Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Roger Dorn once again boarded the rail car leading to the innermost center ring of the Cheorwon, listening to the dull hum of the rollers sliding smoothly on the rails.

This huge space fortress, one-third the diameter of a planet, has many tunnels and pipelines built to transport goods and people.

As early as when the two of them worked together on the Phalanx to inspect, study, and repair the ancient space ship that was inherited from the dark technological era, Perturabo had individually referred to the examples given by the Phalanx. , that is, how to build suitable roads inside the giant space fortress.

He didn't entirely agree with that design, so he made his own preparations again.

Today, the design of the transportation lines inside the Cheorwon is quite similar to the basic transportation facilities in a glorious city. What Callifon said was true. This place was indeed not just a military satellite used for war, but also the prototype of the future ideal city imagined by Perturabo.

"Rogal Dorn, has Perturabo told you what he plans to use as the power source for this giant ship?"

Ferrus Manus was sitting in the middle of the frontmost bench in the same rail car, with a pair of silver arms folded across his chest.

Perhaps it is only in the fact that there are so few smiles on their faces that the Primarch of the Iron Hands and the Primarch of the Imperial Fists are particularly similar to a pair of blood brothers who come from the same origin - not necessarily, at least for both of them. The legion logos also have many similarities.

"You've been wondering about this for a long time, Ferrus," Rogal Dorn replied.

"Have you never explored it?" Ferus' eyes turned like mercury mirrors. "He has invited you to help activate the energy supply and allow Cheorwon to officially leave the Olympia low orbit and enter space."

"If Perturabo thought it was appropriate, he would not hide it without reason." Roger Dorn said, standing up from the back end of the carriage, walking to Ferus in the front, and continuing to stand. "If you feel interested, you can contact him directly and go to the energy supply room with me."

Ferrus was moved by the suggestion. However, after thinking for two seconds, he still shook his head: "Let's contact you another day. I need to go to Fulgrim's recuperation place now."

With his height, he was able to look straight at the site prompt screen located on the top of the carriage after standing up.

Ferus will leave this rail car at the corresponding station in the third sector ring wing, turn to the track connected to the outer ring through the covered bridge, and then find Fulgrim's location. At this moment, there are still about two minutes' drive until the transfer.

"He's recovering well, Ferus," Dorn prompted.

Ferus seemed to smile, and he lowered his arms around his chest. "I believe that."

——

"You came just in time, Ferus." Fulgrim's foot lightly pushed on the ground, causing his swivel chair to draw a beautiful circle smoothly, and stopped exactly when he was facing Ferus. "I just finished a game of chess."

After he moved some distance away, Akulduna, who was obscured by his figure, and the remnants of the Regicide Chess lying on the hospital bed were also revealed.

Since the Second Captain of the Emperor's Children has a low occupancy rate for the original size bed, the spare part of the hospital bed is now filled with playing cards, chessboards, local Olympian books, and sketches. Paper box produced from rubber crumbs.

"Who won?" Ferus glanced inside the room, his eyes lingering on Fulgrim's damaged injuries, and he slowly moved away after two seconds.

"Me, it's always me." Fulgrim raised his chin, "Come sit for a while?"

Ferus picked up the chair by the window and came over, putting down the chair without making a sound. Akulduna finally found the opportunity to speak: "Hello, Lord Primarch."

If the swordsman didn't kneel in respect, it was only because in his current state of recovery, the process of climbing out of the hospital bed to salute would have been particularly comical.

"You may call me by my name, Akulduna. You have proven your talent, courage and loyalty. Everything you have done for my brother is worthy of appreciation." Ferrus said to him, and then sat down .

"My pleasure, Lord Ferus." Akulduna gestured with a sky eagle in front of his chest. If he was wearing armor at this time, that would be where the eagle emblem would be on his chest.

Ferrus looked at Fulgrim. It was not often that he had such difficulty speaking.

Scars are honors and flaws. In the former sense, they enhance personal perfection; in the latter sense, they destroy individual flawlessness. He suddenly discovered the existence of this contradiction, and Fulgrim's acceptance of the scar.

"Do I need to do anything for you?" Ferrus asked.

"Of course, Iron Hands." Fulgrim chuckled.

Ferrus understood the pun immediately, and it was always easy for him to guess what Fulgrim was thinking.

At the same time, after Fulgrim was willing to make the request, Ferrus finally relaxed, and the haze that had been lingering in his heart quietly faded away.

"Do you still need a Gorgon's magic eye?" To be honest, it's not like he doesn't know how to joke.

"Oh, I don't want to turn anyone into stone yet." Fulgrim raised an eyebrow - after all, there was no eyebrow on the other side of his face. "One steel eye is enough, Medusa. How can I thank you?"

