Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 879 Is the Flesh-Tearer's Fortune a Little Too Great?
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"If you dare to deceive me."

"The Pale King said sternly."

"I swear I will make sure you are sick for the rest of your life but your mind is clear and you don't die, you are unable to move, and all the people you love die before you, and the white-haired bury the black-haired."

The Pale King's threat was actually understandable.

Because they are now both mortals, he has been trekking for two hours through the mist at the bottom of the valley and through the endless tall crops, alongside Eisenhorn, who was reminded of his name and remembered who he was.

Yes, it was clear to the naked eye that the Pale King's anger, which had initially been almost a sudden reaction to the environment, gradually subsided as his educated reason and control over his body regained the upper hand, and he was completely unwilling to admit that he had just reacted to the situation.

As for Eisenhorn's questions about his identity and purpose for being there, which he had just awakened with a start, the young man replied:

"I'm a sage with a background in biology, well, a sage, don't ask too many questions. My job is to bring you and the others from this place. So hurry up and take me to them."

Of course, Eisenhorn did not choose to act as an inquisitor at this time to investigate the background of this visitor whose human identity was obviously questionable—even a radical inquisitor would know it was inappropriate for such a being.

He was just a little too radical, had a stronger bond with the demon host, and often violated imperial laws and the rules of the Inquisition. He wasn't stupid. These super beings had already calmed themselves down and were talking to you nicely, so why did you have to turn against them in the demon world?

Instead, when he was startled awake by the Pale King's calm and languid voice prompting his name and realized that the person before him had come to save them, Eisenhorn decided that, no matter what, he should first use the other's power to leave this eerie Nurgle realm.

“I have no reason to deceive you, sir. As far as I know, the owner here has mentioned to me more than once that the forest they are going to cut down is just across the field to the two mountains on the other side.”

The judge spoke calmly, while clutching tightly the gift he had received from the Great Impure One—the weapon was as clean and elegant as when it had been given to him, and the mushrooms still shone like rubies and ivory.

"These Elsa's Tears on the stock are actually magazines. And the mushroom spores give them special properties," said the young man who called himself a biological sage. His voice had now changed from the roar of a giant to a calm one—clearly, the voice prompt had been recorded by the writer before he set off.

"These stones contain very pure life and spiritual energy. If you use them sparingly, the spiritual energy within them will even slowly recover. When you lead the way for me, you must take this gun with you. It was given to you by the owner of this place, meaning you can carry it through this poisonous fog without being affected. But if you let it slip out of your control..."

"What will happen?"

When Eisenhorn asked the question, they were carefully walking down a dilapidated embankment made of piled-up rock fragments.

Scattered pebbles, like some kind of grayish-white bone, protruded from the muddy, mossy path. Eisenhorn couldn't help but notice that the height difference of these steps seemed to have been built for humans rather than for the great demons.

"Then your lungs will instantly fill with toxins, making it impossible to breathe. You'll start to feel excruciating pain from the burning sensation, and at the same time, you'll feel like you're drowning due to the liquefaction of your lung cells. You won't survive for long. Even the lowest level of air is poisonous to the local people of Baba when it's filled with dense fog."

A sharp, vengeful feeling, born from distant memories, instantly crept onto the Pale King's tightly furrowed brow.

No, because too much time and space and events have separated us, this deep pain and hatred has been diluted into a momentary expression of disgust, nothing more, nothing more.

Eisenhorn astutely picked up on a few words.

The lowest level? Baba? What place is that? Is this a place this mysterious being has been to? So, judging from the clues he revealed before, is Scarbea Sarax imitating the place this being once stayed in?
Well... their relationship is definitely something to ponder.

Eisenhorn dared not continue thinking about it. If his intuition was correct, it would be unwise to speculate about the identity of this being who had already concealed his true identity.

They continued walking through a field, and Eisenhorn clearly noticed the continued emotional turmoil in the person beside him after seeing the scenery, though he was much better at controlling himself than before.

The vegetation here was shorter and more expansive than what Eisenhorn had seen near the workshop, reminding the Inquisitor of wheat fields he had seen in some other worlds.

