Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 448: The one who rubbed the things that were not together could be the Lord of Change or could be...
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Where is the dividing line between witchcraft and psychic powers?

As the chief think tank master of the Ultramarines, no one, not even Calgar, can know what he thinks about this unless he is willing.

But in fact, surprisingly and not surprisingly, Tigris did think about this problem before and often did, which made his face always look thin, tired and thoughtful.

Tigris is usually found at the side or behind Chapter Master Calgar, away from his other battle-brothers.

His innate psychic power not only enabled him to predict the battle movements of the chapter and protect Ultramar, but also made him less willing to stay with other battle brothers. He preferred to stay alone in his room in the library.

The Chief Librarian is now in the Ptolemaic Library, which is a real treasure trove of knowledge even in such a vast area of ​​the galaxy. The content it contains is almost endless for a person's lifetime. In front of such knowledge, Varro Tigris can sometimes even understand a little bit of Magnus's thirst for knowledge before the fall of the Primarch.

When the same power can actually be used for different purposes, just like a weapon held in the hands of different people leads to different fates, then who, what, or any entity, out of what need, ultimately defines the difference between sorcery and psionics? Tigris did not think about it, but first of all, since ten thousand years ago, the attitude of the Empire from top to bottom towards psionics has been destined to be colored glasses from the beginning, and even though he is the chief think tank of the Ultramarines, even though his words can sometimes determine the fate of everyone on one or several worlds, even so, the more knowledge Varro Tigris reads, the more he understands how powerless he is in this galaxy against the behemoth he belongs to.

Although the main issue lies in the purpose rather than the content itself, the identity of the distinguisher and what basic cognition and understanding of the world are used to distinguish them is itself an unanswerable question.

There is no way to change some deep-rooted foundations and no lifeline to the future. All Varro Tigris can do now is to protect his chapter and his people. However...

Smoke from sacred incense and devout candles lingered in his private meditation room and his think tank hood. Although these items were of little real help to a psychic of Tigris's level, they undoubtedly gave him some good hints when he needed them. Gradually, Tigris allowed himself to relax and immerse himself in some place outside the real world, like some liquid metal flowing coldly into his veins, replacing the source of his life. He closed his eyes and saw more things that did not belong to this world.

The unliving ones longed for him and tempted him all the time. The power of this loyal chief think tank lingered in front of the demons, dancing on the edge of the vortex of knowledge. He approached them and rejected them coldly. The void creatures howled angrily and Tigris also realized at the same time - every time, how difficult it was for a mortal to resist these temptations. Without sufficient mental control training, firm will and enough things to believe in, the soul would be drawn into the cracks of the void by the tentacles of temptation and become its food, and it was almost inevitable that it would happen.

More fragmented lights, colorful particles of the world, and intertwined lines of fate began to enter Tigris's field of vision. He suppressed his urge to travel in this wonderful and endless ocean, and began to focus on the lines of events that he wanted to know.

He saw many scenes: the green world sky was covered by falling fire meteors and artillery fire, and the figure in blue armor was nailed to the highest point of the building like a demonstration - the shameless form of the Unliving changed from red armor to blue, and a twisted face with horns poked out from the sacred fearlessness - Cato Sicarius's cloak passed in front of him along with his roar and weapon - flames suddenly rose in the gloom of the catacombs, and white roses were stained with blood in the green blocks - suddenly a black flying object passed by the edge of his retina, and the sound of flapping wings came, and the think tank director clenched his palm - a shining staff condensed from the storm of the void, and he raised it high, alert and ready to scold anyone who dared to seduce him at any time -

The sound of flapping wings became more obvious and rapid, and someone was trudging in from the distant twisted void storm.

The cloak of the crazy future comer who could not be described by all mundane colors was rustling, but he seemed to be just trudging in an ordinary blizzard. Those ferocious and hungry teeth and claws slapped on the surface of his black and silver power armor, but nothing happened except for slight clinking sounds.

A face rose up, emerging from nothingness.

