Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Robert Guilliman paused beside the hourglass in Macragge's chamber.

The hourglass is more than a foot high and is placed on a small metal table on the side of the hall. The base is tightly embedded in the circular groove carved with abstract plant patterns in the center of the small table. Under the daily wiping by the senate attendants, the iron The bright silver frame and the exquisite textures on its surface transform into a storm condensed within the metal.

Within the frame, in the transparent crystal, all the fine sand has already passed through the pores in the center, and accumulated into sand dunes at the bottom of the hourglass.

No one will turn over this hourglass, because being an expensive craft is its value. It does its job and does it well. No one will take the risk of destroying the hourglass - even if the risk is so small that it does not need to be really counted, to flip it over and let the fine sand fall and arrange again, and after a long period of gravity, it will fall into a pile of Brand new sand dunes that seemed the same before.

In theory, if an action does not change something that needs to be updated, it does not need to be implemented.

Robert's eyes traveled across the floor of the Senate House, and the silence at the entrance to the hall was conveyed to him as the message itself.

There was no one around, so he lifted the two chairs aside and quietly sat down on the smooth floor that had been cleaned in the morning, so that his huge body could fit into the average height of the table here.

He placed the documents recording the battle reports of the Thirteenth Army over the years on the long table and unfolded them one by one. The red and blue ink used for marking followed the paper and gradually occupied enough space on this long oak table. Dense annotations, numerous outlines, and neat black printing form a huge maze. When his fingers move suspended on the surface of the paper, it is as if he is searching for a distant exit in this maze.

The Thirteenth Legion is an independent legion whose organizational structure is strictly loyal to the requirements of the "Battle Strategy Basics". In the structure of the Legion, Robert Guilliman saw echoes of the early standard model of the Legion, where the Emperor and perhaps himself had a council or a group of advisors to focus on.

The soldiers of this legion were organized into companies of a thousand men, and ten companies were merged into a battle group.

In addition, many companies are equipped with a large number of extermination weapons: destructive kinetic energy weapons that cause direct explosions, white phosphorus rockets that spread combustion and destruction, and ruthless radiation-generating devices. Behind every Gothic word, adorned with prefixes and suffixes, lies a civilization's collapse.

Robert's finger paused on a word circled in blue ink.

Children of War.

This is their first nickname and second name.

The Pampokro tribe near the equator, the war families in the Saragon enclave, the nest of Midafric and the cannibal tribes in the Caucasus. These warriors come from different regions of Terra, but they were reborn under the forge of war. A whole - the origin of the nickname defines the legion itself. Language and symbols frame and simplify a concept that is difficult for the mind to express.

When they were given the name Sons of War, no one could see their former appearance, their broader personalities and the possibilities for the future besides war. All people can see or feel is the word "Children of War", even themselves.

Roboute Guilliman was worried about this.

He put away his papers, returned his chair, and headed to his office before people started looking for him.

Thirty minutes later, the guards will knock on his door. At this time, he will ask to change his clothes and put on a set of sky-blue and gold-rimmed armor that Jotun selected for him, using a green leaf laurel wreath to symbolize that he is a person and not the Macragge Council. status members met with the military. His army met him on three-quarters of Macragge's rocky terrain, outside the site of what had once been a large military academy, before witnessing the heart of Macragge's prosperity. Get to know the desolate mountains of the Primarch's home planet.

He would review each of their company commanders, respect and praise their military organization, but then unapologetically assign them their own rules of war. He introduced Macragge's discipline, order and honor, expressed hope with orders, and asked the War Sons to learn Macragge's culture and change their views on civilization. The valley of Labonis will be divided among these warriors, and a fortress will be built, which will be named after Hera, making the warriors feel as if they have returned to the bosom of a second mother. Conor Guilliman said that he was inspired by a dream and found a blond baby next to the Hera Falls in the Labonis Valley. At that time, the mist from the mountain spring water fell on his face.

