Warhammer: Start with a dog

Danat Lysander opened his eyes again in the infirmary of the Destined Steel.

The familiar smell of disinfectant similar to that of the Phalanx's infirmary wafted to his nose again.

Unforgettable.

To this day, when he thinks about what he did here that day, in front of the Gene Father, and his millennium enemy, the war blacksmith Shanto of the Iron Warriors -

Ahhhhhhh stop it! Lysander! Can't think about it anymore! Don't think about it! Think of something else!

——No, I should have seen some indescribable and impossible supreme blasphemy against the Emperor and the Primarchs before I passed out in the chapel——

No, no, no, that must be an illusion. If you can’t deceive me, it must be because this is the lair of the Demon King and the omnipresent pollution of the enemy of Chaos. You can’t deceive me! That should be just an ordinary renegade Space Marine, but he happened to be wearing the stolen Priest power armor, and his face was not mutated and he happened to look a little like an Ultramarine... Calm down, calm down, calm down, Lysander, think of something else of!

Well, at least there isn't that nympho here today that makes you want to smash his skull with a hammer. Lysander was lying alone in the cold but quiet medical cabin. For the first time in more than 1,300 years since he started fighting for the Empire and the Imperial Fists, he didn't want to get up immediately.

Just thinking about how many skull-exploding things are waiting for him after walking out of this medical cabin, especially when he may have to face the accusing and resentful eyes of the entire 1st Company and Brother Reverend Li Kewen - after centuries of service The former company commander who never slacked off for a moment quietly developed an ostrich mentality as cowardly as poison ivy.

This feeling is really new and strange.

Lysander lay there, closing his eyes again, thinking wildly, and his Lyman ears caught another familiar footstep. Equally calm and composed, he knew who it was, Parogov Nilaydoa, the living saint descended from his genetic father - and Chapter Apothecary Apprentice to the Iron Warriors who called themselves the Silver Skulls.

——He is actually just a pharmacist apprentice! I want to see what that arrogant bastard Iron Warrior who dares to call himself the living saint master of Rogal Dorn looks like——

"Good afternoon," fortunately, fortunately, although the voice of Brother Nilaidoa is very similar, you can still distinguish the feeling of youthfulness and bookishness compared to Lord Rogal Dorn's calmness. Similarly, this living The saint's choice of words and sentences were also more casual than the habits of his genetic father himself.

"I see that your heart and brain monitoring pattern has entered the awake and active range. Brother Lysander, if you wake up and want to lie down for a while, you can tell me. Do you need an extra pillow and blanket?"

The heat caused by shame suddenly rushed to Lysander's cheeks. He suddenly opened his eyes and tried to pretend that he had just woken up.

"Good afternoon, Nilaydoa... Apothecary." He considered for about 0.0001 seconds whether to use "Sir", "Master" or "Monk" to address him would be more in line with the other person's identity, but it seemed that the Imperial Fist's The living saint is quite satisfied with the title of pharmacist.

"I just woke up, eh." Lysander suddenly realized, sadly, that it was really easy to use the skill of lying in language, once it had happened for the first time.

But now he, who was once extremely honest and pure, has begun to brag to his father's living saint without scratching the surface. "I feel like I still need to move a bit before I can get up. Maybe the blood flow is not fast enough due to the low temperature."

The young, miniaturized version of his genetic father nodded to him, "That's right, but we generally keep the low temperature in the cabin, which helps prevent the development of serious injuries and accidents, and also makes it easier for us to adjust the dosage of various drugs. , I will later suggest Master Hongsuo to raise the temperature in the medical cabin used for patients with minor injuries or less."

"Oh, and this." Following the words of the Living Saint, a black linen robe was embroidered with silver thread with a skull pattern that looked very much like the Iron Warriors emblem, and a wide leather robe with an equally uncomfortable silver emblem buckle. The belt was put into his hand, and Nylaidoa pointed to the ground. Lysander followed his guidance and saw a pair of Astartes-sized soft-soled cowhide gladiator-style sandals.

Lysander hesitated.

Is it really wise for him to dress like this aboard the Ironblood under Perturabo's rule (especially with the presence of a certain Warsmith who has clearly defected to the Dark Prince)?

"Put them on quickly." Parogov Nilaydoa's voice came from behind the door of the pharmacist's preparation room next to him, followed by a jaw-dropping mechanical interface closure, airlock pressure release and cable There was the sound of pulling out and the sound of fastening the belt buckle, and the young pharmacist strode out, adding a pure white skull mask to his noble face as he walked, which disappointingly obscured the The Seventh Primarch has the same noble and resolute face, only revealing his straight and smooth mandible and lower lip.

"Your power armor and equipment have been taken away by the armory guards who passed on the angry words," the living saint said with a small amused tone in his voice, "'Sages' don't sound nice, you go and get them back. I guess he will be given a hard time when he comes, because after all, he really hates people who don’t come according to the schedule and disrupt his work schedule.”

"Ah. That's it." Lysander answered vaguely. He suddenly found that he had become accustomed to the religious chants of the state religion, ascetic questions and answers, pre-war mobilization and battle roars. Such a relaxed conversation in daily life happened between two Asta Suddenly, one of them was even regarded as the representative of the Primarch - which made him actually at a loss.

"Well, when the father of genes was away," he heard Nilaydua say in a very natural tone, "he entrusted me with the work of fighting and guiding our lives here. Of course, given that you After all the battles and years I have experienced, I don’t think my qualifications and knowledge are enough to take on this kind of responsibility, but I still—”

"You only need to do the job you have been entrusted with, and we will complete the other parts." Lysander pursed his lips, "Being inferior to yourself is the last thing you need. I believe that even the First Company may have a big relationship with me. We may have differences, but when it comes to protecting you and obeying orders, we must have exactly the same goal.”

"I have no doubt about this." The other person seemed to raise his eyebrows slightly, behind his mask, "But humility is not a bad thing anyway, Brother Lysander."

The former company commander lowered his head slightly to show respect to him, and then at the other party's signal, he walked with him through complicated corridors and airtight arches to a certain destination.

"I noticed that you've been looking at my mask. If there's anything you need to know, you might as well just say it."

Lysander was startled, but then asked his own question, "Is this mask a symbol of some kind? Or some kind of..." Humiliation, he thought, what the Fourth Primarch Perturabo did to the father of our genes. Some kind of humiliation?

"Oh, because the Chapter Master said he couldn't see my face," Nylaidoa didn't seem to care much, "What's wrong with you, Brother Lysander?"

"How can you just endure the insult of asking you to hide this sacred face?! How can you call him sir?!"

The other party looked at him in surprise, "Insult? Brother Lysander, what are you thinking about. The last time he saw me, he was... well... the situation was almost uncontrollable." The living saint's next words immediately made the former company commander repeat. His thoughts became confused, "Considering that he is indeed old and such a good person, we should be more considerate to him. Respecting the elderly is a traditional virtue that is worth taking the lead in promoting in the battle group. Don't you think so, Brother Lysander?"

Getting older?

Are people so nice?

Considerate?

Perturabo?

Lysander's remaining sanity was once again caught in a warp storm.

Gua.

? Did you write a bunch of words and send them to me?

God wants me not to sneak out of the plot.

Modified again: Okay, there is no screen, I am the only one who can’t see () kill t big steamed bun! (angry)

The second one is more, we are at the yard, let’s have dinner first