Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

Nobody.

The general of the resentful army.

Slaves of the Empire.

That's what they call you.

Everyone: your brothers and subordinates, your people and allies, your supporters and opponents, and the despicable people who grind their teeth and blood in the empire you fight for, they are all called so Yours, everyone is using a contemptuous attitude, while enjoying the results you have brought, while talking about the dripping blood on the palm of the Lord of Steel.

They laughed at the blood, at the price Perturabo paid for the empire, at the dirt on the toes of your boots and the scars on your face. They laughed at the temples far away from the war and within the stars enjoying peace. His sarcastic comments were never concealed, and they all pierced the Lord of Steel's ears.

Arbitrary tyrants, dreamers who are incompatible with the situation, inferior warlords who only waste human lives: the most repressive among brothers, the most cruel among the Primarchs, the least efficient on the battlefield, and the most humble in the galaxy, they do not deserve any praise. and encouragement, all the hard work, dedication and sacrifice are just natural responsibilities.

You should be firmly locked in the wilderness of war with an iron yoke, driven like a strong cattle to cultivate more fertile soil for the human empire, and what you are given is nothing more than fodder and whips. : Perhaps, there are still a few so-called poets standing on the ridge of the fields who will use you to make a few sour and difficult-to-understand bad tunes, which should be regarded as the world's memory of your blood and sweat.

And they would call this honor.

And they will think that Perturabo is not even worthy of this so-called [honor].

…

This is how they see you and him: use and greed, lies and contempt. Ever since you opened your eyes and saw that terrifying giant eye in the sky for the first time, your life has been wandering through such a whirlpool repeatedly.

Time and time again, you take on missions that others think are impossible, rush to the most demanding battlefields in the galaxy, and use your impeccable logical thinking to defeat anyone who dares to be an enemy of the empire: the Lord of Steel firmly believes in the final victory. It is necessary to do whatever it takes, and based on this concept, using pure numbers to promote atrocities, casualties and massacres is precisely the secret to Perturabo's invincibility.

But everyone around you doesn't like this secret. The bureaucrats and people you protected took the fruits of victory without hesitation, then turned around and condemned your cold-bloodedness. Your brothers disdained your tragic victory. Gu, while your warriors hid the fear in their hearts and pretended to imitate the ugliness of the conqueror.

Suddenly, everyone thought that Perturabo was the source of the blood, that you deliberately made the war in front of you so tragic, that it was your madness and paranoia that persecuted your soldiers: almost no one would Assuming a conception, one would ask that question in their benighted minds out of even an iota of compassion and brains.

Do you really want this?

Could it be that such blood and sacrifice were your original intention?

Could it be that when Holy Terra sent your legions to these battlefields, wasn't the inner meaning they wanted to express, that they could do whatever it takes for the ultimate victory?

If they wanted glory, why not choose Horus? If they were looking for efficiency, why not send Gorgon? If they wanted a show worthy of publicity, wouldn't Fulgrim and Sanguinius's bombastic Negotiators be a better choice?

Those bureaucrats on Holy Terra, those worms under Malcador, they are bitter, greedy and mean, but they are not stupid: they know everything, they know what kind of legions to send on what battlefields.

Because they know that the Luna Wolves are only suitable for smooth, fast and bright tactical-level operations; they know that the secret of the Blood Angels is nothing more than the monotonous three-axe; they know that the selfishness of the Ultramarines does not allow them to sacrifice for other territories of the empire. Bloodshed and sacrifice; they also know that the Imperial Fist will only clench its fists and concentrate all its power in one place, ignoring those inconspicuous branches.

For other legions, they also have their own problems: the Death Guard are slow and stiff, and have no more flexibility; the Space Wolves are reckless and primitive, and they are not worth looking forward to; the Emperor's Children are exaggerated, and they will turn simple things into Things are made extremely complicated to show their pursuit of "perfection"; the white scars are uncertain, making them unable to become a trustworthy backbone; the Night Lords take the wrong approach, and cruelty and fear have never been the leaders on the battlefield. ; As for the famous Iron Hand? You have no interest in judging a legion that can't even achieve a semblance of unity. All it takes to defeat them is a great decapitation operation.

As for the second-tier characters like the World Eaters, Word Bearers, Thousand Sons, and Salamanders: although you have no ill will towards their respective gene-fathers, and you even have admiration for them, that doesn't mean you will brag about their legions against your will.

You will indeed appreciate Angron's calmness and composure. He manages his legion with the most logical thinking, and will only massacre the tyrannical enemies of the empire, while showing indifferent tolerance to those who deserve forgiveness: But you still don't think that the World Eaters are a legion that can make a name for themselves on the battlefield. They really lack talent for the logic and art of war, and are not worthy of their genetic father in this regard.

You will praise Magnus for his sincere heart, although it makes him look stupid on many issues and spreads this stupidity to his Legion: comparing the two Dawnbreakers and Thousand Sons side by side As for the attitude of the Psychic Legion towards the power of subspace, you clearly know that the descendants of Morgan are the ones worthy of your reference and learning. Their humble attitude cannot be considered wrong at any time.

