Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 890 I will beat up base pairs until the virus learns to understand human speech
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"'Horus' is setting off from the coast of a small island north of Lupecaria, heading south along the Molten Salt Road towards Lupecaria. They are engaged in battle with the troops of the Moro Northern Fleet, who have already constructed fortifications and trenches and deployed six regiments, artillery batteries, heavy artillery, and a super-heavy tank company in front of the Sons of Horus' landing point."

While driving the Spartan Assault Tank, Dr. Mortalian also kept a close watch on the latest news from the Legion and promptly informed everyone inside the vehicle.

However, the heavy troops and firepower of the Moro garrison did not faze the other two Primarchs.

Only Riemann Russ spoke up and asked a question.

"What did the son of Horus send?"

“Two hundred Rand Raiders as the vanguard,” Mortarian replied, “along with all his legion members.”

"Where are the Imperial knights in Moro? Where are the Titans? Haven't they been mobilized to the landing site?"

"No." The Pale King's voice seemed to carry a hint of helplessness. "They are still deploying in sequence behind the Imperial Legion."

The wolf king shook his head.

"If we don't wipe them out on the spot when they land, we'll be facing their tearing apart later."

He sat back in the uncomfortable seat inside the tank.

"But why would 'Horus' choose to land on this strange northern coast? I don't understand. Shouldn't he be heading to Lupecalia? Wouldn't it be better to just airdrop near Lupecalia? The name of this place is also..."

“Just as you thought,” Mortalian interrupted Pallas. “It’s the capital that our ‘father’ built in memory of Lupecal, who landed with him.”

His tone remained indifferent and weary, with no discernible hint of sarcasm.

"As expected of his most cherished son. You know, the First Legion was in charge of building the castle when he came for the second time."

Pallas frowned.

"Ironically, after the castle was completed, the Emperor altered everyone's memories, including Horus Lupecal's own, but when he first came, he was powerless to alter the memories of the planet's mortals."

“But if that’s the case…” Pallas thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “Well, I don’t know if you know this, but logically speaking, should the current ‘Horus’ know these things? Including going to Dwyl to find clues and then following those clues to Moro, etc.”

“He certainly will know,” Mortarian replied. “The mind and memory synapses belong to Horus, so why can’t he know?”

"What I mean is, if the soul and memories go together..."

"Well... it's not very user-friendly, so I'll explain it to you in a more easy-to-understand way. After all, you don't know about things like synchronizing message records between mobile personal communicators and personal computers..."

Motalian uncomfortably withdrew his legs from the hard seat, where he had been trying to adopt the posture of a cow or horse researcher.

“I’ll do my best. Let’s put it this way: memories leave deep marks on both sides, one of which is usually called the ‘soul’ and the other is called the ‘body’. Generally speaking, the soul is carried by the body, and in this galaxy, both idealistic and supernatural forces are related to the soul… even emotions are like that, so it’s easy to understand why memories follow the soul.”

"really."

"And you know how the brain's memory works, right?"

“…If I hadn’t studied at the Dauntless Repair Center in Medusa’s Eye and Gorgon Forge, I would have been stumped by you…” Pallas frowned as he recalled, completely unaware of the horrified looks on the faces of the other three people in the tank’s crew compartment.

"Sensory reception, hippocampal encoding, neuronal electrical activity and synaptic shaping and fixation, and extraction of activated neural circuits?"

"You've learned very well. So, although short-term memory is maintained by temporary bioelectrical activity, once it forms a long-term memory, it must have a neural synaptic form shaped by that memory fixed and stored in a certain area of ​​the cerebral cortex. If the emotions were very strong at the time, the amygdala would also reinforce it. See? This is easy to understand. The soul leaves with its contents, but the shape of the contents in the physical body's warehouse remains in the cells, making it easy to see what it originally was. It's like when you take away a model, the shape of the mold is still there, clear at a glance."

“Now I understand.” Fograim Pallas exclaimed, pulling out his electronic pen and micropad to scribble furiously. “I’ve got another idea! Next time I’m going to install some new wiring for Ishtar and Feralas!”

