Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 560 Are you telling the truth?
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The Lurker is watching.

Although he was certain that he had been discovered by the ship, he resisted the maddening pressure of being spied on and followed at any moment, and continued to move slowly forward with the strength of his own muscles - fear had been unknown since he was created, and he had now seen the blasphemous work that the obviously contaminated warsmith had done to other Astartes and had collected enough evidence.

Just now, seeing that their work of desecrating the genetic warriors created by Him was about to be completed, he left immediately to avoid being discovered by the scanning array-like things in the hands of those strange iron warriors, which made him intuitively and deeply fearful.

——But the invisible pressure still clearly existed under his skull, indicating that this ship or the owner of this ship who was playing cat and mouse with him had very strong psychic power.

Considering he found no signs of a pilot or the servants who served them, perhaps the owner of this psychic power was the reason why the ship was able to sail through the warp tsunami with ease.

——But why was he able to resist the continuous oppression of this power on his own, instead of relying on the abilities of the Silent Sisters?
Maybe he...

Countless fine claws scraped across certain specific areas of the cerebral cortex in the skull of this perfect work of art created by genetic modification and biological alchemy.

...Oh, yes, he regretfully left the honor of being a member of the Imperial Guard and came alone. He was given the mission of the Skyhawk Shield. He had to fight for protection. Because of the special nature of this mission, he was given some resistance to psychic energy from the equipment given to him. As far as he knew, this was the first of all the companions and castes so far...

...Does this make sense? Is this possible? Also, his mind, which had recovered after a few days, now clearly remembered that he was still in the solar system a moment ago, but the information he collected from the fragmentary conversations in the mortal living areas and the places where they moved back and forth after a few days of returning to the safer and easier to infiltrate lower decks was enough to answer some basic questions.

They all pointed out to him that the chaotic battlefield he had emerged on, reminiscent of an even more ancient war, was the planet of Cadia, a ward world of the Eye of Terror, and that the face of the husk inhabited by multiple evils was needless to say: the body of Ezekiel Abaddon, once First Captain of the Luna Wolves or Sons of Horus.

So, what important target did he have to protect as the Skyhawk Shield in front of the claws and demonic swords of the Fallen who called himself the Warmaster? But this didn't make sense. First, he couldn't even remember the name and appearance of the target he was asked to protect, which was impossible for someone like him. Secondly, he remembered those details very clearly. The weapons and armor gems that he had buried definitely belonged to a Blade Champion. Although there was no rule that Blade Champions couldn't become Skyhawk Shields, he still felt a little bit of disharmony from it, as if someone who had studied the paintwork of the Imperial Guards and the customs of the Order for a long time had forced him to have an identity and mission...

A sharp but tiny electric current passed through the bottom of his brain, and all the questions in his sophisticated mind about all the inappropriate and irrational details were forcibly suspended and then erased.

He might have lost consciousness for 0.00001 seconds, or maybe not at all, but the importance of this matter had been pushed from his mind to an infinitely backward processing queue, and when he became aware of his body again, his doubts had disappeared, and he was lying there with his whole body pressed against the back of the ceiling, like a capital letter X.

His head was facing a perfect gap: he was in the pipeline layer above the brightest decorative light in the center of the hall, and the voices of his sons and their more unreliable offspring, who were noble but full of unstable elements of betrayal and corruption, and below were clearly reaching his ears.

"…So how long do we need to sail to reach our destination?"

The voice was clear and noble, not loud but making people willing to stop and listen to what he said. The Gogothic pronunciation was distinct, dripping with a little bit of the insignificant pride of the residents of Five Hundred Worlds. This was Robert Guilliman, one of the key observation targets of the Lurkers. The transformation he accomplished in the battlefield of the underground caves of Cadia from an enchanted champion in demon form to a noble Primarch might have been all the Lurkers needed to label him a complete heretic, in the eyes of the Lurkers, to send back a piece of intelligence to Terra, unless something else happened before that that would convince him.

