Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"You have done well, Ahriman," said the Iron Lord.

After giving perhaps the news that Ahriman was most looking forward to at this moment, and letting the son of the Brotherhood leave - his steps were even more urgent than when he was marching, Perturabo found that he was just like Dorne at this moment. , relax your arms on the table, lean forward, stare face to face at the design model imaged in the air, and gain the pleasure of sincere discussion and in-depth exchange of opinions.

He immediately looked away, moved his arms wrapped in armor a few times, and leaned back.

Morse, who was sitting beside the square table, had quietly found a chair to sit down for several hours. After seeing Morse's essential form, Perturabo didn't think that the man in black robe still had the physiological function of sleepiness, but he was very sure that he couldn't sleep now. The word "sleepy" was what Else's expression reflected.

"Are we finished with our discussions?" Dorn asked. "But there are still some projects here that are unconfirmed."

"Save these for tomorrow," Perturabo took the time to calculate the time, "No, now the calculation is the day after tomorrow. We will continue the day after tomorrow."

"Then I'm leaving." Morse quickly stood up and prepared to leave. "You guys keep talking."

When the two Primarchs were on the verge of a fight for any of the most trivial reasons, he was indeed willing to stop them before the situation spiraled into an unpredictable abyss, and he had to report to the Emperor, "Yes, they are fighting." He got up because Rogal Dorn believed that washing one's face with ice water in the morning was the daily habit of a good warrior in Inwit, and Perturabo felt that he had been too obviously belittled."

However, when the two of them concentrated on an endless discussion, throwing their respective opinions, hobbies, and some common points in personality on the table and spread them out, Morse had to start. Feeling sleepy.

Do they really need to list for discussion all one hundred and thirty patterns that can adorn the top of a column?

After Mors left the field, Dorn stared at Perturabo and looked at him, seeming to draw some conclusion from the Iron Lord's posture. Then, he also pulled his upper body that was leaning forward to an upright position. Angle, maybe this sitting position is relaxing enough for him.

"The Astropath has sent the message to Terra," Perturabo said. "Your legion should be in the preparation stage. Morse has confirmed that your gene seeds are stable."

"Gene seed?" Dorn asked.

"One of the many creations of the Emperor," Perturabo explained briefly, "Using the gene-seed, we will select mortals from their respective recruitment sites - usually the recruitment sites are their respective home planets - and transform them into Space Marines. "

"The appearance of the Space Marines can be based on my offspring - the primarch should call his warriors his offspring."

"Sir?" Rogal Dorn tasted the word. "This is a strange legion structure. The side effect of high cohesion is the loss of centripetal force when the legion leader cannot command."

He thought for a moment, "Besides, I don't have a partner. Having children when you don't have a partner is not a behavior supported by Wit culture."

"Why do you think so remote?" asked Perturabo in surprise.

"You said that the recruiting location is the home planet, so the culture of the home star should be taken into consideration." Dorn said calmly, "I can't lead a legion with a value system that is not accepted by the legion. This is very strange. In addition, they Don’t you have a father of your own?”

"You underestimated the love of the Space Marines for you under the influence of genes, Dorn. The bond built by blood and ether is enough to make these small obstacles disappear invisible."

Dorn frowned and seemed to start to check his thinking.

Then, he gave an answer: "I take back what I just said, because I found that I just can't accept the sudden appearance of descendants. This is what I really think."

After a day of acquaintance and heated discussion, Perturabo was still constantly surprised by Dorn's candor.

"I also couldn't accept tens of thousands of descendants suddenly appearing at the beginning." Perturabo said, and he believed that he was the best example.

This was not very convincing to Rogal Dorn. In his opinion, Perturabo did not show a character that would make it strange for him to easily accept a son.

"I will wait for my Legion," Dorn said. "One thing, in terms of painting the buildings, I want the Seventh Legion to do."

"You want to keep the Inwit style?"

"Not really." Donne thought for a moment and said.

This confused Perturabo. If another person were sitting here, he would wonder whether this meant that the Lord of the Planet wanted to weaken the influence of the Iron Warriors on Invite as much as possible in order to retain its own political influence and position of power.

The planets he had conquered did this, so Perturabo painted the stripes symbolizing the Iron Warriors all over the central chamber where they were forced to hang the double-headed eagle.

But he knew that Rogal Dorn's reasons were definitely much simpler.

"I don't want black and yellow stripes." Dorn shook his head. "Your fleet is full of these stripes."

"What do you think of my legionary characteristics?" Perturabo asked as calmly as possible. Morse did not question his stripes.

"It's just not to my liking," Dorn said bluntly, "and it's not suitable for Inwit."

Of course, Perturabo knew that the black and yellow colors in the ice and snow would create visual disharmony to the senses. Even if Dorn didn't say it, he had no intention of covering the snowy peaks of Invite with stripes symbolizing warning.

But the question still came out of his mouth.

"What are your preferences?" said Perturabo.

“My preference is to use gold extensively.”

"It's so monotonous." Perturabo imagined the scene. Apart from the heart of the empire, the Emperor's Palace of Terra in the Himalayas, he could not think of any other place that could support the grandeur of being painted entirely in gold. "Might as well have black and yellow stripes."

"Is it monotonous?" Dorn thought seriously for a while. The way he turned his head while thinking made his light-colored irises stain with the warm light refracted by the heater in the tent, like fire on ice.

But it was more like the sparks from the arc during welding, and Perturabo immediately corrected his thinking.

"I don't think gold is monotonous," Donne concluded, "but thinking from a mortal perspective, it is certainly possible. I would have gold paint on the roof of my residence."

"You do like gold," said Perturabo. "Like the Emperor."

"I haven't met him and I don't know if I'm similar to him," Dorn said.

"Do you hope to be similar to him?" Perturabo felt like laughing. He had already come to his senses. Morse said that the Dornish people were good, and he came to the conclusion by comparing them with the Emperor. "Our father had some qualities worth learning and some that were unfit for a Primarch."

In his heart, Perturabo quietly added a golden glow around Rogal Dorn and a way of speaking that seemed to carry chants and echoes, which made him shake his head.

"I don't know our father." Dorn's logic was as solid as the ice and snow of Inwit. "I can only draw conclusions after knowing him."

Then, the White-haired Primarch continued: "Speaking of fathers, I do have one thing to ask you. Do you see Morse as a figure who had fatherly authority early in your life?"