priest—he already has a chapel, and we must safeguard the Hall of Divination for that great man."

"Secondly, if Socius can be counted as an extra member of this ship, then his and the others' destined deaths might be less regrettable in another way. I can endure the discomfort and strive to learn diplomacy, social skills, etiquette, flattery, smooth talk, and other things that are completely contrary to our pure asceticism for that man; I will do the same for my personal goals. After all that, Mar, I will make sure everything goes according to plan."

The name of his brother and the overwhelming grief he had experienced etched a broken line across Makadir's face, but the Grey Knight quickly composed himself, his expression becoming even more resolute.

“You’re right, Hyperion. We all owe you a debt of gratitude. But I don’t want you to give up being yourself because of this. Promise me, don’t let the pure Grey Knight Hyperion get lost in the obsession with pursuing his goals, okay?”

Makadir's face showed a hint of sadness. "Their sacrifice was a glorious ending that was destined to happen. What you want to build for them is a dream of a third new path. If you can't do that, at least let us still have you."

The Grey Knight Prophet's cold expression softened.

“Of course.” He nodded and stepped into the light outside the door. “I will make your achievements last forever, but I will also try to continue your lives in this universe of possibilities.”

Even if it's just a tiny bit more.

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Three standard hours later, an ancient and proud Stormbird, its silver-gray fuselage painted with the Imperial Eagle and skull insignia, appeared in Baal's sky.

Accompanied by a Grey Knight Thunderhawk, the Stormbird slowly landed on the newly built platform of New Angelsburg, under the watchful eyes of Dante, the regent of the dark side of the Empire.

Despite the fact that Chief Think Tank Morpheus had vouched for the reliability and necessity of the meeting with his life's work, and that Hyperion, a Grey Knight from the Inquisition's special forces, had already landed in Baal to meet with Dante, the High Priest, the High Blood Priest, and other important figures, there were still quite a few people with doubts.

After all—strictly speaking, after accepting the resources and orders of the Unyielding Fleet, continuing to secretly meet with third parties could be considered repeatedly crossing the red line of the Antichrist Order—or in fact, this red line had already been crossed when Dante did not have Mephisto and Hyperion killed in the first place.

Considering Dante's recently bestowed title of Dark Regent, this inevitably raises even more concerns and fuels speculation.

Incidentally, the Grey Knights are nominally affiliated with the Holy Hammer Order of the Inquisition within the Imperial structure, but they are actually at odds with the Rebel Order and the Exile Order. Dante, who is well aware of this, agreed to meet with Hyperion for this very reason.

For example, the High Priest Astorius was not very supportive of the meeting.

He believed that Robert Guilliman, as the only living son of an emperor currently traversing the galaxy, undoubtedly possessed a higher level of command over others, and therefore, they should distance themselves from this suspicious visitor.

Furthermore, the Supreme Pastor reasonably and rigorously questioned the true intentions of these individuals who misappropriated the name of their genetic father.

For many pastors, ten thousand sermons on the Word of God and the glorious history of the warbands, or recounting the illustrious deeds of the father of genetics, may not be as powerful as having Robert Guilliman appear in person for one minute.

— No matter how much you try to explain, nothing beats the awe-inspiring sight of a legendary figure from ten thousand years ago appearing before your very eyes. Moreover, the Primarch's physical attributes are naturally exceptional and extraordinary, making him a perfect fit for activities like preaching.

But as a warrior and commander who had lived for 1,500 years, Dante had his own considerations.

This regent in the shadows had no grievances against Robert Guilliman and the original Forged Sons he brought with him; he was old and tired, and Dante had already prepared himself for his final slumber.

The message from Mephisto was indeed shocking, but the Blood Angels had experienced the anticipation of the Primarch's incarnation more than once.

For this warband commander, the most compelling evidence was that the golden coffin containing the remains of Saint Gilles deep within Baal remained completely still.

But when he heard the words "You can't leave work yet," he felt a moment of disorientation: Saint Gilles' beautiful and melodious voice once again swept past his ears, accompanied by the pain of returning to the human world.

"I'm sorry, son. You can't rest yet. Not yet. Live on. Dante, live on."

"My lord? Lord Dante?"

The call brought Dante back to his senses. He slightly raised his head, his gaze falling on the top of the ramp leading to the Stormbird's open hatch.

Then, the first figure appeared there.

(End of this chapter)