Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 870 The Gift and the Only Person Out of Place During the Event
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“Sometimes I think the difference between Gabriel Seth and Dante and between Anglon and Sangilis is much smaller than all of you think.”

—A video clip of Ramizan Carlosini muttering to himself while drinking Reca coffee in the cafeteria when he was bored.

Recorder: M.M.D
Level: Top Secret - Read and Destroy
To: P·BC;

CC: TMOMπνεμαγιον; TGW; P·P; WHITEKNIGHT; etc.
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A face that had never killed anyone... no, it was a face with absolutely no combat experience.

A person who lives a safe, prosperous life from beginning to end in a world far from war, beasts and demons, well protected by servants, guards, wealth or power, far from this cruel and dark universe of war.

For such people, war is just a distant news item, a topic of conversation over tea, and after a sigh, life will continue in its mundane way.

Oh, right, this person also has a pair of extremely beautiful, but unfortunately, as soon as they appear, they start to leer and stare greedily at him and the other high-ranking officers from head to toe.

—This was the first impression the Blood Angel Commander, who had lived for over a thousand years, had when he saw the visitor's face.

The other high-ranking officers and members of the Holy Blood Guard who accompanied him shared similar views: a weak, ordinary person who would stand frozen and be slaughtered at the sight of a chainsaw sword was no warrior, much less a ruthless and decisive individual.

What kind of bewitching potion had Morpheus been given? Not to mention that he swore he had listened to the message from the Father of Genetics, and solemnly guaranteed for such a poor wretch with his own soul and honor, even having Dante, whose status was now higher than ever before, lead a group of high-ranking officers to wait here?
Both the High Priest and the Supreme Blood Priest wore different negative expressions, the latter even more so than Astorius. Kobro was so devoted to solving the problem buried in the genes of the Sons of Saint Gilles that he regarded it as the ultimate meaning of his life, to a worrying degree—to the point that he would lead a team to investigate the strange world himself if there were any rumors of a possible cure.

Therefore, while he expressed his doubts, he also secretly harbored a small but more sincere expectation than anyone else for this visitor who was said to be able to suppress Black Rage and cure its aftereffects, and also to reduce the influence of Red Thirst.

Now that he saw this traveling merchant, whose demeanor was even less ordinary than that of the children of the Bawei Second Tribe, how could he not show a look of disappointment?
However, what prevented the Blood Angels from immediately turning away was the appearance of the two guards who appeared behind the visitor.

Both men were dressed in unpainted but polished silver-gray terracotta armor, with a silver skull mask emblem on one side of their shoulder armor and crossed gold and silver keys and a four-pointed star on the other.

One wore a helmet, with a conspicuous laurel wreath encircling his head, its verdant leaves seemingly freshly picked from the gardens of an ancient temple, a stark contrast to Baal's red and dry attire. The emblems and insignia on his body indicated that he was a seasoned warrior, a master swordsman with countless victories, a fact also evident in his gait and posture.

Dante even had a judgment based on a combination of experience and intuition: this guard alone could probably suppress at least half of the Blood Angels here.

Another "person" is even more eye-catching: an ancient warrior who replaces his physical body with terracotta steel and resides in the fearlessness of the despisers, a being who would be revered as an "elder" or "ancient sage" in any battle group.

After all, even a fledgling organization like the Blood Angels can't produce many of these well-preserved Incandis Dreadnoughts anymore—Baltis has practically become a dead world during the Battle of Baal. The only slightly comforting thing is that the Mechanicus enclave on it has long lost most of its technological ability to manufacture the Incandis Dreadnought Assault Flying Pack.

The fearless posture and actions of this defiance warrior also possessed a shocking elegance and imposing presence. When the ancient warrior stepped out, the Holy Blood Angels standing at the forefront even felt a subtle sense of facing a superior, ingrained in their genetic instincts.

It's weak, but it does exist.

Dante looked cautiously at the ancient Defiant Fearless.

It was undoubtedly well-maintained and properly cared for; the servo was quieter than most power armor servos, and its condition was arguably better than any Elder Servant the Dark Regent had ever seen.

