Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Sometimes Morse would reflect on why he did what he did when something was done.

Just as he is currently living in the room of the Iron-Blooded Ship that he submitted the blueprint for himself - considering the overall size of the Iron-Blooded Ship, he suspects that the floor space equivalent to this room is already worth every inch of Terra, where every inch of land is extremely expensive. Only the governor of the planet, and even the governor of the sector, have the authority to purchase a large estate. After all, this suite is even bigger than the one he had in the Terra Palace - thinking about how far he has traveled across half the galaxy, what if the conditions were different? What's the point of even worse metal living in the same place as Perturabo, wasting precious little time with nothing to do every day?

Then he found a suitable reason for himself: he just manually transported a set of his body to where it might be needed, and then he could return and continue on Terra and its gray sky and waterless dry air. , the rich and pungent Himalayan palace ointments and balsams, and all kinds of so-called delicious foods transported from all over the galaxy, which are exquisite but unnatural...

After thinking about it carefully, he almost decided to return to the beautiful Olympia as soon as possible to hunt his Lokos deer among the streams and trees.

After hearing that the Iron Morning Star, which transported the Iron Warriors, successfully solved the problem of a planet contaminated with a small amount of unknown corruption during its voyage, and successfully arrived at Terra, Morse spent some time searching for the Star Torch in the subspace. Glory, floating all the way back to the Royal Palace of Terra from the distant orbit of Nuceria, took the initiative to take over the responsibility of introducing the goals of the project to these new builders.

"You can consider me as one of the target parties of this mission," the black-robed craftsman led the group of warriors forward in the vast palace. "I assume most of you know I exist, right?"

After a few seconds, the first person to answer was the man with the most important responsibility among these soldiers, Bill Perrin. Perturabo was able to accurately find a good-tempered war blacksmith for the warriors in the drawing, which indeed made Morse wonder whether there was some secret attempt to defeat random numbers through manpower.

"We know of your existence, Artisan Morse," said Bill, "but our knowledge of you is limited. Lord Perturabo will not speak of you unsolicited."

"And you don't dare to ask. It doesn't matter, just know that I am an idler who blends in everywhere." Morse said, "Come next to me, I don't like to turn around and talk while walking. Don't use honorifics either, I Words of respect are usually added only when cursing and insulting others.”

The War Blacksmith slowed down for a moment, wondering whether he should obey the order of someone who was not directly above him. Then he took a step forward and came to Morse's left.

At the speed of the Astartes, it wouldn't take long to start walking from the edge of the plateau and reach the core of the numerous palaces.

The towering overlapping golden domes flash in the sun, exuding a majestic and mysterious atmosphere. The walls of some buildings are inlaid with strange runes and patterns that are difficult to see, and the muzzles of energy weapons lurk in the hidden shadows. The guard with golden armor and red tassels stood on the side of the road. He said nothing and did not stop him. He silently showed an attitude between guarding and supervision. The electric blue arc light on the halberd flashed, which could almost make people smell the various molecules in the air. A dangerous smell that burns to the point of decomposition.

For these Astartes, the core area of ​​the Emperor's palace is a golden realm that is almost completely unfamiliar. The multi-directional entrance arches and tall beast statues have become the most common decorations in the palace with structures and proportions that are most in line with human aesthetics. Countless decorations that can exhaust the financial resources of the planet are only one ten millionth of the noble achievements of the Lord of the Galaxy. .

They may be lucky enough to briefly admire the glory of the Human Emperor outside the palace, but being so close to the splendor and majesty of the palace is enough to make these warriors forget to even breathe.

"Do you know what you're getting into?" Morse asked.

"We don't know."

Morse didn't care why the Terran veteran suddenly spoke High Gothic.

They walked around the main entrance and continued on through the side road. The number of guards on guard increased, the idle personnel completely disappeared from sight, and the gradually narrowing passage was filled with the echo of the boots of thousands of warriors falling on the smooth stone slabs. All this made the Astartes nervous, and they were prepared for what was to come. The mission is deeply responsible.

Passing through several doors that opened layer by layer, the road extended at an angle deep into the ground, leading to the space under the palace. Gradually, there is a cold atmosphere unique to grottoes and caves. The exposed rocks are wrinkled at the edges. The luxurious decorations and ornaments are replaced by plain metal. The sparse sunlight falls through the metal grid and is carved into sharp spear points. shape.

In the distance, Morse saw a familiar figure standing on the side of the golden arch. The shadow behind him fell on the dozens of meters high armored relief figure holding a thunder spear and an Aegis shield on the arch. He made no move, just watched the Astartes coming, and that was enough to prove many things.

"Then do you know who will greet you?"

"We don't know," the Warsmith repeated.

"Actually, I don't know," Morse said, "but I can guess. Good morning, Lord Custodes."