"Ferrus said that the real-time update from the Enterprise that led us told him that it would take at most 48 hours. If the impact of the Scarlet Path can fade at the expected speed or leave the direct impact area faster, it may be even earlier."

The one who spoke was a Contemptor Dreadnought, and at first glance, the tall body of this ancient being, clad in the black of the Iron Ten, with a breastplate bearing a silver Iron Hand, looked like an ancient member of the Legion of Ferrus Manus, and a mortal or even an Astartes unfamiliar with the Iron Ten and another Legion might have thought so.

But the material and decorative details of its armor made the lurker squint his eyes: as far as he knew, the Iron Hands' aesthetic preferences in the appearance of their own Dreadnoughts could never be so much like an Emperor's Children at any time, no matter how personalized it was. To those familiar with the two legions, the difference in temperament between this Dreadnought trying to disguise itself as an Iron Hands and the real Iron Hands Dreadnought was as obvious as the colors of Terra and Mars.

Furthermore, the tone of this Dreadnought when it addressed itself as "Ferrus" completely lacked any respect and awe that an Astartes should have for his genetic father and the Lord of the Legion. The Lurker had noticed earlier that this veteran among the Contemptors not only seemed to be talking to the Thirteenth Son of the Emperor on a completely equal footing, but was also confronting him head-on without any pressure.

Not only did he repeatedly mention the name of another person who was theoretically his master, his father, and his Primarch with no respect, but he also repeatedly issued orders to the Iron Hands here in the name of Ferrus Manus, "conveying his wishes."

Foolishly, those Iron Hands who longed for their fathers and so-called brotherhood actually listened to the Fearless words that had such ridiculous words written on the amniotic fluid hatch armor: "I am super suspicious and super wrong, and I am the person you most want to kill" and "The person in my iron coffin is definitely not your father, but you have to listen to my words as your father's."

Warriors like Astartes are too easily swayed by useless emotions and unnecessary external factors, and become very unreliable. The Iron Hands may have been hopelessly tainted. This information should also be sent back to the Tower of Hegemony and then copied to the relevant departments.

"Can't the Enterprise let us directly enter the bridge for observation and navigation command? Although it can pass messages in this way... well, although its communication system is so easy to use and efficient that I honestly envy it, and I also want a copy of its design drawings or something similar, why doesn't it let us enter the bridge? We are already the highest-ranking commanders here. In theory, we should all be on the command deck of the bridge now, instead of here, in a place that looks like... a primarch's private suite. Although this room is very neat, it always gives me a creepy feeling." "It is obvious that it is not willing to let us on the bridge. All passages leading to the bridge are locked tightly by adamantium psychic code doors and other measures. I have to say, although there is no evidence, I think I have tasted some kind of strange prejudice or discrimination from the attitude of the Enterprise towards us. It seems that it is only willing to talk to Ferrus. And you feel creepy? I think this room... the furniture size is the size of the primarch, and the layout taste is quite good, except that it is a little too dark. But I don't need furniture, I just need to lock my walking joints."

"The idea of ​​a machine-spirit of a battleship discriminating against its own Primarch sounds fantastic even now, after all the fantastic things that have happened. Ishtar. If he is... some kind of... ancient... oh... maybe we shouldn't be speaking these words here."

"Of course. Anyway, according to the route map, we will reach Port Wandering in 48 hours, Guilliman. At most 48 hours. We can talk about this after we get off the ship. What? Wait, oh, Ferrus added that even for him, he felt that the Enterprise always spoke to him a little bit, how did he say it? 'The ship spoke as if he was crossing his arms, with a smile on his lips that was three parts cold, three parts sarcastic, three parts self-important and one part feeling that he was bored'."

"I have to say, there are some new surprises here every day: for example, I never knew that Ferrus could feel the emotions of machines so delicately and vividly, and I also didn't know that the ship's machine soul could have such rich and complex emotions. This makes me start to worry about my Glory of Macragge. Who should I make a wish to prevent it from giving birth to some inexplicable things in its main thinker in ten thousand years? Does Ohm Messiah care about this? I mean the real one."

