Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 475 It turns out that everything has already happened (4K8)
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Later, Tolamino, having reorganized himself, sat in Soltarn's office.

The Primarch left them many things in the palace, but they were not ordinary daily necessities. Many pieces of furniture were exquisitely crafted, and each piece was worthy of being displayed in a museum as a treasure to be admired by the world. The artistic style spanned the entire history of mankind, showing the makers' familiarity with ancient Terra. However, not only were they not complete sets, but they were also generally too large in size.

Therefore, Soltan now had to use an original-size table made of marble and steel, which was skillfully carved with countless branches and light leaking from the leaves, and a chair that was ingeniously carved out of red sandstone to resemble a winged lion as a desk chair, while Tolamino was very excited to get a huge Tizcan-style painted incense wood chair covered with gold foil and with four legs carved into lion paws holding orbs, which looked like someone had sat on it before, as his own special chair.

On one side of the office were rows of tall, half-open cast-iron windows. Outside was the atrium of Olympia Academy, which was now guarded by guards wearing steel and yellow-black power armor. Smoke from the cafeteria could be vaguely seen behind the roof a little further away.

Despite the distance, the Astartes' enhanced olfactory organs captured free molecules in the air and told them that today's wonderful lunch should be the latest canned beans in sauce, torn corpse starch scones, and ceramic porridge made from any grains they could get, a small amount of precious concentrated lime juice, and the super salty and hard Grox meat slices that had been pickled for eighty years and were cut as thin as a cicada's wing and placed on the porridge as a famous signature dish of the local cafeteria, which came from the Imperial Navy's (robbed) supply ship.

"To be honest, this is the nth time. I used to think that I would never get tired of war and the painful wails of souls, but I found that I have recently begun to get tired of the task of rushing into the camps or ships of the Thousand Sons, Word Bearers or any other wizards to smash their heads. With the blessing of my father, it is easy to rush in and beat these chaos-ridden guys and demons. On the contrary, those pure warriors with outstanding combat skills can still cause us trouble - and if they start to escape very quickly, it is easy for us to get lost if we rashly leave the range of Medlengard to chase them - oh, by the way, speaking of this, it may be last week or a few hours ago, Grendel and his team just jumped into the warship of an unidentified warband in an expulsion battle, and then our Warp Iron - Technical Sergeant brothers never heard any news about them again."

Thortan frowned. As their only refuge after losing Olympia, there were indeed enough Iron Warriors on Medlungard. However, some of them were expelled because of their failure in the civil war thousands of years ago and the subsequent political struggles, and they might be scattered among various warbands.

Another part left on their own initiative. If they were lucky, these Iron Warriors would be able to capture an Imperial world that was careless or had insufficient guards before their resources were exhausted, and take up residence in some galaxy fortresses built according to the Iron Warriors' preferences. Some of them could even own one or several galaxies and their defense systems. The rest were carefully ground, screened, and recast once again in the screening process he had just completed - so the disappearance of an entire team was not a loss that could be ignored.

"How could this happen?! You should have reported it earlier! Tolamino! Although he has not yet fully recovered the shrewd mind of the Kadaras I know, Grendel's force is quite useful in keeping us in check." Thortan suppressed his anger, "I want you to issue a detailed incident report on this matter later."

Tolamino offered a very measured and sincere apology without emotion, stating that his report had been created on a new datapad due to the uncertain time difference, and continued to swirl his wine glass.

"In short, you, Thortan vo Bron, the former lieutenant of the 45th Great Company, are now a very successful Chaos Lord according to word of mouth here. If you don't make a sound, you will be amazing. You quietly eliminated or incorporated all the dissidents in the Fourth Legion (Here Tolamino snorted coldly), and took over the legacy left by Barban Falk after he ascended to the devil. In addition, many people and warbands inside and outside the Eye of Terror are trying to guess whether your actions were instructed by the Father of Genes, and which god has favored the great Iron Lord and his descendants now. After all, you now have a rare blessed son of the Word Bearers by your side, and it is obviously not one of the crudely made ones by the current group of dark apostles."

Born into a noble family in the city-state, this warsmith used his psychic powers to transform his power armor into some kind of ancient Olympian noble robe style, wearing lace-up sandals with interlaced straps that reached up to his sturdy calves, and decorated his long white hair and braids with flowers and leaves of local plants in Olympia. There were no luxurious and fragile green leaves and flowers here, so he could only use the thin gold leaves hammered out by the soft and dexterous fingers of the slaves as a substitute for comfort.

