Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"Craftsmen? Lokos welcomes craftsmen, we can guarantee it. We respect those who retain skills, and Lokos will always be the best place for craftsmen to display their talents." Dammex said.

"So, Morse, is this boy the legendary divine child from the mountains?" He looked at Perturabo.

Without Morse saying anything more, Perturabo took a half step forward.

His collar was still stained with the blood of the enemy, and under the torn bloody cloth was new tender skin. Whether it was the dust on his cheeks or the torn robes, they did not damage his appearance.

His calmness and composure, as well as that little inexplicable scrutiny, were all evidence of his extraordinaryness.

No one could deny how exquisite and peerless Perturabo himself was, this was an objective fact.

"I don't know if I came from the mountains, or if I killed beasts in Kadisia."

"You really don't know?"

"I don't remember, these memories are not in my mind."

Perturabo looked down at his hands, the skin on his palms still showing bloodshot red.

He remembered the many failures he had experienced under Morse these days, the carvings that had never been successful, his talent that was deprived, his weakness and impulse, his repeated failures, and Morse's cold gift.

Is this the man who once came from the mountains and left a name in the mortal world?

Morse sneered more than once. After losing his ability, he was as weak as an ordinary mortal.

He clenched his fist and put his hand back to his side.

"But I am not the Son of God." A small commotion broke out in the crowd. The soldiers stood still as if they were statues, and the courtiers began to whisper. Guess what they are saying? They say you are not even willing to call Damex His Majesty. Perturabo followed suit and looked Damex in the face: "And you are not my king. I am not subordinate to anyone." A high-ranking courtier spoke up for Damex: "How can you be so rude!" Damex moved the scepter between his knees and raised his hand gently: "It doesn't matter. If he doesn't remember anything, how can we force guests to abide by our rules of courtesy? We don't offer etiquette classes and invite our God-born boys to learn, right?" "I am not a God-born boy either." Perturabo corrected without any effort, and the firmness in his words was tougher than steel. He looked forward, "I don't even know what a god is. I don't even know Arka and Anoinke you mentioned. "

The voices of the courtiers were louder, and this time, without Morse as a psychic megaphone, Perturabo could hear their arguments himself, which were nothing more than clichés such as "arrogant and rude", "uninformed", and "disrespectful to the gods".

He let these words enter his eardrums and found that he didn't even feel the anger of blood rushing to his brain.

Perturabo explored his own thoughts and made some scenario assumptions, and found that even if these people started to scold him, the anger he could feel would not exceed one-tenth of the simple ironic grin that Morse showed to the stone sculpture in his hand.

He rudely let Morse's pale face go out of his mind and continued to face Dammex head on.

Damex's scepter turned in his palm, and Perturabo knew that every small movement made by this man was a hint of authority.

The king made a footnote for the existence of the gods: "The gods are above the mountains and in the clouds. That is the Creator who is higher than us, who is on the top of Mount Telafos and looks down on and judges all living things. He is a holy god that ordinary people cannot reach, ordinary people cannot disobey, and people cannot reject.

The tip of the golden scepter pointed to the side of the throne. "The twin gods gave the power of the city-state. This is the statue of Godzk and Karafais."

+ I thought it was something like Anubis. They looked really dark-skinned, and their shapes were also restored to before the Common Era. +

Morse's characteristic cold tone of sarcasm crawled over Perturabo's ears like a snake.

+ Last time I came to the city, I should have asked more about their legends, so that I could use them as your bedtime story. +

Perturabo suppressed the urge to turn around and glare at people, and returned his attention to the conversation with the Lokos people.

"Have you seen these beings, tyrant?" he asked.

The tyrant's scepter hit the handrail, making a crisp sound.

"I don't have this honor." The tyrant said. "So, has anyone seen these beings?" Perturabo pursued. He did not need to make any extra body movements. His words were powerful enough.

Among the courtiers, another man in a gorgeous robe squeezed out from the courtiers of different colors. Then Perturabo saw his smooth head after shaving and the reflection of the ceiling light in the sweat on his head.

A priest, or a priest, or a stargazer - Perturabo did not know what he was.

"How can we see the face of the gods?"

The voice of the visitor was sharp and high.

"Mortals are not in the great plan of the gods. The gods are high outside the celestial sphere. We can only peek into their glory through the various reflections of their mercy in real life. How can you question them like this? Is your mind so dirty and closed that you have never been inspired by the gods?"

He had only been created by a creator and destroyed by a crazy craftsman.

"All human knowledge should begin with experience." Perturabo said.

Before he spoke, countless thoughts were automatically woven into ropes and cables, forming an intertwined network in an orderly manner in the vast space of thought. He lets words travel along this web.

"No knowledge can be born before experience. We connect and separate the ontology of the object from the image projected by the object's stimulation of all our senses, so that perceptual cognition becomes knowledge about the object. Intelligence, sensibility, category, time, space …Can you find any clear evidence of the existence of gods from any experience?”

"Of course!"

The priest's anger used the remaining energy in his thin body as cotton thread and wax, burning in his cloudy eyes. “Looking at all the coincidences and fates in life, isn’t it enough for us to realize the brilliance of God?”

"All coincidences have causes and consequences, and things are inevitably related to each other. When you admit coincidences, you deny the reasons behind the appearance, and presuppose the conclusion in the premise, so that you are unwilling to obtain confirmation from experience."

"Of course things are connected. This rule is established by our God."

"I doubt it," said Perturabo simply.

"I don't accept making such metaphysical presuppositions about feelings, or even assuming that there is some objective entity behind the feelings, so I doubt it. And you never use reason to reflect on your speculations."

The priest took in a sharp breath, almost choking on his own breath. He punched his chest violently until his face returned to its normal red color.

"What qualifications do you have to doubt us? Can you prove your qualifications?"

Perturabo could no longer hide his sneer.

"Boom."

The golden scepter struck the stone chair.

Damex stared at Perturabo, a small smile on his face, "Tell me your name, child."

"Perturabo."

"What's the moral?"

"I'll give it meaning."

Damex's smile widened. "Perturabo, forgive my subject. Perhaps at this moment, there is indeed no more effective way of persuasion than proving your identity."

Perturabo looked at Damex until the other man's fake smile could no longer be maintained. They all knew that Perturabo had won a victory, and they all knew that Perturabo would not be satisfied with just one victory.

"You want to test me?"

"if you are willing to."

"What do I gain?" said Perturabo. "One effort in exchange for another gain. What are you willing to exchange with me?"

"It depends on the situation. I am not an unscrupulous person. If you pass the test, just ask, I will not be stingy." Damex promised.

Perturabo nodded. "Tell me about the test."

Damex raised his hand and introduced at the same time: "We will provide you with the best casting table, the most outstanding bellows and quenching pool, the latest anvil and the best steel."

The door on the side of the hall opened with the king's raised hand, and someone had to carry the tools into the hall on the spot.

Perturabo's nails dug arcs into her palms.

+Look, you asked for it. + Morse said, crossing his legs on the wicker chair.

Perturabo finally turned back and glared at him, not wanting to know where Morse took out the wicker chair or how he made the whole room turn a blind eye to his slumped chair and rocking back and forth.

"I can't start forging now." The boy said bravely, but fortunately his confidence was disguised well enough. "Like I said, I'm not a god. I need to learn."

"How long will you study for?" Damex looked solemn.

"One day is enough."