Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 495 The light of the star torch thereafter

"What?" Olanius waited for Morse's further explanation, and he added in advance: "Thank you."

"The cryptic words. The curses. The words of Babel...those things that you did not prevent the Emperor from obtaining, those things that you refused to use." Morse said, "I can give them to you, and you will choose the next one. Learner - Stop looking at me like that, Perturabo, this doesn't mean I'm going to say goodbye to you this way. I'm just going to give you a tutorial."

He took out a hard-covered luminous scroll from the air, as if he had taken out a roll of soft silk. Every character on it was as hard to discern as if it were engraved in the air, and was as small as dust. Around it, a series of constellation-like words floated and swayed in all directions of the scroll.

John Grammaticus glanced at it and looked away, his face looking so bad that he seemed about to retching in the next second. He decisively faced the wall, holding on to the dripping stone, waiting for himself to slowly recover.

"Why?"

"You didn't destroy it then, and you won't do it now. And your harshness even refused Neos' control of the curse. You will choose a suitable carrier for this power, not to mention Constantine Waldo will accompany you You, Orr.”

Orpeson said softly: "You still believe in me."

"Why not? No more rejection, Orr, and you may leave. I will still have something to say to Perturabo later."

Morse nodded to them, and the scroll fell into Orr's rough hands, who took it: "I'm sorry for my departure... Morse."

"Goodbye, Orr. And you two." Morse waved briefly.

John found that his body began to merge into the air. Before he shouted out, a circle of runes lit up around them. Within the range framed by the runes, the silver light swayed into a mercury-like vortex. After a few seconds, along with With an expressionless gaze from the commander of the Imperial Guard, they disappeared into the formation leading to the webway.

"It's our time now," Perturabo said, his voice like the heavy roar of armor clashing when the Titan's machine was running. "Where are you going?"

"You feel it," Morse smiled and raised his hands, holding a symbolic ball of phosphorus in his looming palms. "I won't go around in circles with you, Perturabo. I will be with you for the time being. bid farewell."

"Because of the Star Torch?" Just by looking down at the ball of light in the hands of the black-robed craftsman, Perturabo understood what he meant in an instant. The corner of his mouth trembled for a moment, then was suppressed with all his strength.

"Everyone has a role to play, and it's rare for Constantine to say something that resonates, Lord of Iron. The Webway is not safe and cannot be passed by our entire army... We need the Star Torch, and for that, we need a Individuals give power to the Hollow Mountains.”

Morse explained briefly, and then found that the simplicity he thought was not so straightforward, he paused, "I know what you are worried about, I am just a guide of power, not a person who supplies fuel for the Star Torch. After this war is over, I will find the time to return."

Looking at Perturabo, he emphasized again.

"I hate leaving without saying good-bye, Perturabo, and I never sugarcoat you, delaying matters beyond the point of no return and then regretting it. I make my decision clear to you: I will go to the Hollow Mountains, guide The light of the star torch is about to go out. If possible, I will explore ways to prevent the throne from seeing the pilot light of the star torch. "

Parting without saying goodbye happened once between them, and that was enough.

He paused and looked at the silence on Perturabo's face: "Since we are competing for the throne, we need to grab more chips on our side."

Perturabo nodded slowly. During this time of nodding, a Primarch could think enough to precisely control the direction of all artillery in a planetary battle, or improve the built-in energy engine of a Queen of Glory. However, however, ...He did remain silent for a while and nodded.

"Besides, the Imperials need this light." The Iron Lord said, "They are the ones who really need it. Five million planets - before being affected by the war. The extinguishing of the Star Torch affects far more than It’s several armies.”

"Life will continue until death," Morse laughed at the nonsense of this statement, listen to what he is saying!

But, of course, the territory of the galaxy is so vast - what a contradiction, but it is not unreachable... Even if Terra is going to burn, they would really rather that most of the empire's surrenderers don't even have to know that this war is happening... Until the results of the rebellion are announced, the succession and return of the throne, or the end and death...

Although this is just a wish...

"So, who is supporting the light of the Star Torch now?" Perturabo asked, "It has not completely dimmed, but there is a trace of light left."

"Like a candle in a storm, right? I have a few guesses - literally, I went through the list of Imperial psykers in my head, and I hope my top guess is accurate. , otherwise it would be extremely regrettable.”

"I understand." Perturabo nodded, and a candidate who had been silent for a long time also appeared in his mind.

At this moment, he realized that he didn't have much to say. He thought of the wine creatively brewed from almonds and grapes by the son of the Red King. The taste was mellow and bitter, full of contradictions, rising on the tip of his tongue.

"Are you leaving now?" he asked.

"Unless you have something else to say, Perturabo," Mors replied, exhaling. He hoped that this would happen quickly and simply, rather than in some way that was so grand that it seemed to constitute a category. In the context of the fateful farewell ceremony.

He wished he could finish his words right here - those words that must be said, rather than unnecessary trivial words: those overly complicated words seemed like soft and sharp claws, scratching his cerebral cortex... some kind of discarded The claws of a small forest beast, that thing wandered back and forth hopelessly in the dense forest, running amok.

However, what is there to be sad about? He himself couldn't tell, and he thought there should be no such thing.

Morse smiled, and his figure expanded in an instant. He looked levelly at the giant before him and patted Perturabo on the shoulder...an equal, a man who had grown.