He was to speak as if he were standing in the Senate, with an emphasis on confidence, prudence, and honesty. He would appear calm and joyful for the first ten minutes of his speech, then he would raise his left and right hands simultaneously in a lifting motion, and then change his voice, deciding on the spot the balance between tolerance and severity based on their attitudes. Compare.

Finally he pledged himself to the Emperor's crusade, raising the spirits of his tens of thousands of warriors in a voice full of passion, declaring that his future exploits would bring glory to the War Sons - warriors he now knew had withdrawn from a world they would soon Participate in war missions in order to meet him. He didn't know how many complaints it contained about being forced to give up his achievements.

He planned it all.

When Robert Guilliman stepped across the hourglass, he looked at the fine sand sinking to the bottom, and suddenly stretched out his hand and turned the hourglass over.

The tracks pressed through the grass outside Macragge City, gravel was lifted up, and the wind stirred up dust. Through the window, Robert Guilliman saw the reflection of his face overlapped with the scene outside the window.

He heard the speech he had not yet started echoing in his ears: "To the human world that is still suffering in the places where the glory of the Milky Way has not reached, to the civilization that is enslaved by alien races and the cruelty of the natural or human environment, we will take Aid and innovation; we inflict annihilation and death on those who are hopeless enemies of ours. I, Robert Guilliman, the thirteenth scion of the Emperor, Lord of Mankind, hereby join us. The Imperium, my Legion, we will fight together in the Great Crusade."

He patiently calibrated every word in this set of manuscripts and used the best speech rules to perfect and adjust the cadence of each pronunciation. He wondered if Perturabo was as serious as he was when he tightened the last screw on his handmade machine. This was not a comparison. In fact, he thought it was a reflection of his excessive worry.

Wait, maybe he could add a line of liberation and kindness. Angron did not shy away from introducing the rope of triumph around his waist and all the sufferings related to it in the bath the night before. Then he can learn from his brother's known success stories.

The hatch opened in just the right spot, delivering the pristine rock to Robert Guilliman's feet.

He didn't ask for carpets, flowers, or special welcomes. In Macragge's cultural roots, before the growing prosperity of the Age of Strife had yet enveloped the planet, people valued self-denial, simplicity, and discipline, and were less interested in technological progress. Dependence is seen as disharmony and moral decline. Robert believes that this is the Macragge people actively weakening and reducing their spiritual needs when they are located in an environment with low material output, although there are still merits in it.

He saw some warriors waiting for him on the side of the vehicle. Robert suddenly discovered that the Children of War were shorter than he thought: he had indeed mistakenly expected some genetically modified, taller warriors, imagining that the top of their helmets might be even with his chin - but they were no taller than mortals. Too tall, isn't it?

Guilliman revised his thoughts again. When he made the final preparations in the next second, he walked towards these warriors from the legendary Terra, trying to discern their attitudes through their helmets and thick armor. . This was not a successful attempt, not even the Primarch had the ability to see through ceramite.

"Fighters, I am Robert Guilliman, your future commander." He gave a simple greeting to these soldiers who should be the captains of each company, and waited for a reaction.

The next moment, in front of Guilliman's suddenly stiff body, dozens of armored sergeants suddenly knelt down on one knee, and the unanimous cry resonated in the air for a long time: "Father!"

Father. The word triggered a sharp contraction in Robert's stomach. They were warriors, veterans, independent men, and judging from their battle records, most were even older than Guilliman himself. He almost imagined a bearded veteran like a Macragge polemicist calling his father, and began to mentally thank them for wearing their helmets.

"You are excellent warriors. Even if your genetic chain has something in common with mine, I know that you have biological biological parents..." Robert was about to continue to persuade the sons of war not to call him father, but an inconvenience came to him. A good premonition quickly seized him.

While he hurriedly classified this premonition into the objective experience generated by rationally analyzing the information obtained from the vast senses and integrating the conclusions in the subconscious, he changed his tone: "No matter what, from today on, you are my heirs."

