Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

Zhuang Sen has always felt that his temper is still very good: if compared to the average level of the Primarch.

The Lion of Caliban is convinced that among all his blood brothers, even if he is not as good as Horus, Vulkan or Sanguinius, who are unmatched optimists, at least he is. It can be ranked in the middle: and it is the one above the middle.

What's more: deep in Caliban's hidden heart, he sometimes secretly guesses that perhaps his actual character, self-cultivation and restraint are better than those of his most trusted silver-haired blood relative. .

Yes, better than Morgan.

This is not a lie, because the Primarch of the First Legion has seen the anger from the Spider Queen: although the overwhelming anger is extremely rare and comes and goes quickly, it almost never has obvious signs and never lacks terror. The destructive power of people, in Zhuang Sen's heart, the anger far exceeded the most terrifying Extermination Order weapon that the First Legion could control.

In front of the silver-haired Queen's vision that was cold enough to completely freeze the entire star region, both the Dark Angels and their powerful Primarch had learned to shut their mouths and avoid the sharp edge for the moment.

After all, the real source of these monstrous anger is often the various mistakes and waste made by the Lion and his warriors: that is a behavior that even Zhuangson has to admit is "squandering".

In the face of such facts, their proud fighting power is as pale as broken paper. Opening up to resist without authorization will only make the situation fall into an unbelievable abyss.

Besides...

Everyone knows: no matter how destructive the anger from the Dark Angel Legion's internal affairs officer is, as long as they shut their mouths obediently, lean against the wall, and use silence to endure the wanton burning anger, then everything will be over. Return to the way it was.

No matter how angry Morgan is, as long as the stipulated time is up, the documents she has personally reviewed will be in place on time, and the cursive characters on them are so beautiful that they make people feel happy.

The silver-haired Primarch seems to have two unrelated brains, one pretending to be emotional and the other pretending to be rational. No matter how the emotional one is shattered or angry, it will not prevent the rational one from giving her all the power. Responsibilities fulfilled.

In a sense, it is this ruthless efficiency that never affects the work that makes the entire Dark Angels Legion, and even their original body, respect the Spider Queen as an "outsider" so much.

However, this still cannot change the definition in Jonson's heart: Caliban, who has seen the anger of the Spider Queen, is very sure that compared to Morgan's furious sensibility, Jonson must be the one with a gentler temper.

And if you reason from this, you will easily come to the conclusion: Morgan is known for his gentleness among the Primarchs, so Jonson, who has a better temper than Morgan, will only be among the best even if we look at all the Primarchs. That batch.

Jonson thinks so.

Although this sentence sounds like a meaningless joke, when the Primarch of the Dark Angel Legion recalled this self-evaluation in his heart, he was undoubtedly serious: even better than his waist. The fine workmanship sword is even more serious.

The lion from Caliban is not a mediocre person who does not know his own nature, nor is he so arrogant that he cannot see the tyranny in his heart, but he believes in his own will, his own restraint, and that he is in the deep forest of Caliban. In those ten years, in countless hunting, tracking and ambushes, they have always been solid and reliable with their ruthlessness, repression and patience.

He knew the complaints that were circulating secretly, accusing him of being a beast in the forest, and in his heart, he had never denied this: because he was convinced that, unlike what the fools in the world thought, The beasts in the deep forest often know the value of restraint and patience better than the so-called civilized people behind the high walls.

The Lion of Caliban straddles the barbaric and civilized worlds, so no one is more qualified than him to judge this right and wrong. Likewise, no one is more qualified than him to believe that he is a man of patience and restraint. A rational person with strong power: This does not conflict with the fact that he is a beast.

In fact, the two have been perfectly integrated: the lion of Caliban restrained his minions, put the hot armor on his beast body, and transformed into the great beast-slaying knight of Caliban. .

This even made him proud, and also made him more convinced in his heart that he should value the value of patience and rationality, restrain his thoughts and emotions, and avoid being affected by unimportant people.

Except for those really important characters: Emperor, Morgan, Akau, Luther...

Nothing else was worth his ire: he had been working on it.

——————

But today, Caliban feels that his efforts may be ruined.

——————

Six seconds had passed since his blood relative Morgan had left with the Fenrisian canine: the superhuman senses lurking in the Primarch's mind were more reliable than any finely crafted warp timer. .

The Caliban man, who was engrossed in cleaning up the documents, only gave a stingy look to the two people leaving just a second ago: Jonson didn't care what they were going to discuss, even though Leman Russ's words The suppressed [Legion Privacy] actually did not escape his ears, but he had no further interest.

The Lord of the Dark Angels does manage many secrets, but this is only his responsibility. He himself has no preference for anything that is concealed. Everything is because of the Emperor's order: If the Lord of Mankind requires If he became a domineering and arrogant warlord like Horus, or a hard-working hard worker like Perturabo, he would still choose to do the same.