"The way it looks on your face proves that the Eye of Steel is more breathtaking than Magnus's colorful prosthetic eye that changes color every day." Ferus said, "Also, next time you are doing something big You could actually tell me before."

Fulgrim reached out and patted Ferus on the shoulder. "Of course," he said softly.

Then, he suddenly remembered: "Also, can you engrave this seal on my steel prosthetic hand?"

Fulgrim took out a drawing from a pile of drawings on the bed and handed it to Ferus.

Generally speaking, it was the single-winged emblem of the Emperor's Children, but Fulgrim added some small changes to the ends of the wings.

Its wings are no longer golden feathers, but burning fire.

——

When Magnus's tall red body walked into the library of the Glory Queen Ironblood of the Iron Warriors, all the Thousand Dust Sun warriors present felt something in their hearts and fell silent.

A few Iron Warriors didn't know why, and followed these knowledgeable scholars, maintaining the silence of a legion training while looking at each other.

Therefore, when Magnus actually pushed open the library door, he was almost amused by the strange situation in which there was no sound of books turning.

He sighed and locked the positions of several of his genetic descendants in the high-level vision: "You all come here."

Several red-clothed scholars who had changed into Olympia toga robes walked obediently from everywhere. The Iron Warriors finally sensed that something was wrong in the atmosphere, and one by one they leaned against the wall and slipped out from behind Magnus.

"Father," after everyone gathered in the open space in the center of the library, a Thousand Dust Sun said hesitantly, "At that time in the Court of Narni, we were not used to the combat environment in the snow, and we could not adapt to the complete cutting off of psychic energy. conditions of……"

"Originally, we were just fighting against phantoms. We didn't expect that real World Eater warriors would suddenly appear..." Another warrior swallowed.

Magnus lifted his robe and sat on the floor, unable to tell whether he was happy or angry. "Then what about those who were defeated before the real World Eaters warriors appeared?"

He glanced at these genetic children who were eager to cast spells and disappear on the spot, and found that Khayon was not among them - his perception told him that Khayon was in the communication room at this time. Well, he wanted to praise this outstanding heir in person for fighting to the end.

Magnus temporarily changed his words: "Trilslan, Snow, you two stay. Others, do your thing. Remember to train well with Perturabo's children."

The soldiers who were not called out quickly left, looking as if they were surviving a disaster.

"Sit down too, warriors." Magnus spread his palms flat and motioned for the two of them to sit down together in front of him. Soon, he found two space warriors who were restless and sitting stiffly.

"I thought you would be happy to see each other again after several years apart," said the Primarch. "I guess I'm not the type of person who always accuses others?"

"No, Father," Snow said dryly, "I'm glad to see you again."

"You look nervous, why?"

"Because...because we haven't even fought the first phantom." Snow's expression tended to be closer to that of his genetic father. "sorry."

Magnus let silence spread in the air that smelled of books and ink. He adjusted the light of his soul to reduce the oppression it brought to these genetic descendants.

"Don't say sorry to me, kid. I won't feel angry or ashamed because of this, even if Angron asked me to analyze two rounds of your battle videos piece by piece, until I had to promise him to reduce the mention of space wildness in the future. The wolf's cubs were beaten by us," Magnus sighed.

The two red-robed warriors looked like they were about to be strangled by their own clothes.

"I will not deny your talents or efforts in other areas," the Primarch continued, "although you really need to improve your hand-to-hand combat abilities."

"We are indeed a psychic army, and the use of psychic powers is an important part of our combat capabilities, but I don't want you to become helpless and avoid fighting after losing your psychic powers. Because this may also be true. The existing battlefield situation. For me, if you really fail in a mission due to this reason, that will be the moment when I can't bear it."

He paused.

"In addition, if you lose your combat effectiveness because of this and die under special circumstances, I will feel guilty about it."

"Father..." Another soldier, Trilslan, became choked up.

Magnus had no intention of making them cry like children.

Most of the Astartes participated in legion selection when they were children and teenagers, and have since deviated from the normal human growth path. From this perspective, they are indeed children in another concept.

So they called the Primarch their father.

Magnus suddenly thought of this.

He shook his head slightly and softened his attitude: "Okay, I believe you know what to do."

"We will participate in combat training more actively, father!" Snow responded positively.

"anything else?"

"Trying to improve your combat skills?" Trilslan asked hesitantly.

Magnus looked at them calmly, his eyes fixed in a gentle brown-black color. His tone was as gentle as a spring day: "Has the thesis topic been confirmed? I heard Perturabo say that you haven't started group discussions yet? Or are the specific requirements for the proposal report lost in the Star Communication?"

Trilslan's eyes turned red on the spot.

——

Konrad Curze finally lost interest in the latest conversation going on between Angron and Vulkan.

