Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Morse looked at the strange phantom cast by the wine glass on the table in the moonlight. The rim of the glass and the light and shadow circled on the surface of the red wine were nested in each other.

He touched the cup with his knuckles: "When he and Perturabo were discussing the name of the legion, I was wondering whether the word he said was sun or son. Until Perturabo asked him why he didn't use High Gothic (sol ).”

"A scholar's pet peeve?" Macado used a particularly gentle tone to neutralize the offensive power of his words. "The joy of discovering a breakthrough always makes people forget about the birth of new hidden dangers."

The Emperor rested his chin on one hand and nodded. "You gave him a chance to change, Morse. But thinking habits will not suddenly change just because you make up your mind."

After finishing speaking, he took a sip of the white wine in his glass and finished the second half of the sentence: "But he still has many years to grow."

Perhaps because he finally had the opportunity to take off his cold gold armor and put on a soft and comfortable loose linen robe, the emperor was in a high mood today, with a faint smile on his face with slightly darker skin. , and deepen with the consumption of alcoholic beverages.

Morse's fingertips quickly grazed the upper edge of the glass, creating a series of sliding friction sounds.

The last time he drank was at the hermitage of Olympia Lokos, where a large pile of crudely brewed old wine had been buried in the land behind the house; as for drinking wine from a wine glass with a carved surface and gold rim, that might have been true. It dates back more than 10,000 years.

"Anyway, this is what I did after I left Olympia," he said briskly, "messed up a city, killed some things, and brought you a new son. I told you Magnus and How similar are you?"

"Not yet." The Emperor thought for a moment, "But I know he is similar to me. A strong thirst for knowledge and curiosity."

"And damn super psyker status," Morse said. "Don't stare at me, Malcador, you are a super psyker and the Emperor is a damn super psyker."

The Prime Minister of the Empire withdrew his gaze and slowly rolled up a piece of honeydew melon cut into small sections with slices of ham. "Oh, I'm just a humble servant of the Empire."

"And my friends," said the Emperor, "both of you."

Morse thought his eyes looked like those of an ordinary clerk who saw an unknown alien creature lying in a ditch on the side of the road after get off work.

"You make me unable to bear to ask you if you have schizophrenia. The guy who flies down from the sky every day with golden light, the strange man who made and lost twenty sons in one breath, and the old man sitting in front of me now The Lavans don't look much like that, do they?"

"But you asked already, Morse," the Emperor replied. "There is no psychiatrist who can examine me, so I guess I am not mentally ill."

"Don't tell me you're serious."

Macado swallowed his ham and melon. "he is."

The Emperor looked innocently at Malcador with his dark eyes, until the latter's fingers holding the stem of the red wine glass trembled. Well, you made a perfect joke, my lord. "

The prime minister continued: "Sometimes I feel that you are very young, younger than all of us... Morse." He paused deliberately for a moment before naming the person he was talking to.

"Because I don't want to pretend," Morse said. "It's like I never change my appearance, except for an occasional change of clothes."

The Emperor looked at Morse and asked, "How often does this 'occasionally' mean?"

"If you want, I can make myself a new set of ruffled stand-up collar shirt, gold and silver piping jacket, thin brocade knee-length shorts, embroidered stockings and black top hat with turned brim, and then we can reenact the story of the guillotine in the palace. ”

After saying that, Morse drank up his wine and once again confirmed that he had no liking for this sour, weird and too low alcohol drink.

"It may not be feasible." Makado thought for a while, "If you want, I can arrange for an empty room to be used as a theater."

He did consider the possibility, after all, tonight was a break that allowed for fantasy and relaxation.

"No." The Emperor refused and removed his chin from the hand that supported his head, freeing his hands to carve a steak. "Today is not a bloody night."

"It's up to you," Morse said nonchalantly.

He paused for a moment, as if he was listening to the voice coming from far away, and then Morse raised his eyebrows: "Are you really trying to drink and eat meat with Leman Russ?"

"You never told me this story," said Malcador.

The Emperor put down his knife and fork. "It's true." He recalled the wonderful scene of meeting Russ, and he smiled. "I hit him until he hit the wall."

"Very brave, my lord."

"Hey, what do you mean? You can't be happy just because you beat your kid."