You can't see this kind of humility in the Thousand Sons. They lack respect for the logic and reality that maintains the world itself. They are feverishly trapped in their own fantasies and ignore their actual insignificance: you know very well that you are not the only one. You yourself hate this madness.

In fact, within almost all legions, as long as there is research and utilization of subspace power, the [Dawnbreaker Faction] can always defeat the [Thousand Sons Faction]. The think tank of every legion will eventually imitate It is accomplished through the model of Avalon: even among the Death Guard, which has no think tank power at all, the hatred and contempt for Prospero is far greater than that for Avalon, because the latter is so humble and silence, so that Mortarion could still retain a trace of the most basic goodwill in the face of Morgan's low profile.

Silent people can always please others better than impetuous ones: Lord Barbarus once confessed in front of Horus that if the situation allowed, he would not mind holding his nose and cooperating with the Queen of Avalon, Because Morgan is at least "capable of accomplishing something", but he would rather die than be associated with Magnus's arrogance and incompetence.

In addition, there are Vulkan and his Salamander Legion. You don't hate them, but you don't understand them either. Your strongest brother and his descendants both express an edge of kindness. , they were clearly not the best legion on the battlefield, and their energy was clearly not spent on the glory of the Great Crusade.

The last time you heard about the deeds of the Eighteenth Legion was a few years ago: it is said that your brother Vulkan mobilized a group of his most trusted heirs to form a sizable delegation, and they visited in turn He visited Avalon and Macragge, and then went to Nostramo on an impromptu basis, and of course received a warm welcome from the three places.

The Ultramarines Legion even held a grand military parade for their dark-skinned cousins. More than a hundred divine machines and three hundred battleships gathered on the capital planet of Ultramar, Five Hundred Worlds. The Lord personally led the Salamanders to visit his entire royal city.

The descendants of the Fire Dragon Lord did not hide their intentions for this trip. The 18th Legion has always been committed to protecting the safety of mortals and making their lives better. They did a very good job on the former goal, but later One goal is clearly not their area of ​​expertise: although the mortals living under the rule of the salamanders can enjoy benevolent rule and an atmosphere of harmony, they are never prosperous.

Although you think this is more due to the environmental problems of Nocturne itself.

Therefore, when three primordial countries emerged in the east of the empire, where the people were happy and prosperous, Vulkan obviously became interested, and his best descendants followed him, learning how to make mortals able to The secret to thriving under the protection of the Legiones Astartes.

In Avalon and Macragge, this delegation deservedly received the warmest welcome and returned with a full load. They also reciprocated and generously promised the Fire Dragon Lord's gratitude and friendship, but in this The last stop of the investigation trip, which was the newly emerging Nostramo Territory, had some minor twists and turns.

Although the Midnight Lords' governance of their home planet is fair, it is also strict, which obviously touched some of the fragile nerves of the Salamanders. However, just when the atmosphere was tense, Conrad, the primarch of the Night Lords, personally designated The commander of the Nostramo garrison, a legionnaire named Shen, stepped forward and successfully prevented things from getting worse.

Afterwards, Shen led all the Salamander members to visit and tell in detail the past of Nostramo, as well as the origins and improvements of the many harsh systems of the Night Lords: after fully witnessing what had happened to this eternal night star After experiencing such things and witnessing the monsters and monsters in those prisons with their own eyes, the Salamanders fell into a long ideological struggle.

But in the end, truth and wisdom prevailed, and Vulkan's descendants understood the importance of adapting to local conditions. They solemnly apologized to their battle brothers, and accepted with mixed feelings many of the gifts warmly given by the Night Lords. Books on Punishment and Supervision: After all, anyone could tell that Conrad's heirs had good intentions.

This ending is not perfect, but when the descendants of the Fire Dragon Lord ended their inspection trip and returned to Nocturne, their efforts were still praised by Vulkan. The respective gifts to the Three Kingdoms of the Far East: Five Hundred Worlds’ views on governance, the Far Eastern Frontier’s methods of getting closer to mortals, and Nostramo’s awareness of reality.

Then? You haven't heard much about what happened after that.

You vaguely remember that Vulkan announced not long ago that he would build a loose mutual aid alliance with the surrounding worlds centered on Nocturne, the home star of his legion. This statement did not cause anyone to worry, because it itself was a An extremely restrictive plan.

The Lord of the Fire Dragon only plans to unite up to thirty galaxies within a hundred years, because he knows the upper limit of his capabilities, and this loose confederation is not a military or economic cooperation. Its main purpose is to members Mutual help, exchange of needs, targeted assistance and humanitarian assistance, the protection of the Salamander Legion is its core interest.

You remember clearly that when this news reached the Fourth Legion, your Trident Frix once made an extremely accurate evaluation of it: an oversized, charitable alliance of village communes, nothing more than It's just a bunch of weaklings joining a group to keep warm.

