Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 119 Rogal Dorn

"We adapt to the environment for survival. The old man poked the burning wood in the fireplace with a poker, and the swaying warm-toned fire blocked the howling wind and snow outside the window.

Deep in the wind and snow, the energy tower revealed orange light spots through the thick veil-like blizzard in the eternal darkness, and everything in the world was shaking slightly quietly and peacefully.

"But we don't have to hunt in primitive ways," the boy said. He sat upright as he spoke, as if he was holding something in his hand. "This is a waste of manpower and resources. The factory has already been able to complete the food supply."

"No, Rogge." The old man shook his head slowly, and the warm and dancing firelight painted a layer of hazy kindness in the ravines on his unsmiling face. "We must remember how tenacious the Inwit people are. After the initial ice age.”

The boy followed the old man's hand and looked towards the fireplace. The fire was crackling, shining a blazing light in his pale eyes. For a moment, only the hot flames were left in the entire field of vision.

After an unknown amount of time, he turned his head in confusion. In a dreamlike trance, he once again let his gaze go up along the weak old man's arm under the thin blanket. The old man is getting older, with large brown spots settling on the surface of his skinny skin, and his eyes are no longer severe because they are half-closed.

"Rogg," the old man said, "you are not of the Dornish family."

"I know." The young man replied calmly. The thing in his palm was tightened, and some old fluff seemed to be sticking to his palm. I feel a sense of belonging to House Dorne, I am a Dorne. I value my loving relationship with you. "

The old man's head nodded gently and he gradually fell asleep peacefully. He weakened, shrunk, like a shadow by the fire, fading and disappearing.

The fur robe that the old man wore as a thin blanket fell quietly on the rocking chair. It was picked up by the young man and held in his broad hands, like holding up a warm memory at the beginning.

The storm seemed to have stopped. Tidal locking means that half of Inwit's world will always face the extreme day that the dying star finally gave to the world, while the other half of the world will sleep in the long night.

The young man slowly walked out of the house, and with every step he took, his body seemed to grow larger. He stepped out of the house and stepped into the dark sky after the snow stopped. He lifted up and stepped down his thick boots, leaving the footprints of a giant.

He walked out of the hut, and after a few steps, he seemed to have gradually stepped out of this hemisphere, crossing the boundary between day and night in the vast ice and snow.

There were more people following him unknowingly, those wearing fur hats, wearing thick robes, hanging flasks on their belts, those walking out of ice caves, those using mechanical prosthetics to replace those frozen in the ice and snow. People with limbs follow his footsteps step by step.

He seemed to hear people shouting his name, "Dorne," they shouted, some calling him Emperor. When they came to see them with urgent business and serious entreaties, he could hear his own voice answering, vaguely, as though through ice water.

Some people cursed him, while others knelt down and prayed for blessings. He wasn't angry, he just didn't understand why these people were so overthinking and sentimental.

His head raised up at some point, and he seemed to see a huge shadow floating above the orbit through the atmosphere. For the land of eternal day, that shadow is a gift of silence, and this shadow cannot be seen in the darkness on the back of the planet.

He stretched out a hand upwards, and the gold-plated glove seemed to hold up the dark shadow.

Suddenly, in a vague process, he came to the shadows, facing countless broken pipes and remaining walls and thinking.

The tall giant decided to repair this behemoth, and the Wit people followed him. So many engineers were studying ancient technology on the mountain formation day and night. Yes, Mountain Formation, yes, Mountain Formation, the name of this space fortress...

The stars converged towards him, and he saw them clearly. It turned out that they were people from neighboring galaxies who came to surrender to him.

Because the people of Wit knew a little about how to dive and rise quickly through the deep ocean at close range, he heard more praises. He was a king, an emperor, and the master of a small piece of stars. He was never proud of it, he did what he could.

In front of his eyes, the mountain formation turned into an endless maze or lair. He persevered in dismantling her, analyzing her, and repairing this sleeping fortress bit by bit. His progress was slow, Shanzhen had not responded to him yet, but one day he would wake her up.

He seemed to be holding something soft and warm in one hand, looking for the hidden screws, letting the rusty nails fall into his free hand, and then replaced them with new nails. Fuel was poured into the stove. He returned without success, and the ground There was a blizzard, and the blizzard swept away the night and the day. He was not afraid, waiting for the next day to come, waiting for the next day, and the next day, to continue to survive a blizzard, the mountain array was listening to his voice...

The electric lamp that was automatically turned on at the hour of the morning sprinkled white light on the bed, illuminating the giant's eyelids that were trembling as he was immersed in sleep.

Rogal Dorn was completely awake the moment he opened his eyes, skipping the gap of sleepiness. The giant's reason immediately took over the rudder of thinking from the sleep of memories.

He let go of his hand, put down the warm thin fur blanket that the old patriarch had left for him in his palm, and quickly stood up from the bed.

Roger Dorn chose to wear a dark blue formal suit on the upper body, brown trousers on the lower body and leather boots. After breakfast, he went to his studio according to his schedule.

He continued the unfinished project from yesterday and continued to calculate the operating principle of the air supply area for the fuel supply on the Phalanx until lunch time.

After finishing lunch on time, Roger Dorn began to deal with the government affairs delivered today. No urgent documents have been sent, so today's topic is to solve the regional abnormality of domestic water supply and maintenance system caused by the blizzard.

Before dinner, he ordered his subordinates to gather for a short meeting, announced several of his decisions, and ended the meeting within fifteen minutes.

Afterwards, after dinner, he boarded the space shuttle bound for the Phalanx. Rogal Dorn would spend the next day and a half entirely in this magnificent battle fortress.

If nothing unexpected happens, he will calculate the time and return to the deck of the starship, waiting for the Invites to pick him up and return to the surface to continue the next day's schedule.

However, when he was walking on the deck, the signal receiver hanging on his waist suddenly rang.

A wave of electricity passed through the instrument, calling for an answer.

Roger Dorn picked up the communication device and did not connect it immediately. Instead, he looked up into the deep space. He immediately saw a string of silver-gray dots, smaller and colder than the stars.

He strode towards the interior of the Phalanx with the radio wave communicator in hand, arranged for technical workers to be on standby, prepared to guide the landing of a starship, and waited for the arrival of the unknown fleet at a higher place within the Phalanx.

After methodically handling the relevant matters in a very short period of time, Rogal Dorn pressed the button and held the communicator ten inches away from his head to answer.

"Unknown Primarch," a strange voice came from the radio wave, and the sound of current mixed with it made it slightly distorted, "I am glad to meet you. You must have already understood the mission given to you by the Emperor of Mankind. The Fourth Legion Lord, Primarch of the Iron Warriors, Perturabo of Olympia will return with you to Terra to meet our Creator."

"Roger, Lord of the Fourth Legion, Primarch of the Iron Warriors, Perturabo of Olympia, I am Rogal Dorn. I will command your fleet to land safely."

Rogal Dorn responded politely, not understanding why the other party suddenly fell silent.