Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"I can't stand it anymore." Magnus said, helplessly scratching his red hair with his hand.

In fact, compared to the bright color of his hair, his skin is more of a pearly soft red, which is not vivid. Objectively speaking, it is a pleasant color. But in the arena, in the Court of Narni, his descendants who were fighting did not have such good luck with the color.

For example, that child, Iskandar Khayon, had his helmet replaced by a snowy field by his opponents, the World Eaters warriors with chains on their arms and wielding axes or flails. It was opened in the venue, revealing a face stained with bright red blood - it was indeed a dazzling bright red.

Khayon's gesture of wielding Verid, the battle ax from Fenris, is heroic, but if he fights against a legion that is particularly good at close combat, it will inevitably be dwarfed. He was knocked into the cedar tree behind him by his opponent, and the tree collapsed under its weight.

Through some extraordinary abilities that he unleashed in theoretical life-and-death moments, Khayon knocked away his opponent's weapons. So he got himself a hard punch that hit the flesh.

Looking at the entire venue, Kayon is already the last person standing among the scholars of Thousand Dust Suns.

The other World Eaters present maintained some kind of politeness that they didn't know whether to say good or bad. They formed a circle near the place where Khayon was fighting his opponent. They all folded their arms in front of their chests and said nothing. Watching in silence.

Magnus didn't know what Kayon was thinking now. Anyway, he was letting out a deep sigh that seemed to come up from the depths of the ocean planet.

"Who is that?" Magnus asked, "I mean, the one who is having a fight with my heir..."

He was silent for a few seconds, trying to search out some words from his great mind that was dedicated to thinking about larger and more complex research projects that could save some face for his heirs.

"...a fair fight between warriors." Magnus finally chose the word.

Perturabo came up with the answer during the identity verification conducted by more than a dozen elite members of the World Eater Legion before entering the Court of Narni.

"Leovan Firefist," Perturabo said.

"Okay," Magnus muttered softly. "In my own legion, I have tried to strengthen their close combat capabilities! I have told them that psionic power cannot be used as the only means of combat at any time... psionic power is a dangerous choice, A moment of lost choice. Just like you wouldn’t build a building on a shaky foundation; at least you wouldn’t build all your buildings on unsafe places, right?”

"Unless absolutely necessary," Dorn said, and Perturaboga nodded once more.

He had a hunch, no, this wording was more suitable for the endless great prophet Coze instead of him. Then, he had an experience summarized through past experiences, that is, Magnus was going to...

"Some of my scholars have become good warriors." At this point, a smile flashed across Magnus's face, and his eyes that changed color finally settled into a jade-like green, glowing . "I think you all know that in the last one-month exchange training, several of my genetic sons, using appropriate auxiliary psychic powers, were able to gain some upper hand over the wolf pups of Fenris in close combat. …”

"I think you've mentioned it a thousand times, Magnus," Perturabo emphasized expertly, "It's almost time to catch up with Russ's wine story."

"Not that much," Rogal Dorn corrected from the side. "First of all, Magnus did not mention this in every meeting we had. Secondly, the number of times we met was far from a thousand. "

"Well, to be precise, after the incident of that group of scholars disobeying orders and escaping from the Space Wolves Legion all the way back to the Wan Zhang Ray, the number of our meetings was far less than a thousand times. Now it's my turn to correct you, Rogal Dorn.”

Perturabo turned his head and looked at Morse on the other side. The black-clothed craftsman is currently another permanent member of the observation room in the Court of Narni. After all, no one can stop him from starting from any place and going to any other place.

Maybe the Emperor can do it. But the Emperor remained in the Webway, studying his new path.

"Why are you looking at me?" Morse held his quill in his hand and briefly raised his head from the pile of parchments. Then he pointed with the tuft of feathers at the tip of his pen to where the screen was. "I guess they're not done yet, are they?"

"Do you think it's necessary to call a halt, Magnus?" Perturabo asked. Everyone knew that Iskandar Khayon, who was already lying on the ground, could not suddenly show off his power and defeat the World Eater Fire Fist in front of him.

Magnus breathed quietly and thought for a second. Then, he pushed up the red and black framed monocle that matched the skin tone of his left eye.