Perhaps this wandering merchant possesses a family secret in the maintenance and repair of fearless machinery? Is that why he has the leverage to trade with the Blood Angels and find such two formidable guards?
After some thought, Dante decided to end the perfunctory meeting with a handshake and leave the trivial matter of signing the trade agreement to his trusted blood slave. He stood there with great composure, waiting for the other party to come over and greet him.

The mortal, dressed as a traveling merchant, walked over cheerfully and, before Dante could react, grasped his hand, scrutinizing his face with an impudent, inquisitive, even comparative gaze at the mask of death of Saint Gillespie and the golden armor he wore.

“You…” A strange heat seeped through their clasped hands into the Dark Regent’s palms and arms. The last place he had felt this honey-like warmth was…

"Nice to meet you, nice to meet you, Dante who's been working overtime. Oh dear, the real thing still has to be better than the sculpture... The statue is so much better! Look at the relief! The etching! Tsk tsk!"

Dante's Blood Guard was shocked by the other man's words. Two guards drew their swords and pointed them at the unruly mortal, but the two weapons were suddenly knocked away the next moment.

Only after the two swords were knocked away and landed on the ground did the sound of a sword being drawn and the clang of blades clashing finally reach the ears of the shocked crowd.

The Astartes swordsman wearing a laurel wreath raised his sword to his forehead and performed a very ancient salute to them, indicating that he had no other intentions. Only then did he slowly sheath his sword and stand up again beside the traveling merchant.

"I usually see this kind of courtesy from the sword brothers of the Black Templar."

Dante, pretending not to notice that his hands were being scrutinized by mortals with drooling eyes, admiring the exquisite reliefs and other patterns on them—Astros's priest's scepter seemed to be charging up, Mephistopheles remained calm, Cobro was immersed in his own frustration and looked ready to leave at any moment, while the commanders of the Blood Guard, the Daenato brothers, the heralds of Sanguiles, glared fiercely at the mysterious swordsman, seemingly eager to challenge him to a duel.

"Cousin, are you a member of the Black Templars? I've rarely heard of Helbrecht sending his sword brothers to guard merchant ronin, or," the commander, who had been struggling to prepare for the Imperial Dark Side fleet, said with a hint of hope, "do you have an expeditionary fleet nearby? Or perhaps from the Dark Side?"

“The Black Sanctuary is indeed closely related to me.”

The swordsmanship master spoke, in a Terran-accented High Gothic language, his words elegant yet unpretentious.

"But in reality, I should still be considered to be serving my genetic father."

So, does that mean the other person is actually a member of the Imperial Fist? Are there any members of the Imperial Fist who are so skilled in swordsmanship?
Dante couldn't recall any relevant names, but he knew that the Imperial Fist and their sub-teams had a tradition of holding the Blade's Feast tournament, and perhaps this was a fighter they had trained to compete for the championship.

"As for the fleet... our expeditionary fleet is currently anchored near the port area belonging to Lord Ramizan Carlosini's dynasty and is maintaining a patrol posture. Military supplies are also provided by this generous merchant ronin."

I see. That explains why they sent a swordsmanship champion to protect their patron.

However, the expeditionary fleet... Dante's eyes lit up, "Is the port area close to here?"

"It's actually quite far."

Finally having thoroughly examined the exquisite carvings and other details on his golden armor, the traveling merchant looked up and interjected, "But we have our own safe and high-speed passage here—why don't you ask Mephisto about his haul? Didn't he tell you?"

The commander's sharp gaze fell upon the chief think tank, who calmly replied, "We have gained too much, that's one thing, but this route is not enough for our own navigators alone. We need the Eldar clowns to navigate it smoothly. Your Majesty Dante, whether or not to entrust our precious warriors and fleet to an alien is entirely up to you."

"About this," the traveling merchant, whose eyes were now gleaming as he tried to touch the sculpted black-feathered wings and muscular red armor of the Cold-blooded, High Priest Astorius, casually added, "The clown Hiriak left me his contact mark. I can call him over if you need—why are you looking at me like that? It's normal for a chauffeur to add someone on WeChat… Oh my, this carving is absolutely exquisite…"

Astorius's cold face was as hard and cold as a carving on a grave mound. His decapitation axe hummed and trembled in his hand, but he did not raise it in anger as everyone expected.

