Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Perturabo, who had put on a new robe, appeared together with a simple cloth robe he had brought. Because all the data cables had just been removed, the top of his head was reflecting bright light.

"You may try this robe, Angron," Perturabo said, eyeing Angron as he sat silently beside the mortal's bed. The apothecaries had left one after another to give the Primarchs enough private space. "We didn't expect to meet you, and we didn't prepare anything for you. But I do have some regular clothes that haven't been worn yet."

Angron looked away from the comatose old warrior Onomamos in the hospital bed. Perturabo noticed that the ferocious pain on the face of the warrior who was still immersed in a deep nightmare had unconsciously faded away when he left. , the old man's expression became calm and gentle. Is this just the power of family affection? Perturabo wasn't sure.

Angron took the robe a little awkwardly.

In the life of the gladiator, he had never come into contact with such a clean and complete piece of clothing. Even though the piece Perturabo chose was already the most ordinary and common one in the cabinet, to him, this piece of cloth still felt As soft and distant as the clouds high in the sky.

Perturabo nodded to him, went out and walked around, and happened to meet Rogal Dorn who was holding a golden skull translator in his left hand and holding two data pads in his right hand.

"This data pad is Morse and Magnus." Dorn shook the data pad on the outside, then turned his wrist to show another one. "This is Horus. He currently has several days of data." idle."

"I heard someone calling me?" Morse's voice came.

"I look forward to meeting our new brother." Horus said seriously.

He had already learned about Ange from Dorne - this was also his first interview with Dorne. The Son of the First Returned tried to accept Rogal Dorne's way of speaking which was very unpleasant no matter how he heard it, with complicated emotions. Lon's general situation, it did change the target of his anger: first at Dorne's mouth, and now at the actions of the Nucerians.

"Okay," said Perturabo. "His mortal mentor is still unconscious and Angron is currently accompanying him."

He paused for a moment: "I really didn't expect that the walls of the Iron Blood were not as strong as your armor. I guess you weren't injured?"

"No." Dorn shook his head. "I considered advising him to control his emotions and observe the situation before taking action."

"It's a good thing you didn't." Perturabo took a breath. "I mean, it's a good thing you didn't persuade me."

"Leaving private communications to you has proven to be the wiser choice," Dorn said, letting Perturabo take the two dataslates. "Let's go see Angron."

They returned to Onomamos's hospital room, where Angron had changed into a robe. After his scars were covered up, an inhuman calm came over him. He seemed so out of place with everything in the room, except the old soldier who still hadn't opened his eyes.

Sensing someone approaching from behind, Angron's habitual desire to attack flashed away, and his tense muscles relaxed again.

He immediately stood up, turned around, and said, "I'm sorry. You saved us all, and I attacked you with suspicion and violence. Rogal Dorn, I apologize to you."

In the chaos, he had almost forgotten about it. This made him especially guilty.

"It doesn't matter." Dorn said, pressing the gem on the golden skull to activate it, and explaining at the same time: "This is a translator. Perturabo commented that my way of speaking is not conducive to communication, and I need the assistance of a translation instrument."

A line of text appeared on the translator, "What Rogal Dorn means is: he is not good at words, and sometimes he unintentionally offends others, but this is never his intention. Perturabo hopes to use this translator to help him to a certain extent solve the problem."

Angron was stunned. "Is this... a tradition outside of Nuceria?"

From the time he inserted the Butcher's Nail in his head - no, that was a data cable, to now carrying a golden skull as a translator, both of these things puzzled him.

"No. It's a personal characteristic. You don't have to apologize for anything," Perturabo said, stopping Angron from apologizing more. "Before we start discussing the various issues in Nuceria in detail, first Allow me to introduce you to your other brothers and my mortal mentors. We all care about you, brother."

He pulled the low table beside the bed and propped up the two data tablets. The background of the first data tablet is the Terra Palace Library. A black-haired man and the little red figure on the table waved at the same time.

Angron looked at the little man called his brother and realized that there was one more thing that puzzled him.

"Hello. I am Morse, the mentor Perturabo mentioned," the black-haired man said, tapping the table at the feet of the red figure. "This is a temporary body of your brother Magnus." , he himself is conducting long-term experiments on the kinetic energy weaknesses of psychic robots on the other side of the galaxy."

Horus spread his palms, and the sincerity of his smile could be felt through the screen. "Angron, meeting you is the greatest good news I have received in these days. I am Horus Luperkar, the first Primarch to return and the sixteenth among brothers."

Angron couldn't tell whether he was more happy or uneasy right now.