Constantin Valdo looked at Morse and pulled back his halberd. He was as calm and aloof as the rest of the Custodes. Nothing could make him waver or make him lose this deep momentum of controlling everything, and today was no exception.

"Good morning." said the commander of the Imperial Guard. His appearance gradually filled the hearts of the Astartes with uncontrollable shock.

The door opened inwards, and the protective runes only flickered with a fading edge for a moment when they were unlocked.

Behind the door is a long corridor with no unnecessary branches, doors or windows. The last door opened as Morse approached, revealing a vast hall that was illuminated by countless hidden artificial lights, creating an effect as bright as the blazing sun. The hum of machinery penetrated human skin and bones, rumbling and echoing.

Beside the door, a square high table was placed casually, with a stack of tissue papers on it. Behind the table, an old man in gray robes sat in a high-backed chair. His long silver hair fell out of his hood. His eyes were deep and bright, like sharp blades that could cut through the fog, showing a profound insight.

"Good morning, Prime Minister," Morse said. "Is everyone here today?"

Malcador pushed the stack of papers to the table. "They're all here. Come and sign in, craftsman?"

Morse had an extra quill in his hand, and he casually drew a simple paper airplane on the white paper. The flowing light rolled across the paper, and the patterns he drew were arranged to the upper left corner of the paper, leaving the remaining white paper blank.

"It can take effect." The craftsman put the quill into the hand of the war blacksmith next to him.

Bill tried to bend his gauntlet, held the quill as hard as he could with two fingers, and prepared to sign precariously. Malcador sighed deeply and used his psychic powers to enlarge the quill to a size that a Space Marine could use normally.

"After you sign, you are not allowed to tell what you see next." The prime minister reminded that this is not a requirement, but an objective verification of this psychic agreement jointly created by several of the most powerful psychics in all mankind. introduce.

"Yes," said the soldier, and could say no more words. The psychological shock of being in close contact with the Custodes Lord and the Imperial Chancellor at the same time within a minute was huge, and the sadness caused by being away from the fleet, the Primarch and his companions was diluted by the pounding heartbeat.

In the process of rushing here on the Iron Morning Star, most of the Iron Warriors believed in the discussion that they must be about to embark on a secret combat mission with no return. It was from this mentality that Bill hid his poetry collection at the bottom of his cupboard on the ship. He hoped that his brothers could still see him through these words, although he did not think that any of his particularly close friends would truly miss him.

But now, after being greeted by the Custodian Commander and the Imperial Chancellor in turn, Bill knew that they had seriously underestimated the importance of the secret mission.

After signing, the War Blacksmith walked with Morse to the golden wall hundreds of meters away. More Iron Warriors who completed their signatures followed them methodically, like molten iron flowing through pipes and into a blast furnace. Countless engines spewed thick smoke around them, and the smoke was sucked away by the huge machines above. As far as the eye can see, thousands of recording and inspection drones beep and cast shadows over the machines. At the heart of all the machines, a huge seat is wrapped in pipes and cables.

"You know who's going to greet you, Bill?" Morse said, glancing up at his helmet. Bill cautiously thought Morse was smiling.

"I don't know," he said again, even though it had become a rejection of the truth. He should have learned to reject this kind of cowardice that ignores reality in the long battle, but this time it was different.

"Perhaps poets always lie before they are exposed to the truth behind the veil of the world." Morse said, "Don't be nervous, I am not targeting you. I just like to bring more people into the scope of my criticism."

They waited until all the warriors had placed themselves in the contract, and Malcador walked towards the door with his contract documents.

The buzz of electricity became a kind of silence surrounding the bright hall. Bill keenly caught more words emerging in his heart during this blank waiting. He pushed them away, not wanting to let too many delicate feelings untimely. He became different from his battle brothers.

Morse raised his hand, and the golden light shattered a chain emerging from the void, and Malcador's scepter shattered another. In the hall, all the members of the Mechanicus and the mortal servants turned their heads and turned their backs to the golden wall, not daring to look directly at the scene behind the wall. Bill's throat rolled, and some sweat dripped from his palms.

The golden wall opened in front of him, and he realized at this moment that this magnificent relief, hundreds of meters high, was not a decorative wall, but a huge door that could make anyone's mind shake. He felt awe-inspiring, and then he found that his body was shaking.

Behind the golden gate, a figure stood in the middle of the milky white mist and the endless road, waiting for the soldiers to meet.

A hot touch penetrated Bill's armor, brushed against his skin, and dissolved all the doubts and fears in his heart.

