Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 534 Come and help us! She’s here!
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"What do you think?" Perturabo BC put down the glass of milk in his hand with a naturally noble gesture, and raised his other mechanical arm to wipe the hair on his lips. "If it were you who arrived in Cadia - I mean, if you appeared in Cadia with your current body, as a Primarch, could you change the world and the ending of that ritualized and rigid farce expedition?"

"Why are you suddenly planning to deduce this?" The man opposite took a sip of the newly developed health-preserving Rekha coffee - it contains some peels and fruits that are closest to orange peels, loquats and other things, carefully brewed by the chefs of the Emperor's Children and the Death Guard - then made a face at its taste and put down the coffee cup. "Is it because you see I'm reading this book?"

"Well, this is it." The Plush Primarch replied calmly, "I noticed that you have been reading it recently, but I remember that you should read it very quickly. How come you don't seem to have finished it?"

"Well, I like to read, but I don't seek to understand everything." Ramizarn said in an ancient language. Here, among the residents of Wandering Port, which has grown from 10 million to nearly 20 million, only the Primarch sitting opposite him has some knowledge of this language and can roughly understand part of its meaning.

"Since it's speed reading, shouldn't you finish it faster than usual?" The shepherd dog tapped the edge of the cover of "Creed in Cadia: A Strategic Review (Unabridged Edition)" with his mouth, and his cold nose touched a little of it. In a direction that Ramizarn couldn't see, Perturabo BC looked at the cover of the book expressionlessly and got goose bumps.

"NONONO~~~" Ramizarn shook his finger. "Actually, this is not a speed reading. It's because the records of the forces on Cadia are too fragmented, and the communications between them are seriously lost. More importantly, the people who experienced and survived to write the texts we read cannot see the whole picture of the whole event from one person's perspective. So... I am flipping through it and comparing it to try to interpret what happened at the time. However, your hypothesis..."

He groaned, the sheepdog's fluffy tail quietly sweeping behind him. "Hmm... I think it's not enough to have a Primarch there alone. There are so many armies and forces on Cadia, but they are all fragmented, like the five fingers of a hand. The energy they have when they are scattered to hit the opponent is limited. Let alone forming a solid fist to hit Abaddon, even if you want to give him a big slap, you have to close all your fingers together."

"Why is one Primarch not enough? You have to understand that a true Primarch has great appeal. He can organize the scattered forces and scattered soldiers of the Chapter on Cadia into a force that cannot be ignored."

"Based on the terrible battlefield conditions I have seen so far, even if Cadia was the Primarch at that time, what he could do on an individual level was too limited. Perhaps it was limited by the communication methods of the mortal army? Or was it that the Empire could not use certain technologies? In short, communications were not decentralized to units small enough. If too many senior and mid-level officers died, the combat capability of the troops would be greatly reduced, and their method of communication was limited to voice. There were no images, no communication methods that could convey more information and evidence... Well, and even for the Primarchs, not everyone on their respective landed planets..." Ramizarn suddenly closed his mouth, took a sip of the unpalatable Reka coffee, and then skipped this paragraph when he spoke again.

"Let's not talk about anything else. Just consider that as a leader who is still seeking victory at that time, even if he is the Primarch, he must have a team that is strong enough, large enough, determined, and able to follow him closely and be sent out to complete his mission. Or, maybe a Lion will run out there... No, no."

Ramizarn shook his head and overturned his own idea.

"Even if the Lion comes in person, it won't work if all the forces cannot be united in a short period of time... It's still a question whether he can convince his Dark Angel descendants who have long since strayed away after ten thousand years. I doubt that if he suddenly appears, he will fight with them first, and then these Dark Angels will fight with other troops... In short, if enough loyal teams cannot be united as soon as possible, it will be useless. It is still too dangerous to let a lone Lion fight against a large number of wolves. If there is no miraculous helper from heaven, perhaps only a Primarch like Konrad Curze who has powerful and accurate prophetic abilities can be of some use, but at best his ability can only save the lives of a specific group of people."

