Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 500 Uninvited Guests in the Kitchen of Hera Fortress
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Varro Tigris had not left his library for many days, reportedly because he had been receiving such strong revelations recently that he could not even sleep well.

This not only made Overlord Macragge secretly worried, but also surprised several of the chapter's main officers - although the power of the Chief Librarian was a valuable and useful asset to the chapter, the identity of a powerful psyker was not as respected among the Ultramarines as it was in some chapters, at least Tigris himself and some of the warriors did think so in their hearts.

However, today the Chief Think Tank suddenly left his meditation room and went to the Temple of Rectification in Hera Fortress.

He wore a linen robe representing an ascetic over his power armor and psychic hood, hiding his haggard features. The rough robe was tied around his waist only with a rope made of bark fibers, representing the need for asceticism to purify his soul.

Such a chief think tank was still noticed by many pilgrims from the empire when he walked into the Temple of Correction. They murmured prayers and bowed to him, some had tears in their eyes, and some tried to touch the corners of his robe and cane carefully.

Guarding the only proof of the Imperium's long night and the records of the Astartes in the past ten thousand years were not just myths, the honor guards at the resting place of Robert Guilliman raised their weapons and saluted the Chief Librarian.

Tigris' mouth tasted bitter.

His feet carefully stepped onto the patterned marble floor, which had been rubbed to a shine by the soles, palms, foreheads and knees of pilgrims for thousands of years, until he stopped in front of the high platform in the center of the temple, where the sacred and motionless coffin was surrounded by the names of thousands of gilded martyrs like stars.

The Master of Prophecy and First Librarian of the Ultramarines knelt with his staff in hand before the monument where the death of the Gene-Father was recorded forever.

The pilgrims further away did not dare to disturb him but watched him curiously.

He has already discovered that only when he got here...

The ghostly haze that had been lingering over Tigris' soul recently began to thin out, as if he was shocked by the golden names of the countless sacrifices here and the sanctity of the Primarch, allowing him to glimpse the source of the one he really cared about from among the countless futures that emerged and shattered like fleeting bubbles.

He bowed his head, letting the sackcloth hood cover his face, and sincerely repented and meditated.

And for the first time in centuries, he sincerely hoped that his prediction would be wrong.

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In the bustling town at the foot of the mountain where the Hera Fortress is located, the owner of a produce shop watched the purchasing power sled of the Hera Fortress go away, turned around and looked at the shop which was still crowded with people, nodded to a few of the waiters, and then hurriedly turned into the alley behind the shop as if he wanted to leave temporarily to buy a cup of coffee.

But for a long time, no one saw this thin and pale man walking out from the other end of the alley.

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Varro Tigris frowned.

In the sacred candlelight, he suddenly saw the echoes of the rebels ten thousand years ago echoing over the Hera Fortress. The wings and swords of the First Army vaguely turned into the bloody flesh wings and pale skeletons of the Eighth Army. The shadow of the Midnight Lord was back, no doubt about it, but he could neither ignore such an obvious omen nor provide more relevant information to Calgar and his regiment. He could only issue warnings and ask them to maintain more combat readiness and duty.

This has caused some private complaints among his comrades recently. After all, a thief can steal for a thousand days, but you can never guard against thieves for a thousand days. Every bit of strength of the Extreme Warriors is important. Behind this idyllic star zone are the dedication, battles and even selfless sacrifices of countless soldiers stationed outside.

He saw the Great Enemy walking among them, its scarlet tongue leaving marks on each of their bodies, causing even the Chief Librarian to wrinkle his face in disgust.

More and more bat wings covered the sky, blocking out the sun's rays.

Where? Where? Where will the traitor fighters break through?

He called for help from countless martyrs, he begged for the protection of his genetic father, he urgently surrounded himself with strength, trudged through the treacherous vortex of the highest sky and the edge of the dark abyss, resisted the claws hidden under the waving claws of arthropods or the flapping feathers that were eager to grab his spirit. He resisted the wailing storm that tried to swallow him, and searched for a ray of hope in the fascinating, colorful black.

This is a battle that belongs to the Chief Think Tank alone. Even someone as powerful and warm as Calgar cannot help him behind the curtain.

