Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Roboute Guilliman was walking in Illyrium when he learned that someone from the other side of the galaxy was visiting him.

A street filled with barbarians on both sides who were defined by the animal skin clothing on their bodies, the long feathers of the bows and arrows on their backs sticking out of their shoulders, and the carbines on their waists. The barbarians looked up at him, and in the eyes of the crowd Robert Guilliman saw a young and handsome son of a consul, dazzling and full of energy. His height helps him naturally attract attention from the bottom up. Guilliman didn't need this, but Macragge did.

At the valley waterfall next to the temple, he returned to the defeated chieftain the symbol of royal power that the Archons had taken from Illyrium years ago. Before completing this surrender, he had an insight into the following he would receive. Psychology is a set of fixed functions, a black box with traces. Robert Guilliman has known what variables he should set in advance since he was five years old. He didn't even need to spend his thinking energy here. This set of rules was no more difficult to figure out than the military books stored in the library, or even the management regulations posted on the outer walls of the library itself.

His messenger found him and told him that "three people who claim to be your brothers have come to visit. Archon Connaught will receive them in the Councilor's Hall, and a welcome banquet will be held in three days."

He knew immediately it wasn't a scam. Because Conor Guilliman is wise enough.

"Don't look at me," Jotun said. "You are Robert Guilliman."

She is right. Guilliman thought. It is believed that Thalasa Yudon placed the accent on the surname "Guilliman".

"The remaining items of the talks will be completed by Nessus," Guilliman announced, bowing his head.

The secretary who accompanied the army stepped forward, failing to conceal his excitement well. In the record of this meeting, the person who took his place in the meeting will have only a name in the corner that can be eaten by any fungus or insect. The radiance of the clerk comes from the fact that he was selected from among the many clerks. Guilliman himself named them. Guilliman observed this.

He thought for a moment about the meaning of Nessus's name. islands.

There is a passage written in a book in Deucalion's library. "Where did this music come from? It has stopped now. It must have been played and sung for the gods on this island." When he was six years old, he ignored the busy work of the housekeeper and insisted on carrying it to Yudun. listen. Yudun said okay, she was willing to take some time off to listen, but she wouldn't disappear just because she worked outside for a long time, just like an island wouldn't collapse because of a wind that rippled the water.

"We are returning now. We still have time to change our clothes first," Guilliman said to Euton.

"The Lord Chamberlain's business is not about the first dress in the consul's son's wardrobe, Robert," said Euton, a kindly poignancy hidden in her graceful figure, "although I know that This cobalt blue robe has not been worn even once since it came to your room from the loom."

"I will not waste it," Guilliman replied.

The journey back takes up more time mentally than the journey up.

On the way to Illyrium, Guilliman repeatedly thought about every detail of his conquest plan, hoping to obtain a more operational and successful iteration plan from the data generated by more observations. . This consumes his energy and reduces his time for physical sensation.

The return journey is different. He was not on a mission, and although a premonition of more missions and more distant goals was approaching, he was not thinking about them. The relative blankness of his brain lengthened his sense of time.

He pushed aside some questions - they were all questions he had asked himself in the mountains, forests or cities, such as whether he was a unique anomaly, whether his extraordinary intelligence came from nature or man-made, and whether his real family had been lost or abandoned. He, or whether there was a small group in this universe that could be called his true family.

By the time he was old enough to start thinking about these questions, he was also old enough not to bring them to Connor and Euton.

Then he dismissed a new question, refusing with something close to anger to consider whether he wished to extend or shorten his return journey. This sudden feeling frightened him, and when he discovered this, he no longer considered it a reasonable law to keep human psychology within his grasp.

Peace remains on Macragge. The armored vehicle drove calmly into the city, civilians moved aside, and when a happy child running around crossed the road, the vehicle slowed down beside the mother who was rushing to catch up with the child.

Guilliman stared at the child's wrist held by his mother. He spent three seconds observing this insignificant thing and heard his own blood flowing in the veins that contained it.