"Even if a Primarch like Sanguinius or Angron Petra, who are good at fighting and leading, were here to take over, wouldn't it be possible?" Perturabo asked.

At the same time, in the hall of the Twelve Temples of the Iron Blood, the Knight Templar held an ancient sword blade shining with golden dots, and stood guard beside Magna Dorn vigilantly. The humanoid golden armor of the Iron Blood's machine soul shone, and the metal mask engraved with the face of the Terran Guard radiated a terrifying high heat and blue light. Everyone else here had been "invited" out by Sigismund, because even with the assistance of power armor, the radiation level in this hall exceeded the limit of genetically enhanced creatures. Although the Decima sage guaranteed that they could use the built-in camera of the Iron Blood to observe safely from the outside, the uneasy Knight Templar decided to turn on the shield and guard it himself.

"Well... Sanguinius does have his own flying advantage, and with the bonus of the state religion, his appearance and mobility can persuade and guide the army very well, but there is still the same problem. We can even say that during the siege of Terra, he was also able to fly, but the management failure, the loss of control of the command chain and the problem of the number of enemies and friends at that time had already fully reflected the disadvantages of the defenders. It is better to say that Cadia has replicated the dilemma of the siege of Terra to some extent. Some problems have not disappeared after ten thousand years, but have become more serious."

"But Ezekiel Abaddon is not Horus Lupercal. Based on the data I have obtained, I don't think Abaddon himself has the power to fight against Sanguinius." Perturabo BC frowned, his ears erect, and the tips of his ears that drooped slightly to the sides trembled in the air.

"What does it matter? Would Abaddon, sitting firmly on the Blackstone Fortress firing light spears or nuclear bombs at the ground, have to come down to fight the Primarch on the ground alone? It's not like he hasn't experienced the bombing of Isstvan before, and he knows that set of tactics very well. If he has a little bit of brains, he won't jump to the ground. Besides, if they think it's appropriate, it won't take a second longer to carve the mark of the eight-pointed star on Abaddon's forehead than to carve it on Horus' body. Speaking of this, I'm actually a little curious. Where do you think Horus's mark of chaos is carved?"

"...I don't know either, and sometimes I really envy your... wild imagination. Ramizarn." Perturabo BC almost sighed. He felt that his temper had been polished so smoothly, just like someone had ground a piece of steel from 800 mesh to wool polishing. Maybe he could tolerate Russ now.

"Thank you, my dear Pepe. You always look so adorable when you look helpless! Let's go back to the deduction we just made. If Angron Petra could be fully prepared and mobilized, and bring his flagship and fleet to the scene, the Imperial defenders would definitely have a better chance of winning. But you and I both know that there was no such divine army descending from the sky at that time, and no loyal primarch appeared on Cadia."

Sigismund stared nervously at Magna Dorn, whose golden-armored body looked like a broken auspex interface, with a distorted and disturbed shape in the air. The Templar drew his sword and looked around, but was at a loss for a moment: even though he was unrivaled in the world, he didn't know who to defeat in order to stabilize the humanoid state on the throne.

"…I thank you very much for your explanation. Ramezan Kalosini, but we are hypothetical, aren't we? What if a Primarch suddenly ended up there for one reason or another?"

"If there really is a Primarch who suddenly appears there with nothing in his hands, and he still intends to deal with Abaddon, even if the living saint comes, the situation will not be very favorable later... Then we can only hope..." The fourth Primarch sitting at the table pondered for a moment, clapped his hands, "In the early stage, he himself can't count on the gods to drop soldiers, so he can only hope that some unexpected helpers will come out from the enemy's lair! I have some ideas about this..."

The Border Collie suddenly seemed to take a long breath, a stream of air blowing out of his nostrils.

