Warhammer: Start with a dog

So for sure, the time to attack is tomorrow morning.

Angron Petra said calmly, and the others looked at the extraordinary, emperor-like god beside them as if they were a little awkward and unaccustomed.

But they also discovered with surprise that this man said that he was not their Angron, but he was also very familiar with their habits, and sat down among them in the most natural posture of a Nucerian warrior.

This person is covered in gold and silver armor, and on his forehead is a sage's horn crown, which represents knowledge and reason.

He is brilliant, powerful, wealthy, and civilized.

So out of place in the darkness, the dying, the dilapidated, the dead end.

Perhaps only the pride of both sides as warriors was equal.

But that bronze face of a warrior and leader makes people want to follow and trust him so much - just like the original Angron, and even gives people more trust now.

Yes, tomorrow morning. Our scheduled death date. The man holding the brass broadsword replied, without any fear, and some of the gladiators even laughed at rude jokes.

Angron learned from Kleist that his name was Chromach. The Twelfth Primarch was very convinced that the brass broadsword was just a brass broadsword without a decomposition force field. There is no chain saw motor either. Considering that they used such a weapon to escape from the arena, burn down the city under the mountain, and kill many of the objects of their hatred, to a certain extent they indeed deserve the name of the City Devourer.

Tomorrow morning will be the ninth day since we escaped here. Today, the High Rider's Guards scouts were killed nearby... by our Angron. The Guards are missing here. They must be Will come up to check and find us.”

Cromach pointed to the head in the corner, which was being played with by a boy with a smile on his face.

The head kept a frightened expression. It had been torn off from the neck. There were holes in the head where some implants had been torn off, and the blood that had flowed out had long solidified.

Judging from the silver and delicate yarns in the chain on the boy holding it, the Twelfth Primarch guessed that perhaps those silver cables were originally inserted into the head.

The owner of this head was also very young. Angron thought that based on his naked eye assessment, the age difference between the deceased and the person playing with his head could not be more than three years.

But the two children who live and die are mortal enemies.

They will never understand or tolerate each other's existence.

Angron Petra thought, what he faced now was not something that could be solved by any tongue-in-cheek or verbal skills, only naked power. Only force can arbitrate. Only force can stop it. Only force can break it.

Ah, well, if anyone wanted to fight the Conqueror of Nuceria, Angron ensured that they would be given the opportunity to quietly listen to the King's teachings.

But there is one thing that needs to be confirmed.

So, after bringing this head back, none of you will see... Angron Tark again, right?

Fifty-six heads are nodded at different angles or express positive attitudes.

The red-haired sage king then nodded.

I see.

Before he could speak again, someone's stomach growled loudly. The intestines were so hungry and dry that it sounded like a stone mill with nothing in the dry belly, grinding the owner's own internal organs. , desperately trying to squeeze out some nutrients.

Looking over with molten gold eyes, the boy pursed his lips and tried to look like he didn't care.

How long has it been since you had anything to eat?

Kleist pouted, she raised her hand and tucked a strand of dirty, sticky long hair behind her ear.

Eight days ago, the food was all gone, the mountains were blocked by heavy snow, and we couldn't find enough prey for everyone... But it didn't matter, we knew we would die, and we didn't think about the future - we just needed to survive Let them hear our roar before we fall, and use our weapons to make those high-flying bastards shed enough blood!”

Angron resisted the urge to shake his head and tell them how much prey and food they missed nearby, knowing that he could easily see those relying on his advanced equipment and his knowledge.

His teacher's sincere teachings came to his ears again: Angron, you can't blame mortals for not knowing the truth because they can't know or understand it.

You haven't eaten anything in eight days?

Huntress licked her chapped lips, looking nervous.

It's Angron's blood, she said. He cut his own flesh and fed us with his blood. Those who could withstand his blood survived and are here. He himself ate nothing.

The 12th Primarch suddenly remembered again a little thing that Lamizane had told him, and also suddenly remembered an inexplicable saying that Perturabo had said to him after maintaining the power armor.

He stood up, and the combination of his heavy gold and silver armor and his own search light had the effect of shaking stars.

The huge god stretched his hand towards his leg armor, as if he wanted to pull out something.

The slave gladiators carefully formed their formations, retreated, and observed.

The carved leg armor popped open a hidden grid, and buried inside the strong electronic muscle bundles, nerve cables, and silvery translucent artificial blood vessels was a metal tube painted with yellow and black stripes, and there was a skull imprint on the surface. , to the slaves it looked like a strange short sword without a handle or a quiver or some kind of blowgun taken out of the flesh and blood of the Man of Steel.

What's this?

When Angron Petra took out the metal pipe and pulled out the stopper, the person closest to him swallowed subconsciously.

The aroma of food judged by the most primitive human instinct.

A kind of... emergency food. The 12th Primarch opened his palm and poured the contents of the metal tube into his palm. The metal tube was filled with some brown particles that seemed to be only the size of the first knuckle of a mortal thumb.

Food?! Kleist couldn't seem to hide her disappointment. Food...is this just a little bit? This looks like it's only enough for one person.

No. Angron thought back to what Perturabo had told him.

——I asked Magna to bake for me... I baked too much, so I put a copy in the secret compartment of your leg armor. Remember, dosages for mortals should be calculated as a maximum of one cubic inch per fifty kilograms of body weight per day -

I think each of you could use one to fill your stomach.

The woman shook her head, If you only eat a little when you are too hungry, it will make your stomach cramp more painful. Let Yochuka eat it. She pointed at the boy, He is the youngest here.

Everyone will have one. Angron put a pellet into her hand, Try it.

Kleist looked at the granule in her hand: it was irregularly round, with a rough surface, and was pressed firmly and tightly. In her hand, it exuded the faint aroma of various mixed ingredients being roasted.

Okay. If you insist. She shrugged and swallowed the inconspicuous dry food pellet in one gulp.

After about twenty seconds, she opened her eyes wide and showed a very scary expression.

Chromach clenched his sword and nervously called her name. The huntress just waved her hand at him, and then a wave of unknown tears welled up in her eyes.

Oh my God, she almost moaned.

Oh my God - what does this feel like? Angron? My stomach is heavy and warm... Power and heat are flowing through my limbs! I have never been so warm! I should be up hunting! But I can't Want to move too much? That’s weird.”

With a heavy heart, Angron Petra distributed the remaining rations to everyone in the cave.

He knew that this was a manifestation of one of the most primitive human desires being satisfied, yet she had never really had enough...

This is what overeating feels like, Kleist.

Angron replied as gently as possible, Take a good rest after eating.

He stood up, took off his ax from his back, and walked out of the cave.

Sleep, I will wake you up tomorrow when the High Riders and their armies come for you.