The antique goblet in his hand was made from a destroyed Imperial world. It looked very much like a communion cup made of glass and silver. This size allowed the Space Marine to hold it without feeling too small. Its delicate fragility formed a sharp contrast with the simple water cup milled from cannon steel in the hand of Soltarn across from him.

"I guess they want to guess who the auditorium was built for, which god's new appearance the statue represents, why they were able to obtain such a normal territory, and how they can replicate my success? Hmm?"

“Reproduction?” Tolamino shook his head. “You are just like Felix. You are still naive about the mess that will happen ten thousand years later! Compared to the unknown and time-consuming reproduction, most warband leaders or ambitious guys would rather just reap the fruits directly.”

"Oh? Picking fruits? Fanciful. If they really dare to do this, I will be happy to see what interesting things will happen. Although I think that as the descendants of Perturabo, we do have priority in the order of prayer, but the Lord of Iron will not accept all the scraps! Even in the darkest ten thousand years in the past, the gene seeds absorbed by the Iron Warriors from other legions were very limited-"

Soltan's smiling and confident voice suddenly stopped as if someone had precisely cut his throat with a scalpel. Tolamino squinted his eyes and noticed that the Stoneforge's face suddenly turned pale and angry in the bright light outside the window, and his expression seemed as if he recalled something that was reluctant to talk about and was kept secret.

Gene seeds? Tolamino blinked and tried to start a new conversation. "Indeed, we usually always choose the gene seeds of those Dornish stones to create new blood. The seeds of these stones are not only delicious favored by the dark gods, but also taking them as slaves and letting them rush to die first is a pleasant and effective pastime, isn't it, Thortan?"

Stoneforge's vague and gnashing answer was like a mouthful of blood stuck in his throat, "Hmph, hmph... maybe, but you have to admit that the Imperial Fists' gene seed does have some advantages in terms of stability and purity (Tolamino raised his eyebrows slightly)... If we were to choose someone from the remaining legion seeds of the Empire to replace some of the functions of our gene seed, there would be no one more suitable than the Seventh Legion. Now that you mention this, I've always heard that half of some of the warbands that haven't returned yet are actually Imperial Fists soldiers wearing ancient power armor stripped from their dead Iron Warrior veterans. Is this rumor true?"

Tolamino smiled. "Oh! I was wondering how you and Felix could end up like this. Poor old City Breaker, once the Chief Trident, the First Captain! In the end, you have fallen to working for a half-blood bastard and charging for him! Do you really not care about what happens outside of Medlengard except for going out to plunder? Yes, in fact, only you, Felix and Falk's warbands were almost all Iron Warriors. In the warbands of others, the senior officers and warsmiths are still members of the noble Fourth Army, but the ordinary soldiers and low-level officers below are actually all transformed from the seeds of our annoying yellow enemies."

Thortarn's voice now sounded like that of a mortal with a fever, weakened by shock for some reason unknown to Tolamino, and he groaned, "So there are actually quite a few of us here who are not of the Iron Warriors gene! Why is Honsou so universally hostile?"

"This young man is quite unmartial and does not follow the ancient legion tactics!" Tolamino took a sip of wine. "He has neither the grace brought by the ancient Olympian bloodline nor the self-awareness like you! As Iron Warriors, we look down on him because of his bloodline and his lack of etiquette and rules. He is regarded as a traitor by those soldiers who can realize that they may have Imperial Fists bloodline-"

"Wait." The Earth Ruler's damaged vocal cords tightened due to mechanical compression, "What do you mean by 'react'?!"

"Oh." Tolamino said as if nothing had happened. "Because some people's warbands don't have the conditions to carry out very sophisticated hypnosis and brainwashing procedures, of course some Imperial Fists seed bearers will start to feel something is wrong and revolt against their superior officers. Usually, the suppression process is already very sophisticated, and all we need to do is kill the leader and send the others to be brainwashed again and again."

"Perturabo's Thunder!!! How many of us here are actually Iron Warriors of the Imperial Fists?!"

"Well." Tolamino tilted his head and thought for a while, "It's hard to say, but it's probably close to half." "Less than half? That's not bad, it's better than there..."

Soltarn even looked relieved.

Tolamino raised his eyebrow again.

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Samokan and Aquilon did not stay in the square for long. After his demonic and sorcery attacks were all in vain, the Thousand Sons wizard immediately chose to respectfully (?) retreat. This was because Samokan, under Raum's instruction, made a threat that he himself did not understand, but was earth-shattering to the Thousand Sons wizard: "If you bother me again, I will eat all your red letter warriors!"