Jonson cares more about the papers and data he has in hand than the little secrets that Fenris talks about. In ten years, he still hasn't learned how to fight these monsters on the desk, and he even has to doubt them every time. , how did his silver-haired blood relative learn to swallow these messy and troublesome things without any teacher, and then produce rows of neat forms in an orderly manner?

Is this a special ability: like that bad guy Guilliman?

"..."

Speaking of Guilliman, Morgan seems to have established a connection with the Ultramar man, hoping that she has not been influenced by that bad guy: Jonson feels that he should pay attention to this issue, and he needs to sign because of this. A motion, and keep part of the Extermination Order weapons on hand.

The Calibans understood very well that if Avalon wanted to be based in the Far East to fulfill its responsibilities as an overseer, Morgan must have contact with Guilliman: and no matter what the Ultramar man felt about such contact, No matter what reaction, his starting point must be malicious.

Guilliman must be up to something: this sentence is close to the truth for Jonson. Even he himself has some doubts about why he is so sure. After all, he has never even seen the Ultramar man. .

"..."

Zhuang Sen blinked, all his thoughts occurred in the second second after the door was closed, and at the next moment, a document lifted up by the air wave of closing the door touched his body protected by steel. Fingers, this was enough to bring back his somewhat divergent consciousness.

As a result, Caliban lowered his head and continued his battle with the data and legion sequences, slowly shedding one precious strand after another for shiploads of explosive bombs and nutritious ointments that he had never seen before. blond hair.

He restrained his thoughts. Both Guilliman and Morgan were temporarily swept away from the dark green Caliban. As for the secrets of the Space Wolves: Even if he didn't go into detail, with those Fenn The strict tone of the Lysians will spread to the entire expedition fleet in less than two days.

At this second, the Primarch of the Dark Angels Legion was finally distracted.

But his heart was distracted, and it only lasted until the fourth beat of the second.

Because, at the moment when the fourth second really came, at the edge of Caliban's narrowed pupils, the new blood relative who he was trying his best to ignore was like a ball of stew that had been left overnight, just removed from the refrigerator. Take it out and put it in a frying pan, and it comes alive: Zhuang Sen can even have a vision of the squirming solidified grease next to those trembling long black hair. In the sizzling sound that does not actually appear, it melts into the dish. Something more delicious, or something worse.

He therefore thought of Caliban, and of the time when he was still a knight's retinue: Luther rode his horse and led him along the hunter's trails opened up by explorers of all ages, groping for traces of those giant beasts.

When they spent the night by the river, Luther would always make barbecue, and then the grease would inevitably appear, accompanied by the neighing of the only horse, becoming an aid to the mysterious stories in Luther's mouth: He only got his own horse on the eve of becoming the leader of the Knights, because before that, no horse in the Knights could carry a Primarch. Although they were all carefully selected and of excellent blood, Zhuangsen's is obviously more [excellent] than them.

"boom……"

A not heavy collision interrupted the Primarch's thinking for a second, forcing him to raise his head and face the empty, cold reality in front of him.

Very well, that lump of Nostramo grease has successfully escaped the gravitational pull and brought itself to the most precious conference table in the entire Dark Angel Legion, completing its magnificent transformation from a street stall to a state banquet hall: Zhuang Sen even felt like he was going to shed a few lion tears because of this.

So, the Lord of Caliban raised his head and stared at the cholesterol fortress approaching him without sadness or joy: he also ignored the hanging on it, which was full of Nostramo style. bright smile.

That smile is even more lethal than the ball of cholesterol itself: even if he takes one more look, Zhuangson will feel that his life span has suffered an irreparable blow, which is even more efficient than the Hrud's specialty.

For the Emperor's sake, fortunately, he only had to endure the torture for less than three seconds: even though the Nostramo squirming in front of him had obviously not learned the value of legs, he actually crossed his lower body, He sat on the desk and moved his body with his overly long arms, as if he still owed Darwin a graduation certificate on the theory of evolution of about three million years.

However, the fine varieties carried by the Primarch still played their due role. With his eyes tugged at the malicious black hair and quickly approaching his precious document barrier, Zhuang Sen suddenly remembered a strange scene: His dear The way Nostramo's fellows arched and arched on his oak table reminded him of the piece of steel that was stuck to Luther's dental hall and the knight of Caliban decades ago. The gauntlet pulled at the toffee for half the afternoon.

Everything seems to be the same: except that toffee is obviously healthier for human body functions, as for the fat mass in front of him that has approached the center of his field of vision, Jonson would rather draft a declaration of war on every floor he squirms on. and mercilessly used up all his reserves of Extermination Orders.

