Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 876 What a beautiful pastoral scene!
"The wind blows up from the abyss, maggots hide under the skin, Old Man Gap is calling you. The trees and the human face speak softly. The iron blade is rusted and sticky, it rots into smoke when it touches the bone, the flesh rots without pain, only itches, this is the price of immortality. Fungi bloom everywhere, filling the neighborhood. Fireflies glow in the rotting abyss, maggots crawl out, forming an invitation, Old Man Gap is waiting for you."

The kind and chubby shopkeeper in front of me recited the nursery rhyme while swaying his head, and then looked at Eisenhorn with expectant eyes.

"...?"

The judge shook his head.

What just happened? Why is he here? Who is the fat boss across the street?

A bitter taste, still lingering in his soul, spread across his tongue, and he steadied himself.

Eisenhorn found himself sitting by the old but spotless wooden window of Old Man Gap's brewery.

He smelled of soap and water, and his original coat and boots were gone, replaced by a new set of cloth clothes and soft new shoes. He had just been gazing out the window at the fields of corn, potatoes and sorghum.

The setting sun, not yet fully set, weakly cast a veil of greyish-white light, like a mourning veil, over the window frames and fields through the thick, greenish-brown mist. The teetering stars on the horizon appeared distorted, as if split into three clusters of light.

The damp and toxic wind, carrying thick fog, blew across the fields like sedimented particles. The pale, bluish crops swayed their branches and plump, drooping seeds in the wind, like drowned corpses floating in the depths of still water, slowly drifting with the current.

What a beautiful pastoral scene! Eisenhorn thought to himself, you can't see such a retro rural landscape anywhere else. It's truly refreshing.

Oh, right, he remembered.

Before me stood Old Man Gap, the owner of this farm and brewery, a tall, strong, chubby but always cheerful and kind man.

He kindly took them in and treated them after they had just traveled a long way and almost been attacked by monsters in the dangerous swamp. He even let them take a bath in the living area of ​​his workshop, wash off the swamp mud, and change into dry new clothes.

Before him was a well-used wooden table, its edges worn smooth, upon which sat a glass of fresh, pale beer, its surface frothy and fragrant, and a large wooden bowl filled with a rich, aromatic soup of meat, beans, and leeks. Beside it, a wooden dish held blue cheese and thick slices of fresh bread.

A spoon and napkin were placed beside him, as if he had just sat there, ready to enjoy a simple yet delicious meal being served to him.

Gregor Eisenhorn blinked.

What's going on? Shouldn't he be on his way to yet another trial? His loyalty will never end, not even in death.

But he remembered he wasn't alone on the road. What about his companions? His students? His beloved…?

"How about it?"

The portly boss across from him asked another question, which immediately interrupted Eisenhorn's thoughts.

"Excuse me? Could you say that again?"

Eisenhorn wasn't angry. Instead, he felt a rare sense of apology for having been preoccupied with other things and neglecting the question from such a rare, genuinely good person as the fat boss.

The last time the judge felt apologetic was when his beloved was placed in a stasis field in front of him to avoid being put into the stasis field in the final seconds before her death.

It was then that he realized he loved her, even though he was a psionic inquisitor and she was an untouchable.

But he still loved her so much.

By the way, what's her name? Elizabeth? Or Beta? Or something else?
"It's okay, it's just daydreaming. It's normal to start daydreaming after eating and drinking on a lazy afternoon."

The fat boss waved his hand, a gesture that once again interrupted Eisenhorn's reminiscence.

However, he didn't feel offended. The other person didn't know what he was thinking; it was actually him who was daydreaming throughout the conversation.

"so……?"

"I'm asking you, what do you think of the nursery rhyme I just recited? It was written for me by the other kids who came with you, and I think it's wonderful. They're such good kids!"

The chubby boss said with a smug look on his face.

His cheerfulness even infected Eisenhorn.

The judge smiled too, remembering who Old Man Gap was referring to.

Yes, these were his fellow adventurers who had accompanied him into the farm town that surrounded the brewery.

