Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"Are you talking about this... color-blocked gown?" A string of low laughter emerged from the depths of Conrad Coates' throat, lingering in the small room that was temporarily converted into a dressing room, and finally passed to In the ears of three Primarchs.

He stretched out his fingers, put a corner of the robe between his fingers and rubbed it gently, as if he was reminiscing about the unique touch when the robe connected with his skin.

"Beast skins, my friends." He twitched his hand briskly, letting the robe swing back into the cabinet, colliding with other leather materials. "I used the best beast skin bags harvested during the hunting process to sew mine. Clothes.”

Fulgrim's thin eyebrows were slightly twisted into a set of arcs on his perfect face. Maybe it was not a good thing to let Konrad Curze tell these nonsense, but exposing his brother's obvious lies might also bring some trouble. Come to worse results.

Those human skins hanging on the street lamps and the eaves of the minaret had not faded from his mind in the past ten minutes.

"Do you really like this material?" Phoenix asked tactfully, sincerely hoping that there was nothing in his tone that could offend Coz, "This seems to be the only clothing material in your cabinet."

"I also had a choice." Cozz pushed aside a few leather coats, bent down, picked up a few children's pajamas with lace and onyx and spinel from the bottom of the cabinet, and threw them back in disgust.

After thinking about it, he picked up the clothes again, opened the window, wrapped a small gift box as a counterweight directly from the window and threw it, letting these things fly into the trash can outside his backyard.

"But would you wear these clothes? No, no normal person would inlay too much jewelry into..." Curze's eyes glanced at Fulgrim, and suddenly, with a little hesitation, "... On yourself?"

"No one would," said Ferrus, his eyes like two polished silver coins of tranquility and power, containing nothing but the face of his interlocutor. "Fulgrim has his perfection, And we have our own. However, your aesthetic seems to be more special, Primarch."

"I hope you can accept it," Curze said suddenly.

"Oh my God..." Fulgrim took a breath. He felt that most of the frown he had spent this whole year was spent on today. "I always feel that when we first meet, I should use some noble principles to talk to you. , It’s very disrespectful and rude, but I can’t always give in to you, really, Conrad.”

"What do you think?" Curze asked, studying Fulgrim's facial expression intently, as if he knew himself better than the Phoenix. "A third Primarch? Speaking out to me will make you lose your bearings." If so, I would like to apologize to you in advance for my behavior. Unfortunately, the future I see does not really belong to our world.”

He laughed again. This low laugh could not be suppressed at all. Coz quickly lowered his lips and said, "I really want to know what kind of people my... friends are in today's glorious days."

He stroked the leather-stitched robes again, his fingertips lingering on the midnight blue-dyed surface. "I did it all," he whispered.

"Okay, this is what you asked me to say, Conrad. If you must take the skin of those people, from a legal or righteous perspective, what can I say against you?"

Phoenix's soft voice contained a trace of complaint.

"But after this behavior, what message did you want to send? To intimidate? To emphasize? To strengthen your control over Nostramo? After doing this, why did you bring these things to the public? Into our first meeting?”

"Then, when can I reveal the truth?" Coz said without pause, like throwing out a series of links, "I pretended to be tolerant and kind, and removed the dead people from the streets one by one. I force people to reopen the market and welcome you all. While we are chatting happily, wait until you suddenly find out what kind of clothes I am wearing under my black waterproof cloak."

"Conrad Coates," a voice as serious as stone suddenly fell into the center of this dense and endless conversation, "this is not human skin, although it looks like it. But it is more delicate and flawless."

Roger Dorn suddenly spoke, looking directly at Konrad Coates, his light-colored eyes seemed to contain two cold-colored golden lamps.

On his waist wearing golden armor, a golden skull was pierced by an iron chain and hung firmly on his side, facing the long sword on the other side. This skull was unknown to Curze.

"I don't understand why you're implying this," he asked calmly, every word clear and understandable. "Combining your previous speeches with Fulgrim, I think the purpose you want to achieve is to observe the tolerance limit of our three Primarchs for your behavior. Currently, the known conditions I have obtained are limited, so I cannot "Continue to extrapolate what you're going to do next, but I hope our conversations will have a more open and transparent nature."

Ferus immediately re-examined the texture of the leather, which was obscured by dye, even though he remained silent.

After a moment, he nodded slightly and admitted that Rogal Dorn was slightly better in this observation challenge.

"Of course, not human skin. I said it was a beast... forget it." Curze said vaguely, shoulders slumping. He closed the closet door and leaned against the surface of the huge homemade iron cabinet, his interest suddenly waning. "Whatever you think, maybe I just want to scare you."

"You still haven't..."

Fulgrim glanced at Dorne. Dorne's hand moved to his golden skull and stopped midway.

Also stuck was the question of Rogal Dorn. He looked at the leather clothes, and his eyes gradually slid towards the iron cabinets containing the clothes, with no unnecessary expression on his face.

Fulgrim looked at the robes again with suspicion.

There was a very faint smell of human blood - he could not mistake that smell, still lingering on the surface of these cloths.

He moved closer to where Dorn was, and then he saw the hard-to-find miniature scent-emitting device hidden deep in the closet.

This surprised Phoenix for a while, and he didn't know whether he should feel unbearable that Curze used human blood to smoke his clothes, or should feel relieved that Curze didn't actually use human skin to sew clothes... Although invisibly, he Still vaguely, in this house, I feel a kind of violation that cannot be erased by reason.

Immediately afterwards, he discovered that his bottom line had indeed been lowered by Coze's tricks.

"Gosh," he muttered, "I don't know how to face you, Conrad." He noticed that Konrad Curze had always avoided using the word brother, which was very difficult for this aggressive man. Primarch, this was clearly not a coy one.