But fantasy is fantasy after all. When the breath mixed with the rich smell of lavender blew the documents that Jonson was holding down, no matter how reluctant he was, the Lord of Caliban had to raise his head. : After all, Conrad sat on the reference documents Morgan drafted. Without them, Jonson would not have been able to fight alone in this long office war.

However, thank the Emperor: Fortunately, this guy can actually brush his teeth, and he brushes them very cleanly. The sharp teeth are enough to compete with Jonson's sword. It seems that their genetic father has not forgotten to brush these teeth. Basic knowledge is stuffed into this Nostramo startup program.

However, this did not allow Jonson to maintain a good look towards his close blood relatives: less than two meters away from his face in a straight line, the frighteningly thin Nostramo invasive species was sitting in front of him. He stretched his legs and used his steel boots to scratch against the priceless antique table of the Knights. His crazy black pupils were flashing with excitement that mortals could not understand, like a Fenrisian who had been thirsty for three days and found something. The fine wine in the barrel was just like taking a walk in front of him.

Jonson's fingers subconsciously touched his waist: Good, his exquisite power sword is still there, and it looks very suitable for cutting off the rat head of a certain mammal.

He had wanted to do this for a long time: just when the Nostramo man huddled behind Morgan and wantonly provoked him, the Indomitable Truth, and even the entire Dark Angel Legion, Zhuang Sen decided to update his hunting list after a long absence.

The last time this list was updated was because of a certain canine.

Caliban didn't even bother to conceive of an excuse to declare war. After all, the scene that happened in front of him was like a wild beast walking to the moat of the Knights' fortress. There was no additional development route at all: could it still be Come to sign a non-aggression treaty with them and work together to develop the forest?

War never needs excuses and reasons, war only requires ability and motivation.

And now he neither lacks ability nor motivation. The only thing he needs to think about is whether he wants to break the spine of the guy in front of him or strangle his neck: he should think carefully about which point is important for him and him. Morgan would be the most advantageous choice.

or……

Hear what he has to say?

Thoughts like this flashed through Caliban's mind like pineapple slices on a margherita pizza for no apparent reason, but he couldn't get rid of it: it stuck to him. Behind the name Morgan comes a lofty territorial immunity.

"..."

Zhuang Sen blinked his eyes. He had to turn his head and looked at the Nostramo smile that was destined to shorten his life: At that moment, he immediately made a decision, Ran Dan Alien was no longer The ugliest thing ever recorded in his mind.

"Are you... okay?"

Exhausting all his patience, the Primarch of the Dark Angels Legion dryly squeezed out four words, mixed in his emerald eyes that were neither sad nor happy, as a pitiful message that shot into Conrad's heart. bona fide.

Or an ultimatum.

"..."

Conrad's smile was still so bright and dazzling. He didn't seem to accept Jonson's words immediately. Instead, he maintained his permeating kindness and enjoyed the current situation: Nostra sitting on the table. The Mo Ren was naturally taller than the Caliban sitting on the chair. This child-like contrast actually made the Midnight Ghost feel truly happy.

But soon, he fired back his first sharp arrow,

"Jonson, my blood relative."

The hoarse voice of the midnight ghost came with the tenth second.

"You are well tamed."

"..."

The voice from Nostramo echoed in the room without restraint, and what greeted it was only a cold silence. The midnight ghost spent all his attention, focusing on the face of Caliban, longing for He caught the instinctive rage at the first moment: but in the end, the only thing that responded to him was the lion's slightly raised brow after a long period of dead silence.

Boring.

Conrad pouted.

"What do you mean, Conrad?"

At about the fifteenth second, the Lord of Dark Angels' inquiry came to Conrad's ears. Rather than pure doubts, he could clearly hear a hint of irritation, which made the Nostramo people ignited again. Got fighting spirit.

He glanced at Zhuang Sen again and looked at his eyes carefully: the restless forest flickered in those emerald pupils, which was far from as peaceful as it seemed on the surface.

So Conrad smiled.

Sixteenth second.

"You know exactly what I want to say, my dear beast brother: when I first stepped onto the deck of the Indomitable Truth, I realized clearly what kind of land this is. This is not a knight's fortress, but A lair of beasts floating in space.”

"Your heirs must dislike your decoration style, especially those from Caliban: I heard that they are all knights, so they can naturally tell the difference in style between knights and beasts. Maybe you can't tell the difference. ?”

"..."

Conrad's answer was the briefest of silence and a soft hum.

"Is this what you're going to do to talk about such boring topics? If you could just take your paws off my conference table, it would be a much more civilized place."

"Never."

Conrad grinned and resisted his brother with a childlike mischievousness. He and Jonson looked at each other for the entire eighteenth second.

He continued to speak.

