Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 878 Who told you to change this place like this?!
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As he walked with his satchel to the bridge where the incident occurred, the Pale King couldn't help but sigh.

"...I should have gone to the officers' mess hall before setting off to have a diaphragm grilled meat rice bowl with a vegetable salad, and a little bit of hot almond milk... Now look what's happened, I'm not going to be able to eat or drink anything while working in the demon world!"

He rubbed his stomach, feeling it was somewhat empty.

This body is excellent in every way, far superior to the long-haired rabbit he patiently battled, but its drawback is that it must strictly adhere to the "rules"...

He took another third of a step forward, then cautiously stopped just a centimeter from the entrance of the passage.

The place was quiet and dimly lit, with a faint scent of incense mixed with notes of licorice, vanilla, ebony, and tonka bean, filling the passageway with a solemn, low-hanging, and warm atmosphere reminiscent of a temple.

In fact, if the visitor is someone accustomed to the scents of the upper decks of imperial warships or the residences of nobles, he or she may find the fragrance quite welcoming.

Clearly, whoever cleaned up the place afterwards was trying hard to show off their wealth and hospitality.

"It's superfluous."

The Pale King muttered.

He frowned, tucked a strand of gray hair behind his ear, pushed his glasses up his head, took out his tool bag, and laid out its contents one by one on the ground.

“Although there is a defense system here, I’m here to work, so I should be able to use my equipment, right… I remember Magna gave me a security code specifically for maintenance personnel… Oh, right, here it is.”

A moment later, a tarot deck, an incense pendulum, a laptop, a notebook, and pens were all ready.

"I and numerology will make a great contribution here, without a doubt."

He then picked up the pendulum, lit the incense, and shook it seven times in three directions.

The smoke rose in wisps, flowing in the air like white milk as his gaze fell upon it.

Then, as if unable to withstand the stern gaze of the Pale King, the smoke began to slowly trace out the invisible patterns one by one in the air with milky white mist lines.

The special barriers and passageway markers set up by the owner of this land outside the territory gradually revealed their true nature.

Each one is a dark truth of the triple cycle that an ordinary cult wizard would pursue for a lifetime and sacrifice the entire world to obtain, but here, they are used as ordinary words and symbols.

"I knew it... these symbols... let me see... hmm..."

The Pale King's thin, nimble fingers grabbed the draft paper, hastily jotted down a few patterns and calculated the raw data. Then he opened his laptop, brought up his self-written R language module, and began processing the data.

Three seconds later, the results, which would take most Mechanicus priests in the current universe hours or even days to calculate, were output to his screen.

—The thought that even the cognition speed of the massive machine souls of Thunderhawk or Marauder Titan was almost on par with that of this small notebook made the Pale King sigh once again at the convenience of having a tool for acquiring knowledge.

Of course, he didn't bring his own laptop with him.

Even with his highly sophisticated rules, he couldn't violate some of the underlying designs. However, the knowledge in his mind was a highly flexible area. He had already carefully disassembled his laptop, studied it thoroughly, and memorized it. He then borrowed a space in the armory to conduct miniaturization experiments on the Thinker.

The final result is a "laptop" in his hand that looks like an ordinary laptop, and he even added a nice white and green breathing light-style Death Guard icon to the cover.

It's definitely more convenient, faster, and more practical to use the principles of numerology for minimization!

He gave the contemplative man, compressed into a size large enough to fit inside a laptop case by the mysterious ritual of numerology, one last satisfied look, then wrote down all the results on the paper in the draft notebook, and finally stuffed the "laptop" back into his satchel.

He also installed an external digital numerology real-time analysis probe on this "laptop," so that once he gets close to his target, he can easily locate the target even if the target has turned into bone fragments or a pool of bodily fluids.

"Hopefully I'll find some usable bone fragments when I get there... Come on, Scarbejasarax, let me see what new tricks you've come up with in this Pit of Corruption..."

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"Seth...! Seth! Is it really you, Chapter Leader?!"

Warren Charaka met Gabriel Seth, who looked somewhat dazed, in the corridor leading from the Chapter Master's office to their quarters.

"Great! Saint Gilles! I've found you!"

"what happened?"

Seth composed himself and, under Warren's worried gaze, tried to restore his usual expression of anger.

—It can't be blamed on him. The news he had just been told that "the specialty coconut water beverage can replace Blood Drink to a 90% extent, and your Blood Thirst has also been weakened to a certain extent because Black Wrath has been weakened" has overturned the entire Holy Blood Angels warband's understanding and brought an unprecedented glimmer of hope to his despairing life, which has made him a complete fool of himself in the office.

—If a picture of someone crying and laughing, kneeling on the ground with their head down and wailing, were to be posted online, they would never be able to hold their head up in the Warband or the Council of Holy Blood for the rest of their lives…

That damned traveling merchant! Who's a good person who would record a video like that!
But the thought of what the person recording him looked like made Gabriel Seth lose all strength to resist—who exactly was that person in the golden armor…?

"Apollos and the others have gone to the lower deck to 'hunt'!"

All the random thoughts vanished from Seth's mind instantly, and he felt a chill run down his spine from the back of his head.

"Can't they just put up with it... Never mind, I understand Apollos's helplessness. As a priest, he can't control them... But we have other options now!"

"You found out too?!" The tenth company commander's face lit up with joy. "The mess hall here! Seth! You absolutely have to go to the mess hall and get a coconut ricotta latte!"

“I just had a drink,” Seth replied, frowning. “You met with them? Why didn’t you tell them? Why didn’t you stop Apollos?!”

“I told them!” Warren shouted. “They didn’t believe me! And I was ambushed and knocked unconscious when I tried to stop them! The first thing I did when I woke up was to ask to see you!”

