Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"You didn't tell me at the beginning that your brother and your brother's legion were coming to Olympia. I didn't prepare so many dormitories and camps..."

Callifon shook her head slightly, because there were only Mors and Perturabo in the room, and she had already placed the heavy iron crown on the newly repaired wooden table. This is better for her cervical spine.

"It doesn't matter, just let them rest on their respective ships. If the place to stay is really not enough, my own warriors can let them rest in their own special houses in the Olympia Star Cluster, and come back when needed. Lokos collection.”

Perturabo stopped wandering in the empty workshop, silently moved a wooden table across from Callifon, carefully moved his weight to the wooden table, sat down, and leaned over.

"I hope they won't have another problem such as indoor network truncation, causing the data board to be unable to connect and receive signals. In the end, it was discovered that they connected experimental equipment indiscriminately indoors and caused the lines to fuse." He snorted, because the dust in the room had been mopped up. Erls waved his hand to clear it, just blowing some air. "This is simply another breakthrough in the creative lower limit of the Iron Warriors Memorial Museum."

"This makes me a little curious about what their statues were carved into," Morse returned to the table, holding a piece of wooden material and a knife in his hand, and casually carved a ball. "How to express it vividly and statically?"

"The Astartes who came home with free drinks, and the technical sergeants who are repairing the lines." Perturabo simply introduced, "In any case, thank you for your efforts, King Califon."

"I accept, Primarch." The Queen lowered her head and simply completed the dialogue between the two leaders from a more overall perspective. "The Olympia Cluster is also deeply grateful for the Empire's trust."

"Okay, Callifon." Perturabo stretched out his hand and let the queen hold one of his fingers. The two shook hands like this, with an identical smile on their faces at the same time.

Then Perturabo withdrew his hand and sat more relaxed on the table.

"Riding, archery, wrestling, long-distance running, throwing, and throwing the ball into the prescribed place... Since it is the first sports meeting, these easy-to-do events are suitable enough." He said.

"The cargo channels have also been cleared and confirmed, Abo." Callifon put his hands on his legs with a calm posture, "There is no need to worry about the sanitation environment and volunteers. The entire Olympia, and even the surrounding star clusters, attach great importance to this event. …Since the construction of the Cheorwon, this is the first time my meditator has been ringing like this, and the parchments are almost filling up my palace.”

Perturabo smiled and said, "Throw away those rolls of paper that only show courtesy. Why not give the spare palace rooms to my brothers to live in temporarily."

"In addition, if there is free space, please also prepare a duel arena for the Astartes warriors. They may want to conduct some performance battles... Morse, you must make a lot of wood-cutting sounds. ?"

The sound of cutting finally stopped.

"Aquila, with the Queen here, you are going to kick me out of my house. How can there be such a mean and unfeeling Primarch in the world?" Morse put down the extremely thin and sharp knife, The black sleeves caressed the wooden ball, which looked almost the same as it did at first, except that it kept getting smaller.

This small force caused the wood chips on the surface of the wooden ball to fall off one after another, and the small wood and debris piled up on the table into a pile of volcanic ash-like embers. Mors blew on the remaining powdery debris of the wood carving and placed the hollowed-out carved product between Perturabo and Callifon.

A planet that is so fine that you can clearly see the undulations of the surface, and the planet surrounding the core. Several wooden rings that are nested in each other and can be flexibly moved on the outside form this precision work that is the size of a mortal palm. And he completed this work leisurely and leisurely, using only two digits of Terra minutes and a thin knife.

"A miniature version of the current Olympia," he said lazily, "and anyone who wants it can take it."

"Do you need to put it on your desk, Abo?" Callifon asked softly.

"I have the hologram of Olympia," Perturabo answered. "You have it on your desk, too, but I'll take it."

After that, he gently picked up the wooden sculpture, placed it in the palm of his hand, and let gravity drive the ring on the surface to rotate.

"Thank you, Morse," he said.