Neither is suitable for the Empire.

Nor is it suitable for the Great Crusade.

This is a very accurate evaluation, and most of your brothers and their legions can be summarized with this evaluation: a confused core, a bunch of weak subordinates, together forming a loose system, it is nothing more than genetic surgery The powerful power given to them allows them to be called a [Legion].

This is true for most legions, except for a very few: for example, the two at the top of the sequence are also the two who escaped due to your condemnation.

You almost forgot that there are Dark Angels and Dawnbreakers: they are powerful teams with high efficiency and selfless dedication, but they also have their own shortcomings: Jonson is not the most outstanding commander in the galaxy. His vision is still too narrow. Although you recognize him as the Warmaster, it is only because you don't want to compete for that position.

As for Morgan, she is very suitable to be an assistant and scheduler, and can single-handedly carry an entire war. The Dawnbreakers are also a pretty good legion: you have even imagined in your mind, if you are this second legion If they are the father of genes, what kind of sparks will you create with them?

The answer is obvious.

So, you're not surprised that Morgan is now successful, if you have a starting force like Dawnbreaker and have the same conditions as Morgan, you will only do better than her: but still , you still admit that your Avalonian blood relatives are the greatest people in the entire galaxy after you.

She did a good job: although given her talent, she could have done better.

But it is a pity that she has too few trump cards to play the great game of war. It has long been an open secret how difficult it is for the descendants of the Lord of Avalon, so even the Far Eastern Frontier will be vaguely revealed in many cases. Far more powerful than what they claimed, but still few people would criticize Morgan's country for this: As a union with the Primarch and the Legion as the backbone, the scarcity of Dawnbreaker warriors is doomed. The Far Eastern Frontier cannot be Terra's thorn in the side.

At the same time, Morgan's weak character prevents her from being ruthless at critical moments. She is even more compromising and unimportant than Guilliman and Vulkan. This is evident from her role in establishing the Far East. On the frontier, you can get a glimpse of it by never using the Extermination Order: This makes Morgan unable to compete in the most difficult battle situations.

She is too weak and cannot and should not be bothered by the bloodshed of war.

Terra thinks so, and you think so too: it is wrong to let your gentle and sentimental blood relative shoulder the cruelty of war. This goes against the most basic kindness and romance in human nature, and it goes against The values ​​​​of the Lord of Steel.

Therefore, when all the empire's means are useless, when the battlefield in front of us can only open up the rigid situation with cold logic, silent dedication, and a steady stream of blood, the Iron Warriors' fleet will be ordered Go ahead, not the other so-called [aces] who have great reputations.

On those battlefields where Horus, Vulkan and Morgan were unable to win, only your will and legions can allow the Empire to achieve final victory and allow the great cause of the Great Crusade to continue to advance.

It is with this awareness that you step into the battlefield again and again.

Because you believe that only those warhammers that are simple in appearance but powerful and heavy can break through the enemy's thickest armor, not those gorgeous swords that are only suitable for hanging on the waist or placed on the weapon rack.

This is your niche.

But you also know that when the war is over, people will always throw the warhammer aside as soon as possible, and once again use those thin iron pieces to boast the myth of war, calling those useless swords the "Hundred Soldiers" [God] or [King].

Idiots always fail to see who is the one paying silently in the shadows.

They could not see the hammer, nor could they see Perturabo.

They can't see you.

I can't see the blood you shed.

They just laugh, stupid laughs.

"..."

But now, none of that matters.

——————

You open your eyes: the Lord of Steel has returned to reality.

The weird smell of preservatives mixed with the distortion of the alien flesh first penetrates into your olfactory organs, followed closely by the dense flow of data and the creaking of experimental equipment, pouring into your auricles and the dark room. It is filled with light green and faint blue electronic light, illuminating the huge steel skull on the wall like a decoration in a horror movie, and making your face keep rising and falling in the shadows.

Your eyes scanned all of this, showing a pale smile. You like this room. It is the only place on the entire [Iron-Blooded] where you can feel relaxed. The other one is deep in the bottom deck. You The foundry you built by yourself is a complete replica of your private world on Olympia, your home world. In this room, you conducted experiments on data, and in that room, you created and collected priceless instruments.

The former is a duty, while the latter is a leisure interest. You can always tell which is more important between them: for the past seven hundred Terran standard hours, you have locked yourself inside this laboratory and Locked together with loneliness, silence, endless experimental reports and the frozen alien skeleton.

Previous failures have made you lose confidence in whether your legion can defeat the Hrud with its own courage. At the same time, you also want to understand one thing. Although Dorn and Morgan have their own problems, the words in their mouths But the words are correct: if changes are not made, this expedition will never end.

You listened to this opinion and made changes accordingly. You took over the remains of the Hrud from Morgan and began to use all the knowledge in your mind and all the data you could find to decipher these. The despicable aliens were able to play with the secrets of the laws of time, and then developed the corresponding weapons and put them into the battlefield of the expedition to drive the Hrud from every inch of the empire.

