Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"It's the Eldar, no doubt about it."

Morse said firmly, not even looking up from the papers on his desk.

After translating the Holy Code, the Emperor solemnly and solemnly carried his nearly five thousand pages of webway construction plan into Morse's office room on Terra, his deep eyes filled with trust in the important task entrusted to him. .

Morse refused to play this old trick, so he changed his mind and started to compile a comparative dictionary of Gothic and Greenskin with ready-made materials, and planned to let Magnus, who had always been a good teacher, be responsible for teaching "a "An alien race that is rich in potential wisdom and loyal will, but suffers from language barriers and is difficult to serve humans" teaches Gothic language.

"Eldar." Perturabo chewed the word. Although he had not yet met any Eldar, the harm this branch of the race had caused to his brother had already made him have a pre-set dislike for the Eldar.

"What is their intention in writing such convoluted and complicated words?"

"Oh, in fact, if you deal with them more, you will find that these slender creatures with pointed ears are rarely straightforward. I even concluded that their actions were not guided by prophecies - because the visionaries who interpreted the prophecies themselves were also Often we can only try to describe the inspired future through vague words, and prophecies are destined to be difficult to discern. This is the problem of prophecy itself. "

Morse's holographic image turned the charcoal in a circle in his hand and leaned back on the wicker chair behind him. He was exactly what Perturabo said, an old man who pursues retro writing and abandons the efficiency of data pads.

"The refrain 'Xigaole' at the beginning, according to their language habits, should be the Eldar god they believe in and follow. My understanding of the Eldar culture is not deep enough to report the completeness of this god in their mythological system Positioning, but its current ability to send messengers can only prove that its power or mystery is enough to help it survive the birth of the goddess of thirst, and its relatively active attitude in participating in world affairs. "

"As for the next few sentences, I don't think it is necessary to explain them in detail. Although I don't know the structure of the Ancient Eldar Empire clearly about the 'Secret Capital', it was dug out from the webway by the greenskins recently. It seems that it may refer to an important city or large port of the Eldar in the Webway. The term "Midnight Gospel" is a bit subtle here, so let's put aside the words "blood relatives" and "demigods" for the time being. Even a mortal child who is just a few years old can understand it. Do you need me to explain?"

Mors crossed his fingers and laughed, giving Perturabo no chance to seize the opportunity to retort. He knew very well that if he paused for just one more second, Perturabo would immediately get up and fight back.

"And, this is undoubtedly a show of goodwill. But whether there is another price behind the show of goodwill, I can't predict. Humans and Eldar have their own positions, and it is not difficult to understand any self-interest actions for their respective races. The key lies in both parties. Whether the core interests of the Eldar empire are in conflict with each other - but who knows what core interests the remaining survivors can pursue after the Eldar empire collapses at its own fault?"

Perturabo assumed a pose similar to Morse's, fingers crossed on his crossed legs. "So your advice is to wait?"

"My advice is to pretend unethically that they did not make this gift until we are certain that there is an alignment of core interests between us," Morse said. "Is that enough to answer your question, Lord of Iron?" ?”

"It sounds like you're implying that you're busy," Perturabo said.

"What?" Morse raised his eyebrows, "I thought I was making it clear."

"So when will you finish?"

"Sometime between now and the time the Imperium of Man rules the galaxy, I will declare that I'm done."

"Okay." Perturabo said, "When will you return to the Iron Blood."

"So that's what you really wanted to ask," Morse smiled. "I thought I wasn't gone long?"

"Dorne told me that a Nucerian said that there is a custom here. If a companion has not returned to camp before sunset, others will usually think that he is dead." Perturabo tensed his arms. Every facial line.

Morse shook his head: "Is this Nucerian a gladiator?"

"Yesterday, Dorn was reading basic hypnosis on materials to children and young gladiators who couldn't sleep." Perturabo answered in the affirmative in disguise.