They didn't set off together; they were just companions who traveled together for a while. However, they were all energetic and vigorous young men. The one in the lead was named Apollos, who was particularly short-tempered, but was still a good person.

He remembered that he was old and recovering more slowly, but Apollos and his companions were recovering much faster than Eisenhorn, so the hospitable Great Unclean Ones and Nurgles had long provided them with plenty of food and good brewed beer from the workshop.

Now, these restless young people, having eaten and drunk their fill, have volunteered to help Old Man Gap build new fields.

Calling them children is a bit presumptuous for Eisenhorn at his age, but for old man Garp at his age, he could certainly call them that.

"Did Apollos and the others write this for you? It's whimsical and the rhymes are quite good, but wouldn't it be better if the last line were changed to 'workshops are full'? After all, you are the manager of this workshop."

"That makes sense. Fungi will bloom everywhere in the workshop! Old Man Gap is waiting for you!"

The portly boss repeated, nodding in satisfaction.

“Excellent! I’ll send a few adorable Nurgles to the woods and swamps outside the workshop to teach this nursery rhyme to every tree around here…”

Eisenhorn, who also smiled because he had helped Gap, naturally extended his arm.

—I picked up the golden beer on the table, which was covered in thick foam, and took a big, satisfying gulp.

The beer brewed by Old Man's Workshop is so delicious that it seems to make even the weariness brought on by his age and the pain brought on by his past disappear.

No wonder old man Garp was able to settle down in this remote place with his skills; the quality of these beers alone was enough to make him a farmer and a brewery owner.

Outside the window, rows of young people walked past in neat formation, carrying hoes, rakes, sickles, and other farm tools. Colorful and adorable Nurgles frolicked and played on their broad shoulders, occasionally gifting them a beautiful, highly poisonous fungus.

What a leisurely and comfortable rural life! It's a pity that not everyone in the universe can enjoy such a peaceful life.

He took another big gulp of beer and felt his stomach warm up slightly from the beverage. The warmth then rose up his stomach to his esophagus, throat, and base of his skull...

It's like being enveloped in the most comforting warm water and soaring into the sky. Pleasant, slightly tipsy, comfortable, with the brief and mild numbing effect of a small amount of alcohol.

He thought to himself, slightly tipsy. ...He still had a lot to do, a lot of conspiracies to uncover...There was something very urgent...Sigh, although he should continue on with Apollos and the others, he might as well rest here with Old Man Gap for the time being.

Tomorrow, after he gets a good night's sleep and his old bones recover, tomorrow...

Let’s leave tomorrow.

Tomorrow for sure.

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"Want some? I think you'll really like it."

The blue-eyed, black-haired guy sitting across the desk asked expectantly.

Gabriel Seth is undergoing a different kind of internal struggle.

He was now sitting in the chair in front of his desk, a chair so comfortable—in fact, too comfortable—that he had the illusion that he was surrounded by clouds—a rather romantic idea, very much like what Dante and his crew would say.

However, if you ignore the obvious, fearless aim of the defiance, the already charged weapon, and who the golden-armored god standing behind you might be and to whom he is bowing, everything is still quite harmonious.

—It's hard to ignore!!!

But Seth was furious to find that he was actually thirsty because of the drink in front of him.

A new coffee cup was pushed in front of him, and a newly arrived Astartes was pouring him a hot drink filled with the aroma of exotic fruits and grains.

This Astartes, clad in silver and black paint, was undoubtedly a master swordsman. Seth, with the highest evaluation of a warrior, ruthlessly assessed his every move.

He gives the impression of being like the Sword of Damocles, hanging over the heads of everyone who senses how dangerous he is, unavoidable and inescapable.

The helmeted warrior's movements appeared casual, relaxed, and naturally elegant, yet every action was flawless, ready to launch the most precise and terrifying attack from any angle at any moment.

A top-tier swordsman of galactic caliber.

Seth pondered.

Far surpassing any member of the Holy Blood Guard and his own Glory Guard, he may not be the one who bleeds the most from the enemy, but he is certainly the one who kills the most enemies.

