Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 873 You can't handle it like that!
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"Baal is home, Apollos. It is not only the mother planet of the Holy Blood Angels, but also the home of Saint Gilles, the home of all our sons of Saint Gilles. If we lose Baal, we lose the last place in our spirits to return to, the last place we would want to turn back to when standing on the edge of a cliff. Without Baal, our bodies will soon be consumed by our own hatred, anger, and eternal hunger. That is why we must save Baal, Apollos, not because of Dante's call. Not because Baal needs us, but because we need Baal."

—Gabriel Seth, Chapter Leader of the Flesh-Tearers
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Astartes, the eldest son of the Flesh-Tearers, stood in a secluded empty cabin according to the duties of their respective teams. They were all led by the High Priest Apollos. After removing the people wearing the black armor of the Death Company, there were a total of forty-six of them. A five-man squad was sent out by the High Priest to act as scouts and to "capture a tongue" to lead the way for them.

Of course, the number of Flesh-Tearers on the current Baal roster is far greater than that. Robert Guilliman's visit with the Unyielding Fleet after the Battle of Baal brought not only Prototype technology and new recruits with the genes of Sangilius to the Blood Angels, but also a full thousand Prototype Flesh-Tearers Astartes to the Flesh-Tearers, making the chapter reach full company size for the first time in centuries.

Considering that after several devastating battles, reluctant sacrifices, and the Battle of Baal, only forty-eight of the eldest son, Astartes, remain, Apollos could very well understand Seth's near-panic feeling of being choked and the resulting stress on Guilliman and the Primarchs.

—If these so-called "Flesh-Tearer recruits," who were placed into their Chapter under the name of the Ultramarines Primarchs and subjected to a brainwashing process in Belisarius Caul's cryogenic chambers that the Chapter itself had no way of supervising, actually intended to do something "change" after entering their ships and monasteries...

Although Apollos had great confidence in the fighting abilities of Seth, himself, and his old comrades, he also knew that faced with such a huge disparity in numbers, they could at best only delay and would most likely be powerless to change the final outcome.

Therefore, in this boarding mission to meet with Warren Characa, who was suspected of having his mind also somewhat distorted (in Apollos's view), they only brought all the Flesh Ripper veterans, leaving their own combat barge, the Victorus, and the Death Shield, filled with the Death Company members he had preserved, to the original Flesh Rippers.

Of course, he could easily frame this as "an act of unwavering trust in the newcomer," but whether Seth's true intentions included recruiting outside help to undermine internal forces is something only Seth himself knows. Apollos could often only guess at the Warchief's thoughts.

"Having come this far, I hope he can humble himself and do something to satisfy that damned business parasite..."

The pastor muttered as he called to his companions whom they had sent out.

A moment later, a distorted and blurry response appeared on the communication channel.

This ship is too big; Apollos has never seen such a large interior.

He was almost certain that the damn rich bastard had bribed the court for more than one benefit, such as illegally using alien technology to modify the interior space of his private ship.

Moreover, its structure appears to be built according to the oldest ship design of the Empire, yet many parts are impassable, and there are almost no living crew members—another highly heretical sign. Are those Inquisition scumbags blind?! They're not even arresting the heretics right in front of them!
—Of course, if Hyperion were here, he would smile slightly and say that Chapter 666 belongs to the Holy Hammer Order, while the matter you mentioned belongs to the Expeditionary Order and the Expeditionary Order. The Holy Hammer Order can interfere, or it can not. Overstepping one's bounds is a common reason for infighting within the Inquisition.

This ship lacks even the roadside terminal shrines commonly found on ordinary ships, making it impossible to obtain effective route information.

They also tore open several bulkhead steel plates and found that the wiring and pipes behind them were so neatly arranged that they felt that moving any one of them could cause a huge commotion. They had seen the patrolling aircraft a few times from afar, but judging from their heavy weapons and force field generators, they were definitely not easy to deal with.

Having witnessed so much sacrifice and death in the Battle of Baal, Apollos now only wants to give his warriors some fresh blood and doesn't want them to die here.

In short, this ship was completely unlike any terrain they had ever encountered: it was too clean, there was nothing there, not even the chemical smell of the servient corrosion inhibitors and leaking pipe fluids that are present on every Voidship, and there was absolutely nothing to refer to.

Their hunting party nearly got lost before they even got started, and it took them a lot of effort to regroup. So Apollos reconsidered the plan and sent out a reconnaissance team composed of the most emotionally stable combat brothers to find a mortal—any living person.

"How on earth does this damned thing operate so efficiently?!" the priest muttered. "By the Emperor and Saint Gilles, this ship is like a damned ghost ship!"

"Will we join the ghosts of this ship after we die, priest?"

Harahel, the champion of the first company, swung his enormous weapon and said half-jokingly.

"If you can turn into a ghost after painting your armor black, Harahel, then you must remember to come back and tell me about it. It will make Zuphias quite happy, since then his ship will have a whole bunch of ghosts to chat with him."

Apollos spoke without reservation about these topics that were taboo among certain Blood Angel Orders.

After all, the Flesh Tearers have always maintained an absurdly large number of Death Company members, so much so that they have dedicated a cruiser, which is essentially a morgue, to house their large number of sleeping Death Company members.

As the priests of the Flesh-Tearers, each member of the Secret Order was actually quite adept at invoking Black Wrath and coaxing their brothers, who were caught in Black Wrath, to fight according to their will—no one knows how they did it, but one thing is certain: Apollos was fully capable of matching Seth in terms of fighting, rudeness, and temper, just as Seth had provoked Dante.

