Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 455: The Codex of Nicaea

One Primarch is late - Robert Guilliman concluded after counting the number of curtains shining in the alcove-like hall compartments.

There are thirteen curtains with deep red eagle emblem gems hanging on them, and golden light shining from the inside - the distorted light and shields used to conceal the figures are operated under pure technology to conceal the identities of the visitors in each box; if necessary, it is enough to conceal their positions and let everyone speak freely.

In addition, there is the Warmaster Perturabo on the high rostrum, Horus Lupercal who is recuperating on Terra, and the two Primarchs Magnus and Mortarion who are standing in the center of the venue and talking freely. The location of the seventeen Primarchs has been determined.

There is still one person who has not arrived.

The latecomer arrived silently.

At the sound of the intermission horn, when Magnus went down to the side of the stage and exchanged some topics with Jaghatai and Liman, a beam of light covered by black cloth quietly lit up in the compartment next to Robert.

Then, the curtain covering the identity was pulled open, allowing the legion representatives inside to look directly at the red carpet and the Sky Eagle in the center of the Nikaea venue.

And when Robert Guilliman found a burnt armor with falling ash residue sitting quietly not far from him, his upper lip was slightly raised in surprise.

After seeing the remaining golden text reflected by the face in the shadow under the occasional passing light, his surprise deepened quietly.

Lorgar Aurelion seemed to have sensed something, looking at his curtain, his still smooth facial skin remained silent.

"Brother Robert Guilliman," Lorgar greeted first in some intuitive way.

"Aurelian," Guilliman had to answer, and politely drew back the curtain. He could not help but read the changes in Lorgar as if he were reading a book.

For many years, the Word Bearers and the Ultramarines had been at odds with each other. Robert Guilliman had banned any religion in Ultramar, and the Word Bearers chose to stand aside and watch after several nosy greetings.

But to Guilliman's surprise, Lorgar himself spoke highly of him, and had repeatedly praised "the Lord of Ultramar's firm belief in the truth of the Empire." This made Guilliman disagree but difficult to say.

His voice was as broken as his appearance, which made his greeting become a hoarse inquiry.

A Word Bearer priest stood beside him, standing parallel to the Primarch. This was a strange face, with a thin and bloody cheek. He did not look like a Word Bearer missionary, but rather like a tortured victim.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Robert," Lorgar said in a low voice, "Can you tell me how the meeting went today?"

"I can give you a copy of the minutes. It's a pleasure to meet you, Aurelion." Guilliman nodded slightly to the warrior beside him and stood up from his seat. The two clerks took a step forward with the scroll to match Guilliman's promise.

Lorgar stared at him, his purple eyes sunken in his eye sockets, and his golden skin was like a dry parchment roll, which was an illusion caused by his lack of water and rice for many days.

"Thank you, Robert." He said softly, paused, "Is Perturabo in charge of the meeting today?"

"Yesterday was the same." Guilliman said honestly.

Lorgar stared at him, as if he wanted to explore some deeper views or opinions from it, until Perturabo called him.

"I heard you coming, Lorgar Aurelion, come to my side," after the directional diffusion of the loudspeaker, the voice of Warmaster Perturabo accurately reached his side.

Lorgar looked down, meeting Perturabo's eyes at a distance, his silence unsettling Guilliman.

"You missed the oath," Guilliman reminded him.

Lorgar disappeared into the shadows of the alcove, and soon appeared in the center of the theater below, walking across the polished marble floor and leaning under the Aquila statue.

Perturabo walked towards him, accompanied by two acolytes brought from Terra. The speakers adjusted the frequency, and the sound panels hidden in the walls of the arena moved in sequence, ensuring that Lorgar Aurelion's oath was witnessed by everyone.

Perturabo stood on the steps, looking down at Lorgar slightly. A familiar scepter was held in his palm, the Aquila Staff of the Imperial Chancellor. In his right hand was an unfolded parchment.

"Dear brother: We gather here today to discuss and solve the urgent governance issues facing the human empire, and to pursue unity and truth under the guidance of the Emperor. Are you willing to listen to him and his spokespersons with humility and awe? Are you honest and rational, and make decisions in accordance with his will?"

"I swear, with what I have learned, sought, and believed. I recognize the Emperor as my only master, and hope that this meeting will be blessed and bear fruitful results."

Lorgar's oath came out of his mouth. Swearing is as simple as drinking water for him, but few people know that Lorgar can indeed remember every word of his oath, and find every word worth analyzing in every oath through words that are not valued by others.

"I witness your oath, in the name of the Emperor." Perturabo said, signaling the acolyte to seal the parchment scroll engraved with the oath he recited, and put it on the candlestick in front of the statue of the Emperor behind the rostrum, and ignite it in the electric spark.

Just as the acolyte was about to take the oath scroll away, Lorgar stepped forward and grasped the paper.

The wounds that had not healed for several days overflowed with blood. He left his own red blood mark on the scroll and looked directly at Perturabo, his eyes telling silent persistence.