If you look closely, you can even see that this High Priest, who was about to deliver the final blow of salvation to the souls of the Son of Saint Gilles, who were lost too deeply in the darkness of the galaxy, was actually—shrinking.

Dante thought he was mistaken, but he wasn't.

Yes, the High Priest, whose duty was to behead all the Black Fury brothers who could not enter the Death Company, was slightly flinching under the touch of this rude and arrogant merchant ronin, as if his armor, sculpted into scarlet muscles, could feel the touch of the other's fingertips as if they were skin, and the other's fingertips were like branding irons that made his muscles tense.

"Astrois...?" Kobro asked softly, "Are you alright?"

"string……"

"Astroris?"

"The chord of misfortune has been...plucked, no, tuned...?"

For the first time in countless years, a clear emotional fluctuation and shock appeared in the depths of the Supreme Pastor's cold, black eyes.

"It... the tone of the black string has changed!"

“Ah, sorry, what key?” The traveling merchant looked up from the priest’s power armor. “I still prefer major chords, to be honest, like the G string.”

"How did you do that?! The strings of your angry soul began to play a bright melody... How could this be..." Astorius grabbed the other's arm in a frenzy, fangs protruding from beneath his lips, "You must come with me to the hermitage immediately..."

"That won't work."

A voice spoke, so noble, ancient, and unquestionable, yet carrying an obvious sense of command, that it made the blood vessels in the back of the heads of the Astartes present tighten.

"We are entrusted to land here and sign trade contracts to deliver the first shipment, then hand over and oversee the issuance and execution of the orders that Morpheus received. After we have completed these two tasks, we will leave."

The Defiant paused for a moment, then, like a nimble steel giant, bent his claws and "flicked" away Astorius's arm that was gripping the merchant's arm. Just as the latter was about to fly away, he subtly pulled the merchant back into the inner circle of his and another swordsman's protective circle.

“We don’t do any extra work.” The observation goggles on his external helmet gleamed. “After all, this is Baal of the Blood Angels, and I still have to give the hostage here some face. Isn’t that right?”

Before Dante could speak again, the Bold Defiant patted his terracotta breastplate once more.

“I know that although Mephisto is your chief think tank, there are quite a few people under you who have reservations about him. So I have brought you a big gift to prove that what Mephisto said is true and to show our sincerity. Are you sure you want us to stand here and accept it so casually?”

"what gift?"

As Dante asked, his two aged hearts suddenly pounded, as if the other was about to present a miracle they could not even imagine.

"Okay, anyway, I won't be the one who has to do the work."

The other party's next words caused almost all the Holy Blood Angels on the helipad to draw their weapons and open fire.

"If I'm not mistaken... your Blood Grail should have been almost completely drained because of that accident, right?"

Amidst shouts and the sounds of weapons being opened, Hyperion, who had landed earlier and waited silently by his side, quietly raised his staff.

A gentle field of spiritual energy held down everyone's weapons and protected the traveling merchant.

Mephisto gave the Grey Knight a deep look.

"What? Is the Inquisition trying to meddle in our chapter's internal affairs again?" the messenger shouted gruffly, while forcefully moving his arm.

“That’s not my intention,” Hyperion said with a smile. “I simply hope that you will listen to Elder Cadmor’s words. It is a great gift.”

"What kind of great gift could..." The words of the Supreme Holy Blood Priest were stuck in his throat—the Defiant Warrior popped open the hidden compartment of its armor and took out a golden test tube engraved with the four-pointed star of the North Pole.

Even through the sealed enclosure, the rich, sweet, incomparably intense, and warm scent of blood immediately caused all the Holy Blood Angels present to show expressions of dazzle and fascination.

Some people's fangs quietly emerged from their lips, their limbs became more powerful and energetic, and a calm mood enveloped their hearts like a veil of frost.

“This is…” Kobro trembled and almost lunged forward.

"The blood of Saint Gilles. Undiluted."

Fearless made a sound like he was scoffing, "This is inventory; we won't replace it if it gets lost. So, are we good enough to be Baal's honored guests?"

(End of this chapter)