Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 93 The Eve of the Emperor's Day of Advent or the Sanguinius Day Special: Downtime of Guilliman

Robert Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines, Thirteenth Son of the Emperor, owner of the Flare of Macragge, unforgotten Regent of the Imperium, possessor of perhaps the best multi-threaded cogitator in the universe The man in the wetware is currently staring at the young, smaller version of Rogal Dorn that appears in front of him, experiencing the feeling of a real overload shutdown for the first time in his extraordinary life.

Opposite the downed Guilliman, the young mortal who reminded him of the former Imperial Regent looked at him and smiled.

"Today we said we would go to the cafeteria together after class, but we found that you went alone and didn't say hello to us?"

As he walked past the black-armored priest, the special fragrance and smell he had smelled before became even more obvious.

"It's not good to run away, little Robert~"

Guilliman realized that this mortal psyker was probably very familiar with and often in the company of his current body.

Well. Good thing I was prepared and put on my helmet, he thought, hoping it wouldn't seem too unusual to them.

The corners of his robe and the joking tail slid over his leg armor together, "Oh my - little Robert, are you trying to occupy the mountain and become your own—"

"No!" Before he could make a more appropriate response, a quick and firm denial was blurted out loudly. At the same time, through the helmet's eyepiece, Guilliman could clearly see the obvious surprise on the other person's face. Different expressions.

Oops. I should be more careful, he thought, before I figured out what was going on here, who they were, and where I was.

"I mean," he began to find some excuses for his gaffe, "No, I just wanted to get there early and wait for you to come. Uh, I mean, maybe there will be some surprises."

"I see." Young Dorne, or the being wearing the skin of young Dorne, spoke first. He used this body to experience the basic feeling of "cold sweat on the back" that the original body could never experience in theory. Liman was temporarily relieved.

"I think Robert may want to use the decapitation operation to grab two newly baked cinnamon apple peach pies for us. The action must be faster. By this time, maybe the last few batches have been sold."

Cinnamon what? What pie to grab? Are you sure he's talking about food and not some code name? For example, alluding to some kind of weapons test that is about to have results?

Guilliman stood there, feeling that his brain was running uncontrollably again, trying to find a possible result from this paradoxical fog.

"Well, that makes sense. So what are we waiting for? Don't delay and let's go together." The mortal young man immediately announced, wrapping his robe tightly and leaning on the staff in his hand.

"Besides, I just wanted to point out to you that your walking speed is too slow and will hold us back in the fight in front of the window." "Thank you, thank you very much for pointing it out! Dear brother! If It’s not that psychic powers are completely prohibited there! Hahahaha. Also, may I point out, should you put on your helmet before going to the cafeteria?”

The handsome but fragile mortal showed no fear or anger when facing the censure of a Space Marine. Instead, he had an obvious fake smile on his face. Guilliman's eyes combined the subtle changes in tone and body language. All in all: The young man was certainly offended but not really angry about it, but retorted with an affectionate annoyance.

Because the Thirteenth Primarch saw that "Dorne" didn't react at all after hearing it, as if he knew the consequences of what he said but had to say it, so he just shrugged slightly and accepted it. , It’s like really putting on your own helmet.

Once again, Guilliman felt himself beginning to fail. Dorne... Regardless of whether it was Dorne or not, although it really looked like a smaller version of Dorne in every aspect except for the power armor, but... He thought in confusion, Dorne could have such a good temper and... Doing such an action? !

But for some reason, the conversation that just happened between the two made Guilliman less nervous - wait, what did he just call him? "Dear brother"? !

Even on his own Five Hundred World of Ultramar...can mortals and Adepts Astartes be called so casually? Also, according to what this mortal psyker just said, although he is a psyker, he is not strictly restricted in other places, right?

Guilliman silently followed the two newcomers on their way to what they called the "officers' mess" (now he could only secretly hope that it was really a literal mess), while silently observing the two of them.

Indeed, although he did not know exactly what level this psyker was, the vigilance of a natural warrior coming from the deepest instinct prevented him from being easily deceived by his weak appearance.

This guy's psychic abilities were probably some of the most powerful he'd ever seen in a mortal, and he had no inhibitions about them - no hood, no collar, no shackles, not even anything. Decorative psychic controllers, purity marks and even imperial tattoos, those shiny earrings, rings, bracelets, armbands and belts are genuine jewelry and more genuine psychic magic items!
  And now he's just rushing to the cafeteria! Just to get to the cafeteria faster! Just for such a trivial thing! In front of the two Astartes who were obviously affiliated with the Loyalist Legion, they openly summoned a psychic floating flying disc to take their place!

This is a complete disregard and betrayal of Nicaea's resolution! He wanted to roar so loudly and seize the lawless psyker immediately to a local Imperial facility. But the existence of the trumpet Dorn allowed him to temporarily hold back the raging anger in his heart that he already wanted to find the person in charge here to discuss the matter.

Speaking of this, the attire of this "Dorne" is also a bit strange. At first glance, he is wearing the Mark IV type power armor of the Adeptus Astartes, but most of it is painted white, with the addition of There were a lot of equipment and robotic arms that Guilliman had never seen before, but he could probably guess some uses.

But when he looked carefully now, he understood where the lingering sense of dissonance came from: although the style of the breastplate and other places did appear to be the Mark IV type at first glance, it had been subtly modified. Curvature, longer and higher parts, better arrangement design of internal components, lighter servo noise, etc. - this can no longer be called Mark IV, but a new model with a Mark IV shell. High performance power armor.

Where and who designed this? Mars? Or which forging world's research institute? Why had he never seen this genius design? And it looks like it's already in production? What happened in this universe from the moment he fell on the Emperor's Pride?

With this question and an increasingly uneasy premonition of downtime, he walked towards the door of the officers' mess with these two people who seemed to be his friends and companions.

++Eve of the Emperor's Day of Advent or Sanguinius Day Special: Downtime of Guilliman++
  ++To be continued++
  　croak.

　　Do you like Lobo in Advent? There will be more in the evening
  　　
  　
  (End of this chapter)