"...That is indeed something Apollos would do."

Seth, who was very familiar with the pastor's style, gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

“Do you know the way to the lower decks? We need to get them back right now,” Seth growled, his voice low and menacing. “Before they actually start shedding their first blood here.”

"I think I heard someone say something about spilling blood or something like that."

Seth turned around abruptly. "Need any help? I think I can offer some fairly professional advice on this matter that's bothering you... and some manpower."

All-black power armor, jump packs, white bird-shaped insignia—Raven Guard? What's with this Raven Guard Astartes here? Is the crew on this ship really that mixed?

Seth pondered.

But the Raven Guards and the Flesh Tearers have never really crossed paths, nor have they been enemies, so perhaps...

"tell me the story."

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Another new day.

The old man sat by the window of the workshop.

Breakfast was laid out in front of him.

Mashed potatoes drizzled with a rich green parsley sauce, boiled eel and offal pie – a delicious and classic meal!
Old Man Gap went out this morning and came back in a good mood, having opened all the windows.

"Today will be a fine day!" he announced. "A perfect day for opening a new barrel!"

So he took all his assistants and the group of hardworking and strong young men who had joined him, and went to the other side of the farmland to select and cut down suitable human-faced trees in the forest.

They expect to return before dinner and drag the felled timber to a drying warehouse to be sawed into planks, which will then be made into large barrels for brewing.

Before they left, the old man was flattered by the request from Old Man Gap to "watch the gate and make sure the animals don't get in."

That was no problem, of course. Although he wasn't strong enough to work in the woods, he would still use firearms. Old Man Gap gave him a very beautiful gun with a white bone barrel and body, a stock inlaid with teardrop-shaped gems, and finally, beautiful and highly poisonous red mushrooms grew out of various parts of the gun, making it a true work of art.

With a gun, and sitting here he could see the main gate, he naturally sat down and began to wait for everyone to return.

So now, a warm, humid breeze sweeps across the vast fields and valleys, caressing the old man's ravaged face, giving him a long-lost sense of relaxation and freedom.

He couldn't help but gently close his eyes as the breeze caressed him, a pleasant, slight drowsiness quickly washing over him: perhaps he really was getting old, no longer suited to his old job...

...What did he do for a living before...?
Sigh, look, I can't even remember this. It's definitely not suitable anymore...

Ultimately, it's still a world for young people, and he is indeed old and sick, all alone, and this world will become increasingly dangerous for him.

Although he had forgotten what he used to do, his calculation and mathematical knowledge was still solid. Old Man Gap praised him for helping him calculate how many cubic meters of compost needed to be transported and extended an invitation to him.

Perhaps he should consider Old Man Garp's joking suggestion from yesterday and stay here as Old Man Garp's treasurer?
The farm is visibly well-run, with excellent security, abundant and delicious food, friendly people, and such a pleasant climate—it's truly perfect for his retirement.

Just as the old man was squinting and seriously starting to plan his retirement, a certain noise from afar caught his attention.

"rustle……"

"Snap, snap, snap..."

The bluish-gray mist churned like disturbed water, and the densely planted crops swayed from side to side in the distance.

Wind? No, that's not right. The commotion is too loud and too concentrated. Animals? Even deer or other animals of average size couldn't do that... A herd of wild boars?

The old man immediately became alert, picked up his gun, walked to the door, opened it, and peered out.

As the noise drew closer, the old man could clearly hear a curse, a sound of eternal resentment being angrily squeezed out from the depths of someone's throat and between their teeth. It was so deep and furious, almost like the roar of a Titan engine.

The tall white corn and sorghum were cut down, uprooted, and trampled. Eventually, large swathes of the crops lay flat, as if a combine harvester were passing through them.

A pale, gaunt giant, taller than the windmills in the workshop, stepped out of the fields in the valley, shrouded in shroud-like smoke and shadow. The corpse-like crops fell in swathes under the huge scythe in his hand. In that instant, the old man felt as if he could hear the buzzing of countless insects.

"Who gave you permission to change this place like this?!"

The giant roared, and the terrifying feeling that seeped into the soul and was irresistible almost made the old man kneel down.

But his promise to Old Man Gap sustained him to some extent, and he trembled as he raised the white bone gun.

"Aha! Favored one of Scarbea Sarax!"

The giant roared mockingly, "But that won't work on me! I'll transform you, and everything here, once again—"

"Task objective detected, repeat, task objective detected—"

A lazy but seemingly intelligent young man's voice suddenly rang out.

The giant's face, hidden by his hood, seemed to be violently contorted, and his ten fingers, gripping the giant scythe, twitched incessantly as if he were wrestling with himself.

“I will never set foot in the same place again—” he roared.

"Mission target number 47 confirmed, Gregor Eisenhorn, male, human, age 302 to 803 (warp correction), estimated psionic level β+ to α (destiny steel-specific correction), inquisitor of the Anti-External Order, radical, currently being convicted... Time elapsed: 77 minutes, estimated income: 1,800 yuan..."

"One thousand eight, one thousand eight, one thousand eight..."

Then, the old man watched in bewilderment as the giant in front of him took several deep breaths. Then, the scythe turned into shattered specks of light and disappeared, and the giant shrank into a thin human youth with gray hair, pale green (seemingly yellowish) eyes.

"Alright, tell me right now! Where are the others who disappeared with you?"

He walked forward impatiently, completely unconcerned that he was being held at gunpoint.

"I don't want to stay here a minute longer! I'm leaving as soon as I finish my work! Damn it! I should have just asked for triple pay!"

(End of this chapter)