"Okay, okay." Morse yawned, threw the charcoal, golden runes flew to the tip of the pen, and the charcoal automatically slid on the surface of the paper. "This can really make people sleepy. Anyway, when the War Dogs return to Terra next time, I will throw a body on the ship and ride with their Queen of Glory to Nuceria - what is the name of that ship? ? "Perseverance?"

"Need I remind you that Angron said he did not want to join the Great Crusade?"

"Need I remind you that you are performing in front of me what it means to be concerned about the heart?" Mors snorted. "That's a Primarch, my Iron Lord. That's your brother, the one you're going to be with." Brother who has set off a wave of rebellion and freedom throughout Nuceria, I can bet you that when he hangs all the high-ranking riders in Nuceria, he will definitely set his sights on the entire galaxy."

He shifted his sitting position slightly and rested his thumb on his chin.

"But you may need to encourage him," he said, "not to encourage him to join the Great Crusade. It is not difficult for him to be tempted by the Emperor's great cause, not to mention that he must be very excited about the Gladiator's revenge plan. You need to encourage him. He's become tougher and more aggressive by nature."

"When we arrived at the arena, he was committing suicide." Perturabo emphasized. "How tougher can he be?"

"Come, think about this again: a person drags the problem to the point where it can no longer be delayed, and maintains the compromise to the point where it can no longer be compromised, so he has to use the most violent means to make up for the lack of courage in the early stage. Now tell me, is he tough or weak?" Morse's comments were merciless, which made Perturabo's heart tighten under his sharp comments.

"Isn't this just a proof of his gentle nature and his firmness that is not bound by too much kindness in the end? You can't blame him for the suffering imposed on him by the wrong environment..."

Perturabo tried to defend his brother, but under the gaze of Morse's usual cold eyes, he gradually lost more power to defend himself.

He realized the powerlessness of his rebuttal, because he was lowering his requirements for a person through the filter of suffering, and his personal emotions interfered with his rational judgment.

Perturabo exhaled and shook his head slowly.

"Maybe you are right. But my sensibility tells me that I cannot say he is weak in front of him."

"Why?" Mors asked. "Did you suddenly decide to succumb to sensibility?"

"Because I love my brother." He said frankly. "I love every brother I have met so far. In them, I feel a soul that is very close to me but different."

"Sometimes I wonder why I want to join the Great Crusade, whether I really yearn for the dream described by the Emperor enough, and whether I really care enough about the human citizens outside of Rokos."

"My answer is yes, but at the same time I find that I have found another equally important reason."

"I look forward to meeting more of the Emperor's children." He said, "Before meeting, they are just another child of the Emperor. But after meeting, we are brothers."

Morse's sharp eyes softened quietly, and Perturabo had long discovered that Morse, like himself, could not resist the frank words of those he cared about. Their hearts will be drawn closer because of this-coincidentally, the two of them happen to have two hearts together.

Only in front of Morse could Perturabo speak so frankly. He knew that Morse would never ignore his sincere words, and it was the positive feedback that Morse would always give generously that gradually transformed into the courage and motivation for his self-expression.

"If you love your brother," Morse said at last, "then treat him as a growing blood relative you can trust, not a fragile and broken slave who needs all kinds of care."

"You are always so extreme," Perturabo said, "but not everyone is like me. In any case, I will find a balance."

Morse nodded, and the holographic image began to dissipate. "I look forward to meeting you, Perturabo."

——

Angron seemed to have grown taller again.

Yochuka thought, running over to hug their big relative with other gladiators. When he found that his bandaged hand could only hold one of Angron's legs, he thought that it must be that he had grown taller with Angron - or everyone had become taller with Angron.

Because the world has become shorter. The short caves could no longer contain them, nor could the low red sand pits. No one wanted to go back, as if mentioning these blood-stained places would shrink their heads painfully to their original tiny size.

The slaves now had their feet on the ground, standing on a plane as high as the entire Desia. Everyone looked up and saw the sky, and as long as they stretched out their hands that were freed from chains, they could hold the clouds and stars in the sky in their hands.