They walked into the garden outside the Councilor's Hall. During the years of expansion, the garden became a flat monument, a spiral network that spread out in all directions. The Macraggeans named their roads after their cities, and from Macragge to New Surim, splendor was imprinted on signposts, fountains, and the bases of statues, until the glorious character of the building itself that bore the city's name outweighed that of the future. These cities declined at some point.

Then Roboute Guilliman saw them. Beyond the maze of roads and towering shrubs, their figures glowed in the sunlight.

They have the same height as him, delicate facial contours that convey a certain commonality, eyes that are incomparable even with the most perfectly cut artificial gemstones, and different styles of clothing. Their identity is revealed without any need for vain proof or superfluous explanation. Guilliman had that thought and wanted to rush among them, hold their hands without restraining his strength, and look into their eyes without lowering his head or squatting down, but this impulse was instantly suppressed by another force coming from his chest. The trembling was overshadowed.

They were with his father Conor, standing like three giant statues descending from the marble walls beside living men. At this moment, Robert Guilliman finally saw from a third-person perspective how Conor Guilliman got along with a giant like him. The strong sense of alienation was like sandpaper scraping across the surface of a soft blade. , gently cutting over his heart.

Their presence made Robert feel like he was being pushed away by an irresistible wave, away from his father, from the Council Chamber, and from Macragge.

He stepped forward.

"Hello," he listened to his breathing and smooth words, "I heard that you are my brothers?"

After saying this, he began to regret it. The distance in his speech was inappropriate, and the angle of his chin was perhaps too high.

His brothers turned to look at him. Two of them had similar blue eyes. The light irises gave them a cold feeling of looking into their hearts. Among them, the white-haired man showed more of a cold calmness, while the white-haired man showed more of a cold calmness. The brother whose black hair seems to be mixed with other accessories has a kind of iron-clad composure and calmness. In contrast, the brother with the brass eyes gave him a restrained frown at his performance.

"He is Rogal Dorn," the black-haired man said. "This is Angron. Out of some kind of oath to myself, I once decided to give all my money when I met my next brother. The name was given in full, and when I was sorting through the files, I found that they were enough to be compiled into a book. So, I am Perturabo."

"Robert Guilliman," Konor said, "my successor."

Thalasa Euton took Robert Guilliman's hand, warmth spread upwards along the skin they touched, and she trembled slightly. No, this extremely subtle tremor came from himself, and Yudun was helping him find the firmness that was floating away, like an island in the waves. he thinks.

"He is also our son," Euton said.

"Of course." The man named Perturabo said without surprise. "No one intends to deny this. It is a pleasure to meet you, Robert Guilliman."

As if a floodgate had been opened, Guilliman's heart relaxed. The heat swept over him quickly, and his senses were allowed to experience the world again, because the waves had no intention of sweeping him away, and his island was still beside him. A harbor was built beside the island, and deep water was in the depression on the shore. Carrying ships everywhere, waiting for his departure or return.

He saw the blond child milling around the housekeeper, playing with a green leaf that had fallen from his laurel wreath with his hands behind his back, moving from left to right and then to left at the table of busy women, mumbling something. "His sweet music calmed the turbulence of the sea, and calmed my agitated feelings; so I followed it, or rather it attracted me - but it was still now. Ah, it sang again ." He recited it with the cadence of an actor in the theatre. Yudun was annoyed and pulled the blond boy's shoulder.

He blinked.

Only then did Guilliman have the idea to take his palm out of Joden's hand, and the hand that was so small that it could only hold the smaller part of his hand let go silently. Even so, the touch stayed on his hand.

His mind moved quickly, looking at his brother from all aspects. This time the work was not measuring, but feeling. He catches some vague words of impression and approaches these dazzling and bright sources of abundance from the total sense. How much they resembled him.

