Warhammer: Start with a dog

"Do you think Perturabo will mess up this time?"

Angron Petra sat in a coffee shop box attached to the cafeteria of the Destiny Steel, with a cup of sand-brewed black coffee in front of him.

Opposite him was a white-haired old man in a simple green robe, leaning his staff used as a walking stick against the armrest of a huge sofa, and carefully measuring out a portion of tea from a tea can.

"Well... it's hard to say."

The twelfth Primarch smiled, his red hair curled and scattered, like the mane of a king beast behind his head.

Although Angron Petra's warm spring-like affinity often makes people ignore his huge body, at this moment, sitting in the shadow, his snow-white canine teeth flashed sharp light under his smile.

Between the two, the white mist rising from the teapot that was bubbling with crab-eye bubbles made his face look like an ancient sacred beast with a hint of cruel but noble biting feeling.

"You also have a bad time?" He said with a tone that was hard to tell whether it was a sigh or a teasing tone, "Regent, Imperial Chancellor, founder of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the Inquisition and the Assassin's Court, the mastermind behind the Empire, the one who rebuked the Primarch - Malcador, you can't come to a conclusion at such a close distance?" The old man calmly reached out and held the long handle of the boiling pot, and began to pour hot water to wash the tea leaves. "It is indeed very tempting to predict the arrangement of fate for us in advance, but it is also a very stupid thing. Isn't it, Angron Petra, the Conqueror King of Nuceria who got rid of the name of Tark. And the only thing I can be sure of and know now is that the right path has been opened up by the right person, and one of the results it brings is Nirvana, sitting so solidly in front of me, which makes me feel relieved that my choice this time may be more correct, and that's enough." The red-haired Primarch pursed his lips because of one of the words, leaned forward, and unconsciously approached the thin old man. Angron's broad, majestic features tightened dangerously, revealing a god of war steeped in slaughter and warrior arts beneath his gentle face, a god of death who truly knew how to reach out and take lives, showing how he could quiet those who would not sit down and listen to his reasoning.

"Did you find out?"

The former Imperial Regent raised his eyelids. "You did a good job of covering it up from beginning to end. After all, this is one of your greatest secrets. I guess even today, few people in the Empire know about it, right?"

"That's right," the Warrior King replied. "If there is one useful motto I have learned over the years, it is that the best way to keep a secret is to not let anyone know it exists."

Malcador smiled, but there was no expression of surprise. "It seems that you don't trust the current empire."

"No one will fill a leaky sieve with their precious wine. If I do, it must be a waste of some kind of ritual sense for the sake of compromise. I said that if I have the ability, I will choose to take care of my people first. If I have the spare capacity, I will try to take care of others. That's it. I am open and honest, and there is nothing wrong with it."

"Yes, but this is not pleasing to your father. He doesn't like it. This is not the behavior of his favorite children. If your expedition fleet occasionally lacks supplies and information notifications, I won't be surprised. - Someone still knows your secret, right?" Malcador poured out the first batch of water and added the second batch of boiling water. The tea leaves gradually spread out in the cup, exuding a fragrance of narcissus, gardenia and tea buds.

"Of course." Angron leaned back into his sofa seat, and his increasingly tired muscles and bones were temporarily relieved, which made him sigh.

"Kahn, my loyal child, my best son, he and my captains, my silent but reliable members of the hermitage know more or less that I must rely on their loyalty, love and strength to get through every weakest period, and they have been fighting and working like this for ten thousand years - in my concept of time. - We are not here to talk about my problems, Malcador. Back to the original question, do you think Rogge is really awake? How long has he been awake? How much does he know? What will he do next? Should we contact him?"

The former regent put the brewed tea to his lips and blew away the heat slightly, then tasted it, until he slowly finished the cup, nodded to the sweetness that began to rise in his mouth, and then put down the cup in his hand to continue the conversation.

"What do you think?"

"Don't throw the question back at me, Malcador. You've been here longer than I have, and you're powerful enough to sense my problem, so I'm asking for your opinion, not some Socratic question. I think he's awake, and has been awake for quite some time."

"Because of Ramezane Kalosini?"

"Because of him. Your agents in Wandering, Port of Call, and throughout the sector must have heard of the latest outrageous rumors, Malcador."

"I have."

"This is not in line with Perturabo's own wishes. Although we have all heard his remarks about the relationship between food, restaurants, and the future of the galaxy, this level of power growth was obviously not in his plan. It was an accident."

"Indeed, those remarks alone are enough for us to support him to open this restaurant, but he never said that he wanted Wandering to become the destination for the Ecclesiarchy's pilgrimage ships. Please continue, I'm listening."

"Although he has awakened, based on my personal understanding of our brother, he is absolutely unwilling to face Perturabo under any circumstances at this time."

"Oh?"

Angron took a sip of the sand-brewed black coffee that was beginning to cool, and its bitter but unusually mellow taste filled his mouth and mind. "Don't pretend to be senile, Malcador, the Empire or this galaxy does need Dorn, but a dead Dorn is better than a living one. Rogal Dorn knew this very well, so he did it back then. Now even if he is brought back to the world by our brothers, he will not allow himself to take the risk of anyone thinking that he might be resurrected."

The former regent did not speak, and finally he just said, "It's a pity, Rogal is definitely one of my favorite primarchs."

"Like doesn't mean you can't give up on him, right?" Angron asked a little sarcastically. "Similarly, as long as he can achieve the ruler of your ideal world, it doesn't really matter who he is."

"Let's get back to the topic." The old man smiled, "Do you think Perturabo can find out that it was Rogge's little trick behind the scenes that caused the imbalance in the power bill of his important Mr. Carlosini?"

"I bet a week's worth of desserts in the officers' cafeteria." Angron stood up and walked out, "Based on the batch of tests he is doing now, he can't find it, and at most he can only hide his suspicion in his heart."

"Why?"

"When Rog Dorn intends to use his rock-solid foundation as the cornerstone of anything he does, I have no doubt that he will be the best actor in the galaxy."

"Heh." Malcador watched the twelfth Primarch leave. Now he was the only one in the box, "Perhaps, after browsing what happened in ten thousand years, people will change. But Saturnine... is indeed one of the earliest and best traps created by Rog Dorn, and he chose that time..."

He shook his head.

"Always so sentimental. Fortunately, you still have him now."