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One of the creatures, with only one eye left, widened its eyes upon hearing a certain name, but unfortunately, it couldn't utter a sound.

—Now, in a very darkly humorous way.

Previously, this person was the one most resistant to contacting Medusa.

But now, he is the one most eager to contact Shadrak Medusa and his Broken Legion.

And it's obvious that he needs extra help, or more luck.

Aside from being out of danger, this steel hand only has one movable hand, which is tightly handcuffed to the end of its exposed steel spine with belts and chains.

He tried to dispel the doubt that had resurfaced in his mind: Why was this Forgrim so familiar with the Steel Hand's debugging code, and why did he wield the tools in a way that resembled someone else?
That's not the point. He brought his logic back to the main point.

Whenever he tried to pull the hand away from his restraints, the code and pathways set up by this bastard who looked exactly like the murderer, Fugrim, would automatically release anesthetics and relaxants, rendering him unconscious for a while.

At first, he tried to use every opportunity to loosen the shackles even by a millimeter, creating a chance to escape little by little. But now, after hearing so much news that was causing his brain to overheat and overload...

Now he can't sleep for even a second. He has to keep his eyes wide open and his ears perked up. He can't miss a single word and must carefully record every word, tone, and pause spoken by everyone here!

I must not be discovered; I must keep records and find an opportunity to contact them.

After the remaining steel heart had been working intensely for a while, Sergeant Bion Helikos forced himself to calm down, trying to minimize his presence and pretending that he really was just a terrible humanoid trophy on Fogrem Pallas.

Wait. He told himself. Be patient.

Make sure to record it and wait for the right opportunity.

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“Actually,” said Peturabo BC, who was glancing at the crystal ball while continuing to work on his documents, “well… let someone say it themselves, right, old man?”

The pigeon stammered, while Ramizam's gaze was intense.

"Actually it is……"

His voice grew softer and softer.

"Speak louder, I can't hear you... Aren't you supposed to be communicating telepathically?!"

"...It follows the reverse route I took after my first arrival in Moro...That small island, Damsek Island, is the place where I left Moro, a corresponding landmark."

So it will eventually go there?

“Lupecaria,” the pigeon replied affirmatively, “there are guardian creations I left behind in the caves there.” “What do those creations guard?”

The pigeon kept its beak tightly shut for a moment.

All eyes in the office were on Him.

"Memory," He said finally, deflated like a punctured balloon, "Those altered memories of reality... my methods were rather naive back then, and the burying of them was rather hasty..."

Peturabo and Clarks exchanged glances.

"Can defeating the creator grant access to those buried memories?"

"Destroy it, and the memories will be returned, the vast majority, yes, as long as those memories still exist."

"Are you sure it won't be destroyed?"

"Theoretically speaking, if Cypherus, who has taken over Horus's body, intends to take those Astartes in alone, their weapons will be ineffective against it. It is a faceless fire angel, the ultimate weapon of divine punishment that unleashes thunder..."

"...Then why didn't you build a few more and place them under the palace to block the gate? At the very least, you could have placed two at the palace gate. Then Dorne and Saint Gilles wouldn't have had such a hard time defending it, would they?" Ramizan asked, puzzled.

"Gu..."

“This means that either He can’t create it, or He feels that,” Perturabo BC grinned maliciously, “the memories on Moro are even more shameful than the net gates beneath the palace.”

"I'm quite curious."

Magna said his iris-colored blue electronic eyes were fixed on the images inside the crystal ball.

“How will this Horus defeat this guardian angel? If he can do what Horus originally did, then it means that he does indeed possess strength that is at least comparable to our brother in terms of intelligence and power.”

"so?"

"So this means he will still be a formidable opponent for the Siege of Terra."

Magna Dorn made this judgment, and even his face, cast in metal, showed a hint of solemnity.

"And this time, the number of Undead is greater than before. How will the garrison on Terra cope?"

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"The path of beasts has come to an end."

Mortarian announced, looking at the external monitor of the Spartan tank.