After the night when the letter arrived, everything suddenly turned upside down. He wasn't sure how he should accept the concerned eyes that were all looking at him, and he wasn't even sure whether the kindness and concern that filled the ocean of emotions here were real - ever since he discovered his gift of touching the hearts of others, This was his first time entering such a peaceful and warm emotional world.

Accept them, Angron. he said to himself. To repay the kindness of these... brothers, and for the sake of his brothers and sisters in the cave.

"I am Angron," he said. "I have nothing to introduce to you, thank you. I can give any return that I can give without hurting others."

"You're a little nervous." Morse said, adjusting his sitting posture and quickly returning from sitting upright to leaning on the back of the chair. "There's no need for that. If you feel that chatting with a group of good people is very stressful, I can point out the shortcomings and bad things of everyone present in turn."

"That should not include me," Horus said.

"You have ruined our Perturabo's sense of hair style, and I sentence you to a heinous crime." Morse said, "What do you think, Angron?"

Angron tried to put a more genuine smile on his face, and found that it became much easier. These demigods suddenly add a touch of life. "No, Morse."

"Then we can start talking about Nuceria," Perturabo said. "What do you envision here?"

"No more slavers," Angron blurted out. The presence of these people was one of the few things that still aroused his wrath.

"Of course," Perturabo said immediately, and he would love to see his brother put to death anyone who had ever done him harm. "I'm opposed to the system."

Even if we don’t mention the issue of humanity, holding a large-scale gladiatorial arena is a serious waste of resources. So many talented people in various industries are wasted in unnecessary blood, and the spirit of the people in the audience is constantly being consumed by absurd low-level entertainment. corrosion. He was quite disgusted.

Rogal Dorn said in agreement: "Okay, what next?"

The Skull said, "Rogal Dorn means: Is there anything more you would like to see in Nuceria?"

Everyone present stared at the words floating above the skull, and Horus muttered: "You should really give each brother a Dornish translator, Perturabo, especially me."

This made Perturabo briefly wonder what Horus and Dorn were talking about.

Angron thought silently. He had never had the time to consider such a long-term issue. On the few nights when he could sleep and had the energy to dream, he would either imagine how to escape from the arena, or how he and his brothers and sisters could have a wonderful life where they wouldn't have to fight each other and could have enough food and clothing.

"I wish all gladiators could escape from the arena," he whispered at last.

"Okay!" Magnus clapped, then realized he was the only one applauding. He put down his hands and tried to think of a way to explain: "The batch of aliens we fought recently had the ability to amplify the sound of clapping palms to cause a devastating impact (Shockwave). I am studying the practicality of this spell."

"It sounds like we have obtained a project with very free targets, but I still want to be as clear as possible about your needs." Perturabo said, "Remove slave owners and ban gladiatorial events. Let's note these two points first. Moore Si, can you show me my construction achievements in recent years?”

"Am I your clerk? Okay." Morse said, while comparing the message sent by Perturabo and looking at every detail of Angron.

Spartacus, a Thracian name that had become an adjective, jumped into his mind. To be more precise, this is a Spartacus whose destiny has been terminated prematurely, losing its tragedy - this is the kind of thing Morse would only pursue when he was writing scripts in his spare time, and cross Having reached the boundary between life and death, Angron entered the ashes-like calm and tired platform of his life early.

He usually has no interest in taking on the role of motivator unless the person he is focusing on has a personal stake in it.

"Your brother with a yellow and black stripe around his collar has some wonderful persistence in construction." Morse said, a light spot gradually expanded into a screen between his fingers. "I want you to know that this person is dedicated to construction." In order to promote the well-being of mankind under the Aquila throughout the galaxy, he has done many meaningful or meaningless things for this purpose, such as demolishing a chattering emperor's council chamber and changing it into one decorated with the Aquila flag and yellow and black stripes. A packed democratic parliamentary hall.”

Several pictures surfaced one after another: "In addition to the parliament, industrial and agricultural facilities all over the ground, and various military track protection strips, he even once changed residential buildings into yellow and black stripes." Finally, it stopped in the air. The photo shows a square residential building with a plain main color, but the window frames at each interval are colored yellow or black.

Horus laughed, and returned to his seriousness before Perturabo had time to look at him: "You see, my dear brother, Perturabo ambitiously wants to paint his color throughout the galaxy. He now wants to Please give him a chance."

"I didn't!" Perturabo tapped Morse's data pad, "Doane, help me prove it!"

"Okay, I can prove that Perturabo had no ambition to paint. He didn't bother me after I rejected his design for building a theater," Dorn said.

"You'd better stop talking."

"Why?" Donne asked puzzledly. A line of words floated on the skull: "Excuse me, did I say something wrong?"