"Perhaps you should be careful with your knights, my dear brother: believe me, this is the only goodwill I have for you, although when I, the beast, step into your beast's lair, we The war is inevitable, but I still want to tell you that you should pay more attention to your descendants and warriors."

"Look how much they hate you."

"boom!"

The crackling sound of the steel gauntlets hitting the table ignited the fanatical pale faces of the Nostramos.

"My legion, I don't need you to tell me what to do. Conrad, if you have this time, you might as well go and see your legion. They are a group of scum fished out of Terra's prison. Their ridiculous loyalty is different from yours." Their faces match each other very well, they are things that should be lying in the grave.”

"It's hard to disagree, the great Jonson."

Midnight Ghost showed no anger at all. He raised one hand high and waved an exaggerated salute in mid-air.

"I know who in my legion deserves to die: they all deserve to die."

"But their pitiful little lives are not meaningful to us right now: after all, those burning worlds will have to wait for decades before they can cry, and then I will have enough reasons to kill these people. Idiots who don’t understand me.”

He spoke the above words passionately, and then his voice suddenly changed, from a high-pitched speech to a kind of whisper that would only appear in conspiracy.

"but……"

"Compared with these, why don't we care about another more interesting question: The great Jonson was so resistant to his poor brother's advice, like an old goat in vain, trying to protect his legion and face. Free from any disturbance."

"But on the other hand: a certain silver-haired blood relative of ours is really giving advice to the entire First Legion: Does the pride of the Dark Angels vary from person to person?"

"What does this have to do with you?"

The twenty-second sound passed through the Caliban's chest, and Jonson could clearly feel the anger in his heart burning because of the Nostramo's too-close smile.

Conrad smiled gracefully.

"Because I am a person who can't hide my inner secrets. Brother, you have to pity me at this point. Unlike you, I can't learn to close my mouth and devour the secrets. Countless benefits: Just do what you’ve always done.”

"So when I see this hilarious scene, I always want to point it out."

He was so close that Zhuang Sen could clearly see that every tooth of the Midnight Ghost was mocking him wantonly. His voice was low, but it penetrated deep into his bones.

"O Jonson, our great Caliban King of Knights, who had a mighty legion of his own, and even learned to share it: to a witch who appeared in his castle, for she was so magical, It’s so trustworthy.”

"The King of Knights trusts his witch, just like how his witch trusts him in his eyes. He even forgets his true identity because of this: he is not a knight, let alone a king, he is just a deep forest head. A wandering beast, using heaven and earth as its nest and flesh and blood as its romance, until one day, a witch led it to the fortress of civilization and became his partner and his best friend."

"It thinks this is trust, it thinks this is immortal loyalty, it thinks this is a connection that can spread to eternity: with the common battle and the blood of the enemy, it can gain a true trust, a relationship that is enough to It is the mutual trust that underpins civilization.”

"It's no longer a beast, it's become a human being."

"But...is it really so?"

Midnight Ghost chuckled, and his laughter lasted until the twenty-fifth second, until his fingers stretched out to his side, reaching towards the reference documents left by Morgan.

“Domestication is mistaken for affection.”

“Pity is misunderstood as loyalty.”

"The beast that knows nothing uses its own ideas to view the world, and uses its own optimism to figure out the people in the city. It thinks that it can stand up, learn to talk, and fight together with those guys who stand on both feet. You can become her companion and relative."

Twenty-six seconds.

"It doesn't know those words: it doesn't know pets, it doesn't know livestock, it doesn't know carriages for traveling, fine dogs for hunting, let alone..."

"On the legs of those eldest ladies, there is often a big cat of the same clan as them."

Twenty-eight seconds.

"Take a look, Jonson."

"Reference document... ha!"

"She even wrote a special one: her own one was not enough, and she had to leave a second one. She would rather double the workload, but also to keep your actions within the scope she had set. "

"What do you think this is?"

"take care of?"

"responsibility?"

"Is it still a natural habit?"

"Wake up, Jonson."

Twenty-nine seconds.

Caliban's pupils still showed no sadness or joy as always, but this had nothing to do with Conrad's thoughts. The Midnight Ghost knew what he should do.

Under the astonished gaze of the Lord of Dark Angels, the Nostramo slowly grabbed the reference documents left by Morgan, slowly moved his fingers, and in the blink of an eye, they formed a ball of paper.

The next moment, the paper ball, accompanied by spicy words, hit Caliban's head, which was still in shock.

"Wake up, Jonson."

"These things just illustrate it."

——————

"She doesn't trust you at all."

——————

Seconds slowly passed by the thirtieth moment.

At this time, in the room.

Only silent rage.

And the roaring sound of a sword being unsheathed.

And the heart-breaking, dream-come-true laughter from Nostramo swept through everything in the next second.