By the way, he added a replica of Perturabot's special monocle to each of his spare bodies.

"No need," said the Primarch. "He can overcome it all. Before he is a scholar, he is a warrior of the Emperor."

As he spoke these words, there was a strange softness in Magnus's usually agile expression.

"So, don't change the subject," he continued. "Morse, what happened in your new script? Perturabo said that you are looking forward to this script. What mythological scene is it based on that has been seriously tampered with?"

"Well..." Morse nasally said, "This time it's not a myth. It's based on reality."

Perturabo folded his hands in front of his legs and leaned forward.

"I finally remembered that when you first asked Ying to write the script, were we talking about writing a historical drama about Terra, not a mythological drama?"

"This is not even a mythological drama!" Magnus patted his leg and spoke significantly faster. "In any classic, there is no mention of a connection between Medusa and Salome! Except that Salome and Perseus both chopped off the other person's head!"

Apparently, in his spare time while he was away from Olympia for some additional, separate, clandestine construction work on Terra, Magnus had been thinking about the script Morse had written.

"Don't stick to book knowledge, dear Magnus," Morse said. "Think of it this way. In ten thousand years, the stories we are experiencing now will be transformed into myths and legends. We The stories told will also be part of the new mythology.”

"So, is that what you are rewriting?" Perturabo asked, his tone seemed to be the same as his usual calm and restrained tone.

At this time in the Court of Narni, Khayon finally received his last punch, ending this unfortunate battle. After his consciousness was reshaped, he still limped a little as he strode up to Leovan Firefist, stretched out a stiff hand to his opponent, and reluctantly tried to show his friendliness and respect for him. Battle recognition.

The consciousness of Magnus also appeared in the field, encouraging him to fight to the last moment; but Magnus was still by the side of Perturabo and Rogal Dorn, proving his proficiency in multitasking. degree.

"What?" Magnus asked, his eyes turning a curious light orange, "Do you know anything?"

"Is that what you're talking about?" Rogal Dorn asked, remembering something Perturabo had mentioned before.

"Which thing?" Morse let the ink float on his hand, stained with a little new ink. His tone of voice perfectly matched his normal state.

"I think you know what I'm talking about, Morse." Perturabo said, and all the clues Morse had revealed earlier were fitting together in his mind like gears and chains.

Seriously, he had wanted to ask about this for a long time, and if Morse was even willing to write it into the script, then he believed that his asking would not trigger any objections.

"If you don't explain what it is, how can I be sure what you are talking about?" Morse glanced at him and raised the corners of his mouth slightly. The quill in his hand turned into a pen, allowing him to use the end of the barrel to support his jaw. "Do you want me to read your mind?"

Magnus blinked inexplicably, and his consciousness, which presided over the warriors from both sides shaking hands and making peace one by one in the Court of Narni, also began to blink.

"You don't need to read my thoughts. You should know that there are not many historical events that I will ask you about in a cryptic way." Perturabo's two hands rubbed against each other, as if he felt a little cold - —Even though he is now in the central core of the Cheorwon, which is thermostatically controlled.

Morse softened the sharp aggression in his smile.

"I know you are curious about me personally, Perturabo," he said, "but now we have created a puzzle that has puzzled Magnus from afar. Why don't we compare our guesses one by one, How about inferring what each other is thinking about inside their brains?”

Rogal Dorn nodded silently. "It doesn't seem to be what you guessed, Perturabo," he said directly.

"We cannot guarantee that this is a tactic designed to target the psychology of the original body." Perturabo was unwilling to give up this rare opportunity. "I will go first. This happened thirty thousand years ago."

Magnus pressed his temple on one side and looked back at the storage hall of thoughts in his mind. His active mind immediately moved out a virtual ladder and moved to the point corresponding to the historical records of Ancient Terra 30,000 years ago. in front of the bookshelf.

"Correct," Morse replied easily, "and it's not as far back as thirty-five or six thousand years ago. That's at least the Emperor's business."

"Emperor?" Magnus tossed this new acquisition into his knowledge bank.

"After the two myths you have written."