"My child?" The Emperor's smile froze at the word, making the Lord of Mankind look like an awkward picture. Mors and Malcador stopped doing anything except breathing, leaving the Emperor some time to think.

In this rare silence, Morse was also reading the Emperor's appearance.

Even in private gatherings under the stars - well, this is a simulated starry sky projection in the palace - the year-round compassion and dissociation still slide over the face of the lord of mankind from time to time, throwing him to A level higher than the mortals in this world.

The Emperor often sought to deny this, stripping away fragments of his noble character to capture his original joy and anger in a short-lived manner, tracing his original identity as a mortal.

He often thought that he had successfully found an identity other than king, wizard, archon, maester, forerunner, conspirator, religious leader, military officer and politician, such as a friend or father, and was happy to find that the mask he wore had not yet penetrated into his soul.

But Mors knew that he could not do it as long as he was still fantasizing about the great dream of a better future for mankind.

Not long after, the Emperor came out from the depths of his mind. The expression in his deep eyes became firm and warm. This emotional power was endlessly surging outward from the Emperor's not tall body after taking off the psychic shell, making the other two people present feel almost irresistible love and touching.

For a thought, Mors felt that the Emperor was approaching them, until he was reminded by the cold touch of the glass in his hand.

When the Emperor found Horus, did the Primarch in pearl white armor seem to have a gurgling warmth in his heart? Did he clearly know that he was respecting someone who could not respond to his respect?

As for Russ, Morse thought he already knew, from the tone of his introduction to the Emperor to his brothers.

"They are my children." The Emperor gave a different answer than more than a month ago, his face glowing with a shining brilliance, perhaps because the Lord of Mankind thought he had thought it through. "I created them to create tools, and used the light to make them close to me, but I am still a father, this identity has never disappeared, and I cannot deny it."

He is looking at me and saying these words, Morse thought, and I can't refuse.

"It's really touching." He said in a flat tone, and put his right hand on the edge of the table, "So you also think it is necessary to have an architect in the tool, right?"

"I was wondering when you would mention Terra." Malcador said. "We humans have always fought each other, and the conflict never ceases, but in the end, the planets that are destroyed are always the planets that provide us with a place to live."

"Most humans have a short life cycle," said the Emperor, "while vegetation and rocks take a long time to recover."

"So we do not destroy planets," said Morse briskly, "we only destroy our own beautiful homes. Terra was ugly enough for human tastes when I left it. I did not expect it to be uglier. Should I be glad that I did not witness how you messed with the Earth?"

"Earth," Malcador repeated thoughtfully.

"This is the core of human civilization," said the Emperor. "She is always the first to suffer and the last to be saved."

"Times have changed, and now we have finally fallen in love with geocentrism again."

"Precisely," the Emperor smiled, "and we have to take the occult seriously again."

"We move forward by going backwards," Morse whispered.

"Because we have passed the peak of civilization," said Malcador. "And we must move forward," the Emperor said calmly, a sentence he would repeat dozens of times a day to everyone, so he continued to eat his steak after he finished speaking.

Mors was not quite sure of the name of this meat, he had not yet read the current Galactic Biology Guide - if such a manual existed. Anyway, it looked like a piece of beef, and it would also ooze some light red juice due to the pressure of the knife cutting the muscle fibers.

He found that there were many things he didn't understand, but it had nothing to do with his independent life outside Terra. Even when human civilization had not yet dispersed, a person could not exhaust the knowledge of the current era.

It is always the true genius that pushes the times forward, such as the many roles the Emperor had played. And Mors just followed him leisurely, and when he was called, he would go up to help him, help him climb over a high wall or something, and then let him take himself to the new world behind the wall.

Mors didn't have any additional opinions on this, except that he was often worried that the Emperor would step out and find that he was standing on the edge of a cliff.

"You have to know," he poured himself some new wine, choosing between considering and ignoring the correct technique for pouring wine, "I saw Terra's look, and besides being surprised, I didn't feel any sadness. It's just a planet to me, with a crust, mantle, and atmosphere, all habitable planets have. I can't feel anything about the planet itself."

"I was born here, just like other people are born on other planets. I spent many years living here, but what's the problem? I didn't leave anything behind that I would miss."