"There's no road ahead, the tanks can't move forward. It's your turn, Arlin."

The great demon, clad in fully sealed heavy armor, nodded to them, then awkwardly opened the hatch and walked out with heavy steps.

The moment the cabin door opened, the passengers heard roars and howls of various mutated wild beasts from the dense forest:

The sounds of mutated saber-toothed tigers, Margolas resembling giant Tyrannosaurus Rex with venomous fangs, flying pterosaur-like creatures, and various other wild beasts make this jungle vibrant with life.

"It's a bit of a pity," Ruth commented.

They then closed the hatch, sat inside, and watched as Caleb Arin cautiously approached the group of predatory beasts that had begun to appear in front of the tank, as instructed.

“The carnivores around here are really something,” Leman Russ exclaimed, looking at the long, sharp teeth. “My wolves would love this kind of prey! What a pity…”

As the Wolf King lamented, Caleb Arin on the monitor was bitten by the largest mutated saber-toothed tiger leading the pack. The sturdy Saturn Terminator remained intact, and the shield generator was still functioning. However, Arin was snatched away and vanished from their sight in an instant. Meanwhile, the remaining tigers roared and began to attack and gnaw at the Spartan tank, giving the people inside a good taste of what it felt like to have canned food swaying in the basket.

“Just wait,” Dr. Mortalian said calmly, sitting as still as a mountain. “In about seventy-seven seconds…”

As the second hand ticked away, sunlight, tinged with a grayish-green hue, suddenly shone through the murky fog and into the forest at the end of the animal trail for the first time in tens of thousands of years.

The herd of animals cried out in fear and began to flee uneasily to the outer edges.

On the ground, from the direction where Caleb Arin was carried away, the terrain began to change rapidly, like butter meeting a heated knife.

From the smallest moss to the tallest ancient trees, none were spared. Plants were dissolved and vaporized indiscriminately, turning into a murky, grayish-green fog that settled on the ground. Streams dried up instantly, leaving only cracked mud and dust. Land that once grew various plants began to ooze yellow mud and bubbles, churning and turning into a soft, drowning swamp.

After hesitating for a moment, the last few giant saber-toothed tigers collapsed in agony not far away.

From their rotting, bubbling mouths, they coughed up clumps of bloody sputum containing decomposed lung and tracheal tissue. Then, like the footsteps of death, the mist hunted the terrified predators. The hunters became the prey, and the virus's pursuit of life never ceased.

As a figure approached, putting on his sealed helmet, the fog and the plague-infected swamp grew even thicker.

The swamp churned with mud, and the soft, melting ground quickly swallowed the fur and other parts hanging from the skeleton of the saber-toothed tiger. The once dense, impenetrable primeval forest, which blocked out the sun and even humans could not pass through, was soon reduced to nothing but a layer of muddy land and thick, flammable fog of decomposition products.

Within a few dozen breaths, they could already see the distant horizon on the monitor.

The formidable forest instantly transformed into a thoroughfare for vehicles.

"This is what it looks like after the Extinction-Order Life-Eating Virus was released..." Pallas said, his face pale. "Are the tanks' seals and filters reliable?"

He couldn't help but reach out and put on the helmet, checking the seal around his head and neck. The Wolf King, however, had already wrapped himself up tightly after Alin left.

"This won't affect us. But I understand if you feel uneasy."

Mortalian raised his eyelids. "Caleb Arin is piloting my enhanced body, which means that the life-devourers he produces have all been reprogrammed by me and can be controlled by him. This Spartan has been designated as an area where no one is allowed to approach."

"A virus can receive such precise and specific instructions? Just like a living organism? Unbelievable!"

A sense of pride emanated from Mortarian's voice, "How is it? Can you feel the miracle and greatness within! This is my miraculous numerology and biology technology! It will surely bring revolutionary changes to the future!"

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"It's authority!" Pigeon finally couldn't help but shout, "What kind of numerology and biology technology... He added a lethal dose of his authority to every single base pair! What virus would dare to be so blind as to disobey his will!"

(End of this chapter)