Warhammer: Start with a dog

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*The noble performance in this chapter is not purely fabricated.

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All right.

I didn't expect that.

I really didn't expect this.

When Fricks reported previously, he described the envoys in a seemingly highly subjective manner. Dantioch originally thought that the Chief Trident might not like dealing with nobles and bureaucrats, but now it seems that Fricks's evaluation was fair, and even restrained.

...You bunch of fools, if father wasn't seriously ill now, how could he allow you to make such a noise and roar in front of his throne!

I really want to shoot them all.

Dantioch thought to himself as he stood expressionlessly beside the throne of their Gene-Father.

Because the Primarch wanted to have dinner on time, the banquet had already started for a little over a quarter of an hour.

The Primarch's Dominator Guards were waiting outside the door, while the two incumbent Tridents were inside, accompanying the Primarch for dinner.

By the way, because of Perturabo's prior instructions, the warsmith had to watch this group of overconfident mortal noble representatives arguing, quarreling, and pushing each other in front of their father, while eating and drinking to their heart's content and self-righteously toasting the throne with their wine glasses (some female nobles even turned their bodies to hint at the primarch, and Dantioch swore that at that moment he felt he heard some bloody call). He had never felt that he understood some of his battle brothers who loved to draw their axes and chop people.

I really want to chop them all up, chop them all up! Cut them into pieces!

It's unbelievable, how on earth did these idiots get to where they are now?

How could these people who have no respect for the Primarch, the Legion and the Empire, and who only care about a few cities, be the same people who live on the land where we, our parents and brothers once lived?

As an iron warrior who had once been an Olympian shepherd, Dantioch found himself becoming increasingly pessimistic about the possible end of Olympia in the next few days or weeks.

Worse still, he found himself beginning to understand Frix, and he also began to feel that it was indeed too harsh for the Primarch to order the extermination of Olympia, but if he planned to kill eleven of them, he could understand it.

Some things may be pitiful and excusable at the beginning, but looking at their subsequent developments they are definitely hateful and the person is to blame.

But when Dantioch searched his past experiences and the knowledge that had been stuffed into his mind for a long time and had not been used, trying to find some explanation or support for his thinking, he was surprised to find that he found almost nothing in the area of ​​knowledge he needed.

He was filled with anger, but even more with confusion and bewilderment: the Primarch looked confident, but no one knew whether this was a sign of his illness or if it was really the case. They could only obey orders, standing silently on both sides, and occasionally pouring the Primarch with mineral water or fermented juice of just the right temperature.

The Primarch seemed to have a good appetite and was not affected. When the representatives of Warren and Foros began to escalate their sarcasm to insults and finally fought and rolled in a ball in the white sand because of a disagreement (but based on Dantioch's observation, he suspected that they had drunk too much of the highly refined wine provided at the banquet, which was brewed from other worlds and brought by the Iron Warriors from the ship), he felt his anger value steadily rising.

The Primarch was still cutting the lamb chops gracefully but quickly, while he drank half a dozen bottles of fermented juice.

Then, when Dematia of Arkos, wearing a blue ribbon, and Didymus Diogoras of Ischia, wearing a red ribbon, began to accuse each other and ran to the Primarch's table at the same time, shouting and pointing at each other, demanding that the Primarch listen to them, support them and help them deal with the other party, the situation had become that Fricks had to whisper in the internal channel to remind Dantioch not to kill here against the Primarch's wishes.

And the Lord of Steel - or rather, Ramizarn in the shell of Perturabo - ate with great pleasure.

The live drama performed by this group of people and the various contents in it are really wonderful.

He also took the opportunity to nicely link these people's names, their noble families, and the colors of the ribbons they each wore.

Obviously, although this group of people came together to petition, they were not a united group.

They were divided into three groups: the largest group was wearing red ribbons. According to the records of LOGOS, this group was one of the city-state groups called the Pentuic Alliance that prevented Perturabo from unifying the entire Olympia from Locus a century and a half ago; the next largest group was the Six Cities of Achuen who wore blue ribbons; finally, there were a handful of people who did not wear ribbons of any color.

Oh my goodness, this feeling of déjà vu... I remember it now! Isn't this what I used to see in international news every day before the European parliamentary elections: the ruling seats, the opposition seats, and the minority of neutral seats, and then the appearance and names are regressed to the Greek city-state system. Isn't this... Wu! I understand! Thank you Seris News Broadcast! Thank you Reference News! Thank you Political Class! Thank you Ma Zhengjing!

Once he gained such an understanding, his train of thought was immediately opened up, and Ramezane used Perturabo's brain to its maximum efficiency: while maintaining his manners and speed, he tasted the delicacies he had not eaten for a long time one by one; while he pricked up his ears to listen to the classical court political debate drama being performed below; while he had to match each of their faces with their names and status; while he analyzed their demands and interests with each other; finally, he opened the LOGOS index directory, set the time and place range to Olympia one hundred and fifty years ago, and began to look for more information about their respective ancestors and city-states left at that time.

The more he read the information, the more incredible it seemed to him, but this did not affect his appetite. On the contrary, although it was incredible, it went quite well with the drama before him.

Until this group of arrogant and confident noble representatives, eating, drinking, cursing and fighting here, told almost everything about the background and factional struggles of their own city-states and masters, the various large and small city-state wars they had fought in the past thirty years, as well as some murderers of unknown causes of death and all kinds of wonderful adultery, minotaurs, beautiful widows and shepherd princes, etc., the host of the banquet, who listened and compared them with relish, drank the last mouthful of soup in his bowl with satisfaction.