This is another battle, no easier than fighting on the battlefield. You must use a very short time and scarce resources to uncover the essence of an alien race that has evolved over tens of millions of years. With hundreds of Hours of study kill millions of years of wisdom.

It was hard, almost impossible: but you still succeeded.

The Lord of Steel looked at the other end of the laboratory. It was a device similar to a pyramid. It was not big and full of obvious experimental features. It was very close to the remains of the Hrud. The theory It should be interfered by the weak space-time force field: But neither the device itself nor the hanging iron pieces around it that are used for comparison show any signs of corrosion. On the contrary, they are absorbing the strange power of the alien.

This is the result of your research.

Although you cannot completely eliminate the power of the Hrud that can disrupt the flow of time, you have discovered that you can reversely disrupt the alien's own time force field by fighting fire with poison: as long as a sufficient number of devices are used Throwing yourself into the massive wave of aliens and harnessing the chaos and power of their own force fields is enough to eradicate an entire world of alien dangers at once.

This would be the death knell for the Hrud.

…

But as the inventor of the invention, you know very well that if you want this device to fully play its role, you will need several field experiments and tedious processes: just to send it to the venue most suitable for exerting its power. , it would be necessary to split the wave of Hrudians, and pay a huge upfront price, which may be an extremely bloody assault, and the lives of thousands of Astartes warriors.

You had an opportunity to improve this problem.

When the research process of this device was halfway through, you clearly remember that you were faced with a choice: you could make this device more lightweight to reduce the triggering requirements and not have to use so much blood for it. flow; but you can also make this device heavier, allowing more sacrifices to be sent to the best triggering site, but the ensuing explosion will be more likely to destroy a lightweight individual than The power of the Hrud.

Minimize sacrifices as much as possible?

Or are you pursuing the most stable efficiency?

You didn't hesitate for long: you even doubted whether you had hesitated at all.

Therefore, the chaos device finally placed here is the heaviest form you can design: just to send it to the appropriate triggering location, you need at least a battle with the original body, and several A massive offensive involving tens of thousands of Astartes warriors can penetrate the core of the Hrud and eliminate them all at once.

You know that if this secret is exposed, there will be voices from all directions that will drown you out, condemning you for squandering the lives of your soldiers: you have already anticipated this when you made your choice.

But you don't care.

You never cared.

Because you know one fact very well: no matter what you do, no matter what price you pay, no matter whether your legion is conducting humanitarian relief or carrying out a violent attack at any cost, there will always be voices jumping out to condemn your cruelty. , ever since you issued the infamous eleven-day killing order on the day you reunited with the Legion, your reputation as a ruthless person has followed you like a shadow, and you can no longer drag it away.

How ridiculous.

Why does that angel only need to kneel down to his descendants once to receive boundless praise and honor, but you just issued a cruel order and you have to bear such a long-standing infamy: When dealing with your own legion? After the first day, you have made much more contributions than the angels!

Why, they only look at that day!

Why, they never understand the truth of the matter!

Why...

No one knows your painstaking efforts.

…

Do they really think that you ordered the killing for so-called cruelty?

Do they really think you want to do this? Are you willing to do this?

No one knows that your choice and cruelty are just a classic echo of ancient Greek tragedy: you are very sure that the cause of all this tragedy is not the flaws in your heart, nor external factors, nor even because of... Any person, or any individual reason.

This tragedy comes from fate, from the Milky Way's invisible random play with every piece on the chessboard, and from the fact that most people except you are pathetic cowards who cannot open their eyes to see the facts. Originating from congenital force majeure.

It's a tragedy, like Jason or Oedipus the King.

You often lament in your heart: lamenting the day that you can't forget.

Your first day reunited with the Legion.

During that day you commanded your warriors to kill other warriors: all this was like those ancient dramas you had heard at Olympia.

Everyone thinks that it was because of the bad nature in your heart and the paranoia that originated from Olympia that you executed one-tenth of the soldiers with such brutal means on the first day you reunited with the Legion: Everyone blames you for this order, including some of your stupid and greedy blood relatives.

They don't understand anything. They will only see the bleeding surface, but they will not see how hard the flowing blood will become after it gradually dries up: and this kind of hardness is what the Iron Warriors need most. It was because of the lack of this that they were reduced to a mediocre legion in the early days of the Great Crusade until the infamous Battle of Incadignon.

You have studied that battle countless times, and its blood-soaked name is the epitome of all the failures and incompetence of the Fourth Legion: despite the success and importance your descendants had from the earliest years of the Great Crusade, But they did not improve their tactics in time as the Great Crusade progressed, and ultimately swallowed the bitter fruit of their own brewing in this heretical forge world.

A year of arduous siege has killed nearly 30,000 warriors, an entire expedition fleet, and countless veterans: all you are left with is a broken division.