This was a face that Varo Tigris had never expected to see in this place, in the midst of a void storm deep in the Warp.

Even in the most unstable and terrible psionic visions he had ever experienced, it had never been so vivid: the face of Robouti Guilliman, who should have sat in his eternally silent coffin in the Temple of the Strict in Hera's Fortress, staring at Varo Tigris with his blue eyes from under a black hood.

He felt as if he was falling into an icy cave. No, no, he pulled himself together. This couldn't be him. This was a place where only the most powerful psychics could immerse their spirits. Even in the glorious legendary era ten thousand years ago, their genetic father had never been known for such witchcraft skills and abilities.

This can't be him...

Tigris silently recited the Holy Word, praying that the Imperial Glory would guide him back to where he had started.

Then, what terrified the Chief Think Tank was that, as if a huge sea monster was devouring his soul and body, their face, which was eternally stuck in the moment before death and which actually belonged to the dead only after the last breath of life was exhaled, opened its lips and spoke.

What he said to Tigris was...

"Hmm? Such a deep place at this time? You are really brave, oh... unexpected... You have great potential and meet his preferences... That's perfect, I have something to show you..."

This voice was almost completely consistent with the voice of the Primarch that all Ultramarines had ever boldly imagined. However, despite its unusual youth, it carried an incomparable historical richness. The power of the knowledge and rules contained in it almost bent the Chief Librarian's back and forced him to kneel on the ground. How could someone be able to control such a terrible truth so easily...

No, this must be a trap.

Unfortunately, the latest bait that these Unliving Ones came up with was too ridiculous and exaggerated, and Varro Tigris would never be fooled. Since he couldn't leave for the time being, he had to defeat the entity that this abominable demon had transformed into before he could escape!

The Librarian raised the staff in his hand, and with his other hand, he gathered all his strength and pushed it straight at the opponent, shouting the most sacred prayer and infusing his rage into it. The powerful force rolled up ripples in the subspace, and the lightning turned into a dragon-like electric net, rushing towards the opponent to expel this hateful imposter, but his blue psychic lightning only touched the opponent's body and then merged into the platinum flame burning on the opponent's body, and nothing happened except making it burn more dazzlingly.

This was a psychic who was more powerful than the Chief Librarian, without a doubt. A crown of psychic thorns emerged from his forehead.

Tigris shuddered as he saw that this demon looked even more like their genetic father.

He took a step forward and suddenly came in front of Tigris in this place where time and space were no longer so certain.

"Look." He said, slowly hooking up the ultramarine thread that had just passed in front of the Chief Think Tank, weaving fate, and then hooking it together with the other yellow and black threads, "Look."

Tigris saw several brightly colored scenes passing before his eyes, and then he found himself standing in a rose garden in a biodome with the nameless demon in black armor. The madness and danger that had just surrounded them seemed to have disappeared like an illusion, and there was only a quiet atmosphere, cool temperature, and a clear breeze. Artificial lumens cast bright sunlight from the sky that imitated the blue sky, and a humid water vapor revealed that there might be a pure spring nearby for irrigation. The Chief Think Tank saw the finger of the lifeless person with the face of their father dropped down and passed over two blooming roses. He looked closely and saw two roses, one white and the other orange-pink, both swaying and blooming half-hidden in the white and golden sunlight. Next to the white rose was a rose bud that was about to bloom. Judging from the little color revealed in the bud, it seemed to be a strange gray-blue flower.

Then he found himself following the unnamed creature forward and walking to the other side of the flower bed. This time he could see clearly.

The flower bed is decorated in a unique way, with silver-gray, black and a few yellow stripes. Many huge bees are moving in and out of it. The soil is black. In the distance, red or other colored beetles, worms or other pests gather. Bumblebees are gathering to deal with them, and the roses have grown long defensive thorns. There is a metal plate hanging in front of the flower bed with a black and white badge and a line of words indicating the name of the nursery: Medlengard.

Tigris subconsciously looked at the devil in horror. It was his prophecy that pulled the two warriors back from the brink of execution and deprived them of all their honors, sending them to this place where no one knew where. So he immediately knew the meaning of this place beneath the surface of its significance.