Standing before him was an incomparably glorious figure, the greatest king and leader in human history. He could not see everything about the Emperor clearly. He could only perceive a pair of black gold eyes like lightning flashing across the sky, sharp and hot, revealing an unshakable determination and strength. Only the best craftsmen in the entire history could use forged steel to simulate one ten-millionth of the strength and calmness of this face, because Bill knew that he was being ignited by the unparalleled fearlessness and belief conveyed by this face.

His figure is extremely tall, surpassing all scales and standards, like the first star of hope rising in the night sky. From the shawl wearing a golden leaf crown to the black hair, to the majestic chest, to the noble golden boots, there is no trace of it. Everywhere is radiant and brilliant, exuding a beauty and charm that transcends the ordinary. In front of such a sacred and majestic existence, Bill couldn't help feeling small and humble. This is the embodiment of perfection, the pinnacle of gold and steel. The longing for beauty that every poet can follow is fully satisfied at this moment. Ever since man picked up the first seashell from the beach, no king has been more noble and worthy of admiration.

He fell to his knees, as dazed by the Emperor's presence as any other battle-brother.

Then tears welled up in his eyes and fell down his face into the base of his helmet.

It wasn't because of the Emperor's gaze. This is because another figure quickly walked out of the mist. It was not as tall and dazzling as the Emperor, but his open arms and familiar serious face brought warmth and surprise that penetrated deeper into the Iron Warrior's soul. All worries turned into a breeze, and Bill could hardly imagine how many of his brothers would hesitate for more than a tenth of a second if they learned that this mission was such a unique and supreme opportunity.

"You are here, my Iron Warriors." Perturabo was wearing a robe woven with silver threads, and his steady voice seemed to be able to hold up his children's souls that melted under the emperor's golden light. "We will complete the next task together."

No matter what the task is. Bill thought he would have nothing to fear. He would gladly accept whatever he faced, as long as Perturabo himself led it. He had even forgotten to wonder how his father could be in two places at the same time, and Perturabo was here. This is the answer to everything.

"What mission?" Mors said softly. "Perturabo, how about you explain it to them?"

Perturabo paused for a moment and lowered his outstretched arms. At the Emperor's nod, the Iron Lord spoke: "You are here today to build a vital road in the entire galaxy. If this road is clear, humanity will be reconnected."

"Also, I hope you'll accept what I'm about to say."

The Iron Warriors await the Gene Father's orders. They were determined to give it all.

Perturabo said: "First, you need to accept long-term cooperation with a green alien race. They are called orcs."

——

"Give this information to Kada Big Bone... no, give it to Nador Connor." Perturabo looked up from the pile of documents. After finishing the first half of the sentence, he realized that he had reported the wrong name of his subordinate. This was an absolutely incredible thing for the Primarch, who was known for his powerful thinking ability.

He gritted his teeth and watched his son leave with the confusion he tried his best to conceal. He knocked on the table in annoyance and then waved his hand.

In order to prevent the tabletop from being damaged and left un repaired when Morse was away, which would affect the original body's calm image, the table was specially reinforced, which also caused its reaction force against Perturabo to be a bit too strong.

Ever since Morse supervised his Iron Warriors entering the Webway to begin their exploration mission, the craftsman seemed to have found a new kind of fun - and to Perturabo's surprise, his fun was actually based on common sense. Positive preference.

"Sculpture, philosophy, painting, architecture, language, machinery, poetry..." Morse tapped on the blackboard, "Yes, poetry is specially mentioned for you, our "good captain" Bill. You want to learn it in your free time. What, tell me, I can talk about it when I’m free.”

Why didn't Morse have such a good temper towards him back then?

He shook his head and reluctantly accepted the reasons given by Morse, such as "literary and artistic activities can effectively calm the warriors who are particularly irritable after getting along with the greenskins" - where are those children irritable? Ever since they knew that their genetic father was also on the Internet, their daily work enthusiasm was simply terrifying.

He knew that this was entirely because these cubs were more obedient than he was back then, which gave Morse a simple and happy sense of accomplishment.

As the Web Channel project further developed, he himself had to handle almost double the number of files. At the same time, he had to spend time dealing with many inexplicable little things, such as the document in his hand, which was a report sent from Dorn.

In a rare letter, his stoic brother revealed that he was at odds with some of the World Eaters - and it was none of his business! Can he control Angron? Just like last time, he went to Angron about the gladiatorial arena and persuaded him to stick to his guns and stop the legion's gladiatorial trend. But Angron accepted the advice of his heirs and brothers and sisters, but not his true brothers.

Perturabo shook his head, suppressed his distracting thoughts, and began to write a new notice.

Even though he has two bodies, he is still thinking about the same soul and will. He must announce that he will "invest more energy into more important tasks" to avoid today's occasional chaos from recurring again, and at the same time return these miscellaneous trivial matters that have nothing to do with the Iron Warriors themselves to the two The Primarch who is truly responsible for it.