"Why, you actually use the word 'wish'? I thought you believed that the current galaxy was full of barbaric and ignorant superstitions. - Based on our experience, Om Messiah might really be able to help, but I don't recommend you to worship this name casually. This name... can easily lead to some results that are too far off in the end."

"Oh, when I was Robert of Macragge, son of Konor and Euden, I still wished for things like bolide. But I didn't pray or necessarily expect them to come true, that's the difference. Who should I pray to then?"

There was a slight sound of metallic friction, and the Lurker put one eye close to the gap and tried his best to observe the situation below, but due to the angle of the light, he could only see that the Contemptor Fearless seemed to be handing something to Guilliman.

"When we're all alone later, it's more likely that you'll wish for this than anything else."

"Thank you," the Thirteenth Primarch answered solemnly but a little uncertainly, "I will return it to you after making a wish." He put away the object, "Also, why, in addition to the fact that the food must be hot, the Enterprise's daily water supply does not choose pure water, but must mix it with such a large amount of Reka coffee? Isn't this superfluous? Or is this a manifestation of more than enough logistical reserves? God, I'm really curious about how this ship can do this when so many people are gathered together. Moreover, according to my calculations, this ship cannot accommodate so many refugees from its appearance and claimed size! But not only can it accommodate them, but it can also divide them into so many functional areas with surplus between them? Is it really just a ship, as you said, serving the commercial dynasty established by Perturabo under the alias?"

"Uh, this." The Contemptor Fearless coughed, "This may be some, uh, when you were sleeping in the stasis state. Because of the reasons that Hongsuo told you, we, um, we lived in seclusion for some reason, left the heart of the empire, and also avoided the eyes of the world. Hongsuo did not lie to you too much about this matter." Garuda sat on Fearless's shoulder, closed his mouth and said nothing.

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"I guess so. A lie is always hidden in nine parts of the truth to make people believe it. If he is really so bold, then he must not be allowed to stay. I won't even give him the chance to hang up the Glory of Macragge."

Fulgrim Ishtar choked again. "Hmmmm, that's right. So we have so many loyal followers and mortals to arm and feed. Obviously, the resources available on Medusa are not suitable for a large number of humans to survive... Perturabo and his fleet and population... I think they need to make large-scale transfers frequently to avoid being seen, so um... So Perturabo designed and built such a special ship. The appearance is in line with the scale of Imperial ships, but the interior actually uses some of his new... technology. You know. Some high-tech that is not from the Mechanicus was used in the design and construction of the ship, giving it much more space and powerful reactors than it actually has, as well as autonomous machine spirits."
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[Do you really think Perturabo and his men need to be transferred frequently on a large scale? And I don’t think so with the Machine Soul…]
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[What else can I say? ]

The confusion on Guilliman's face turned into sudden enlightenment and then into a frown when Fearless emphasized technology for the second time.

"It is very dangerous to use alien creations on a large scale. If the hidden threats are not fully detected, we may encounter unspeakable mutation disasters at any time. For example, does this machine soul involve the forbidden red line of artificial intelligence? I will raise my doubts with him after we meet."

"Indeed." Fearless Phoenix agreed, "But it is indeed very useful, freeing up a lot of sailors and shipwork. In fact, as long as it is not Ada technology, I don't have a big objection to it. Besides, this is not the first ship to use this kind of space technology."

"Another one?"

"Obviously."

Fulgrim Ishtar's voice was filled with nostalgia. "The other one is Perturabo's flagship, the Iron Blood. It has changed a lot now. Believe me, try to live there for a while with an open mind, Guilliman. You will definitely like it there."

"That sounds great. Come sit down and have a cup of Reka coffee! We still have some HR and administrative stuff to do and some forms to go through."

"..."

(End of this chapter)