At that time, it had not been long before your return, almost a stone's throw away. You certainly had reason to believe that this kind of defeatism was lingering on the Legion's head: the rigid and old-fashioned tactical style, the eye-catching scrawled plans, and the Unworthy of the respectability of the officer corps and, most importantly, the weakness shown in the face of the war itself.

Weakness is fatal.

It must be uprooted: no matter what the cost to you.

And with only a minimum of blood, you completely pulled out all the weakness from the Fourth Legion: when their fists were stained with blood, when they had to face their world view as Astartes warriors. The most blasphemous thing and the most bottom-line thing is that when brothers kill each other, they finally realize the kindness you have given them, and they finally realize the cruel truth of war.

That, is death.

That, is bleeding.

It is the use of cruelty and violence to crush every proud impression in the enemy's soul. It is the most exciting collision between data. It is the individual life that is as insignificant as the fine sand at the bottom of the river in the face of the overall will at all costs: no matter it is Their lives, or the lives of the enemy opposite, will eventually be transformed into a long series of numbers, and this series of numbers will lead the empire to final victory.

This is the position of the Iron Warriors: a warrior, a soldier, a flag made of armor and gunpowder, an ordinary strand in the tide of tens of millions, they should wait to be pushed up by the Lord of Steel The chessboard was annihilated in the most magnificent artillery fire.

There is no glory, no miracles, no cries to turn the tide of the war in the history books, only silent advancement and peaceful sacrifice, because this is the fate of ordinary people: As the Lord of Steel of the Legion, you are a true genius, so you also I am sure that there are no other geniuses in your Fourth Legion. They are just a group of ordinary people. It is your data reasoning that gives them the luck to do their best to shed blood for humanity, the Empire and the Great Crusade.

You will give them a worthy death.

Before they go to the battlefield, you want them to understand this. Through that cruel course that no one wants, through that silent eleven kills, your legion finally takes the first step towards the stars.

Next, it’s time to shed blood.

As for this process of shedding blood, it can be various: attacking fortresses, holding on, massacres and disaster relief. As soldiers, you do not have the right to choose your combat missions, but after decades of expeditions, Terra has decided to use your It was not a pleasant decision to shed blood on the most remote, wild and arduous battlefield, but neither you nor your legion said much.

You will feel proud because their silence is the result of your painstaking teachings.

You will feel pain because your heart is crying for all this too.

But you will still sigh: If you had led a legion that was almost the same as the Dawnbreakers, then there would probably not have been that cruel eleven kills.

You don’t tell anyone what you’re thinking: deep down inside. You have also been troubled by the nightmare of that massacre. Just like King Oedipus was troubled by the nightmare of killing his father and marrying his mother all his life, you are also troubled by the building you built with your own hands, called Ten A terrifying nightmare that kills in one stroke.

Both you and your army are trapped in it.

Brutality has forged your reputation, and brutality has reversed the weakness of the Iron Warriors, but you are still a force that is not valued and respected within the human empire, and you have become infamous because of that internal bloody massacre: you know you must Gain your greatest victory at once. Win the toughest battles and prove to the Empire that you and your heirs can survive the pain and suffering, rather than end in sinking like the tragic heroes in those dramas.

You have to prove to everyone that you are right, that your eleven kills are right, that your ruthlessness is right: they are all derived from logic and reasoning, and you have to do it. The right choice.

Just use your military exploits to prove it!

So convinced, you embark on the Great Crusade.

The most boring mission, the most stubborn fortress, the craziest enemy, the most hidden battlefield, the most difficult victory: just as you promised the emperor, you embraced it all with a fearless heart and led your army. A legion born from pain and blood has overcome every challenge.

Your heirs charge, shout and then fall, until the next man takes his place, and then repeats the same process. It is this army that has allowed you to achieve countless victories across the galaxy that you can proudly tell Everyone, the original eleven-day killing was correct. The Iron Warriors have found their place in the galaxy. They are small individuals in the great war, and they are the unstoppable steel frenzy that can be gathered together through data.

From that moment on, the nightmare of eleven kills never bothers you again.

…Yes, never again…

You...you are unstoppable...

The frenzy you led won everything on the battlefield, defeating everyone in your line of duty. You fulfilled your duty as a legion through endless sacrifice and struggle: now, what you lack , it’s just a medal of honor that those idiots will willingly hand over when they see your honor.

This may take a while. After all, it takes a long time to open the eyes of those fools, and you are not willing to be very proactive in the process. It will appear that you are doing it for honor rather than dedication. Do it In all this, your thinking and inertia tell you what you should do: you should continue this expedition and fight, continue to win the most difficult victories, until the honor that belongs to you stands high before the end of the Great Expedition. Hanging on the bridge of the [Iron-Blooded].

Then……

Then, maybe you can take off the burden on your shoulders, when you win this great crusade for humanity and the Empire, when you bring back enough honor for the Iron Warriors, when you realize your mission as a commander on the battlefield. Mission: After that, you might be able to do something you enjoy.