"You're welcome, it doesn't match your iron table and chairs anyway," Morse snapped his fingers, and the surface of the wood was immediately plated with a layer of gunmetal color, and the edges were raised with a storm of bright silver. "it's good now."

"I can also make another miniature sculpture of Olympia for you, Calliphon." said the craftsman. "What color do you want?"

The Queen did not refuse. "Thank you, Morse. The color of the wood will be enough and I will clear a new display cabinet."

She blinked, took the wooden crutches leaning against the table, and slowly supported her to stand up, slowly adapting to the change in posture.

Perturabo nodded to the iron crown on the table: "Can you wear it yourself?"

"I can ask my maid to..."

The Iron Crown was lifted up by a burst of blue light and landed on Callifon's head.

"You're welcome." Morse waved, and received a helpless smile and a restrained nod from the Queen.

"I will prepare you wine with honey," said Calliphon.

"I really didn't expect you to still remember. It seems that your memory is better than mine." Morse stood up. "Take less of those refreshing medicines, or at least get the necessary life-extending surgery. How old are you now? That's it. The cane never leaves my hand.”

"I will consider it." Kalifon declined politely. Morse shrugged and stopped insisting.

As a mortal, he received the education to manage a city - he was not even the original heir, but he was able to manage the entire star cluster in an orderly and harmonious manner for decades. Even though Morse never underestimated the former princess, Her dazzling achievements today still prove her unlimited potential.

For such a person, all her choices must be carefully considered by herself.

Perturabo estimated the time in his mind, knowing that some people might be about to end their tour and go to the Royal Palace of Lokos. To be precise, he thought it would be Rogal Dorn, Konrad Curze, and Magnus carried by Curze.

Rogal Dorn had always had a limited appreciation of landscape, which was not his cup of tea, and Conrad Curze... Perturabo thought he couldn't bear to wander in the sun for too long.

"We can return to the palace together." The Iron Lord also stood up with his new wood carving and lowered his head in the workshop to prevent his head from hitting something that would be broken. "It's time. Return now, we There is still time to introduce Morse to some of the scenery along the way.”

"Of course I won't refuse," Morse nodded and ran his hand through his hair. "What about after that, let your brothers bring the children...nephews? No, forget about these weird kinship titles. Let them also get to know each other, so as not to know each other in the ring?"

"It's a very good suggestion." Perturabo thought for a while and replied. "It happens to also allow the communicators exchanged between the legions to get the opportunity to see their respective Primarchs again. I believe they have been looking forward to it for a long time. "

——

"You defeated an Emperor's Son swordsman?" Perturabo was not often so surprised, but his surprise at this time was real. "In what way?"

"It's not a battle..." Iron Warriors Captain Sviatoslav Zimmerman, who was participating in the exchange among the Emperor's Children Legion, replied quietly.

After taking off the helmet, if he could be a hand taller, and if his hair and eye color were changed, no one would find it inappropriate even if he infiltrated the Emperor's Children. This was also the reason why Perturabo found him first when choosing communication learners.

"Okay," Perturabo patted the warrior's shoulder, raised his chin, and looked at Fulgrim opposite. "Which? Poetry? Drama? Painting? Sculpture?"

"Actually...cooking." Zimmerman's voice was lower, and he even seemed to regret mentioning it.

Before Perturabo could ask again, Fulgrim sighed, "Akulduna." He said. "I knew it."

"Your chief swordsman?" Perturabo remembered this name. He couldn't possibly know anything about the particularly famous figures in each legion. "What's so special about him?"

"It would be an incredible feat if your heir could teach him how to practice the theory of art, Perturabo." Ferrus said, "Even the World Eaters of Angron can do more than he can. More delicious food.”

"This is rare." Perturabo let go of the company commander who was reporting to him, thinking of the cooking skills of the green-skinned orcs under Angron. "Where are the others? Where are they?"

"My flagship is now mixed with many warriors of various colors," Konrad Coze sat sideways on his seat, spreading out his bright red leather cloak as his favorite temporary cushion. "They... are very interested in my royal court. Ha."

