Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 871 Seth's Conversation with Hyperion
Gabriel Seth, dressed in his usual battered armor of black and gray with dried blood and red tassels, stood by a porthole on the Destiny Steel.

He looked completely out of place with the elegant and clean overall style around him, as if someone had cut him out of a rest area on a battlefield and pasted him directly onto this background.

Fortunately, this was the upper deck area, where there were few people coming and going. Seth was in a rare state of contemplation, his beloved two-handed chainsaw swords leaning obediently against his side, like a resting vicious dog.

He had been gazing at the lifeless, rust-red ground of Baal from space for a long time.

The landscape has been completely altered by the brutal war of the past few months. Mountains have collapsed, deserts have been frozen by the blood of insects, fortresses, strongholds and monasteries are in dire need of reconstruction, and precious vineyards and blood coffins, like some other ancient traditions, have been lost forever and will never return.

However, the red ground now clearly displays other new colors: new scaffolding is being erected from the ruins, imported stone and other materials are being continuously transported here, part of the old Angel Castle has been abandoned, and a new fortress, along with its new users, is beginning to stand on the ancient ground of Baal.

Against the backdrop of the black void he could see, cargo ships carrying the promised aid were busily moving in and out, continuously transporting large quantities of urgently needed supplies for the reconstruction of Baal from the merchant ronin flagship named "Destiny Steel," ranging from rare metals for forging war equipment to pigments for repairing ancient murals and sculptures.

Baal was unexpectedly well-fed and clothed, supposedly because the reawakened Primarch, upon descending upon Baal, had brought with him a merchant caravan. This caravan carried no weapons or equipment, only fuel, food, and various daily necessities—just enough for Baal's urgent needs. Gabriel snorted—even a blind man could see that this Regent's "just right" preparations were highly suspicious. Only an old, weak man like Dante would accept the ambitious Primarch's position as a Ultramarines without scrutinizing this suspicious situation to find a higher vantage point for himself.

Seth bets that when the Primarch of the Ultramarines bestowed the title of Dark Regent upon Dante as an honor and a certainty, the High Lords on Terra were completely unaware of it.

The thought of Robert Guilliman's actions made Seth unable to suppress a slightly sarcastic smirk.

But the thought of his powerful fleet, the Proto-Forged Space Marines who were being transported to the surface like cargo from the cryogenic chambers of Belisarius Caul's massive mechanical ark—far outnumbering the original inhabitants of the place—and the deal that had brought him here—the High Blood Priests had contacted him on his way here, eager to tell him that the blood given to them by the ship's owner had been confirmed to be genuine, and that the stolen and desecrated Blood Grail had now been refilled—and their jubilant expression that implied he must not interfere with the "big picture" here—made Seth's expression contort once again.

Just as he reached for the hilt of the chainsaw sword, a series of undisguised footsteps approached from behind him.

"Looking at the scenery, Gabriel?"

“Don’t call me so intimately,” Seth replied coldly, without turning his head. “It’s disgusting to have a wizard and a lackey of the Inquisition call my name so affectionately, you greyhound of the Inquisition.”

“Oh, what a creative name. Quite unique.” Hyperion emerged from the shadows cast by the wall with a grin, his original terracotta armor reflecting a silver-gray sheen, clearly unfazed by Gabriel Seth’s provocation. “No wonder Lord Ramizann likes you so much.”

Seth did not speak immediately.

They stood there together, watching the massive hull slowly turn on its tracks, casting shadows overhead. The ravaged surface of Baal emerged from behind Baal, appearing beneath their feet, where the enormous Khorne emblem, once adorned by Kabanhar with the heads of Tyrann and other creatures, was clearly visible even on Baal's surface.

Now, this planetary-scale blasphemous spectacle, like everything else on Earth, has been blasted to pieces by Dante's orders, with the remaining fleet of the Blood Angels and their minions being bombarded ship by ship and cannon by cannon.

Finally, Seth broke the silence with a cold "humph".

“I don’t need the ‘favor’ of a money-grubbing traveling merchant, and he can obviously command you. The thought of having to be on the same ship as you bunch of insects with my brothers makes me desperately need a good fight.”

"Really? I don't think so. You have no idea how much people envy you these days, Gabriel Seth."

"Envious? If you're trying to make me laugh with a joke, then you've succeeded, kid."

The Grey Knight Prophet shook his head, a look of regret on his face. "You are currently a favorite of that lord. If you are willing to please him, perhaps your wishes can be granted. Make good use of this time to make your wish to him; if you don't do it now, you may never have such a good opportunity again."

The leader of the Flesh-Tearers frowned deeply. "What do you mean by that? Are you implying that Dante handed me over to some monstrous creature with disgusting tastes? He'll soon find out that my fists, like my chainsaw, can tear people apart alive."

“Of course not.” Hyperion shook his head. “I’m just telling the truth. Ah, I must state that Lord Ramizann has no vices, so you don’t need to worry about such an accident at all. It’s just that the divination results in the Divination Hall make me unable to bear such a waste—this will be the best opportunity for you to fulfill your most impossible wish.”

Seth's cold laugh was swallowed back by Hyperion's next words, which were directed at the satellite outside the window.

"—For example, you can make a wish to him for the reconstruction of the Blood Knights Chapter, which was wiped out and expelled from the army after all its members died on Bawei I."

“That’s impossible. We all know they were beyond redemption.” A hint of sorrow and anger flashed in the Flesh Tearer’s eyes. “Don’t tarnish the last bit of honor they fought for in their fight to the death, kid, or I’ll rip your head off your spine and pile it on your limbs.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I think this might be a bit too much to the liking of the Chaos Blood God,” Hyperion said politely. “We don’t allow such standard Blood God rituals here. I’ve conveyed what I’ve seen; whether you adopt it is a matter for you to consider.”