The terrifying words of this Blessed Son of the Word Bearers, who was accompanied by strong psychic mutant guards (? ) and was so cruel (? ) that he even ate the Rubric Soldiers, made the others look sideways. After that, their wandering here became quite relaxing, and they did not return to the academy until it was time for class.

They were currently sitting in the sixth grade classroom, listening to Professor Uriel Ventress's talk about what to watch out for in atmospheric entry combat.

"...In summary, although in theory, Space Marines can indeed wear heavy armor or even ordinary power armor for atmospheric delivery, even if faith is my shield, I do not recommend violating the guidance of the Codex on this. It requires too much luck to carry out such an assault under any other circumstances. Samokan, please answer, according to the process of the Codex Astartes, how should an atmospheric delivery of the Adeptus Astartes be carried out under normal circumstances?"

Samokan, who was scribbling notes on his data pad with his fingers flying, sat up straight.

"Well," the boy, who was wearing a power armor that was being slowly repaired by Raum, searched his rapidly modified brain and looked at his notes to confirm, "There are two ways: the first is to go to the hangar first, and then find the vehicle assigned to us, such as the Thunderhawk, and then the Thunderhawk pilot will take us to the designated location on the ground to carry out the operation; the second is to take the airdrop pod and make a quick breakthrough. When landing, you must pay special attention to protect yourself from being hit too hard."

"Very good." Uriel nodded and put away his lecture data pad. "Then this class ends here. It will be lunch time next."

Aquilon straightened his curved, thick, fearless back muscles and expressed his joy at the announcement with a deep, low roar. Then he jumped out of the window impatiently and used his strong and extra-long arms hanging at his sides to take a shortcut to the college cafeteria. Samokan stuffed his stationery into the storage compartment of his power armor as usual. He did not bring his Sentinel Blade with him, but temporarily stored it with Soltarn - this weapon was too valuable here, and it was a thousand times more dangerous for the two children to carry it with them than to wander around without weapons.

Uriel and Samokan were left walking slowly along the majestic and beautiful temple-style outer colonnade to have lunch.

"I heard, Professor Uriel, that you still plan to return?"

Uriel looked at the storm-grey eyes that were almost identical to his current ones. Recently, because the light in Olympia Academy was closer to normal sunlight, after the first few days when these skinless children found that they would have severe muscle pain if they were exposed to this kind of light for too long and wanted to hide indoors, it seemed that the pigment control sphere [Melanochromic Organ] implanted in the Space Marines to provide them with radiation protection began to work because of the special light, and a thin layer of new skin-like tissue began to form where the light shone.

In response to this, they tried a control group experiment and found that if the composition of light radiation is close to that of solar radiation, it can indeed stimulate the pigment control ball to produce a new layer of cells to wrap the exposed muscles to protect the main body, but the dead white phosphorus sky that had previously left Medlengard barren could not stimulate this organ to work normally.

So, now there is a layer of translucent skin film on Samokan's face. Although the red muscles and white teeth are still faintly visible, everyone can see the genetic characteristics on his face: there is no doubt that although he has black hair like an Iron Warrior, he looks more like a son of Guilliman, or in other words, he looks like the son of Uriel Ventress.

"Yes." Uriel looked at him with mixed feelings. He didn't know how to face such a result, a hybrid born from his genetic material, but he still answered the other party's question as gently as possible. "After the course I was responsible for was completed, I tried to return to my chapter and home. Our death oath has been completed, Kalan-Gol and the evil within it have been turned into dust, and we can also embark on the journey home."

"But will they believe you?" the boy pointed out sharply, with a hint of desire. "You can actually stay here. Soltan and his men are not the same as those real bad guys. Besides, Soltan tried many times. He also wanted to find a safe route to fly away from Cadia, but he couldn't find it. Can you find it?"

"Perhaps." The same storm-grey eyes as his looked back at Samokwan gently, "No matter what, I, we, Pausanius and I will always be members of the Ultramarines. We are the sons of Guilliman, and we will return to Macragge eventually. We believe that since the throne and the prophecy of Lord Tigris have successfully guided us and sent us here, we can also use the power given to us to return to our brothers in the chapter and prove our loyalty."

"Macragge," Samokan murmured, "I hope that one day I can go there. That would mean I could meet you again."

"That day will come," Uriel comforted him, even though he knew the hope was slim.

(End of this chapter)