"You are indeed very perceptive." The other party nodded, "Remember, when destiny comes, you have to be the one to promote it, not to stop it."

"How can I believe the words of someone who can walk in such chaos?!" Tigris said sternly, "You even used the face of our glorious father. Your crime is unforgivable!"

"It's a long story." Suddenly, some kind of horror began to approach. A huge shadow with tentacles waving floated from the blue sky. The barking of some creature, the stench of decay, the smell of burning feathers, the thick musk that made people dizzy, and the sound of hooves hitting the ground all poured into the ecological dome of the rose garden. "Oh... the nasty thing is coming. You should go, Tigris. This level of battle is not something your soul can bear now. You still have your own responsibilities. Go and warn your comrades, and help my fighting brothers when appropriate."

What is he talking about? Battle-brothers? Is this an Astartes? Is there any such person among any Librarian or Chaplain of the Adeptus Astartes in existence...

"What..." Before the Chief Think Tank wanted to ask his many questions again, the man in black armor with the face of his genetic father stretched out a hand to him and pushed him.

Then, the endless feeling of falling and the pain of the soul reuniting with the body made the think tank director fall to the ground.

The knee of his ceramic armor slammed heavily into the marble floor, and the metal of his palm scratched marks on the patterned floor tiles.

The mechanical movement of the servitors responsible for daily maintenance in the library could be heard, and the smell of incense and old parchment once again flooded into his detective nerves.

The Chief Librarian sat up, stunned for a moment, then poured himself a cup of his favorite soothing drink from a crystal glass bottle beside him - a tea substitute called "Quiet Midnight" from the newly developed eastern colony - ever since a navigator who was willing to try accidentally discovered that this new drink could significantly stabilize the amplitude of psychic fluctuations and the stability of the soul, this thing has swept the entire Macragge psychic world within three weeks - he has to remember when to send someone to visit this emerging colony where agricultural products are selling very well recently...

He took another sip, and the aroma of the herbs with a slight fluctuation of natural psychic energy gradually calmed the prophet's mind. He stood up and prepared to go to his master's throne room to report the matter to the chapter commander.

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Thortan wo Bron opened his eyes again from his memories.

He looked down at his hands. Just now, he returned to the rose nursery in the High Heaven. He knew that place, although there were not so many plants there when he left. It was a garden in an ecological dome on the Sky-Iron Blood, supervised by the Lord of Steel himself. He also remembered that next door was a larger hydroponic farm that produced crisp and delicious romaine lettuce and sweet and juicy peaches for the officers' mess. Then he joined his brothers in a strange attack and defense, and even met an old friend.

He looked at his hands, which had been placed on the parchment roll before he entered into memory meditation. In his continued dream of raving, he wrote down many fragmentary words, mixed with the highest praises to the great fur and the eulogy of the benevolent gift god, as well as a few records of key figures or names in the battle just now.

This is enough.

In this place, the greatest blessing is to have your prayers answered, and he has spread this gospel to every brother who still has a longing for the Lord of Iron.

Soltan put away his draft of the holy book, opened the door and walked out.

Samokwan was waiting for him not far from the door, and the boy, as his apprentice squire, would follow Soltarn while Filhammer did his work.

Seeing the old stonemason coming out, the boy glanced at his armor and immediately went to meet him.

"How are the preparations for the siege?"

The boy immediately and clearly reported a series of data and terms. It was obvious that the former Ultramarines had trained him very well, and he himself had great potential as a war student.

The name that appeared many times on the parchment scroll could not be wrong, but he did not know the meaning of "newborn" yet. However, he would know it sooner or later. After all, he had gathered Uriel Ventries, Pasanius Lessani and Samokhan so quickly, right?

Then Karan Gaur will also inevitably fall into their hands.

Soltan nodded.

"Tell the others that we will begin the attack on the Kalan-Gaur Fortress in three quarters of an hour."

(End of this chapter)