"…But if the Primarch who was left there can't prove who he is, then it won't be easy to fool the Living Saint, the Phalanx, the Imperial Fists, the Crimson Fists, a certain Great Sage, and all the other people who show up later…"

"Shut your mouth and drink your Rekha coffee!"

On the Iron Blood, Sigismund, who had just breathed a sigh of relief and watched with relief as Magna Dorn's body changed from unstable to stable, was looking at an urgent call for help from Maxim and was lost in thought: What does "Come and help us quickly" mean? We can't hold down the board in the chapel?
————————————"God Emperor! May you bless us! Let us protect your temple and defeat your enemies! I will dedicate this sacrifice to you!"

Genevieve had sensed something, she knew her final sacrifice was imminent.

The Seraph Sisters around her also had the same understanding.

Because they all saw it, the ferocious flock of sheep of the monastery, six hundred deep-sin ascetics, fifty atonement mechas and ascetic mechas, such a powerful and difficult force - it only took the mysterious demon lord thirteen seconds to deal with them.

When his palms touched the flocks of the Order, their painful bodies immediately stopped moving, and then one by one, their bodies softened, their engines stopped working, and they lay down on the smoke-filled and war-torn land of Cadia, gaining such peace for the first time in decades or months.

The demon prince, who still maintained a certain human form, did not devour the corpse or perform any blasphemous rituals with the flesh and blood. He just stood there, raised his head slightly, as if watching something invisible in the air.

When Genevieve followed its line of sight, she saw nothing but the billowing smoke from the bonfire on the burning battlefield and the tiny sparks in it floating along the column of smoke into the endless sky.

A thought suddenly popped into her mind: it was like it was carrying the funeral pyre of the deceased for them.

She shook her head in horror, throwing away the blasphemous thought. She was Genevieve, the guardian of the land around the Temple of St. Morica, the twin sister of Sister Eleanor, and her duty was to kill all beings who were enemies of the Emperor! It would only take a few seconds for her secret torment, her little thoughts, and all her distractions to be forgiven when she returned to the glory of the Emperor.

She let out a cry, thumbing the switch, the disintegrator buzzing around her golden blade, her jetpack at full power, "Sisters! Give me a lift! Witness me!"

"Go! Sister! May your holy martyrdom be carried to the throne of the Golden Man!" The nuns flying around her sang the hymn of martyrdom in unison. They drew their grenade launchers and began shooting at the red figure standing in front of the defensive wall, while covering Genevieve's final charge.

At the same moment, Sister Eleanor rushed out of the spire, a crack appearing on her always calm and perfect face. She drew out the same golden blade as Genevieve and rushed towards the defensive wall.

"Genevieve!"

Her twin sister raised her blade and rushed towards the Demon Lord who had just killed a half-demon prince, three skull masters, six hundred deep-sin ascetics and fifty atonement mechas.

"No!" she screamed. Although Eleanor's swordsmanship was not as good as Genevieve's in attacking from the air - her style was delicate movement on the ground, perfect balance and counterattack, but she couldn't care about anything at the moment. She had to join her sisters and give her sister a chance of survival -

She's going to miss it! Genevieve!
Time in Eleanor's eyes began to flow so slowly. She saw the terrifying demon raise its hand. She desperately threw herself at it, wanting to transform herself into a sword and plunge the sacred blade into its chest.

Suddenly someone below her ecstatically began to sing the tune of a welcoming hymn.

"She is coming!"

Who?
Eleanor glanced down and was horrified by what she saw, but then delighted.

"She's coming! She's coming!"

It was the head of the slain half-demon prince on the trophy rack, and Eleanor recognized the face of Sister Seraphine—but before she could grieve for her—

She saw the dead nun's head open its mouth. The dead woman's face was rosy, her skin was shiny, and she looked lifelike. The dead woman was singing and shouting loudly with her non-existent vocal cords.

"She's coming! She's coming! She's coming!"

(End of this chapter)