Warhammer: Start with a dog

On the morning of the ninth day, the eight-day snowstorm stopped.

The bright sunshine shines through the gaps in the lead-gray clouds onto the snow-white ground. The entire sheet of white snow reflects the sky and the earth, making it particularly bright and clear.

Kleist, Yochuka and the others woke up early in the morning. No one needed to wake them up. They were happy because they could have a full day with food. The freed slave gladiators wrapped themselves in rags. cloth, sharpening their weapons with stones one last time.

"It's a perfect day to let the slave owners bleed as much as possible before we die," Cromach said.

Angron Petra didn't say much about this. He stood at the center and front of the gladiators' team, standing like the adamantine bow of the Queen of Glory.

He watched calmly as his enemies came into his line of sight - a line of sight far beyond human eyesight, and they should not be able to see him yet.

Although these bustling teams are clustered together, they are clearly divided into four major categories.

It was obvious to a commander like Angron.

In addition to the so-called "guards" of the High Riders that he saw yesterday, with mechanical biological enhancements of ancient dark technology implanted in their heads and bodies, he also saw mercenaries, private soldiers and militias, and others. The technological level of armor weapons was obviously inferior to that of the Guards. People were driven, pushed, and piled up in front of the front line or under the cliff by money or power.

He assessed, and the auspicious device in his power armor began to list more data for him - thanks again to his brothers, especially the furry one and his body, after hearing that Iron Heart was facing Prepare for him in the event of a threat.

Closer to home, the brand new scanning array began to circle many red warning boxes and instruction labels for him indicating that he needed to pay close attention.

There are so many good things.

The Twelfth Primarch narrowed his eyes.

Anti-gravity engines are luxurious in quantity and quality, and their miniaturization and energy conversion efficiency are astonishing.

This kind of exquisite and stable mini-engine can be manufactured in so many and used so commonly in the tribal and slavery environment of this planet, so much so that they can be used as transportation tools for nobles and used in a Transformation on the female gladiator - although he had inferred this when he saw Kleist's weird spear yesterday, he became more enlightened when he saw the actual quantity and extent of use of these ancient technologies.

More than 95% of the probability is that there is at least one or even several complete standard manufacturing templates (STC) that are still functioning normally, and one hundred percent must be related to anti-gravity engine technology.

His eyes swept over a circle of Nucerian High Riders lifted above the driven army by lavish gold movable sculptures, great silver wings, and glittering floating silk couches.

The dressing up of these flabby and sickly bodies is so exaggerated and extravagant that all kinds of precious gems are inlaid on the surfaces of their masks and vehicles. When the morning sun shines, they sparkle with dazzling lights of various colors. As for each one of them, it looked like it was worth an entire kingdom. Each noble looked like he was surrounded by cherubs, clouds, haloes, pegasus, winged lions or other animals made of ivory, gold, silver and silk. Statue in the clouds.

Perhaps this was one of the effects they originally wanted.

If a child has been exposed to this since he was a child... Angron Petra calmly observed his opponent's weapons.

Hardly any of the High Riders of a House use the same weapons, but each appears in the helmet's vision to be extremely dangerous and capable of truly threatening the life of a Primarch: high-frequency sonic directional weapons, high-energy microwave radiation Constraint, material dimension conversion ray...

I see, I can probably guess a little bit.

he thought.

Ah.

At the same time, Angron Petra once again realized how great and incredible the pioneering work his adoptive father and teacher had done in Nuceria for his final war of conquest.

"Really great victories are never castles in the air. Their foundations are composed of small and ordinary persistent efforts."

He chewed on the words, thinking again of his adopted father and brother - and turning the young face of one of his brothers away from his mind to spare himself the awkward emotion.

And now this Nuceria is so malicious towards the original Angron!

But luckily the miracle has arrived.

He stopped his wandering thoughts and turned to the huntress and male swordsman beside him to confirm what he had told them, and they all nodded.

"Very good." Angron said, turned on the power armor's reactor to maximum output, and pressed the stance button on his axe.

The smell of ozone and metal began to float in everyone's nose.

"Let them come. I will take their heads, their blood, and their fears for you. Fulfill Angron's oath."

Before the High Riders and their ranks could get within range, a massive figure of gold and silver roared from the sky and charged into their ranks.

His ax is so sharp, his strength is so great, his skills are so high, and his speed is so fast that most of the proud and pretentious high riders have not had time to react. , turning on their ancient technological protective measures.

The heads, with expressions ranging from surprise to fear, flew up into the air one after another like champagne corks being opened.

Then came blood.

The blood spurting out from the neck of the headless man was red, and puffs of hot white smoke emerged in the cold air of the snow-capped mountains. Finally, it exploded in the air like gorgeous fireworks, and rain of blood poured from gold, ivory and The gemstones sprinkled down from the clouds, dyeing the pure white snow into deep crimson and pink, as if someone had sprinkled thousands of roses of different shades on this grand venue.

The crowded crowd below remained silent for a few moments and "appreciated" the first batch of blood roses showering on them, then exploded with a "boom" like a herd of frightened animals.

Many people, especially the militiamen, turned around and spread their legs, rolling and crawling away towards the woods below the mountain.

The remaining High Riders shouted in panic, swinging in the air and raising their weapons in an attempt to aim at him.

From the corner of his eye, Angron caught sight of an unlucky guy who was hit by his own material dimension conversion ray after he passed by. His whole person turned over from the inside out, and the colorful contents inside his cavity were steaming. The snow was sprinkled with a dazzling array of flowers.

A fat and well-painted nobleman just blocked the falling line of the Iron-Hearted Death Angel. He narrowed his eyes - based on his previous observations, this should be the leader.

The creature was almost morbidly fat, making it impossible for him to dodge the ferocious swipes of the Twelfth Primarch as he swooped past him, even as he frantically stepped on his anti-grav boots and gilded cherubs.

With the faint flash of the decomposition force field, the fat man's fearful and sharp screams came to an abrupt end accompanied by the pouring of flesh and blood.

Before he hit the ground, his ax was just enough to cut through the celestial spirit cap of a Nucerian high rider who was brave enough to sneak up on him while he was on the ground.

Then everything gelled.

Time and body are condensed.

But the mind and senses do not.

He saw that the sneaker's brain was shimmering in the gap he had opened, and heat and brain matter were about to emerge from it, maintaining the shape of a condensed white rose of death on the head of the dying man.

Angron Petra's knowledge made him immediately realize that he should be locked by some kind of psychic position and teleportation device.

[What did they do to you? 】

There was a voice talking in his head, familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time.

The voice didn't sound at all grand as he was familiar with it, instead it made him feel uncomfortable and tingling, like someone was cutting into his brain with a scalpel.

"Are you -" Angron frowned to resist the cold and sharp pain, and he slowly spoke, "are -"

[I am the Emperor, and you will follow me. 】