Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

+Who is that, Your Majesty. +

+No.4. He grew up quickly. +

+You clearly know who I am asking. That shadow, that void, a being you have never mentioned, a person who has not contacted you for more than five thousand years. +

+Are you reminding me that I need to be wary of him again, Malcador? +

+I just want to know who makes you look older. +

The golden light dissipated, revealing dark eyes deeply embedded in a weather-beaten face. The emperor took one of the cards in his hand and put it on the table.

This playing card is very old, and the pattern on the back has faded to the point where it is difficult to recognize, and only the outline of a collapsed city wall can be seen vaguely.

The Emperor silently pushed the cards to the center of the low table. Malcador put down his own cards, turned the cards over for the Emperor, and then let out a sigh.

+This is already your third trump card, Your Majesty. You can't do this. +

The Emperor stood still for a moment, seeming to be thinking, or perhaps examining the pile of cards on the low table.

Then he took out the fourth king from the deck of cards.

——

Morse believed that Perturabo had as many questions about him as he did about the "young man."

So he struck preemptively.

"What are you wearing, Perturabo?" He couldn't bear to look away from the huge young man, refusing to think about the variegated fabrics patchwork and stitched together on the body of this big man who suddenly grew to more than two meters tall. , whether it is taken from both military tarps and part of the palace curtains.

Perturabo opened his mouth for a rare moment, clearly showing his shock.

He squeezed into the room through the collapsed door, blankly looking at the mess on the ground, and finally his eyes stopped on Morse. The new confusion in his ice-like blue eyes even overshadowed the eagerness and sadness.

"Are you Morse?" he asked hesitantly. "Where is your... head?"

Morse pulled up the black linen pocket, completely covering the exposed nothingness.

"Don't ask, it's not important. Your outfit simply challenges my aesthetic bottom line. Is this the way you accepted the surrender of the Kaldis people wearing this printed tablecloth?"

"I asked Callifon to accept the surrender." Perturabo's expression changed, obviously recalling all the embarrassments that occurred after he suddenly started to grow again that day, such as breaking his armor.

Then, someone gently patted Perturabo's back as he was blocking the door, and a clear female voice sounded outside the door: "I'm here, please give way."

After Perturabo gave up his position, Callifon squeezed into the room with a slight smile.

Her eyes fell on the mutilated corpse in the room, and her feet suddenly became weak, and her whole body fell among the rocks and broken porcelain.

"Califon..." Perturabo said hesitantly.

The princess stared blankly at her relatives who had changed beyond recognition, trembling all over. Then she stretched out her hand to Perturabo and managed a few weak words: "Give me a hand, Abo."

Perturabo lifted her up. Callifon wanted to thank her, but her sudden exhaustion of energy left her with no strength. She leaned against the peeling gold leaf wall, as if she was in a nightmare.

Soon Callifon stood upright again.

"I'll stay a little longer, Perturabo. You go find Mr. Morse first."

Lokos' daughter spoke quietly, a sad smile on her face. "It looks like it's as you wish, it's time for me to wear the iron crown."

+ Let's go out. + Morse said.

Without his prompting, Perturabo bent out of the door of his own accord, and Mors floated through the wall, following Perturabo.

The young man who had grown much taller in the past few days lowered his head and looked at the head of the man in black robe.

He finally defeated Morse in height, but there was no joy on Perturabo's face.

This is not a pretense of nonchalance, but he no longer needs an innocuous height to prove his dignity.

They walked in a direction with fewer people, even though no one was going out on Lokos Street.

The disaster a few days ago frightened everyone. The collapsed bell tower and the terrifying night were regarded as ominous signs, and the people who suddenly fell to the ground and died were the precursors of disaster.

The entire Lokos was filled with an atmosphere of panic. At this time, Perturabo's triumph was like a shot of strong medicine, injecting a stabilizing factor into Lokos.

