Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"It's not that I can't get used to a ceremony. On the contrary, I'm so used to it that I get bored," he said. "

"And I invited you," said the visitor.

"You did a wonderful thing and provided me with a perfect excuse to escape from the hustle and bustle. But I was curious how you found me."

"Your presence is very eye-catching, unlike any other creature in Olympia."

"Although the existence of any two creatures has reached different conditions, I can understand your semantics."

The person wearing black cloth walked into the cave with crystal-embedded walls and sat down on the rock that served as a seat.

He pulled back the rag that served as a makeshift hood. In the exposed void, there are golden runes that are unstable and echo with the flickering of crystals on the stone wall.

The young man in golden robes placed the long staff beside the stone bench, glanced at the human figure composed of runes, and then looked away. The laurel ring surrounding the silver hair thus reflects a swaying light.

There was a low table between the two of them, with a small amount of dust falling from the top of the cave falling on the edge of the table. The tabletop showed a level of cleanliness that had been recently used.

The cards are scattered in the corners of the table, overlapping and accumulating. The patterns on the backs of the cards cover each other. Recognizable images include some collapsed towers, falling lightning, dead fighters and other images.

As for the center of the table, there is room for some simple meals: a glass of wine and some fermented bread.

The man wearing black cloth stretched out his left hand, picked up the wine glass, stared at it for a moment, and then took a sip. The wine disappears into nothingness.

"This is an expensive treat," he said, "and I guess he didn't tell you enough information. For example, I am not a Christian. How do I call you?"

"Print Master. If you agree." The young man in gold robe said solemnly.

"Then you can call me by my name."

"Morse?"

"Morse." The transparent nothingness was gradually covered with a layer of light color, and Morse took on his form. "Sounds like you heard who I am from the Olympians."

"At the crowning ceremony, everyone's voice was clear enough, even though they seemed to have doubts about your appearance."

"If they accidentally find the body I left behind when I came here by chance in the bell tower, there will be more questions."

"Will they?"

"It's a pity that they will subconsciously ignore that bell tower."

The person holding the seal no longer looked away from Morse. His observation was hidden behind his unchanging expression and reflected an unconcealable curiosity.

"His Majesty told me you were a trustworthy man, an old friend," the Bearer said.

"Your Majesty?" Morse repeated softly, "He became emperor again. Did he ask you to come to me?"

"With your lit torch as our guide, we are on our way to Olympia. The Emperor has given orders to hasten our march."

"Then before he arrives, we might as well talk about some light topics. Don't make the atmosphere as serious as solidified red wax." Morse put down his wine glass and turned over the cards on the table. "There seems to be something wrong with this card."

"There are four kings in it. We can reprint the deck."

"It's okay, can you play blackjack?" Morse asked.

"meeting."

“There is no dealer, just have fun.”

Morse gathered the cards on the table with one hand, the runes jumped, and the cards automatically began to jump and shuffle. "Do you like playing cards, Printer?"

"Your Majesty and I have discussed the card game of Gutera, but I am not good at it." The palmer said humbly.

"It's hard to imagine a psyker as talented as you being incompetent at a simple card trick."

"But my opponent can often touch A to K of the same color."

Morse smiled. "Then it's not your fault - I'll take one first, seven. Next, three. Stand."

"You're almost letting me win," said the Palmist. "Eight, three, six."

"When did you meet him?" Morse clicked on the table, and on a scoreboard that appeared out of thin air, he marked a vertical line for the person who printed the mark.

"Not long ago," said the person holding the seal, "a few thousand years ago."

"He's been emperor for thousands of years? Nine, four, eight. I get one point."

The palmer looked at the cards on the table and began to draw them. "It doesn't take thousands of years to win the war of unification. Four, five, seven, three, stop."

Morse nodded, "Very sharp. Then I will call him the Emperor, unless he is using a more humane name. Does he have one?"

"Not yet." said the palm-printer.

"Nine, seven, eight. Boom—one more point for you, Palmist. You're a good guy."

"Just luck, that doesn't prove anything."

"Your integrity in card games is your strength. Your patience in assisting the Emperor is amazing." Morse said, "I believe you are indispensable to him. What is your responsibility?"

The person holding the seal remains still for a moment and stops taking the cards. "Nine, nine, five, you get one point too. I'm his prime minister now."

Morse's hand shook and the cards almost fell from his fingers.

"You are a true warrior, Sealbearer. I have grown a true admiration for you."

The person holding the seal did not refuse and accepted Morse's praise calmly.

He smiled tiredly. "And you?"

"I might be better at doing odd jobs." Morse said, turning his head to look outside the cave.

The outside world of this illusory land is a vast sea of ​​golden light, with countless mantras far and near, flowing and shining, scorching and dazzling.

The power of the dark power is firmly blocked. As long as Morse does not leave for one day, he is sure to permanently fix the curtain blocking the vast ocean. Even if he leaves this place, the curse mark left behind can still protect thousands of creatures in Olympia for a long time.

His stay here was neither long nor short. The journey from Terra on a merchant ship took up a long time in the endless journey. Later, as the subspace storm raged across the stars of the galaxy, his footsteps stopped at one place. The planet he is most familiar with.

Over the course of thousands of years, Olympia's civilization rose and fell several times. The spiral of history repeatedly rose and fell back, and the pace of retreat was much faster than the rise.

He watched all this from anywhere, in the mountains and forests, in the city, and on the battlefield. It rains, the wind blows, things get moldy and rotten, new sprouts are found on some olive trees. He passed through these places and most of the time he didn't even bother to make any historical records.

Sometimes he knows that such an attitude is harmful to him, but he doesn't care. The flourishing civilization turned into decay in his eyes, and all he could hold on to was boredom.

For thousands of years, he encountered endless failures and setbacks every time he picked up a carving tool. The moment he picked up the pen, he often knew that he could not put enough emotion into the odes and epics. And he was not a quitter before.

But now it's all coming to an end. Morse thought. Calliphon's crowning would be the last ovation he would receive.

No matter who he follows or continues to walk alone, he will not stay.

The spell he recently arranged may be the only living expenses he will leave in Olympia.

"But sometimes I feel like coming to Olympia is the rare right decision in my life," Morse said. "Eight, seven. Suspension."

"Because of Perturabo?" asked the Markbearer.

One update today, busy ing