The sound of rustling air came from these armors, and Guilliman quickly received a highly morale response: "Yes, my father!"

"Take me to my warriors, soldiers."

Robert hoped that the loud, accelerating heartbeat of his heart was not heard by these warriors with excellent hearing.

How did these soldiers call a stranger they met for the first time their father? At least he couldn't figure out how to do it without leaving his adoptive father, Conor Guilliman, behind when he called himself Emperor in the future.

Standing on the edge of a giant rock, more than 20,000 sons of war filling the entire valley seemed to be approaching him. They claim to be related to Robert Guilliman and consider themselves to be his descendants.

Robert let the rock beneath his feet support him and raised a hand to wave. Tens of thousands of people stared at him, tensing their nerves, breathing silence into the air, and the world shook slightly behind them. As Robert lowered his palm, a silent signal was given, and the Primarch heard the warriors' breathing.

There was a special power in the rhythm of their breathing, and through these inhales and exhales, visions of another world passed through the wheel of the primarch's senses, casting a dull maroon color on everything before them. He saw the turbulence of disaster on the surface of the planet, the riots and rebellions that were thrown into deathly silence, the bones melting under the radiation and the desolate land. The hatred and anger that spanned reality disappeared under the act of annihilation. The flames of war burned civilization into sand and deposited it at the bottom of the world.

Robert Guilliman took a deep breath. He calmed down, breathed with the legion, and carefully searched for the most appropriate image of himself among the legion.

He was not one of their brothers, and his legion was different from the three he had already seen. He doesn't really have an object to learn from. Conor Guilliman and Thalasha Yutun could not teach him, nor could his brothers.

This is his team, his subordinates, an extension of his strength and will. Every word he speaks next will be a definition of himself at the same time. The power of language will be unprecedentedly powerful, so that the summary he follows will be enough to provide tens of thousands of warriors who are more than mortals, and even countless people from now on. The foundation for a battle that takes place in all corners of the galaxy.

He felt nervous.

Then comes excitement.

Once these bright and powerful emotions are unearthed, they multiply quickly and vigorously, like young shoots turning over gravel and frozen rivers breaking the ice downstream.

Beginning with Macragge, throughout Ultramar, and continuing beyond Ultramar, the aggressiveness and determination of this army will be invincible, and the traits of restraint and discipline they will possess will help They become a retractable spear that expands the world.

A broader and more diverse civilization and a better life will spread as unstoppably as light, even though they now only have more than 20,000 people, and the imprint of the previous destructive war on this legion needs to be removed urgently - this Still a good start.

He began to feel hopeful about the future.

"Children of War," the Primarch spoke, the daylight lighting up the leafy laurel wreath on his head, his voice like a torrent, "I am Robert Guilliman."

"You came here to find my presence and wait for my command. But beyond that, I want to know if there are other reasons for you to come to Macragge. I want to know what kind of things you bring with you. An intention, a purpose, an assumption, or a belief in something.”

He gave a pause.

"I don't expect you to give me a precise and in-depth answer now, but I will tell you now. If you want to answer that you come for war, come for obedience, and come for destiny, then your arrival will become A meaningless waste and a pilgrimage with wrong assumptions, because what we are going to discuss next will have nothing to do with the battle itself.”

"I will not immediately change your existing establishment, nor do I intend to change your positions and titles. All specific combat practices will be carried out after the theory is verified."

"What happened here today is just a preaching. A guidance. Even a help. I hope everyone understands my intentions. Because I need you to truly understand the purpose of war, its operation process and the results it can achieve. This is the foundation of our future cooperation and the essence of behavior that our Corps will acquire through in-depth discussions.”

He thought of the hourglass, of its turning. The same handful of fine sand fell again.

"Before we begin, I will give you a new name. Ultramarines. Remember it. For from here my speech will proceed."