No one noticed when he came in, except perhaps Morse, who was playing with a new wooden ball.

"Your legion has just been rebuilt, and even I am very curious about it." Fulgrim said, "If I didn't have to observe the etiquette of being a guest, I might be traveling on your battle barge to watch."

"What's so good about that?" Conrad Coates said in disinterest, "I didn't design it, it was just an ordinary ship. The Glory Queen I want..."

He glanced at Perturabo, and after judgment, he felt that there was a large audience at this time, and it was definitely not a good time to speak directly.

"...it is also necessary for professional and talented people to contribute their precious intelligence in order to achieve the most exquisite and outstanding unique design."

Morse, who was making carving noises, laughed. His laughter emphasized his presence, and in turn reminded Fulgrim of something else.

The purple-robed phoenix turned to Perturabo: "Let's continue talking about the topic we just talked about. You said you want the opening ceremony to be performed by the Emperor's Children and the Iron Hands?"

"As a third-rate playwright this time, my exact words," Morse said, "are that I look forward to your appearance with Ferrus. Unfortunately, Perturabo thinks this is too much trouble for his dear brother, So he changed my request without authorization.”

"You can refuse," Perturabo said flatly.

"Well..." Fulgrim pinched his chin, "Art performances are often held on the Emperor's Pride. If the script is suitable, I really look forward to dressing up and performing in the theater hall you built yourself."

He pursed his lips and smiled, his eyes bright, "In this case, I have reason to invite you to personally take the trouble to design a unique grand theater for Chemos, the emperor's architect."

"I agree," Ferrus said.

Vulkan, who was free from the topic of art, joined the conversation: "I feel the expectation, brothers." He said sincerely.

“This reminds me,” Perturabo said, “that I want to expand the width of the seats in the first row of the Olympia Theatre.”

"I can help," said Magnus, who was at his side, touching the Iron Lord's arm, "if you need it, Perturabo."

"I will write the script into words later," Morse continued to carve his wooden ball. "It's time for me to practice handwriting. As for widening the seats, let Perturabo solve it in a real-life physical way. So. "How many types of Astartes are there on your ship, Konrad? This hall is a little too spacious."

"Your Fafnir Lane," Conrad glanced at Rogal Dorn, who was sitting upright, "your Altras Gnomion," Vulkan's Terran warrior, "your Iskandar Khayon, Magnus, I see you are not Perturabo's hand, and..."

"... Son of the Emperor, you have too many questions. You should not have come to me, nor should you question the Lord of Night."

The man wearing something similar to the red robes of the Grand Magus of the Mechanicus - the creature bent down and spoke Gothic in a strange accent, the metal spine that supported its body swam across the ground. Within its red robe, some appendages project dangerously sharp outlines.

The Astartes, whose body is covered in golden and purple armor, and whose limbs are also connected to each other with neural implants on the back, is not so much fearless as it is closer to a coldness stripped of emotions. He didn't seem to be interested in many things, but his unnecessary testing of the living things in front of him proved that he was indeed pursuing something.

"You are not of the Cult Mechanicus, Hexakaris," said the Emperor's Children, "nor of humanity. But your masters do not appear to have implanted their gene-seed into any aspirant human at this time. Who are you?"

"I am the slave of Konrad Curze," Hissakeris hissed, "his loyal follower, and you, you broke into the research room assigned to me by my master, Interstellar. Warrior. Now, get out."

"I know who I am, Hexakeris. I also know what I am doing. The secret hidden in the genetic code is the perfect final chapter of life and flesh, the combination of divine power and supreme technology. Art. Your existence reveals a corner of the supreme secret to me.”

The uninvited guest replied calmly.

"I will apply directly to Fulgrim and your master to communicate with you. There is no need to hide our academic discussions."

The old Haemonculus was silent for a moment and then said: "Before you get permission, disappear from my presence, Fabius Bayer."