The great revival of architecture, art and philosophy in peace and logic, this is what you should really do, this is the power you deserve after fulfilling your obligations, just like Jason's journey in which he took It didn't officially begin until the moment of the Golden Fleece, and Hercules' twelve trials were just the beginning of his great and legendary life.

You know very well that even the greatest military conquests, the victories you conquer and the fortresses you build, have their day to crumble, but you also know well that some conquests never dissolve: like Although the Roman Empire is gone, Roman law, religion and culture have profoundly affected today. You will also do the same things as that former empire.

After the Great Crusade, your conquest will truly begin.

Your wisdom and logical thinking will burst into unprecedented prosperity, making you truly famous all over the world. You will launch a new great expedition in the fields of art and technology: this will be greater than the Emperor's cause, this will last forever. Change everything in the world sexually. This is the reason why you came to this sad world.

Your ideas, your pride, your deeds and your legacy, you are certain that they will affect the entire galaxy until ten thousand years later, everyone in the galaxy will praise Perturabo's name.

As an artist, as an architect, as a poet, and as a conqueror: a most special conqueror, a conqueror that will never fade away.

An eternal conqueror who conquers with his wisdom and logic, not his sword.

"..."

You like this description.

Closing his eyes, the Iron Lord allowed himself to stay in this wonderful fantasy for a short time. You murmured to yourself, just like any Primarch with romantic feelings in his heart, imagining the things he longed for. To relieve the overwhelming pressure of endless work.

Everyone needs to relax, even Perturabo.

But the Lord of Steel is different. You will never allow yourself to stay in this weak atmosphere for too long. It may be one second, or it may be two seconds. You will soon open your eyes, those ruthless eyes. The gray pupils once again returned to their focused work state.

In fact, there is no work to be done, because the main body of the device has been developed a few hours ago. All you have to do now is wait for your two blood relatives, or in other words, wait for Dorn to return from his attack.

…Dorn…

You chewed on the name, and there was a slight fluctuation on your serious face. This simple Gothic language made your mind more disordered than a long list of scarlet-colored death lists: you were not confused about this. , because in your heart, you actually know your views on Dorne very well.

What was your first impression of the Invite man? Is it hatred and jealousy that the world thinks it is? Or is it the contempt and disdain that your heirs firmly believe in? Or is it some more complex emotions?

As sympathy between opponents with similar abilities? Angry at his arrogance? Or is it because the world only sees his vain glory, so it wants to smash him and his golden crown to pieces with bloodlust and madness?

…

No.

Internally, you shake your head at yourself.

None: every narrow emotion cannot encapsulate the greatness of your heart.

Dorne...

Your feelings for him are complicated.

Perhaps, your outward expression of excitement when facing Dorne caused many people to misunderstand your true emotions. They thought that you were as hateful, agitated, resentful and jealous as you appeared, and that you were not interested in what the Imperial Fists were doing. He is dismissive of the achievements he has made, but he is particularly concerned about them.

But it is an irresponsible behavior to blindly connect a person's external performance with his actual heart. After all, your external performance will be affected by many factors: for example, you can never calmly sit on the three forks. In front of Halberd or Iron Warrior, give Dorn an appropriate evaluation.

But in your heart, in your eternally cold logical heart, your thoughts about the Invite are always the same, and they have not changed until now, even if he once made you so angry.

But you still know.

Donne, very good.

He is a genius and can even be called your best brother...

one.

"..."

You smiled, and you suddenly realized that you were subconsciously using the word "brother" instead of "blood relative", because if you use brother, you can legitimately remove your Avalon blood relative from this competition. Hit the field.

Instinctively, you don't want Morgan to be compared with any of your brothers. She is not suitable for this kind of competition for fame and fortune. Her indifference is more suitable for those in private, among marble statues, classical theaters and red wine glasses. The peaceful communication between you and her is the memory and time that only belongs to you and her.

Besides Morgan, Dorn is the most worthy of admiration. He is far more worthy of your sincere praise than Horus or even Sanguinius: perhaps he is not as good as Magnus as a brother. , but he outshines Prospero in other ways.

Getting a compliment from Donne is a million times more difficult than getting another person's approval, but it is even more precious and valuable: after all, Donne may have many shortcomings, but not stupidity. Among them, Dorn may have many advantages, but seriousness is the most valuable.

When these two things come together, his eyes are the most powerful measuring stick in the galaxy, and his words are the unequivocal trophy, worthy of the greatest beings in the galaxy: like you, Petula. Bo.

You desire that you can conquer a pair of eyes like these.

Use your talents, your logic, your impeccable victories and achievements, just as you conquer the battlefield with calculations, and you will conquer art and the human heart with talent, you long to be able to make irrefutable Your great achievements, make your brother bow his head and admit defeat, let his mouth spit out the most noble evaluation of you.

Let Don admit that you are the best.

Let Don admit that you are the invincible one.

Let Dorn admit it, let this person who is most like you in the entire galaxy admit it, let this imitation created by the Emperor for you, admire you in wisdom, worship you in merit, and surrender to you in truth. you.