Perturabo returned his gaze in equal measure.

Around the high platform, several Primarchs were attracted by the situation of Lorgar and Perturabo.

A crashing sound broke the silence in the theater, and Leman Russ raised his hands to apologize for bumping into the round table beside the stage. Today he also wears a wolf skin on his shoulders, but in a different way from Horus. The wolf head hangs on the top of his head as a scary and wild gray round hat, which adds to his cheerful and embarrassed smile. Chills of Fenris.

Lorgar let go of the acolyte and bowed his head again to Perturabo.

A few minutes later, Guilliman watched Aurelion reappear in the compartment next to him. For some reason, Robert Guilliman sighed in his heart.

The second half of the meeting was held under the auspices of Perturabo. Within two days of presentations, the requirements of the empire's psychic system had been basically determined, and Magnus's psychic tome was officially named "The Saint of Nicaea". "The Code" will be gradually implemented in the entire range where the star torch can shine after correction and revision.

This is the time for suggestions and questions. Acolytes and Memoirs will faithfully note that Guilliman made his recommendations based on his knowledge of theory and management.

Even with the curtain of shadow blocking it, he was sure that Magnus must have recognized him participating in the discussion. Although Magnus is arrogant and strict, and is particularly difficult to approach on academic issues, it is definitely not the behavior of this Imperial University scholar to directly ask the questioner not to waste precious meeting time. After the meeting, he will come to discuss these issues alone. Make a fuss.

After him, another legion offered some advice.

"This is the psychic prohibition law that we have been implementing experimentally. If you are interested, we are willing to donate all our management experience to the Nicaea Conference. In addition, I support Magnus - if Mortarion does not always insist As long as his guards stay 7,749 steps away from him, we will support him."

Mortarion sent a gloomy glance towards the dark curtain, his pride standing in the Nikea Conference Center allowing him to ignore the ridicule of others.

For this meeting, for the promise from the Emperor that he had received a hundred and fifty years ago when he was still trying to survive in Barbarus, he had prepared for countless years, using countless compasses, cards, bone dice and abacus, and even Use speech notes, recordings and mirrors to rehearse your words and deeds and refine your decisions.

He walked seven steps around Magnus: "This hidden suggester, if you can only talk nonsense on your own predetermined position, you should not join the discussion of complex issues at this moment."

The shadows surged behind that curtain for a moment, and there seemed to be a passing burst of laughter like a wind in the rain before melting into silence.

On the stage, Mortarion was pacing slowly, looking around at every shadow curtain, and his boots made a crisp sound on the ground to match his speech.

With resolute confidence, he once again described the disasters that unregulated psychic energy has brought to countless worlds, about the agricultural world seduced by ancient psychics, about the collapsed temples and the evil spirits causing chaos, about the inability to give up witchcraft. The destruction and destruction, as well as the struggle, the internal and external struggle, and the most tragic, the endless struggle between the internal and external human beings.

Guilliman listened to Mortarion's statement, until the Death Guard Primarch finally bowed in the direction of Perturabo, and the Imperial Sky Eagle represented by the Warmaster, to greet the next questioner's proposal.

"They are very firm in their views, brother Guilliman." The hoarse voice floated into Guilliman's ears, like the collision and trembling of vitrified gravel on a burned dune.

"That's right," Guilliman said, immersed in the collision and exchange of ideas in the theater below, enjoying the atmosphere of the place.

Everyone is contributing to the construction of the human empire, and all results will be further promoted in their respective territories or home planets. The Council of Nicaea was convened flawlessly, save for the Emperor himself being nowhere to be seen, and the fact that Horus was still awake.

"What about you?" Lorgar whispered, his voice reaching Guilliman's side through the sound hole in the wall, "How do you strengthen your mind, Guilliman?"

"Me?" This question made Guilliman feel strange. "You asked me?"

"Why not? We all have our beliefs, Robert. A part of us believes in Imperial Truth, and that is reflected in my Word Bearers. 'The heavens declare His glory, and the skies declare His handiwork.' Imperial Truth , or science as some people call it, are the tools He provides us to explore and reveal the mysteries and laws of His creation.”

"I think what I believe is different from what you describe," Guilliman couldn't help but argue with Lorgar. He didn't like others to solemnly pounce on errors in front of him. "I believe in the Imperial truth itself, and Isn’t it the truth that has been reinterpreted by your ideas? In our observation of reality, based on the principle of cutting out the complex and simplifying it, is there room and necessity for the existence of gods?”

"Then answer for me the meaning of psionics, Robert." Lorgar whispered, and Guilliman fell silent for a moment, thoughtfully. As Guilliman thought about his response, he sensed that the atmosphere was not suitable for him to make his point.

Guilliman gradually became uneasy with Lorgar's silence. Just across the wall, the most dangerous Primarch among them was experiencing a turbulent wave in his mind.