"But I did think about coming back." He bit his back teeth together, and the violent contraction of his muscles brought a little soreness. "Many times."

"I have looked for people who can navigate. Those were the few times when I consciously made money. I gained money and status to pay what I prefer to call pensions to those who would die in all likelihood."

"I sent gifted people to penetrate the veil between the real universe and the immaterial space to spy on a distant planet whose psychic light was no different from that of other places, hoping that some gifted person could distinguish the place I couldn't find. This made me kill many people. I have only one reason to do these things. I think I should find you, Emperor."

"I think maybe you still have a few invitations that have not been sent out to your fantasy."

He suddenly stopped here, looking at the Emperor's calm face with a little bit of bewilderment, and asked: "Do you have any more?"

The Emperor lowered his eyes, then stood up and extended his right hand across the table. Morse took his hand and stood up similarly.

Most people would describe the Emperor's words as the thunder of destiny, which cannot be violated. But what is truly irresistible is his cold and powerful will. Regardless, the Emperor's rough palms were warm enough.

"Yes," said the Emperor. Morse sat down with him only after the Emperor let go.

"You are partners again," Malcador said, relieved. The Emperor cannot fight alone, and his golden armor and throne are no match for his companions. As for the Custodes, although he had not participated in their creation, he knew that they were watchers and not companions.

"Yes." Morse looked at the emperor relaxedly, "So it's time to introduce the situation to me further? What is the purpose of the machine underground in your palace? You can't hide too much from your partners. secret."

A trace of surprise finally flashed across the emperor's face, "You..."

"Do you think I'm being honest?" Morse said. "No, I just want to put some moral pressure on you to share your big plans with me. Last time you only said you had twenty children, and you didn't mention a word about the machine. If I didn't reply to Terra, I'm afraid I won’t know it existed until that thing blows up your palace one day.”

Malcador let out a deep sigh. "I believe that my lord can succeed...although he has not yet started this plan."

Both men heard that it was not a statement but a prayer.

The Emperor stared at his cooling steak for a moment, until he proved that there was no cosmic truth in the half-eaten piece of meat.

"Do you know the Eldar?" he said.

"I can speak the Eldar language." Morse spread his hands, "A beautiful but quite annoying language. Different letters have different meanings on different occasions. The body parts and expressions are all written in a written way."

"Humanity was once divided by the obstruction of warp storms, and the Eldar have a way to avoid the corruption dangers and additional obstructions of the warp channels and travel freely across the world. The Eldar have their own communication network that spans the galaxy and coordinates the entire world. The pace of the race is now being used by no one."

"I have long said that the current way of navigating subspace is too rough." Morse whispered, "It's like driving a submarine into a trench."

"And I decided to reuse this network." The emperor glanced downwards, "I obtained this machine from the desert. It will be the hub for reorganizing the network and prevent humans from being blocked by time and space again. , and no longer have to be disturbed by the dark gods."

Morse folded his hands on the edge of the table. As the one locked away from Terra by the Warp Storm, he immediately recognized the importance of this network - at least Malcador had erected an additional psychic shield for their conversation.

"After the expedition progresses to a certain extent, I will return to Terra and concentrate on the development of the Webway Project. We can..." He hesitated for a moment, but then said: "We can go see the machine together later. I Name it the Golden Throne.”

"I like your plan," Mors said. Although he still had many questions, getting an answer from the Emperor exceeded his initial expectations.

He would remain with Perturabo for a while on Terra, and other details could be discussed later, such as whether the Emperor intended to leave the Imperium in the hands of the clearly favored Horus while dealing with the Webway.

"Magnus will also like it, not having to sink into the warp, but being free to unleash his curiosity on the entire universe." He said, remembering how the two men once felt that there was a person in the warp. Brave New World.

The Emperor nodded calmly, his words like a distant sigh: "When that time comes, our race will roam free in space."

The second volume is over, and it’s time for confession at the end of the volume.

Hmm...how do I put it...

Forget it, just ask for suggestions. If you have anything to say, just comment here. Any content is welcome. Critical comments are welcome. Please don't be tactful in your criticism.

I'll see if there's anything I can answer or improve.

And a preview: two or three new primarchs will appear in the second volume.