It's a pity that Silver Skull is a subgroup of Ultramarines, otherwise he really wanted to pull some strings to see this swordsman participate in the Imperial Fist's Blade Tournament and beat all the original and non-original forks to a pulp.

As the coffee cup was filled, a craving unlike any other, unlike blood or wine, welled up in his throat.

Unlike the sensation of fresh blood stimulating his saliva production, this drink felt like it was explicitly telling him: "Come on, drink it, and then burp—it'll feel amazing!"

His sharp teeth pierced clearly from his jawbone and into his soft lips after his frustrated efforts to resist his desires failed.

His throat grew dry and tight, urging him on, but this only made the drink seem more suspicious.

What on earth did that despicable merchant put in the drink? Did he find some precious relic related to their Primarch? And why does it have such a unique, sweet aroma?

—or worse, but Seth refused to think about it.

"Perhaps you should untie my arms so I can reach for your hospitable coffee cup, little businessman. I'm not going to put on a show of bowing down and licking it with my tongue."

Seth forced a contemptuous tone as he spoke, veins bulging on his forehead and neck, showing how hard he was trying to hold on.

The energy weapon's launch fairing was definitely already separated, but the person behind the table reacted with sudden realization.

"Ah, yes, you're still tied up. But mainly I'm afraid you'll jump up and hit me... So perhaps I could ask... Sigi?"

Sigismund? How could such a powerful warrior have such an incongruous name? It can't be that his full name is actually Sigismund. First of all, Sigismund is long dead. Secondly, if anyone dares to use this name, the Black Templar's fleet will probably be at their doorstep.

The Astartes swordsman known as Sigir seemed to pause for a moment, and then Seth heard a slight movement from the golden-armored god behind him.

"Of course. It would be my pleasure to serve you."

The swordsman spoke, and wow, an old Terran high-gothic accent. That accent was so ancient, almost extinct now. Seth silently assessed, "How did Silver Skull recruit Terrans? Isn't their homeworld in the Extreme Starfield and the Hazy Starfield? Perhaps it was an accident?"

"Let me invite our stubborn guest to properly savor the delicious drinks prepared for them in the officers' mess."

"If you think you can pry open my jaw, then you've underestimated me a little...uh...uh...uh...cough cough cough cough!!"

While Seth continued to be stubborn, Sigismund showed no mercy to the young man, swiftly and with unparalleled precision pouring a steaming cup of thick coconut milk ricotta coffee into Gabriel Seth's mouth as he spoke.

"Cough cough! Cough cough!"

Space Marines' fancy gadgets like pre-existing sensory nerves, stomach stones, and kidneys all inevitably fail in the face of hardcore realities like "you'll choke if you drink while talking, and you'll definitely choke if water gets into your trachea."

"Hey, hey, he choked! Is he alright?!"

“He’s an Astartes, not an Astarte baby,” Wuwei said sternly. “He should have been given that medicine long ago! If he’d been given that medicine, even if he’s brainless, he would have realized it!”

"What was discovered..."

Seth's eyes widened again. He hurriedly and unceremoniously smacked his lips for the remaining liquid and saliva, then stuck out his tongue to lick the droplets that had splashed onto his lips.

The burning desire of urgency and hatred that had always lingered behind his eyes and oppressed him vanished... no, it was reduced, reduced to a level where his mind had never been so cold in two hundred years.

It was only then that Seth realized that the muscles in the back of his neck and shoulders were as hard as stone, bulging and knotted, and had been piled up on his shoulders since he became an Astartes, making him arch his body slightly like a mastiff ready to pounce at any moment.

"This isn't blood! What did you put in there?! This isn't blood, is it?!"

Realizing what was happening, Seth exclaimed, "I taste synthetic sugars, natural sugars and cellulose, plant protein, triglycerides, and caffeine! It definitely doesn't come from any animal! What is this thing?! Why does it satisfy my bloodlust?!"

"...Sounds perfect for the role of tasting director," someone remarked.

"See, I told you you would definitely like it."

(End of this chapter)