A premonition told him that Lorgar was trembling, and in the world seen by the Truth Bearers and analyzed by another set of structures, he felt everything he could perceive turned upside down.

Because then, Lorgar asked softly: "But where is the Emperor?"

Lorgar Aurelion stood up and walked to the edge of the railing, staring at the Primarch on the podium below, like staring at three blazing stars, burning on the pure white stone and the red carpet, like walking on the edge of a furnace.

Lorgar's hand holding the railing was stiff and tightly squeezed the iron painted like stone under his hand, and he heard a slight creaking sound like a continuous sob quietly spreading.

He once wanted to promise you, promised that at the Nicaea Congress, your doubts would be answered and your tension would be relieved.

He said he was open and honest, and told you everything, but you felt the unrelieved doubt swell in your heart, contracting violently in your two hearts and three lungs.

He answered your questions honestly, but he told you: Tyrant Star will not take us to heaven.

He refused to answer: Is the Emperor Tyrant Star?

He saw your pain, but could not understand it.

He did not see the world you saw - or he did, facing the Nightmare Sun, facing Tyrant Star, he saw a different result than you did.

He saw - the Morning Star saw the enemy.

You gasped, looking at Perturabo, whom you loved. You knew that everything here belonged to him, after Horus fell, after the Emperor disappeared, the whole Imperium belonged to him, and if he would accept you, you could belong to him too.

The curtain in front of you was the window he set for you, locked in your own hands, and you could easily unlock it, and you did so, exposing yourself to him in silence, praying that he would not think you were playing a self-pitying role, begging for his forgiveness.

You are not afraid of Perturabo, you are afraid of the Emperor refusing to see you, even if you really don't want Perturabo to refuse to listen to your heart.

But you stand here alone, your image stands alone in the vast theater, bringing a dark lonely shadow and silent hollow echo. The breeze passes through the corridor in your chest.

Perturabo is focused on the meeting itself, and those words float past your ears, as if he knows that your heart will not listen and cannot listen. Your reason is used to record all the crucial decisions of the meeting of Nikaea, while your emotions are focused on the higher level of the situation, retreating as Perturabo ignores you.

Your eyelids begin to ache from the long gaze, and black ripples spread in your eyes like the charred sand of Colchis.

At this time, you observe the eldest son in your heart.

You think of a word that makes your heart tremble inappropriately, like a fatal serpent biting through your finger. You think of the tenth plague that ancient Terra has brought down, and think of the plague of the eldest son. All the firstborns were killed by the angel of death overnight.

You don't know what this means, but you start to regret your premature judgment and name for Perturabo.

Through the falling curtains, the empty wide space and the distance that makes your eyes widen, you stare at Perturabo and feel that you are not standing steadily. You think you are sober, but fear has found you, through the cracks in your armor of self-blame and dedication, and against the flow of blood.

Then, you see Perturabo suddenly look at you, and the iron wire on his head is whipping lightly like a whip, or a subtle silenced gunshot.

The invisible bullet pierced you through his eyes, and your heart trembled morbidly for a cold moment, and then you knew it was not a good thing. You breathed quickly, waiting for Perturabo to send you the verdict. Your limbs panicked and wanted to escape, but you fixed yourself to the railing, with your eyes open, but it seemed that you couldn't see anything clearly.

"The matter of psychic energy has come to an end," Perturabo said, "I would like to thank everyone for their participation. You have made an indelible contribution to the construction of the Empire. The historians will record our legends, no, history itself will write us in turn. Every time another person who benefits from the resolution made today is born in the galaxy, our contribution is added with new meaning."

You looked at Perturabo without any expression. You thought, it's time, it's my turn, it seems that the Emperor will not be there. And he looked at you, and the eldest son in your heart invited you.

"Next, we will discuss another important topic.

"I believe that many of you are confused about this, especially since we have just put the matter of psychic energy on the table, acknowledged the existence of psychic energy, divided the boundaries between psychic energy and witchcraft, and clarified the details one by one. The "Nike Codex" has been preliminarily written, and everything just needs to be officially implemented.

"This doesn't seem to be completely consistent with a belief we have always believed in - the universe is rational, all knowledge is understandable, there are no mysteries of psychic power, witchcraft of the soul, and supernatural gods.

"We can certainly believe that all psychic power can be analyzed, and all mysteries are just part of science; but according to our current level of technology, in the eyes of rational people, this is a protective coat woven with authoritative ideas, a deceptive language logic, used to protect humans from the endless dark world with ignorance and stupidity. "

"So, next, we will discuss the Imperial Truth again."

Perturabo announced calmly, standing up from the podium, holding the Aquila Scepter in his hand, stepping down from the podium and walking into the center of the theater, the end of the scepter knocking empty on the marble floor as he walked.

Then, the Iron Lord raised the Aquila Scepter high, and his cold eyes swept across each closed shadow curtain until his eyes rested on the pale face of Lorgar Aurelion.