Along the roadside, some buildings and things that people would see from afar at the farm began to appear: haystacks after harvesting, wagons without harnesses, and dilapidated and empty stables.

As darkness fell, mist flowed down from the towering peaks and began to slowly gather towards them, making the northern mountains appear even steeper and darker.

"I do not like this."

The young man said softly.

"It's too quiet, which definitely makes people tense."

Eisenhorn replied, quietly extending his index finger next to the trigger.

“No wonder,” said the Pale King. “I knew something was wrong—it was too quiet. There was neither the sound of flocks of plague falcons circling, nor the panting of those lurking in the shadows.”

"What kind of ambushers might we encounter here?"

"Of course, for example, that clump of weeds is perfect for ambushing a few flesh-and-blood puppet soldiers wielding bronze short swords, the kind that love to eat human flesh."

The pale young man pointed with his fingertips, which were stained with a trace of fluorescent reagent, to a clump of wild grass swaying in the distance. "For example, over there, the view is obscured. Without asphalt torches, the thick fog will advance along the grass, and there could very well be a stitched monster, a summoned corpse, or anything similar lurking inside."

He spoke with such certainty and conviction that Eisenhorn almost raised his gun to strike the bushes first, but the young man extended three long, slender fingers and pressed them against the barrel of his gun.

He shook his head, his soft gray hair revealing budding green eyes that reflected the orange-red hue of the last rays of sunlight on the misty horizon.

“We should light torches,” he said in a low, hoarse, gentle voice. “Only torches can light the way and dispel the fog here.”

"A torch? But this..."

Then he saw the young man walk to the overturned truck parked by the roadside, skillfully find the wooden compartment under the driver's seat, take out tinder and flint and steel from it, and then take down the wooden sticks and ropes from the truck and make two torches with hemp rope, asphalt and the hem of the linen clothes contributed by the judge.

"Come on, it's your turn to follow me. I know which way to go to this pass."

--------

"So the help you mentioned... is just the three of you?"

Gabriel Seth frowned as he stood in the stairwell.

He then glanced back at Warren Charaka, who had retrieved his repaired power armor, which now appeared to have a rather uniform mix of blackish-grey and dark red parts—

If Ramizan were there, he would have said, "TMM is really high-end and classy," but Seth wouldn't have said that. He just frowned and commented that his 10th Company Commander's power armor "looks too clean, like a model toy in a display case."

Of course, as long as the power armor and weapons work well, that's all that matters. He was just adding that, after all, this is probably how the armory here maintains its equipment—this ship may have a simple design, but the luxury in its various living and logistical details surpasses any place Seth has ever been.

"With the two of you, that makes five people," the Raven Guard said with a smile. "Five people make a squad, perfect for all sorts of activities, from hiking to adventurous combat."

What does he mean by that? I feel like there's something hidden in his words, but there's nothing wrong with what he said.

“Alright,” Seth said. “Let’s get this straight: since you’re here to rescue me, I don’t care what chapter you were originally in or what your fighting style was. You’d better listen to me in this operation.” He roared, baring his fangs menacingly. “Otherwise, I won’t turn back to rescue you. I will definitely prioritize my own warriors.”

“Excellent.” The man dressed in blue-gray and bright yellow, resembling a space wolf, replied. He had blond hair that seemed stained with blood, a smooth chin, and long canine teeth. A massive power chainsaw sword hung at his waist. “This kid’s ruthless.”

"...Alright, I'm just killing time anyway...I think I should make sure this whole thing doesn't get blown up."

The last Astartes muttered, the color of his armor being unusual even among the Imperial's supposedly thousand Astartes chapters.

A dull ivory white covered most of his body, while his entire right arm and shoulder armor were purple. His skull, eagle wings, and a few other parts were adorned with gold. His weapons at his waist seemed to have been swapped with those of the space wolf: a battle axe hung on his weapon belt, and another was on his back.

"Son of the Phoenix, offspring of Dorne, humph?"