A low-pitched laughter sounded in the room. After a moment, several guys who were not quite human realized that this was the first time Angron had laughed.

Angron only discovered his change after laughing out loud.

Looking at the dizzying number of architectural photos with various yellow and black stripes, he was a little dazzled, but he noticed that there were several happy smiling faces in the corners of many pictures.

It is different from the numb smiles of pleasure between gladiators, and of course has nothing to do with the bloodthirsty laughter in the audience. These warm expressions appear on the faces of both adults and children, and they naturally become images. The most vivid embellishment. A warm current from the outside world was injected into his blood vessels, making the cold blood warm again.

"I can attest," Magnus jumped up to the bookshelf on the upper floor, at the same level as Morse's head, "the houses Perturabo built in Prospero are all normal!"

"So the yellow and black stripes are abnormal?" Perturabo said in disbelief, and he took a deep breath: "Okay, I don't care about the color matching of Nuceria, no, I don't care about this aspect in the first place. "

What he wanted to ask at the beginning was definitely Angron's views on Nuceria's future institutional and economic construction, and how to deal with slave owners. At some point, the conversation turned into a collective contempt for his excellent aesthetics.

"This is Perturabo," said Morse. "By the way, did anyone tell you that you have an entire army waiting for you?"

"I..." Angron wanted to refuse directly. He had no interest in foreign wars, but he didn't want to directly let down these kind-hearted people. What's more, the identities of these... brothers seemed different from the generals he thought they were. . "I'm not ready yet."

"There is no need to worry, brother," Horus said. "As much as I want to invite you to join me in the expedition, I have to respect your opinion. We are relatives, aren't we?"

Perturabo waved his hand: "Of course, if you want to deny our kinship, that's normal. We have only known each other for such a short time. In any case, even if we have no connection with each other, the world along the way will be restored. One of the core tasks of the Great Crusade. When we leave, I will ask you again if you are willing to be our brother."

"Call me," said Magnus, "I want to know the answer!"

"I think I can always spare some time. At worst, I can ask Sejanus to help me direct."

Dawn nodded. Floating on the golden skull is a line: "I'm always here."

Angron admitted that his heart was shaken. His teeth scraped together, then he asked, "So, what exactly is the Great Crusade?"

"Oh, that's right," Morse said, "There was a guy who lived for a long time. He hid in the laboratory drinking tea and sleeping all day long. It wasn't until the end of the human race that he was persuaded to pull up a stick reluctantly. The army, building a country, randomly named it "Emperor", thinking of cooperating everywhere, although sometimes it turns into fighting everywhere, trying to pull humanity up and let more people live. It has to be a little better. This messy plan is called the Great Expedition, so as to match his golden image and make the whole thing not like an old man's random thoughts."

He shrugged and stared directly at Angron with his dark eyes: "I don't have the patience to say too many nice words in roundabout ways. I still have a lot of things to be busy with next - Perturabo, the holy scripture you wrote is just a bunch of whimsical things. paper - so I said so. If you're expecting to unleash your wrath on the weak, the Emperor will disappoint you, and if you're a Liberator, maybe you'll find something new with us. , enough to support the meaning and value of your future life.”

After Morse finished speaking, he closed the data screen, leaving his interface in darkness. Perturabo was silent for a few seconds, then his tone changed to a powerful declaration.

"Forget all our persuasion today, Angron. Don't let the sweet talk bother you. But remember what we do next, remember that we have repeated this process of rebuilding the planet countless times, and will repeat it many more times in the future. Many times. Before I leave, I will ask you a second time if you are willing to join the Great Crusade."

"Angron..." On the hospital bed, Onomamos' fingers rested on Angron's hand. The latter held the old warrior's hand without thinking, almost crying because of his awakening.

The old fighter struggled to open his eyes just a slit, and looked around with blurred vision. He was sincerely relieved that Angron was safe and sound, but the unfamiliar environment around him was completely beyond Onomamos's understanding.

"Is this..." he couldn't help but ask, coughing midway through the question.

"It's lemon yellow," said the watched Donne, "a color that mimics the color of ancient vitamin-rich fruits."

He paused and then reacted: "And, this is the Iron Blood, we rescued you and Angron."

"Thank you, adults," Onomamos said vaguely, before the effects of the anesthetic had worn off. "What do we need... to pay?"

"Just stop saying thank you," said Perturabo. "Your safety and happiness are their own reward."

↓Translation of Ting Jay's works, very good csm Iron Yong protagonist, makes my staff of mist spin;

Although he claims that reminders are ineffective, reminders are good hehehe