Archon Jialan said in his childhood that he really looked like a beautiful little god. He always regarded this incident as a warning to himself. At the same time, he secretly thought that Jialan was also a fool and a tyrant. But now he lets go of the description.

He didn't accept it. He just knew it wasn't possible.

The expressions of his brothers are so fresh and vivid, the small lines that appear when the skin is squeezed, the corners of the robes that are disrupted by walking, and the string of round buttons on the unfamiliar blouse that are meticulously fastened to the collar. , tiny scars scratched under the brass-like eyes. From his perspective, Robert Guilliman saw a group of similar people who had nothing to do with the idol. They just stood here and led him to find a kind of Real proof.

expect. He suddenly read this word, from the other person's body and his own heart at the same time, like a printing needle piercing the paper without warning.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my brothers." The words came out with such lingering thought that Guilliman extended his hand, and Perturabo was the first to shake it. Then came Rogal Dorn and Angron. "Just call me Robert. Welcome to Macragge."

"Your home is a good place," Angron said, and Guilliman was a little surprised. He thought Angron didn't like him.

"Thank you for your recognition," Guilliman said, seeing Konnor give him a slight nod. "I heard that there will be a banquet next? We will definitely provide you and your subordinates with the most satisfying hospitality."

Perturabo laughed. "We can, but my subordinates don't need to. Even my home planet cannot prepare a banquet that can accommodate more than 200,000 space warriors in a short period of time."

"More than two hundred thousand..." Guilliman was startled, but he was still trying to figure out the possibility of receiving this number of soldiers. If Macragge's reserves are used, I'll trouble the hard-working housekeeper...

"Space Marines," Perturabo emphasized, "with two hearts and three lungs, and two-thirds our height."

Guilliman quickly dismissed the mid-planning: "I look forward to a family feast for the reunion, brothers."

"Including your adoptive father and mother?" Rogal Dorn asked, receiving an affirmative answer from Guilliman's face.

The natural tone with which the white-haired giant said these two titles made Guilliman suddenly feel a little embarrassed.

His brothers had accepted the existence of Conor Guilliman and Thalasha Yutun without a second thought, but he had been trembling and worrying about it countless times over the course of three days.

Then he got a bigger shock from Yudun's half-smiling expression. He simply didn't dare to think about how many times Yudun secretly smiled at him during these days when he was thinking like a child, and how many times he held his hand as if he was holding his hand before he had grown so big. A tolerant and helpless mood.

"Including," Guilliman replied, puffing out his chest.

"Oh," said Rogal Dorn, "my grandfather has passed away. Angron's adoptive father did not come with the fleet. Perturabo, where is Mors?"

"In fact, he has always regarded himself as my mentor." Perturabo corrected, "If calculated based on universal ethical titles, my descendants may be closer to me."

"Do you have children?" Robert asked. The scene of the dark-haired brother taking care of the children appeared in front of his eyes, and he felt uncomfortable for a while.

"I introduced you," Perturabo said. "In fact, you also have many heirs that you don't know."

Robert Guilliman's stomach tightened suddenly, and the excessive conjecture bombarded his thoughts to a blank. The two words "not a few" and "heirs" rotated alternately, making him feel dizzy. In this violent delusion he saw the smile slipping across his brother's stern face. "

"The transformation of the Space Marines requires our gene seeds." Perturabo said, "The tens of thousands of warriors reborn under your genes are of course your descendants."

Robert Guilliman's world stabilized before his eyes. Although Macragge was not very strict in this regard, he was comforted by the mere fact that these "scions" were genetically related.

"In addition, they will call you father. The stability of the subspace channel has been good recently, maybe they can arrive next month." Perturabo completed his words, "Accept their sincere respect and love, they will be good children ”

"Before that, allow me to take you around Macragge," Guilliman said, replacing the lingering image of tens of thousands of soldiers calling him father in his mind with a new mission.

Perturabo nodded: "Before you came, your adoptive father said the same thing as you, Robert."