Seth stared at the complex and unique winged chapter crest on the man's right shoulder armor, then shrugged. "Well, you can never have too many powerful warriors, but with your physique, if I may be so bold, are you sure you want to carry two power axes?"

“Listen to what he’s saying. He’s so different from the warriors I remember,” muttered the warrior in white, purple and gold armor. “I thought ‘I’ was arrogant, but I’m starting to think my brother might not have passed on his highest virtues. How can even the Flesh Tearer be so arrogant?”

"Alright, alright." Before Seth and the warrior named Pallas could start fighting before setting off, the raven guard who called himself "Adarik" deftly separated the two. "Fighting amongst themselves before setting off, hmm? Not a good sign."

In short, this five-person team with four different genetic lineages set off along a different route led by the Dark Raven Guards, heading to "help Seth save the Flesh-Tearer veterans."

So, will Peturabo BC and Magna Dorn be completely oblivious and let such a hiking group happily hike in the demon world?

the answer is negative.

After only a glance at the surveillance footage sent by Magna in the office, the roar of the black and white plush tyrant immediately shook the entire upper deck.

"At this point, I'm out of the picture!" Peturabo BC replied through gritted teeth to Magna. "I can't handle it!"

We still need to do something about this.

Magna saw a line of text flash on the screen: "If they really mess things up in Nurgle, you wouldn't want to be stuck on the lower decks like Sequogas or Rotigos, would you, teacher?"

"..."

Now that things have come to this, I believe Hyperion and his squad would be more than happy to help you out. Holy Hammer Order, expert level. Why not?

"Thanks for reminding me there are still a bunch of Grey Knights here, but this ship was originally called the Ironblood. Maybe I should call Danteok back." The Border Collie pondered, his paws clattering against the input device, unaware that Ramizan was secretly observing him while reading a book.

[But since you mentioned the Grey Knights... how synchronized are the devices in the Divination Hall with them?]

[Very good.]

Magna responded, "Clearly, after eliminating the influence of certain fate lines where Tzeentch was overly involved, Chiyo's genetic stability has been greatly improved. However, there's a corresponding problem: obviously, avoiding certain fates is never without its costs."

What will be the price?

Perturabo BC frowned, his long, bushy brows furrowing as he rapidly typed, "[How come I didn't know about this? How many more secrets is Utherma Attra hiding from me! I told him that any change must be reported! He has to report where he is!]"

Their gene-storing glands have degenerated. That kind of degeneration.

Which type of degradation?

There is a possibility of regression after implantation, resulting in a Grey Knight having only one usable gene seed, or, in the worst case, none at all.

"This can't be." Peturabo BC's pupils contracted, and he typed rapidly, "How are your body's recent monitoring data? Are there any fluctuations or signs of decreased cell vitality?"

No. The sampled entity of this Persona is functioning normally. Condition is good.

Send me a copy of the data... and if that damned stone is still safely in my vault, then the Grey Knight's gene seed couldn't have degenerated like this; there would definitely be two of them!

【so……】

If it has degraded, then there must be another reason, one that can be corrected.

I understand. I will immediately begin searching the timelines where the problem might occur.

【Great, send the search results to my private channel immediately—no need to CC Ramizam.】

[Received. So, how will Pallas, Leman Ruth, Klax, and the two Flesh-Tearers, who are currently en route to the Nurgle demon world "The Pit of Rot" which has already been commissioned by the Pale King, track down the next development?]

Can your surveillance equipment travel on orbit above the decaying pit?

No. But I must say, your ninth brother paid an astonishing price in resources and wealth to gather the energy to convert them into currency usable by the Pale King. He certainly won't stand idly by.

"That's hard to say," Peturabo BC said, twitching his mustache. "Others think it's just an excuse, but I know very well that he truly cannot see his offspring. He knows it himself."

"What exactly has he become?" Magna asked curiously.

"Didn't your sampling ontology put this data in the upper layer?" Peturabo BC asked playfully.

There is no relevant record in my database.

Therefore, only secrets worth keeping have power.

"What secret?"

(End of this chapter)