So Yochuka only pulled Ferguson to accompany him back to the cave to take the little man painting he had drawn with charcoal on the rags, which were hidden in the cracks of the rocks.

Angron sat down with the others on the spot with his back to the door, forming a circle that everyone was familiar with, as if there was a burning bonfire in the middle. His brass eyes remained firm, and tenderness still rested on his face in the form of the smallest smile, but another brighter color illuminated him.

Yochuka was not sure how to describe it better. He just felt that when Angron soothed him to sleep with a high fever, he would be able to safely pass the long night. But now that Angron was here, he dared to think about what tomorrow would be like.

"I am back, brothers and sisters," Angron said, "intact and alive. Oenomamos has also woken up from the brink of death and is now receiving a complete treatment. I came here to tell you that we are all free."

He won a wave of cheers, and a few fighters shed tears because of excessive joy. For them, although there was no painful whipping and no mourning for the loss of friends, tears were more difficult to control than ever.

"You may have known that my relatives found me. They selflessly rescued us from the Red Sands and imprisoned the debauched nobles of Desia City. What makes me even happier is that I can see that even if I am not their brother, they will do the same thing - because they are devoted to an extremely great expedition to bring prosperity and freedom to the world that should be liberated."

Angron's deep voice echoed in the splendid King's Palace, where the Tarc family has lived here for generations, raising slaves and hosting gladiators. Now these high-ranking knights were stripped off their fine clothes and their bodies were thrown into His Highness's dungeon. Perturabo and Rogal Dorn didn't ask for a penny for this, and they planned to pay even more.

If Nuceria could one day be peaceful and prosperous...

That may indeed be the time for him to repay his brothers.

Angron looked around at the faces that were either excited or sad, and his mind was soaked in the ocean of emotions in the room. "My blood relatives promised that they would provide all support for Nuceria to change the sun and moon, and I was wondering if there was anything we could do in the process."

"On the way to the King's Palace, I first passed by the tomb of bones in the mountains. There, I seemed to hear the wails of the ghosts after the deaths of countless fighters who had pursued freedom for hundreds of years. This was the scene of countless deaths in Nuceria The resentment he has accumulated from the red sand over the years is the will of revenge of the Nucerian gladiators."

"The blood debt of high-level riders is owed to ourselves."

He stretched out his giant palm toward the crowd forming a circle, feeling the hot gladiator hearts approaching him. Even Yochuka, who was the most lively and lively when not sick, his voice became strong and calm enough.

Everyone has been looking forward to this moment for so long.

The blood debt must be paid, and the blood father and blood son will demand it until they take back everything they were born with.

"My brothers and sisters! If you support organizing a liberation front with me, and relying on our own strength to completely liberate Nuceria from the control of slave owners, you will entrust your hands to me."

Without hesitation, everyone immediately reached out eagerly, huddled together, squatted or stood, and quickly folded their palms into Angron's open hand. Dozens of hands are stacked high, supporting each other and leaning against each other.

Angron covered the other hands with his own, gently wrapping the palms and even the hearts entrusted to him by his companions.

"Okay, my brothers and sisters." Angron said softly, "It's time for us to revolt. The first thing is to deal with the Tarc family in the dungeon deep under our feet. Tell me, how will we deal with them? "

The discussion immediately exploded.

"Public trial! We want to put them on trial!"

"They don't deserve a public trial, I'm going to kill them directly!"

"Hang them and let them die ugly enough!"

"The fat in these people's bodies will be burned for a long time if they are tortured by fire!"

"Skin them, like these damn beasts did to my Ankana..."

"We can throw them into the arena," a grey-haired, one-eyed old gladiator roared hoarsely, his broken throat destroyed by a bloody gladiatorial fight many years ago, "these slave owners, they...ahem...too It’s time to understand the pain of being chained and fighting in the red sand!”