Ramezane put the cutlery aside, pushed aside his soup plate, and wiped his mouth with a napkin soft enough to serve as a cloak for a mortal.

He knocked on the armrest of the throne.

The group of petty noble representatives below were still immersed in mutual abuse.

The two nobles who were called out immediately wiped their mouths again and straightened their clothes. Dematian tucked her fallen hair behind her ears, pushed away her chair, stood up, lifted her skirt and saluted the Lord of Steel; while Pentuik's spokesman sneered at her contemptuously, then shrugged, nodded in agreement, and made a gesture of "please speak".

Dantioch felt his fingers itching and he didn't know when they had touched the handle of the weapon at his waist.

"Well... everyone, before we begin, let me reintroduce myself."

The Primarch remained so calm and composed in the face of these clowns. Dantioch found himself unknowingly beginning to admire the noble character of the Father of Genes.

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"I, Perturabo, the Lord of Steel, the master of the Fourth Legion of the Empire, the son of the Emperor, the one who conquered your great-great-great-grandparents and ascended to the supreme tyrant after the unification of Olympia - and the masters of your city-states not only dare not come to ask for my forgiveness in person, but even you who were sent to my imperial presence are still so scattered. So, why can you eat and drink so easily in front of me, quarrel and be arrogant, and think that I am just a tyrant who has left here for a long time. If you want to leave the Empire, you can directly ask the entire city-state alliance to leave. You can directly ask me to help you and defeat the other side you want me to support? I am really curious - where do you get the confidence to think that you can be on an equal footing with me, the son of an imperial emperor? Is it based on the thin blood relationship you inherited?"

Before the other party could open his mouth to answer this series of questions, he continued talking.

"Or is it based on the warriors you have contributed to my legion for the past 150 years? Has Olympia's technology made any progress since I left here? How many ground troops do you still have? Do you have any aircraft? Do you have your own ships that can navigate the warp? What about intra-system fleets? Orbital defense platforms? None! That's it! You dare to openly clamor for secession! So-called independence!"

His icy blue eyes turned coldly towards the representative of the Pentuik Alliance, who had argued loudly and even louder had hinted several times that they had come here to directly secede from the Empire.

"I remember you yourself admitted that all city-states are short of males, right? Yes, first of all, I admit that the legionary conscription, which originally only required dozens of people, has increased to thousands in the last half century, which has indeed affected the agriculture and population growth of Olympia to a certain extent. But according to my calculations, is there a possibility that the main reason for the insufficient population is the frequent civil wars among you for small land disputes?! I've had enough of this! Look at these data! Your Pentuik Alliance has fought many battles with the Six Cities of Achuen in a century and a half just for a small piece of land of thousands of square kilometers. Not small ones, one of which lasted for thirty years and another for twelve years! How many women and children of your people died in these battles?! How much extra blood of your warriors was shed?! How much extra productivity was not fully utilized?!"

Ramizane narrowed his eyes, and Fricks silently gave several orders from inside his armor to the guards outside.

"...These population losses are all casualties caused by you for your own selfish interests. How can such casualties be blamed on me and my legion?! Ah, I understand. Anyway, Primarch Perturabo is fighting against enemies you don't understand in places you can't even see. He hasn't been back for 150 years. You know, the Primarch has no time to care about the voices of the ants on the ground, so the ants can tell their people with peace of mind that all the suffering and all the pain of taking away their children are caused by the person who is not at home! Because the legion's taxes must be paid, all other taxes can be distributed under this excuse! Why does it sound so familiar to me? Huh?"

He suddenly raised his voice, and it resounded like thunder under the silver-grey metal silk dome, hitting the adamantine pillars. "[Ancient Terra Curse]! Pep... My gene seed is very compatible! The pass rate of the selected is extremely high! There is no problem of high pass loss! And as the home planet of the Primarch, Olympia's imperial tax level is super tax-free! Super tax-free! Are you not clear about it and have been deceived by the tax officials of the Imperial Ministry of the Interior?! Or are you pretending to be confused?! If you have been deceived, you can cry out to me right now!"

"One more thing." The Lord of Iron knocked on the table. "The person I sent to buy things just now has already asked about this. I think in many places, it's not that there are not enough men to engage in production. Instead, you are short of manpower to maintain and pursue your noble life in the midst of this civil war. Right?! It's already like this, and you still want them to work for you for free?!"

"Is there anything wrong with this, my lord?" Obviously, Didymus's aristocratic arrogance and bloodline gave him more than courage. It blinded his eyes, as well as those of the others. Their eyes were full of disapproval of these long speeches, as if they had forgotten that they were facing a real demigod, a demigod who had conquered their ancestors with war and blood a century and a half ago.

"It has always been so! Tyrants, nobles, citizens and helots (the conquered people became the city-state's public slaves*)! Under the will of God, life has always been like this! As relatives of the tyrants, we have every right to ..."

"Is there nothing wrong? It has always been this way, so it is right?" Ramizarn smiled, and this time he showed his white teeth, including his canine teeth. "Perhaps the legend of the conqueror's massacre a century and a half ago is indeed too long for mortals here who don't have life extension and rejuvenation surgery. And he made a lot of mistakes at that time, but after all, it is probably not popular here to eradicate the roots and kill nine clans... But it doesn't matter now."

He said, "I brought my fleet and my Light Lance Macro Cannon. You may not understand what this means, but it doesn't matter. I will show you what 'land belongs to the tiller' means."