Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Macado placed his fork silently on the edge of his plate.

Of course, things will always turn out like this. Once again, he attracted everyone's attention on behalf of his old friend in a situation where everyone was dissatisfied.

And Malcador has no hope that this situation will become as inescapable as the laws of physics for countless years to come.

So with a sincerity that was unimaginable to him, he raised his head, looked through the shadows under his black hood, and extended an invitation to Morse, who was also at the Emperor's side: "Yes, the Emperor needs Morse."

"I will try to treat it as an invitation rather than a cry for help." Morse easily analyzed the essence of the words quite directly. "To be honest, your appearance is the embodiment of the concept of old man's wisdom."

Malcador sighed sincerely and nodded.

The Emperor silently put down his knife and fork, and nodded slightly as Mors and Perturabo looked at each other.

Morse interlocked the fingers of his hands and placed them in front of the lower half of his face, relying on the shadow thus generated to block the changes in the curvature of the corners of his mouth.

Perturabo felt his belly filled with new food and thought about issues about exercise and digestion.

Horus felt that according to common sense, he should take the initiative to tell some harmonious jokes to save the table from the atmosphere that was so condensed that one doubted whether they were inside or outside the flagship; but he simply could not forget the meaning of Morse's question. The exposed information caused him to stay away from his own surname.

So is the color of the armor.

The Emperor rarely mentioned the memories of the Old Night, and Horus never imagined that the distant term would one day embarrass him so much.

He began to regret his insistence on following his father to pick up his first brother.

"We haven't introduced ourselves formally enough." Horus decided to reopen the topic. "Shall I go first?"

He looked around, encouraged by the Emperor's tacit approval.

"I am Horus," the surname swirled twice in his throat and was spit out firmly, "...Lupkar, the first Primarch to return, came from Cthonia and led my father The sixteenth of the twenty legions, the Shadow Moon Wolf. What about you, my brother?”

"Perturabo," said the young Primarch, "Olympians. I already have my own legion here. Are you going to give me a second band of soldiers?"

"The Fourth Legion," Horus said, "They are on their way to join us."

The Wolf Shepherd naturally spread his palms to Mors next to Perturabo, "Where are you?"

"Currently named Morse, Perturabo gave me this brand new name." Morse stared at Horus and said, "From Terra, if you trace the roots. Without an army, I have no interest in it. Perturabo is my apprentice, unless he declares himself a disciple now."

He paused briefly, and during this gap everyone inferred a lot of information from the meaning behind his words.

Morse let go of the fork with his fingers wrapped in black cloth and leaned back against the unfamiliar chair. "I actually like some of your qualities, Horus."

Horus raised his eyebrows.

Perturabo raised his head sharply and cast his disbelieving gaze at Morse from the large empty dinner plate that was served to the giant.

"Maybe I look aggressive, but I'm telling the truth," he continued to Horus. "I admire you for who you are."

"Thank you for your compliment." Horus had no time to think about more etiquette. Half of him began to care about when and where Mors met his father in the history of Terra, and the other half was delighted that the emperor was an old friend. I also think he deserves appreciation.

Morse then nodded to Perturabo, whose prompt response made Perturabo half-relaxed.

The iron-like perseverance returned to Perturabo's young face, although it was still far from returning to his heart.

Mors looked past the Emperor beside him and reminded Malcador with his eyes.

The Prime Minister's old voice then sounded, "My current name is Malcador, a Seal Master and Prime Minister. If you have any questions about the dispatch of the legion, you can ask me. I am waiting to deliver the legion to you, Perturabo."

"My legion..." Perturabo said and fell into thought, perhaps mentally preparing to draft an opening statement for his meeting with the legion later.

The four people present - let's call them people for the time being - exchanged their identities one after another. Afterwards, everyone invariably looked at the golden man who had put down the tableware and sat at the head of the table without saying a word.

Although it is just a very simple self-introduction, in the current undercurrent of the desktop, the emperor's words will become an iron anchor, creating a unique anchoring effect on the boat of emotional connection between the five people in the wind and waves.

The emperor fiddled with his golden table knife, his eyes lowered briefly, and then he showed a standard flawless smile: + Looking at the long history, since the age of science and technology has left us, mankind has been lost in disputes and long nights. Long. This is the time when the storm has calmed down and all evil has retreated. We will not miss the opportunity to change the situation, revive the glory of mankind amidst the turmoil, and write the dream of revival again. Therefore, I will embark on an expedition to reclaim the galaxy of stars with Imperial truth in mind. +

He paused. +I am the Emperor, a human from Terra. +

Horus was shaken for the umpteenth time by the emperor's grand plan. He looked around excitedly and saw only an old man who was accustomed to this, a young giant with an unchanged expression, and a tall man covering half of his face with his hands. A weirdo with raised eyebrows.

This made him calmly retract his excitement and said reservedly: "Perturabo, this is our father."

"This is your father," Mors said softly, remembering how the Emperor had told him that Perturabo was not his son.

He put his hands down: "We know each other now."

Malcador calmly smoothed the folded corners of his hood, his tone somewhere between sincere and tired: "This is really a good start."

The Emperor nodded.

A man in golden armor, who was not much shorter than Horus and Perturabo, appeared at the right moment and took away the plates for those present.

Morse stared at the man for half a second, and the corners of his eyes trembled.

"This is Father's Watcher of the Throne," Horus explained. "A Custodes."

"Yes." Morse said he knew, "By the way, how many people are there in your Primarch?"

"Twenty people." Horus was a little proud. "I still have eighteen brothers scattered across the galaxy, waiting to be welcomed back."

Malcador pulled the edge of the black hood again, hiding his expression in the shadows.

"Well, if that's what you think."

After saying that, Mors looked at the Emperor, "I heard that Perturabo's legions are coming."

"They have proven themselves outstanding in the Unification Wars." The Emperor seemed less than visibly relaxed.

Although they were a group of stubborn warriors. Horus thought.

"They're almost here," Malcador said.

Morse clapped his hands lightly: "Then it's time for the young people to accompany the young people to meet the army, so we won't interfere too much."

Ignoring the look in Horus's eyes when he mentioned the word "we," he continued: "There are many things I would like to talk to you alone. My... old friend."

Sorry for being late orz