A question ran through Perturabo's mind, a question with no answer. He asked himself who else had the ability to maintain the Star Torch today, especially under the threat of the Dark Throne... none. Indeed no more.

He shouldn't have thought about this problem until now: navigation, this should be a concern alongside or even more important than any of his previous considerations. This is enough to determine the success of the rebellion. He should really think about it carefully instead of forgetting the answer the first moment he comes across it.

Perturabo felt his heart become heavy for an instant, and a smoldering coldness burned through it. He silently accepted the pain and chewed it in silence. Yes, everyone has a role.

"No more," he said softly, maybe even smiling a little, "go ahead. I thank you."

Morse's figure merged into the dust and gray mist raised by the cave, and his form collapsed downwards with gravity. He paused before disappearing completely, bringing a few words that he could not hide.

"I know the strength of your will. Now you have grown like no other. You can withstand everything, and you have been called by the road. Twenty years later, or ten years later, maybe earlier, you will come with your legend. Tell me, and I will smile and tell you that wherever the light of the star torch reaches, I am not blind."

Then, he turned around in a hurry, and the inner part that could support the outer shell finally completely left. Perturabo waited for another standard Terran second - was it really a standard second? Or did he feel that way - then, he knelt down, picked up the shell left by Morse, and looked down.

With a very strange feeling, he slowly folded it up and decided to put it in the cabinet he left for Morse, just like he often did.

Soon he summoned the transport boat and waited for the metal slope to be lowered in front of him, and a passage leading to the interior of the steel creation opened to him.

Soon after he returned to his flagship, he first put down the empty body in his hand, stopped briefly when passing by the lower elevator shaft leading to the workshop, and then turned straight to the road leading to the command hall.

A portable servo board has been connected to his nervous system. He summoned the senior commanders on the Iron Blood one by one, and before they arrived, he confirmed that they had not received any signals from outside Moro—— Of course, the navigation hall sent negative information, and the navigation has not been restored yet.

When he arrived at the command hall, the soldiers who had received the order were already waiting for him indoors. Some even put on combat armor. This was a potential statement that they were ready for war. Even though they don't know what exactly happened...

"Who do you think we will fight?" He named one of them, watched the armored warrior stand up, and bowed to him: "I don't know, father."

"Now, give me an answer." Was Perturabo marveling at the roughness in his own tone? No, he calmly expressed his turbulent emotions through words. He has learned that he will not be able to maintain complete composure throughout the ensuing battle, that he will often be bitter and angry...and that he will endure it gladly.

"...The Word Bearer." The warrior said respectfully, feeling slightly uneasy about his own answer. "We have a problem."

"Very well. Are you willing to go into full-scale war with the Word Bearers?" He said coldly, folding his hands to form a hollow triangle on the table.

"Father! That is our cousin after all, this will..."

The warrior paused for a moment, and without waiting for Perturabo to interrupt, he continued: "...affects our reputation within the empire and our credibility under the throne, my lord. In this regard, we have already lost A lot, which may mean we will be stopped by the Emperor."

"Besides, no one likes to attack their cousins ​​and brothers, do they?" Perturabo sneered.

"I believe in your orders and decisions." The soldier said decisively, "Of course I don't like it, but we will obey all your commands."

Perturabo looked around at his heir, motioning for the warrior to sit down. "I'm sure you all feel the same way. If you have any additional objections, it would be best to let me know now."

The silence in the room seemed to stretch infinitely under his gaze. For a moment, at an appropriate moment that was enough for them to prepare, Perturabo broke the silence.

"Very well," he said. "I appreciate your attitude, however, there is one thing you are wrong about. This is not a war between us and the Word Bearers, my warriors."

He stared at them, looking for signs of disapproval and uneasiness. He does find some, and He will correct them.

Under his silent command, the door of the command hall was quietly closed.

He stood up, his voice like rolling thunder in the rain, rolling over the tense faces with clenched teeth.

"The Great Crusade is over, warriors, but the blood and fire will never end, and what awaits us is the next dark undertaking—

"I will not use any words to whitewash what I am about to do. If there are people in the empire who regard us as traitors and traitors who have broken the alliance, that is correct. If you realize that next we will step into thorns and darkness , had a hard time, and that's accurate, except for one thing: I don't think I betrayed humanity, and if you think so, that's wrong.

"Because this is a war between us and the Throne World, I have made such a decision. Yes, next, the Iron Warriors will betray the Golden Throne."

He said that the senior commanders who solemnly greeted him were uncontrollably shocked. Their uneasiness and confusion made his heart feel cold and sour, but also felt strangely happy. This wasn't what he expected - it was what his blood was waiting for. This was what the Primarch was created to do, and he stared at the dangerous edge beneath his feet, trembling before the challenge he had chosen.

"Whether you are aware of Terra's anomalies or not, and the strangeness of everything these days, darkness is approaching. As the Warmaster of the Human Empire, since I cannot save everything from the Dark Throne, I will let the galaxy burn.

"Magnus the Crimson has laid the first step, and we will continue in his footsteps, destroying everything we have built, destroying everything the throne seeks to strengthen - and then we may be able to save humanity from darkness. Come out and we have to."

The paradoxical sarcasm in these words caused a cold smile to form on his lips.

"Now that you have heard my words, that means you must be with me. Next, I will give you five minutes to think about all the questions you will ask next. Then we will discuss in detail what this decision will be. How to be put into practice.”