Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 511: A Primarch Begins Racing in the Universe
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Ultramar Sector
Macragge Capital
Magna City
The atmosphere and pace of life in the Macragge system have finally returned to normal recently.

The restrictions on all ports, routes and aircraft have been relaxed. Although there is still a new sign at the foot of the Hera Fortress saying "No reception during overhaul", the various bizarre rumors about the Primarch in the market have gradually subsided.

Everyone agreed that there might be something wrong with the temple itself or the facilities inside, so they repaired it for the sake of caution - that's right! How many devout people are received here every year! Even the stone steps leading to the mountains are polished and worn, and have been replaced several times! Let alone the temple, it can't receive pilgrims from all over the galaxy in an unseemly and damaged state, right? How damaging to the honor of Macragge and his proud citizens!

"So much time has passed. Even if the Temple of Rectification was designed by the great and correct Son of God, G.I.R.M., it is impossible that all the paint, stone, and metal were painted and carved by him personally, right? Nine thousand years have passed. They should at least be dusted off, repainted, and repaired so that people from other places can see the prosperity and splendor of this place and our piety, right? Isn't this normal? Besides, major repairs always take a long time, and there will definitely be adjustments to shipping routes and trade, so it is normal to tidy up the surroundings in advance."

This statement, which seemed to make sense and was in line with the mentality of the residents of Macragge, was heard by the male servants and housekeepers who came to shop in the store "Shen's Kitchen". They agreed with it and quickly spread it in countless kitchens and stoves using the gossip unique to the petty bourgeoisie and the servant class.

By the way, the logo of this "Shen's Kitchen" is a red cat's paw holding a long-handled fork. It is the headquarters of the famous fresh produce supply chain store owned by enthusiastic citizen, righteous man and good man Mr. Kant Cratchit. Now they have begun to use the name they created during the lockdown to provide a variety of freshly baked oven-baked foods and unique and novel beverages.

- Of course, most of the trade and pilgrimage routes that had Macragge as their terminal or transit point had also been fully restored. Some people even noticed that although the operation of the entire Macragge galaxy had been slightly adjusted, it was more reasonable, smoother, and more considerate of the people than before. This seemed to really confirm the saying circulating in the market.

This also made most people quickly forget their previous emotions and doubts: after all, as long as there is a house to live in, food to eat, money to earn, gods to worship, and trade procedures and logistics are more convenient than before, who would care about the past? Except for those who think that there is something else to be discovered from this, no one thinks so.

And the Ultramarines themselves, of course... have to wonder who else might think the same.

Soon, secret orders written by the incarnated saint were sealed and issued.

The Chapter messengers were disguised and sent to various parts of the galaxy under various normal names. They flew out of the Macragge system under the noses of many people. They were actually entrusted with only one task: to find every Chapter that claimed to have the descendants of Guilliman as their genetic bloodline in private, and personally deliver the secret letters they carried to the other side's Chapter Master.

"Do you think they will all come?"

Tigris asked quietly, standing by the door.

The Chief Librarian's sleep quality has improved greatly recently, because the spiritual power of the Primarch's incarnation, Lord Julius, has soothed the fluctuations in his sea of ​​​​soul very well. Even the haze that has been shrouding the Hera Fortress seems to have dissipated a lot, allowing the Librarian to meditate better and peek into the future.

The thin ghost figure that appeared in the Temple of Strictness at that time never appeared again, and all efforts to track it were in vain, but what happened afterwards occupied more of Tigris's attention, so this matter is still on the to-do list. Tigris believes that it might be a powerful, unregistered Alpha-class psyker. He has sent people to notify the relevant agencies and make sure to pull him out of the crowd to ensure the safety of Macragge and the Primarch's incarnation.

Now he was wearing casual clothes, leaning on his staff, and his slightly pale skin made him look calmer than others. If Calgar was the sunshine that shone on the Hera Mountains for the Ultramarines, then Tigris was the silver moon on the blue waves of the Gulf of Lekum.

The man in question turned around. He had blue eyes like the sky, and short, soft blond hair streaked with silver. A white-gold laurel wreath with obsidian veins shimmered in his hair, rustling like fresh laurel leaves. He was sturdy and tall, with a white and blue toga draped over his body, and his belt and cape were adorned with gold ornaments chosen and presented with respect by his sons.

At this moment, they were standing in the room that originally belonged to Maneus Calgar and was now arranged as Julius' residence.

The layout here is still as simple as when the previous resident lived there, or even simpler, but it reveals an elegance that combines pragmatism and decorative art.

Although there were few tapestries and other decorations favored by the Ultramarines, there were surprisingly carpets and a set of leather seats that looked large and comfortable, which were made by craftsmen according to the drawings drawn by the Primarch. The Primarch called it a "sofa", and in front of it was a coffee table with Reka coffee or other drinks, as well as some snacks.

Tigris and Calgar were fortunate enough to be invited by Lord Julius to use this set of seats. They felt that it was so comfortable that if the Primarch had not invited them to sit down, they would have thought it was a conspiracy from some evil god. "Its design has a strange sense of corroding will, making me want to return to the battlefield and cleanse my heart." Calgar described it to him privately. In the end, they still chose ordinary chairs or talked while standing.

In addition, the commonly used ritual candles and meditation incense are all carefully stored behind the alcove doors, the data pads to be processed are in the drawers of the desks or covered by parchment scrolls and books, and the communication systems, weapons storage and other things are also hidden in the shadows of the surrounding alcoves, so that there is almost nothing here to indicate that this room full of classical and exotic style is actually the capital of a place that can command space fleets and exterminate planets at the end of the 41st millennium.

Of all of Calgar's personal belongings, only one item was specifically chosen by Lord Julius to be kept.