Here, there was only him, the faint candlelight shining on his tomb, and Robouti Guilliman's gaze staring forward for dozens of centuries.

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It was time to prepare for breakfast, and the fortress's large stone kitchen was bustling with people.

Steam and smoke filled every corner. On the huge stove with fierce fire were equally large soup pots and barbecue grills. Next to it were stone bread ovens lined up in a row, which could accommodate several adults. Bakers were taking out the freshly baked bread with long-handled flat bread shovels and carrying them in baskets to the servants' dining area.

This is where all the mortals in the Hera Fortress are supplied with three meals a day. In addition, designated chefs and servants are responsible for cooking food for the Space Marines. The food of these noble warriors of the Emperor will not contain so many mortal ingredients when they are out on duty, but when they are stationed and on duty on the ground on a daily basis, Lord Calgar still does not hesitate to instruct the addition of ingredients such as fresh fruits and vegetables, pickled olives, olive oil, toast and wine to his warriors' daily menu.

After all, Ultramar alone has more than six rich and productive agricultural worlds and garden worlds, and the people here have not known what famine is for a long time.

The owner of the produce shop walked leisurely among these busy and hardworking servants, admiring the bustling daily work scene here with a bit of tourist-like curiosity.

These people in uniforms and aprons seemed not to have noticed the visitor. Only the milky white steam vortexes that were abnormally stirred in the sunlight shining through the window frames silently indicated the traces of a figure that had just passed through them.

The pale man stopped beside a large boiling soup pot, looking curiously at the bubbling oatmeal porridge inside. Then he saw a man who looked like a chef hurried over, followed by an Anglican priest holding a long parchment scroll.

He curled his lips in disgust and watched quietly as the priest began to perform the blessing ceremony for everything they were about to pour in. When he heard "Ensure the purity of our daily food and may the God Emperor in heaven bless our purity, we beg you and the food we enjoy, and we are grateful for the blessings bestowed by the God Emperor", he grinned very strangely.

After waiting for the lengthy blessing ceremony to be over, the chef began to order the servants to come forward one by one and pour the finest ceramic powder, trace element powder, protein powder and amino acid solution into the oatmeal porridge. Finally, he personally stepped forward and carefully added a little salt, sugar and lemon to season the oatmeal porridge.

The visitors frowned at the unique taste and noted with rather malicious delight that the lemon zest they tossed in came from a box bearing his own brand name—part of the produce he had just sold them.

When the chef announced that the first bowl of this pot of amino acid ceramic steel oatmeal porridge would be served on the table of the great Lord Kalga, and began to ask the servants to carefully wipe the large and exquisite tableware, the agricultural product merchant shrugged, poked a finger into the soup pot, and dipped it in the oatmeal porridge as if he couldn't feel the high temperature, then put it in his mouth to lick it, and then frowned and poked it in again, tasting it as if to confirm. - Well, uh, for him, this kind of taste is so complicated that it feels like playing a game of "identifying how many elements are added to this meal" when you eat it at a time. In fact, the seasoning is too light, and it is not delicious enough.

Then he walked to the long loaves of bread that were said to be sent to the tables of the Astartes monks, waved his hand in front of a girl who was cutting bread, and then took a loaf of bread while she was distracted, broke off a piece and put it in his mouth to taste it.

The crust of the freshly baked white bread was golden brown, and the inside was soft when broken open. It was steaming and had the aroma of fresh wheat flour, and a very light taste of salt. Well, it was better than baked starch cakes and those navy rations, but it was only ok to eat while hot. He glanced at the bread in his hand. After cooling, this piece of bread would become as hard as a brick, and swallowing it would feel like swallowing sandpaper. It would need some milk or soup to become soft and easy to swallow - oh, oatmeal porridge, no wonder.

Although the chefs added a large amount of prepared spices and honey to the wine that was heated and bottled in long-necked bottles, he still felt that it tasted bad.