You will be victorious.

You will conquer Dorne.

You will make Dorne, and everyone in the galaxy, aware of:

Who is the best?

You are the best.

And Dorn will be the most suitable candidate to prove your excellence.

After all, even you acknowledge his talent and tenacity, and long for his approval and sighs: just as you long for the Emperor to do the same to you, you fight for it, fight for it, fight for it, And led his own Iron Warriors to rush into the most dangerous battlefield.

From Olympia in the past to the Kraken Abyss today.

This is what keeps you going.

"..."

You sighed again, looking away from the corpse and the device, looking at the door not far away, and became determined again: after a brief thought, you confirmed yourself before the final war began. The thought confirmed my inner persistence.

As mentioned before: the desire to win and conquer, and the longing for the most valuable admiration in the galaxy, are your most original emotions for Dorne, and they are also what a genius will burst out when facing another genius. The strongest thoughts, all the complex emotions are just add-ons to this primal desire.

Just like warriors trying to decide the winner, outstanding architects fighting to be the first among their contemporaries, and you, who should be standing at the top of the world, how should you use to confirm your unparalleled status?

Of course, let the strongest, most objective and most respectable competitor give you the most straightforward surrender and admiration: the device in front of you is the first step for you to win all this, and you will show it in front of Dorn. The true art and connotation of war told him how insignificant the things he believed in before were.

You will do it all, even though it means a lot of sacrifice on your part, even though it means your Legion...

"..."

Your legion...

The Lord of Steel pursed his lips.

A moment of tangle slowly passed through the heart of the original body. For a moment, your logical heart that has never paused had some thoughts: Is this worth it? For the recognition and recognition of Dorne, let more heirs shed blood on the battlefield?

Is it really worth it?

Can this really make Dorn recognize your contribution in this war, instead of giving that guy more reasons and excuses to condemn you for being unfamiliar with the way of war?

Cruelty, ruthlessness, profligacy: what a ready excuse.

"..."

You closed your eyes and felt a little funny when you hesitated: How long has it been since you thought about similar questions? Why, after so many years of practicing the art of war without hesitation, do you suddenly start thinking about casualties again?

Why?

…

You thought about it for a while.

You think of Donne's book.

That is a book worthy of recognition. It inspires you as much as any twinkle in the stars. You think of what the Invites wrote in it, how to use trenches and other factors to reduce the casualties of soldiers: Only In this aspect, you sneered when you saw it, but despite this, you still copied it into your notes very seriously.

You don’t know why, but you do just that, just like when you saw all the means Morgan used to reduce the number of sacrifices of her soldiers, even though you couldn’t empathize with her, you never laughed at it. Live your blood of Avalon: both outwardly and in your heart.

If it was a few decades ago, it would seem like you would do this as a matter of course.

You will laugh at her.

Instead of... understanding her...

"..."

What has changed?

You have to start thinking about this possibility, but you know that you can't understand it, because your logic and overall concept are useless in this regard. You can only think of those battlefields filled with corpses and those scarlet deaths. Statistics, think of those faces you no longer care to remember: more people are pouring into the Iron Warriors Legion's warships every year, and the vast majority of them will disappear in the next few years.

Do you remember them?

Were you supposed to remember them?

You asked yourself in your mind, but out of some uneasiness, you didn't answer.

You don’t know whether you don’t want to answer, or you simply don’t have the guts to answer this question, but this fact still makes you fall into a certain kind of irritation: the unreasonable anger begins to gradually eat away the logical thinking ability in your heart, leaving only a little sense. Limit your actions so that you don't destroy those precious instruments.

You pursed the corners of your mouth. Different from the previous move, your teeth were now biting your thick lips. Swirls and veins symbolizing anger emerged on your surface skin, making your god-like face even more terrifying. , like the terrifying monster in ancient Greek legends: any warrior will be frightened by this sight, and any steel warrior will know that even for the sake of his own life, he should avoid your current anger as much as possible.

But it's a pity that the person who knocked on the door obviously didn't know all this: because of the steel barrier, he didn't feel your anger immediately, and the moment he pushed open the door, he It seems a little too late to regret it.

The only thing to be thankful for is.

That man's name was Fricks.

"……grown ups?"

It was obvious that Fricks regretted it the moment he opened the door. He realized your anger, but he had nowhere to escape now. He could only call you hesitantly, and then took a step back slowly. , waiting for you to vent all the anger in your chest.

"……What's up?"

Your voice sounded more muffled than you thought.

"There is news from Mr. Morgan."

Frix's words slightly relieved the anger in your heart. You turned around and faced him. Frix took a step back because of your terrifying face, but he still reported what he had learned smoothly. He knew the information, and seemed vaguely relieved, as if he was glad that he mentioned Morgan's name first.

"Lord Morgan said that she could not wait for your experiment to be completed. She must lead her Dawnbreaker Legion to take the first step: the Imperial Fists' attempt to leave the battlefield did not go well, and the large Hrud army bit their rear. , Sir Morgan must go to the rescue.”