He didn't want to know how luxuriantly potatoes grew in Nuceria's sands, how much the annual output could feed the planets in the neighboring Ultramar sector, and how much each trade cycle could bring to Nuceria. Income.

The Blood Marquis tightened his hood and cloak, stood up from the table, and said lightly: "I'm leaving first."

"Okay," Vulkan smiled a little apologetically. When Conrad came to them, he thought his brother had suddenly become interested in their topic. "Are you going back to camp?"

"I'm going to find Perturabo," Curze answered.

After the final departure ceremony of the Cheorwon, he decided to immediately go to Baobao to confirm whether the white-feathered bird with the serial number next to his was really born in that desert. He had been in Olympia for a month.

In addition, his two Haemonculi, Hexakeris and the mistress of the Theater of Pain, Valkyra Uris, as well as the pharmacist in the Eighth Legion, just sent him news that his gene seeds are harmful to humans. The re-adaptation experiment finally found a breakthrough point.

Curze thought this was good news worth telling Perturabo to her face.

Before he left, Angron called to him.

"Conrad, I don't know how much happened in this incident, but you had a hand in it, right?"

Curze didn't answer, just turned around and looked at Angron.

"I believe you deserve a debt of gratitude, my brother." Angron looked at him intently.

Curze "tsk", crossed his arms, turned and left, his cloak billowing like black waves behind him. "It's just a coincidence," he said.

From the foot of Mount Telefus, Curze set out to return to the main city of Lokos, passing the camp of the Sons of the Muses on the way. He diverted to the communication station in the camp, preparing to inform Perturabo of his visit in advance, and then he discovered that someone was occupying the line in the communication station.

He squinted his eyes, held his chin, and stood outside the door to listen for a few words.

"...I'm Iskandar Khayon...Yes, I heard that I can contact you this way...Yes, Telemanon said he didn't see you at the closing ceremony...My name is actually pronounced Seikehan..."

The Lord of Youdu knocked on the door politely, and the conversation inside was immediately hung up.

The iron door slid aside, and Nefertari, the natural disaster, saluted him respectfully.

"My lord," she said.

"Contact Perturabo for me," Curze said, "and ask him where he is now."

——

In the palace of Lokos, Perturabo was having a conversation with the equestrian champion in his study. This was the promise he made at the beginning of the Games, that is, to meet the winner in person and listen to his words.

In addition, this study room was expanded from the study room he used in Lokos Palace.

Later, when he learned that the child's only hope was to join the Iron Warriors, the Iron Lord couldn't help but laugh.

"Even if you don't win the championship, the Iron Warriors will not turn away those who are willing to join the Legion."

Perturabo got up from the iron chair and came to the young champion. Before that, he spent thirty minutes integrating the planet's native language data collection and learned the local dialect.

"What else do you want, Gebu?" asked Perturabo.

"Then..." the little champion was a little stunned. The fact that the Primarch, who was especially respected by all the tribes on the planet, was within three meters of him at the moment, kept washing over his usually clever brain, "I..."

"Just make your request." Perturabo used a low and steady voice to soothe his mind.

I heard that Lord Iron is the best craftsman in the world, Gebu thought.

"I want a handful...one...do you have..."

His brain suddenly short-circuited for a moment.

"A particularly straight branch?"

Perturabo straightened up and laughed loudly. "Of course, I will choose an olive tree for you, and I will cut a stick for you tomorrow. You can't regret it, little warrior."

——

When Cozz arrived, he met the equestrian champion at the corner of the palace. He didn't mean to scare anyone, so it was obviously not his fault that the young man fell to the ground on the spot.

After waiting for the young man to pull up the wall and stand up, Coze walked into Perturabo's study and found that the Lord of Iron was standing aside at the moment, so he simply sat on the only chair in the room.

"Congratulations on your successful sports meeting, my brother." He drawled, "How do you feel?"

"Better than expected," Perturabo said, ignoring Conrad Coates' seat-stealing behavior. "Most things are good."

"The sports meeting came to an end. The heirs of Magnus met their long-lost father. Fulgrim... became different. Everyone else enjoyed a wonderful holiday," Conrad said lightly, "except for Fabiu. S. Baer is missing."

He took a breath and said, "What does your Star Cluster Governor think of her return to youth?"

"She complained about having to work another thirty years," Perturabo said, smiling.

Cozz shrugged and looked towards the far corner of the window. "Even without much life-extending surgery, she can live into the next thousand years."

He turned his head and stood up from the iron chair. Although his own chair was more prickly in design, it at least had soft leather cushions.

"By the way, where is the craftsman?" Cozz asked curiously.

"He suddenly ran off into the wild." Perturabo mused. "I haven't asked why yet."