But the think tank brothers, Balhiel, thought differently. The Flesh-Tearer think tank bared its canines, blue frost lightning leaping around the crystal headband of his psionic head, and gestured for Harahel to be quiet.

"What's wrong, Balhiel?"

"There might really be something here, so don't make jokes."

"Really? I'd really like to know if ghosts have ghost blood that I could drink? Do you think it tastes like an iced drink? Maybe it'll quench my thirst."

"..." The think tank brothers looked like they really wanted to freeze the champion, who was still joking around, inside a block of ice.

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"What's wrong, Magna?"

In the Warband Commander's office, Ramizan, who was finally about to "persuade" Seth after he had pinned him down, glanced curiously at Magna, who seemed completely unaffected.

Why do I feel like you're a little distracted?

“No. Thank you for your concern, my lord.” The terrifying pronouns and honorifics used by this being, who wore Dorne's golden armor and the Dorne Death Mask and was highly suspected to be the Primarch of the Imperial Fist but claimed to be named Magna, made the bound and immobile Seth completely tremble in shock.

Saint Gilles! Emperor! Open your eyes and behold! Is this the pathetic state of the Empire?! How can such a greedy and twisted merchant climb to the top and make great heroes kneel before him! This mad universe! Madness... hatred... anger... makes me...

Strange. Why, even though I'm very angry, haven't I felt that urge to fight and tear things apart in an eternal rage? Is it too cold here?

"Okay, okay, please straighten up the Seth Warchief in the chair... Ah, yes, yes, like this, um, hold his shoulders a little... Don't let go of him until he's finished listening to what I have to say."

The owner of the golden-armored hand nodded, and his hands pressed Seth firmly into the seat like a thousand-pound boulder.

"Of course. In addition, I suggest not removing the gag from his mouth beforehand, until you are sure he won't spit at you."

“Good suggestion. Thank you, Magna.”

The traveling merchant smiled and nodded, then turned his attention back to Seth.

"So first... do you have many questions about this feather on our wall? Chapter Master Seth, let... our elder, Elder Kedormo, explain its origin and lineage to you. I believe Magna tied you up so that you could listen to us calmly, and I hope you don't mind."

The beautiful and sacred feather, along with the entire Stasis Shrine, was placed on the desk. Seth's bloodshot eyes stared at the fearless iron hand that casually reached into the Stasis field and picked it up.

If looks could be weapons, Seth would have already chopped that arm into a metal jerky.

“First of all,” the fearless machine sneered slightly, “it has absolutely no ability to distinguish! This is not the one from the reliquary made by Nasir Amit!”

“Oh, that one,” the wandering merchant said with amusement. “Did he mistake it for something else? But according to the library’s records, the legend surrounding that feather is a bit far-fetched. Who would think of catching an angel’s feather and immediately putting it into a static field during the intense battle of the siege of Terra, where angels were guarding the inner city?”

"This is what I wanted to say—that feather is said to have never touched the ground in the legends of the Holy Blood Angels, but because it fell from Saint Gilles during the battle, it is stained with blood—"

The sensor goggles on the Dauntless helmet flashed toward him, and Seth felt that the other was mocking him, but he had no proof—this Dauntless was becoming more and more heretical, the silver skull was Guilliman's offspring, ha, he knew it!

"—But there's absolutely no blood on this feather. Open your stupid dog eyes and look carefully!"

With the defiant shout of the scorner, the silent giant behind Seth also turned his body toward the feathers.

Only after being reminded of this was the man who tore the flesh able to calm down, forcing himself to look away and examine the sacred object more closely once again.

It remained pure white, elegant, delicate, and noble, radiating a mysterious glow that could instantly calm even the most furious son of Saint Gilles.

Seth shifted his gaze to the tip of the feather: there, where there should have been a thin, splattered streak of blood, like the finest ruby ​​chain, encircling the white barb.

"!"

Kedormo was right; there was no trace of blood on the feather—Seth eagerly and almost greedily scanned every perfect and noble detail of the feather at such close range—no, there was no evidence that this group had stolen the blood of Saint Gilles and left the feather behind.

If this traveling merchant was as fond of collecting as he appeared, he would never have done this. Seth was certain that only a feather with blood that had congealed for a fleeting moment before falling to the ground had such high value; taking it out like this and letting the blood fall to the ground and become even slightly contaminated would severely damage it.

"..." His eyes must have clearly changed, because Fearless had obviously noticed.

"Did you see that clearly? Do you realize how stupid you've been? You idiot!"

Fearless roared, even waving the feather directly at the terrified Seth's nose—"The blood of Saint Gilles! Don't take it! My nose will touch it! It will soil it! You can't! You can't take it like that!"

Then a faint, even slightly strange, sweet and fruity scent wafted from the feather into Seth's nostrils. After realizing that something soft and delicate had brushed against the tip of his nose and his mind went blank, Dauntless finally mercifully withdrew his arm and tossed the feather back into the Stasis Shrine.

"Can we talk peacefully now, Gabriel? About what your and your chapter members' duties will be with me?"

The traveling merchant said with a beaming smile.

Seth stared blankly for a moment, then nodded numbly.

While this mortal with ice-blue eyes began to list his job responsibilities and benefits here, Seth was distracted and actually only did one thing.

He stared intently at the half-finished cup of Reca coffee in front of the traveling merchant.

—The aroma of one of the ingredients was almost identical to the distinctive fruity scent emanating from the inside of that San Gilles feather.

(End of this chapter)