The Flesh-Tearer curled his lips, revealing his upper and lower fangs. "The Flesh-Tearer has absolutely no suspicion of being tainted by Chaos! Remember my words! You cunning Inquisition wizard trying to extract information!"

“Of course.” The Grey Knight Prophet was not angry at all, but rather very calm. “I heard you very clearly, Chapter Master Seth.”

“A mystical wizard,” Seth snorted. “Very well, since the so-called audience hasn’t started yet, and you and your companions seem to have a job here, then let me ask you, where is our base? Why were there no living people to greet us after we boarded this ship? Could it be that your wealthy merchant-ron employer can afford a warship converted into a battle barge (Hyperion suddenly gave Seth a mysterious smile that made him very uncomfortable), but can’t afford to hire enough servants and sailors to operate it? Besides, if there are too few human slaves here, then his promise to ‘treat us well’ will also be in trouble.”

Hyperion gave a formulaic smile. “No need for such subtlety, I know what you’re trying to say, blood, right? — For the organization we serve, the paperwork is more detailed than anywhere else in the Empire. Your genetic mutations and the need to maintain stable sanity both require most of you to drink blood regularly, and the fresher the better. Unfortunately, this is not permitted on this ship. Besides.”

He said, "There are probably more mechs and Astartes on this ship than mortals. You and your men had better not attack any mortals, Chapter Master Seth."

"There is another piece of advice you need to pass on to your warriors: do not think about hunting on the lower decks as you would on other ships. Believe me, the lower decks of the Destiny Steel are not a good place for any Astartes to hunt."

"This godforsaken place is so clean it's like a bone that's been shaved clean and licked ten times by a carnivorous dragon's tongue! Are they so bored that they just have their servants mopping the floor all day long?"

Sergeant Knox complained gruffly.

The meat-tearing men, who were assigned to the dormitory, were not happy with the place, which was lit with soft, bright lights and had no smell of blood or violence in the air. They were as restless as wild animals thrown into an overly clean cage.

Especially after they reluctantly settled in under the mechs' arrangement and waited for a long time without finding the servants or slaves assigned to them, the Flesh-Tearers became noticeably more restless.

They skillfully organized several small teams to find the way to the lower decks and, incidentally, familiarize themselves with the living quarters and population of the human slaves on the ship.

“This is inappropriate!” Warren Charaka’s joy at the reunion quickly turned into disapproval. “At least you should wait until Seth returns!”

“I feel a tightness in my throat,” someone muttered, which drew a chorus of murmured agreement.

“I didn’t!” Warren shouted, raising his hands. “Listen to me, guys, if you’re thirsty, I can take you to the cafeteria for some coconut ricotta coffee, believe me…”

"What nonsense are you spouting?!" Apollos, who succeeded Carnarvon as High Priest after his death and is currently the Chapter's only priest, exclaimed. "You can't just drink your fill and then not tell your brothers where to find something to quench their thirst!"

The priest glanced knowingly at the restless warriors and Warren, who stood between them and the exit.

"I can't let you...! Ah!"

Before Warren could explain further, a terracotta fist emerged from behind and struck him in the temple.

The tenth company commander fell straight down like a bull that had been hit on the head with a hammer.

“Well done, Lieutenant,” Apollos murmured. “Warren has been tamed like a herbivore here… but the Flesh-Tearer will never sit idly by and wait for an unknown fate to unfold… The ship’s owners may not be very hospitable, but that doesn’t matter. Let’s head to the lower decks and explore them properly.”

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By the porthole in the upper deck corridor, Gabriel Seth grinned, his fangs gleaming in his mouth.

"I knew it. There are too many rules here. Kid, you'll soon find out that the Flesh Tearers aren't exactly rule-abiding."

"Didn't you make a deal with Dante, me, and everyone else to obey any command?"

The butcher smiled slyly, like the sudden, uncanny cunning of a hunter on the face of a bloodthirsty mastiff stained with blood.

"Of course. I promised to personally serve your so-called wandering merchant master, just me personally. To be honest, he is indeed very rich and resourceful, and for that reason alone, I would be willing to be his dog, but my warband will not be driven by him like that. Understand? Bring it all on to me alone. Gabriel Seth will take care of everything. Don't touch my warband."

Then Hyperion laughed too.

"Ah, although you're a bastard, I'm starting to understand why Lord Ramizane likes you so much. Gabriel Seth."

He looked up at the two mechs walking towards them in the distance.

"Let's go to the warband commander's office first and officially register your identity on this ship."

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The Chapter Master’s office was as impressive as the people sitting behind his desk and the scenery, but what caught Gabriel Seth’s eye most was undoubtedly another precious item.

He was a former holder of a gift received before the Battle of Baal.

Few people know that Gabriel Seth once witnessed the sacred feather of Saint Gilles.

He froze after entering the warband commander's office with an air of disdain.

On one wall, placed in a static field along with other antiques, was a white feather that looked so familiar… Even more incredible was that the shape, color, and sacredness of this extraordinary and beautiful feather were eerily similar to the one he had once seen in the underground of Baal.

The leader of the Flesh-Tearers trembled with the intense rage erupting from the solar prominence. "Why?" he cried. "Why? Is there a sacred relic lost by our father here?! As far as I know, it was the last one in Amit's reliquary! Thief! Filthy thief!"

He roared and raised his weapon.

(End of this chapter)