These purple-red liquids are sweet but with a bitter taste of fruit acid and tannins. I really don't know why some people like to drink them so much... Let's have a cup of his recently invented drink "Assassin's Blade", which is suitable for opening the minds of wise people in the early morning. This thing has the color of blood and tastes very strong. One sip can make people sober instantly. It is also a good way to treat headaches and dizziness caused by hangovers. Next time, I will ask a cargo ship to bring a ship to promote it in major bars here...

After personally inspecting the breakfast diet of the Ultramarines and mortals in the entire Hera Fortress today, the agricultural product merchant came to the conclusion that the chefs on Thessaguarza who were now trained by the unbearable Octavia themselves were more skilled, and he could ask his kitchen to bake him a medium-rare steak with juicy meat and brain sauce early in the morning, which was much more delicious than oatmeal porridge and bland toast.

At this time, the first batch of servants who were ready to serve the food had already filled the dining cart brought by the cart pusher with covered dishes. He heard the head chef instruct the servants to "go and deliver these to Lord Calgar and the others."

So he smiled and stuffed the bread into the arms of a passing servant - the latter blinked, not understanding why he suddenly jumped onto the table and hugged a loaf of bread with a piece missing.

Then he quietly stood among the servants who were delivering the food.

It doesn't matter if you don't know the map here, right?

Humans always need to eat, so if he goes to the kitchen and follows the path, he will find the person he is looking for. The prophecy has told him this very clearly.

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Tigris's face was as white as ash. Sweat oozed from his forehead and condensed into thin streams. Some of it flowed into the recovery pipe of the power armor, while some dripped down his nose onto the marble floor, gathering into a small pool of reflection.

The oppressive feeling of the huge shadow came from top to bottom, from inside to outside, getting closer and closer.

But Macragge and the surrounding galaxies remained peaceful.

There is now a communication channel in his power armor that connects to the space monitoring station and other monitoring facilities. One of the reasons for his recent insomnia is that he has been distracted by constantly paying attention to their movements. The one he is most concerned about is the missing Indomitable, but there is still no news about it so far. They can only wait for Galenus's investigation ship to return.

Like the eerie calm before a storm, it was terrifyingly peaceful here. He anxiously and carefully searched for clues behind the veil of reality.

He saw that the Hera Fortress was shrouded in shadow, and the warm face of his lord, the great Kalga, was covered with a faint gray haze.

He saw the Temple of Rectification crumbling and raging in flames as the terrifying darkness descended.

The Chief Think Tank's two hearts began to beat pounding. He forced himself to look away from the direction of the Gene Father's shrine, which was filled with concern, grief, and admiration, and look upwards.

Look up! Varo Tigris! Raise your eyes and see what has caused this haze, casting conspiracy and darkness upon the sacred resting place of Macragge, the Ultramarines and Guilliman!
Amid the dust, flames, and ruins of destruction, Tigris' spirit desperately raised its head, rolling its eyes, trying to get a glimpse of the prophesied object just beyond its sight.

In reality, his body was twitching as if he had a fever, his neck was stiff, his joints were cramping, his cervical vertebrae were crackling under the weight, and tiny psychic lightning was emitting a blue jumping glow under his hood.

The people who had been watching him from the beginning began to talk uneasily in a low voice, and were soon asked to leave by the guards who rushed over. The noisy sounds in the Temple of Correctness gradually disappeared, and only the staff in the hand of the Chief Think Tank made a light clicking sound on the marble.

Look up! What on earth is this...

Tigris saw a huge silhouette, a familiar...

Suddenly, he heard a voice saying, "Oh, a very good prophet... can do this... but now is not the right time. If you see it, it will not be realized..."

Then, a pair of pure black eyes suddenly opened, almost touching his face. Those eyes were as distant as the deepest night. When he looked closely, the deepest part of them contained an endless starry sky.

Tigris was startled.

Then he stepped back, kicking his legs subconsciously, waving his staff, and the psychic lightning crackled and exploded towards the indescribable future thing -

——A broad and solid embrace caught him.

"Tigris?"

It's Calgar!

The vision faded like the tide, and the colors of reality returned to his vision.

He opened his mouth anxiously and was about to say something to Karga...

"We were looking for you." He saw the fifth captain behind Calgar, who looked worried. "Galenus and the others need to report what they found to you and have you review it."

(End of this chapter)