"……snort!"

You snorted softly, it was an obvious disdain and ridicule. The Invite brothers who were mocking you had a high vision and a low hand. Finally, something went wrong in the last step of the perfect military operation in his dream: he was angered by the Hrud people. Bitten by the craze? This is not pretty.

This thought changed your mood almost instantly. Although this happiness was as cheap as the previous anger, it was just a fleeting cloud: you quickly calmed yourself down again and looked at it again. Thinking about your most trusted leader of the trident, Frix stood at the door with his hands behind his back. His attitude was not a compliment, but what you admired, the most sincere and heartfelt.

This made you smile a little, and your smile made your heir feel relieved.

"What do you think, Fricks?"

You asked, letting your trident think for a moment.

"The defeat of the Imperial Fists was not beyond our expectations, my lord, but we cannot just witness everything happening. It will make this expedition even worse: so I propose that we can allocate part of our strength to attack Dorne." troops to provide support.”

"No need."

You rejected it cleanly, and then looked at the wall on one side. The wall was densely packed with battle reports and star maps that were updated in real time: You locked yourself here, but you never blocked the intelligence from the outside world. He also knows Dorne's tactical advancement very well.

"These difficulties will not cause catastrophe to the Imperial Fist. With Dorn's ability, he can solve it by himself. Morgan's support is just to ensure that everything is foolproof: this is the most important thing for my blood relative of Avalon." What she likes to do is to make everything stable and to soothe her sensitive and thoughtful heart.”

"As for Dorn? I bet he doesn't want support from any of us."

"So, we don't need to do this. Since we have foreseen the outcome of the matter, we don't need to invest in this aspect. Instead, we should do those more important things: How is the military's preparedness? Fricks?"

"You can go to war at any time, my lord."

The head of the trident straightened his back.

"very good."

You laughed.

"Then, gather the troops."

"We have something to do."

"..."

"Is it about that device?"

Frix did not leave immediately. His cautious curiosity made him full of inquiring feelings about the device under your hands. This made you feel a little unhappy, but you were in a good mood and chose to forgive this person generously. Trident, and responded to the confusion in his heart.

"That's right."

You nodded. Then you turned slightly to one side, so that your device could be fully displayed in front of Frix's eyes. In your son's pupils, you saw an unconcealable and genuine exclamation, which was a tribute to your exquisite conception and Nothing can make you feel more joyful than the brilliance of great technology.

"I have to admit, my lord, these creations of yours are ingenious."

Frix marveled for a second before remembering that he should respond to the primarch.

"But it's not good enough."

Although you were satisfied with his heartfelt performance, you still refuted him verbally and picked out the shortcomings of your creation.

"First of all, I made it too refined. Considering that it will be a consumable in the subsequent war, I think I should transform it into a rougher one: qualified weapons that are easy to produce in large quantities are the key to war. The essential."

"Indeed, my lord."

Frix nodded.

"From ancient times to the present, what can support human beings to win in cruel fights has always been the torrent of steel and industrial machines, not so-called miracle weapons: those are just crazy fantasies in the face of doomsday."

"That's right: As for whether a brand-new weapon is a so-called miracle weapon or a benchmark that can lead to victory, it depends on whether it can be standardized and whether it can be spread to the grassroots as much as possible."

"It's easy to understand, but there are always so many fools who don't understand it."

You laughed and looked at the thoughtful look on Frix's face with satisfaction. You didn't even tell your heir that the raw materials used in this unparalleled creation were actually not that rare, or even any other. Every Iron Warrior has the ability to obtain: these weakest elements have now become the key to the entire Kraken Abyss expedition, and the biggest contributor is undoubtedly your mind.

You can turn something into something magical: what better proof of your genius than that?

Frix witnessed this, and your blood relatives will soon witness it too.

But before that, out of a rigorous work attitude, you still have one step to take.

"Flix."

Your voice was low, but it still caught your trident's attention.

"After all, this is still an experimental creation. It lacks enough data, lacks enough blood and results, and this is what we have to do next: let the Imperial Fist bleed on the front line, and we will do it in the experiment The real secret to winning.”

"So, what you mean is..."

"I'm not worried about any big problems in Dorne. After all, my two blood relatives are trustworthy beings: you go tell them first, Frix, that the Iron Warriors will arrive in at most a month. battlefield, and then you can find some suitable targets, the Hrud Fortress, which can be used as an experimental site.”

Orders came out of your mouth quickly, and the head of the trident recorded them with the same efficiency. You don't need to repeat or confirm, because you will not miss any of the details, and Frix Nor will you get a second chance.

Just like that, when the head of the trident completed his mission and exited the room, you were the only one who turned around in silence and looked at the corpse in front of you, your creation, and the kingdom of logic that belongs only to you.

Standing on the land of this kingdom, your voice echoes quietly.

"Let their blood flow."

"With Perturabo..."

"No."

"In the name of those who have died."

"I will seek vengeance for them."