They came to the city wall, climbed up to the tower, and looked at the mountains and trees outside the city, as well as the wisps of peaceful gray smoke rising above the scattered villages.

"If you have a question, ask."

Perturabo breathed out, he had too many questions piling up in his mind. He had just recovered an endless treasure trove of knowledge, but he was frustrated and even frustrated to find that this knowledge could not solve any of his problems.

"Are you... okay?" He chose to start asking the question from the craftsman himself.

"Do I look like I'm okay?"

Morse opens with irony, as always, but this time with more deliberate nonchalance. He doesn't want to be ignored, so he won't pretend to be fine.

"Obviously I've lost my body. Do you want a void to tell you that it's in good health? Would you believe me if I told you, Perturabo?"

This straightforward confession directly blocked the worry that was about to overflow in Perturabo's heart.

He reflected on his hesitations and meaningless questions with some annoyance, and the heaviness accumulated in his heart also dissipated a lot without him noticing.

Perturabo cleared his throat.

"How are you now, Morse?"

"My original state." Morse said, "If you come back a week later, you will see the body you are familiar with. You fight too fast."

"You...are not human?" Perturabo asked carefully.

"Did I say I was human?"

Perturabo choked, his eyes turning around Morse's current appearance.

In fact, he seemed more interested in asking if Morse was dead.

"Can others see you?"

"Unless psionics are strong. I believe I don't need to explain what psionics are."

Perturabo said "Oh": "Califon didn't see you just now."

Morse floated upward so that his head was at the same level as Perturabo's: "Obviously."

Perturabo touched the edge of the city wall with one hand. The blood of the person holding the key to the city gate dried into brown marks, like an extra piece of rust on the stone.

"What happened to Lokos?" He stared at the blood stain, his expression as calm as steel, "Many people died. A bell tower collapsed. And you... became like this."

"I can only speculate. Your creator should have obtained some rather rare resources many years ago. Now several bandits have come to his door to steal his things. Whether it is the oath-breaking country you attacked or the traitor Harkon , are nothing but pawns driven by bandits.”

Perturabo lowered his hand, keeping his fingers away from the walls of Lokos.

"These deaths happened because of me." He looked at Morse as he said this, and the huge young man tried his best to control the fluctuations in his heart.

"Would you like me to enlighten you?" Morse said.

Perturabo closed his eyes forcefully, changed the subject, and said in a low voice: "Did you know my creator before? He and you..."

"Look far away, Perturabo. Instead of looking back at your past." Morse interrupted.

"But who is he?" Perturabo repeated in a low voice.

Morse snorted. "Instead of thinking about who he is, you should start planning the rebuilding of Lokos now. This will be a good opportunity to build infrastructure on a large scale, especially when Callifon is about to ascend the throne."

"As for that person, depending on his personality, maybe you will be able to see him soon."

He smiled and said, "Perturabo, if I had known earlier that he was the craftsman who created you, I should have been harsher on you."

After saying that, Morse turned around from the tower. Perturabo tried to hold him, but of course his hand passed through nothingness.

This made his fingertips twitch uncontrollably for a moment.

"Don't go yet, Morse," cried Perturabo.

"You want me to stand with you for a little longer?" Morse expressed surprise in a rising tone.

Then he returned to Perturabo. "Okay."

The entire administrative system in the city returned to normal after nearly seven days of shutdown. After the panic, people were busy again.

The damage to the city was not serious, but the destroyed palace needed to be rebuilt, and the tyrant's iron crown also needed to be urgently rebuilt by craftsmen. There is not much time left for citizens to rest in fear, people need to stay alive.

The wind in the wilderness blew quietly, and then gradually stopped after a while.

The snow-capped mountains of Televos on the horizon remain unchanged all year round. No matter how everything changes in Olympia, the snow-capped mountains always reflect the white sky, which is almost an eternity.

After a while, Morse said: "Let's go."

Perturabo nodded. "Let's go."