Warhammer: Start with a dog

"Oh... So, child, I have listened to your story. First of all, the humility you insist on is indeed a classical virtue, but virtue first requires suitable soil. If you are unable to do so, then you can live alone. I understand, but if you still have the energy, go to a position where you can better demonstrate your virtues, and spread and demonstrate your virtues to more people so that you can continue to realize and embody more humility in yourself.”

The voice of the fearless mecha was strangely calm and reassuring. He came over and asked the servants to refill the newly replenished water and more for the government affairs workers working in the temporary office hall...well... Documents.

"...Lord Macarion." Ptolemion lowered his eyes. The fearless elder has been working here with him...how long...? There was no clock here, so he didn't know, but Ptolemion felt that a few weeks might have passed, and Lamizane had told Markarian before that it only takes twenty-one days for humans to "adapt" to certain habits and feelings. The cycle can be developed.

But the Company Champion of the Origin Chapter did not know this.

In the only light in this darkness and the endless paperwork, he has gradually become accustomed to having fearless company by his side, and has begun to constantly talk to Markarian, whose humorous, loving, considerate and straightforward language makes him As the company champion began to mutter to himself, the burden gradually became less and less unknowingly.

"So... it would be better for them if I agreed to serve as the temporary commander when there is no company commander in the third company? Maybe... maybe I should indeed play more of a role here..." Toller Mion did not speak out or tell anyone about his thoughts, but he knew that his companions still had such expectations of him - otherwise there would not be two other people who are writing hard by his side now. The Origin Chapter Space Marines.

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Penates himself was not sure why he came, but a dark premonition and worry about Ptolemion prompted him to become the first person to agree to walk out of the cell to perform hard labor for these heretics, and Laris- — He was probably just worried about Penates' physical condition.

But does this situation count as hard labor now... Oh, Emperor, you must concentrate your thoughts, a new wave of data flow impact is coming, and Penates can feel it embedded in the vertebrae on the back of his neck. The neural interface is starting to get hot. It has been very hot due to too much data being input in a short period of time, but Markarian...the elder who is responsible for guarding them and others still thoughtfully got some for him. A small bag filled with ice cubes.

Although Penates had heard a lot about the eternal enemies of the Empire, the deeds of evil heretics and how to fight against them, and not to believe anything they said, his recent increasingly frequent headaches and dizziness made it more difficult to stick to them. , and, Elder Mackarion was really, really different from any Unholy Heretic he had ever known and fought against... but he was also unlike any of the unholy heretics these young Space Marines had ever come into contact with. An Imperial Space Marine is also very different.

Penates didn't know how to describe in words the feeling that this chaotic fearlessness gave him, because not only were he and Laris both selected in the draft when they were eight and a half years old, but they were both orphans.

The closest feeling he could think of might be that of a bed with nothing but a simple quilt in a single room in a Chapter monastery, or the feeling of sinking into a bath for the first time when a brutal battle finally ended. of enthusiasm.

A part of him felt pain and fear at the warmth and weakness he shouldn't feel.

But at the edge of the galaxy where even the light of the star torch cannot shine, his prayers and confessions went unanswered.

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"I'm sorry, sir, but my mom and dad are not here today. Dad is out teaching the others how to read, write and pray, and my mom is working in the hydroponic room."

The little girl was wrapped in a big dirty blanket, carefully opened the door a crack, hugged her toy doll, and tried to raise her head to look at the tall being that blocked all the light at the door of her small room.

This strange visitor was too wide and too tall, blocking all the light that entered the room. His body was made of strong, spiked precious metal armor that she had never seen before. From the depths of his armor, there was the crackling noise of the machine soul working. It didn't sound like it was Very healthy, but very strong, stronger and older than any machine spirit voice she had ever heard, telling the girl about centuries of battles and memories across the vast sea of ​​stars that she could not understand.

"Um... I'm sorry, sir? If you are here to find your parents, then I can tell you where to find them... If you are here to take me for refuge, then my mother told me that you must tell them and My name is the only one..."

"I have been ordered to bring all home children and adults in the southern neighborhoods to designated shelters." The voice behind the breathing grid rumbled back, sounding like the roar of some kind of deep beast, but okay. , Tola is not particularly afraid of him, although the eyepiece he looks at her is blood red, cold and ruthless, with the meaning of death and torture - because those machine spirits are telling her that now she does not need to be afraid, "Tora La Psyche, born seven gray winters ago, female, eldest daughter of Joshua Psyche and Mary Psyche.”

"Yes sir, this is me."

"Now, then, wrap yourself in your protective gear and follow me, Tora Psyche."

"Okay, I'll pack it up right away... Sir, sir? What should I call you?"

"..." There was a long silence behind the sharp-toothed breathing grid, and then a distorted voice came out, "Serion." She heard him say, "Serion."

"Okay, SI-Mr. Serion." The girl stretched out a bandaged hand from the lice-infested blanket, trotting and tightly grasping the huge butcher's skinning hook at the end of the iron chain hanging from the belt of the renegade Astartes, so that she could keep up with the other's huge footsteps.

"You are wearing such thick iron and metal, this must be the armor in the hero's legend! You are not afraid of the nasty sand at all! Sir, you must be very rich and very powerful! I read in the book-you are the angels of the God Emperor, right? Dad would say at the end of the prayer every day that you will come to save us one day."

"...Pseudo...Tsk." It seemed that the angel was a little shy. He did not answer Tora's question. The unspoken words disappeared in the whistling wind with a gnashing of teeth.

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“Excellent. With such a large open space and so many excellent people, it would be a real crime to leave this place barren!” Sitting in the office of Regent Gallus, Ramizane finally finalized the outline of the initial eleventh six-year planning goals. "I can't wait to see them successfully implemented."

(*Why are you so skilled? You are not really related to *that* Guilliman, are you?)

"I can't express my gratitude in words, my lord." The old man stood aside with the same excitement, "I... I don't know how to describe it, but I am too."

"But..."

The heart of the regent and the servants and clerks who were summoned to the room was lifted again, "My lord?"

"We have another problem that we will soon encounter and need to solve personally..."

(*If you can't solve this, your plan will still be in vain (sneer) and I don't think you can solve it with this group of weak peasants and fire sticks and a boat of captives. Ask me to use my power to take you away as soon as possible, and I may consider it with mercy.)

"Shut up-oh, no, no, not you, regent, I mean, first of all, we have to do this..."