During this short meeting, Fulgrim had asked himself more than once, did Konrad Curze really want to return to the Empire? Or was there something, some kind of thinking, that was stopping him and intensifying his emotions?

"Confront me in any way," Cozz said, as if he wanted to say something more, but when the words came to his lips, he swallowed them again.

There was something unexplainably familiar about Konrad Curze's attitude towards Fulgrim. Several Primarchs present could feel this specialness, and Ferus patted Phoenix on the shoulder with his iron hand.

"I really hope that's not a dispute, Konrad," Fulgrim said.

"Okay, Rogal Dorn." Curze changed his attack target. Although from a behavioral point of view, he gave up challenging the easier one, and instead stared at a piece of land incomprehensibly and with great momentum. Jushi, "What did you want to say just now?"

"You still haven't explained the content behind your temptation." Donne continued his half sentence. He didn't want to be like Fulgrim, going back and forth with Konrad Curze. No matter what Curze did, he never seemed to waver. "This probably means that you think your secret cannot..."

"You're right. You're surprisingly sharp, Roger Dorn. Now, since this is my closet, and right next door is my bathroom, and I'm a big fan of cleanliness, yes, I'll order the outdoor The streets are kept absolutely clean. In this way, everyone, I have introduced you to the house where I have lived for twenty years.”

Conrad Coates threw out the last lines he had prepared, like a bad actor who has run out of patience. This behavior subtly brings out a kind of habitual coldness. His proficiency in this aspect is in sharp contrast with the unfamiliarity facing visitors from the empire behind his exaggerated performance.

"If you have any questions, ask me now. Later, according to the clock, this Midnight Star will enter dinner time. The number of soldiers you brought is so great that my subordinates had to switch from preparing lunch to preparing lunch for them. Dinner."

"You won't take the initiative to tell your secrets, you can't trust us." Dorn said, calmly accepting Kurtz's attitude. The latter seemed to be a little stung by this, and the expression that flashed across his face was similar to that of confusion. Or maybe it's a regret.

Rogal Dorn continued: "So, I have another question that has nothing to do with your secret. I want to know, enter Nostramo, except me, Ferrus Manus, Fulgrim Mu, and our guards, and possibly the interplanetary traders, are you the only one not native to this place?”

"What does this mean?" Coz's back bowed slightly.

"I'm not sure." Dorn's armor-pierced fingers touched the golden skull at his waist again, which was a subconscious movement. "If you understand what I mean, tell him or them, Perturabo... It’s been a long time coming.”

"Emperor, when did your stone brothers start playing this game of 'if you understand, you understand, if you don't understand, you don't understand'?"

In the poker airship of the believers of the Laughing God, Morse pushed away the monitor screen as if he was ready to roll over, then put on a show, crossed one leg, and told his fixed joke dryly.

Since the cooperation with Gemo, the incarnation of the Laughing God has disappeared, leaving only this group of pied elves who have lost the care of their gods. They are dragged by Morse and held beside him, euphemistically saying, "We must continue to let them help." Transport Map Chucha Engine".

Mechanical Perturabo was slightly startled by Rogal Dorn's words, and his movements slowed down. "I don't know." He said, even the mechanically synthesized human voice could not completely cover up the lump in his throat.

"I think……"

"I mean……"

The two looked at each other, and then Perturabo made a gesture toward Morse.

"I mean, we probably better get back to Terra soon, right?" Morse said. "Looks like someone's been thinking about us for a while."

"Yes." Perturabo's mechanical eyes and artificial eyes looked at Morse at the same time, confirming this.

Morse rubbed his hands together and snapped his fingers casually. The first time, the rubbing cloth didn't move enough air. He calmly mobilized the hidden runes to delay the sound.

"This is not my problem." He said quickly, "Do I want to leave without saying goodbye? No, of course not. And we also sent Alpharius back to report the message. This is not even leaving without saying goodbye, but a known incident. Travel far."

"Once Konrad Curze and all his endless fears are over, it will be time for us to run back to Terra and continue our hard work for the Emperor. I have to be ready..." He tapped his toes rhythmically. Shaking.

"Before this, if you think there is no problem based on your understanding of yourself and Dorne, we can also notify the Iron Warriors in advance through Dorne..."

"I will," said Perturabo. "The items he was carrying demonstrated his credibility."

"The skull, right?" Morse snorted, this time with a slightly weaker breath than usual. "I hope that thing helps him more than...wait, I forgot about this." He patted his leg.

"What?"

"Oh, the bad news before... I think Conrad's little secret will no longer be hidden soon. Fortunately, he thought of trying to play house here. The news is here, big robot."

The troupe director, whose real name is still unknown, walked into the command room occupied by the imperial people empty-handed, said hello listlessly, and spoke in a matter-of-fact way, speaking as straightforwardly as possible in Gothic.

"Both of you, you also know that Victor is following the webway all over the galaxy to recover his Dark Eldar, taking the blood relatives who happened to be wandering outside during the Gemor unrest, and throwing them all back to Youdu to be judged, right?"

"The fact that he did not go to your ark to arrest people only shows that he is at the peak moral stage of his life."

"Well, I have good news here. Due to lack of manpower, Victor is getting beat up himself."

"Who can capture the cunning Risen One?" asked Perturabo.

"A huge black-skinned giant with red eyes, and his green-armored Astartes who were born in fire." The troupe leader said. When the black-skinned giant was mentioned, the mask turned to Perturabo, as if making some kind of comparison, " In the wild world of Ibsen.”

"Victor just escaped back to orbit, pretending that there was not too much blood under his helmet. However, he was obsessed with the local wild Eldar and asked if it was possible to save a few world singers... Of course, you completely ignored it, Victor will also find ways to get rid of the pursuers behind him, but how come our blood relatives who grew up eating grass still have such good intentions and are so close to you humans?"