"Correct, let's be more direct. We can roughly say that this happened during the Roman period." Morse tapped the parchment and turned it into some more modern representation, such as a data pad.

To this day, many people still believe that parchment is a safer, more reliable and even cheaper information carrier than cogitators or data tablets, and is also more durable than standard paper products. They cultivated this kind of paper from the breeding tanks of the agricultural world. The industrial supply chain of parchment has supported countless planets and families, and has even become the start-up or even the mainstay of some giant commercial companies.

"This incident...affected the historical direction of Rome."

"Yes. In a sense, it is still a scar at the intersection of old and new history."

Magnus obviously thought of something and smoothed his lush red hair with his fingers to hide his proud expression. "I guessed it," he said.

Perturabo breathed out. "A dramatic murder?" he asked.

"Correct." Mors applauded Perturabo gently. "Although I bet you're still wrong."

Magnus raised his right hand, "Caesar was assassinated, right?"

"No..." Perturabo trailed off.

Morse took out a bottle of champagne from the air and threw it to Magnus: "Congratulations, that's it."

"This..." The Iron Lord's expression was frozen in an inappropriate way. It seemed to be mixed with multiple complex modalities such as surprise, understanding, regret, etc., which was enough to support a complicated micro-expression analysis teaching record.

Roger Dorn picked up a grape from the fruit plate and said calmly: "It's not what you guessed, Perturabo."

"It's a pity, Lord of Iron," Morse cheerfully projected the words he wrote onto the screen used by Perturabo to show the interior of the simulated world. Anyway, no one cares about the Sun of Thousand Dusts now. They shook hands with the World Eaters one by one with bared teeth and no dignity.

"No matter what you guess, my script will only be about the death of Caesar. Of course, to some extent, of course I will refer to Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar". You know Shakespeare, right? His ancient literary works are now They were scattered all over the galaxy. Even the handle at the door of the energy furnace in the Forge World may have been carved with two lines of binary Shakespeare by some boring Mechanic..."

"Hey, I guessed it right," Magnus repeated.

"Yes, you guessed it right." Perturabo nodded, making Magnus give him a proud smile with satisfaction.

"But," he changed the topic, "you know exactly what I'm talking about, Morse, and you also know the content of my speculation."

"Yes, I know exactly what it is." Morse said, his tone returned to a gentle tone, even more tolerant than usual.

The pen disappeared from his hand, and the fingertips of his hands touched each other.

"Would it surprise you if I admitted it? Would you believe it if I denied it?"

"Both," Perturabo answered tactfully. Morse was slightly dumbfounded.

"Okay," he said. "All right."

This made Magnus's complacency once again dissipate like the morning mist of Tizca. He looked to Rogal Dorn in confusion with his eyes. Of course, Rogal Dorn would not give anything beyond the capabilities of a boulder. respond.

"But in any case, you haven't touched on the particularly subtle point of this matter." Morse shrugged his shoulders, put down his crossed legs, and walked towards Perturabo with the data pad, "So, Let's take a look at the script. I strive to have all the Primarchs appear in all our scripts, so as not to travel countless light years to Olympia in vain, and we don't have many scripts left, so..."

He flipped the script to the credits: "I chose the script that could accommodate the largest number of people."

"Roger Dorn plays Julius Caesar; since Horus Luperkar himself is not here, let him play the conspiracy leader Caius Cassius; Vulkan was forced to accompany Caesar but was Mark Antony was taken away; Angron is not here either... let the World Eaters act as extras."

"What about me?" Magnus asked warily.

"Are you there too, Brutus? Then fall down, Caesar!" Morse patted the arm of Magnus, who was approaching to read the script, friendly. "You are Caesar's friend Brutus." , Magnus.”

"You really have a bad heart, Mr. Morse." Magnus bent down depressedly and patted Morse on the shoulder, "Then let me play the bad guy. The Olympians will not think of me anymore. Is he a bad person?"

"Being a bad guy on stage is not necessarily a bad thing. You can't believe how high Ferrus and Conrad have become among the people of Olympia recently," Perturabo said. After receiving Morse's previous hint, he showed a joy that was rare for him personally, "I believe you can play well, come on, Magnus."