It was a portrait of the Emperor, but the subject matter was extremely rare today. In the picture, the Emperor was showing an extremely sad expression and fragile posture for the betrayal of his most beloved son, his most beloved heir, Horus, the First Son, the Imperial Warmaster. Such a subject matter that was too close to mortal emotions and actions and the characters depicted in it were absolutely impossible to appear in the public market today.

Now, Julius was standing in front of the painting and looking at its contents.

After hearing Tigris' question, he did not turn back, but still answered the chief think tank's question.

"They will come."

"Are you so sure?" The think tank frowned slightly, his face showing a little worry. "I haven't been able to predict this more clearly..."

“They will come.” Julius’ tone left no room for doubt. “As long as they can open the letter and take a look, they will definitely come as I ask.”

"You know I'm worried about more than that, my lord. We didn't announce your return right away, which is indeed easy for many people to use as a handle, and they will use it as a breakthrough to bite off a piece of fat meat from Macragge and our regiment... And now, if those letters or messengers fall into the hands of people with ulterior motives or our enemies..."

"Are you concerned about your brothers' loyalty or their resolve and strength, Tigris?"

"No, my Lord. I am not worried about all this. My power... in the worst case scenario, even if it means going to war with my former colleagues, I will protect your safety. I am worried about the cruelty, evil and unscrupulousness of our enemies, and the inevitable loss of the messenger and the absence of our blood relatives."

"Someone wants to take this opportunity to get another glass of bloody wine from our legion, right? Hehe, let them come." The saint, who looked like Robert Guilliman but was only slightly taller than Astartes, finally stopped looking at the sad emperor in the painting and turned to the Chief Librarian. "As for absence... No, as long as they carry the letter, there will be no problem. - Until they arrive in Macragge." The incomparable, inhuman, and shocking surging light and heat once again enveloped Tigris in his psychic senses and vision for a moment.

The light was so bright that even the Chief Librarian's eyelids could not block it, and two lines of physiological tears slowly flowed from Tigris' eyes - if he was not such a powerful psychic, those ordinary senses would not have stimulated him so much.

Like the rising sun.

He bowed his head deeply to the incarnation of the Primarch, out of cautious love, panic of loss and recovery, and all the awe that should be due to such a powerful force.

"Don't worry. Varro Tigris."

The warmth was taken back into the body of the saint incarnation, and he actually felt empty for a moment.

A linen towel was handed to him, and he took it subconsciously and wiped away the tears that had just flowed.

“Let the past be the past. Let the future be the future. Let the past be the past. What will be will be.”

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In the nameless deep sky at the edge of the maelstrom
Indomitable Star Fortress

Command center
"My lord." Just as Grendel was once again full of admiration (?) and Vannus was full of amazement as he watched the Thirteenth Primarch, after asking Grendel how to maintain the flight and weapon system operation of the star fortress, he began to try and apparently had mastered these... equipment that had not changed much and yet had changed a lot in ten thousand years at an extraordinary speed, Hong Suo had stood beside him without knowing when.

"What's the matter?" Guilliman was obviously very interested in using his powerful computing power to personally drive this huge mechanical creation. At first he was careful to maintain the cruising speed of the Inflexible, but now they were already sitting in the huge star fortress driven by the Primarch himself and racing madly in the empty universe at a "whizzing" speed.

“There are some questions I still wonder…”

"Go ahead."

"Why don't you go back to Macragge and bring your regiment with you... Even if the situation is so complicated now, you are their genetic father after all. There is no way this matter is false. It is not difficult for you to take over the Ultramarines immediately. Or if you want to help my father, you can lead the Ultramarines to the periphery of the Maelstrom as a support, or do something to attract Huron's attention. Those are all excellent strategies."

"Indeed. My calculations provide me with about 440 relevant strategies... Of course, we don't take into account the success rate. But more than half of them suggest returning to Macragge and taking things slowly."

"Then does our current 'surprise attack' have a high success rate?" The Master of Alchemy pointed out, "I still say that if you can use some extraordinary skills or psychic skills like some of your brothers, then your decision is understandable and appropriate, but your advantage lies in coordinating the army, allocating materials, production and transportation, and other very important aspects that do not focus on personal bravery. You come with us alone without exposing yourself and giving the Pirate King a great gift. What else?"

Roboute Guilliman smiled.

"You underestimate me, son of Perturabo," he said. "It is not that I have never fought wars... alone."

"Besides." He pointed at the device on his belt, which seemed to be a power armor part from a master of alchemy from its appearance and color. "It's not that you're exposing yourself, you've come up with this advanced camouflage - I'm sure it's a bit like the ones my father's guards liked to use, but it's more advanced and smaller than that. Our size has always been our advantage, but also our... a feature that is too conspicuous. Apparently, my brother Perturabo realized this, and he made something like this."

A smile appeared on Guilliman's face.

"He must have used it on himself, too? And quite frequently, right?"

Hong Suo showed an expression as if he was suddenly choked.

"Yes, yes... You are right, sir." The Master of Alchemy could only say this in the end. At the same time, he looked desperately at the star map that was getting closer and closer to the Maelstrom - how to explain the other things to the Primarch...

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In a webway not far from a certain dreamlike point in time.

Malcador slowly withdrew his staff and dusted off his clerical robes - a robe that was less iconic now, for it was no longer pale green, nor as plain: the insignia of the Carosini dynasty and some of the gold trimmings and embroidered jewels that an envoy should have had were placed on it, making him look more like the steward of a wealthy dynasty's heir.

But Eldrad Uslan thought otherwise.

The Great Prophet of the Usvi Ark World, known as the most far-sighted and possibly the most powerful prophet among the Eldar, was looking at the old man who stood out among the many "monkeys" with a fearful yet eager gaze.

(End of this chapter)