Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Whenever he had time to think, and was unable to do anything else, he would ponder another question that he could not answer.

When he was lurking in the shadows, staring at the body reflected in the curtains, slowly raising his paws, waiting for the best opportunity, he often thought about what justice is.

An ambush, a raid, in the act of killing the guilty, must his actions fall within the realm of justice? What structure will create a just society? What laws and principles are necessary to be formulated?

When the cultures of two societies absolutely clash, does justice still prevail?

If justice can be easily eliminated just because of the bifurcation of civilizational concepts, and it only relies on a single position and exists in an illusory way, then how can such a fragile concept that is easily broken at a touch be successfully pursued?

When he listened to the bubbling sound of liquid boiling during the long experiment, waiting for the Haemonculus's flask to give an answer, he would also think about what morality is.

Everyone should get what he deserves. Is there some kind of moral randomness in this? Should the Primarch's talents be attributed to himself? Does an alien deserve certain special abilities that are better than humans?

No, this, like all origins, wealth, opportunities, and power, is inherently unequal and different. What kind of structure will be created by these different factors that must exist?

Conrad Coates searches for answers.

——

"How's it going down there?" Fulgrim took a moment to shout to his brothers on the ground, "That beast is flying too high!"

After the giant pterosaur was introduced into the sky by Konrad Coze, the only remaining enemies in the field were the pterosaur riders, whose aggressiveness and even overall threat were suddenly reduced, as well as the occasional pterosaur rider who was able to withdraw his spirit within the protective shield and use some spiritual skills. An Eldar witch who can attack.

The battle quickly returned to normal. The Iron Hands and Salamanders each performed their own duties. Except that the former could not imitate the latter's tactics and fought in the smoke-filled flames, the two cooperated well; the Primarchs each had their own unique battles. The figure appeared in the scorched earth as a storm of purple gold, silver gray and dark green. No one could stop it wherever it went; and the balance of the war gradually tilted towards the Imperial Expeditionary Force.

Vulkan just wanted to end this battle as soon as possible, whether it was out of concern for his Primarch brothers whose situation was unknown at high altitude, or out of sorrow for the casualties on the ground. The Great Crusade did not lack sacrifices, but there was no need for too many unnecessary casualties on or off the battlefield.

"He's landing," Ferrus answered Fulgrim.

Just as the original body of the Iron Hand said, the giant pterosaur in the sky's flat membrane wings are shrinking towards the core of its body; the black spots swirling rapidly in the high-altitude clouds expand in a few seconds to a size that even a mortal can see. The degree of clear outline.

The song was ethereal and light, like drizzle, washing through the air in the heavy clouds and rippling in the war zone outside the protective shield; this caused the people in the empire who had combat experience to stabilize their respective centers of gravity, but were surprised to find that the ground There were no protruding dark green evil vines, nor did the dead trees suddenly extend their branches to attack.

The pterosaurs swooped down, but did not aim at the core of the war zone. Instead, they rushed toward the open space in the distance like boulders and quickly followed the gravity. In contrast, the small pterosaurs group that was still fighting hard with the space warriors heard the sound of the pterosaurs. Within a few moments of singing, they all rolled up into the sky like fallen leaves flying backwards, leaving the battlefield regardless of conditions. Everything is falling into silence.

Hundreds of meters away, the pterosaur stumbled and rolled to the ground. The damage Ferus had caused to its claws cannot be ignored; when the wind pressure was transmitted to the Space Marines and Faria mortal armies, only a ray of blow was left in the face. The strong wind that came was no longer as powerful as before, breaking bones and muscles.

"What did he do?" Ferus asked in a deep voice, "To win a turn in the battle in this area?"

Vulkan temporarily supported the heavy weapon on the ground, and his eyes followed the pterodactyl knight who was withdrawing his troops and flying outside the war zone.

"It is not easy to imagine," he said. "The Eldar are proud and cunning, and their retreat is like a harbinger of deception."

Then, he withdrew his gaze and turned his head to wait for the answer that Coz himself was going to give.

This small distance only takes a few seconds that can be easily calculated based on the moving speed of the Primarch. Almost in an instant, Conrad Coates appeared in front of them with something in his hand. And the thing that was grabbed obediently was confirmed to be the spirit witch who had previously stood proudly on the dragon's back and glared at all living beings.

"Are you injured?" Fulgrim asked first, and then he smiled, "No, this is really a stupid question."

Kurtz's expression remained unchanged, frozen in a rare calmness and seriousness. His walking posture is also very different from the lightness or weirdness he once showed.

In fact, he straightened his back and took long strides. The blood-red cloak spread out greatly in the air flow driven by his steps, like the ebb and flow of blood tide. Every step showed a wanton majesty and a unique coldness.

"I appreciate your concern, brother." Curze nodded slightly to Fulgrim, using a personal word to accurately locate his attitude towards the Primarchs. "I'm not hurt by it yet."

He walked straight past several Primarchs who were either confused, cautious, or wary, and approached the transparent barrier constructed by the Eldar wizard. He stepped outside the barrier and smoothly The Worldsinger threw it at the shield as casually as a roll of scrap cloth.

The barrier dissolved around the singer's body, and after taking the Eldar leader under its protection, it quickly closed again, returning to its original indestructible state.

"What is he doing?" Fulgrim muttered to himself, placing his fingers on the hilt of his flaming sword in a daze.

He thought Curze would propose some exchange conditions, or take the opportunity to attack the Eldar shield. But Curze just stood in front of the Eldar, waiting.

In addition, the coldness contained in Curze's nod also made him a little uneasy, just like the eccentric Primarch he had met before, who yearned for the Empire, and the real Konrad Curze were not the same person.

Then, from Curze's mouth, a sentence came out that was obviously the same as the Eldar language, and it was very likely that it was the Eldar language.

This immediately reminded Vulkan of the strange tone of Curze's voice when they first met. Dusk Ghost, a term flashed through his mind, and his blood seemed to become hot all of a sudden. The Eldar's harassment and attack on Nocturne, as well as the sins they committed, flew through his mind one by one again.

These scums are unforgivable. He thought, blinking hard to dispel the mist in front of his eyes. His hammer was slightly hot in his hand.

After hearing what Curze said, the Eldar witch immediately climbed out of the mud and told the other Eldar something eagerly. The Eldar in the shield stared at their witch in surprise, their expressions full of resistance.

"You are within the gunner's firing range, Curze." Ferrus reminded.

Curze ignored it. Fulgrim wanted to move forward, but was stopped by Ferrus. The latter's Forgebreaker sank slightly, the movement was lighter than the flapping of insect wings, but it could not be ignored.

"Wait, my brothers." Curze switched back to Gothic and did not look back. This time, his Gothic standard was like he was born in the heart of the empire. "They are coming..."

"Throne, who is coming?" Fulgrim's voice trembled, "What is it that you don't want to tell us?"

In the center of the barrier, a new noise came, as if the ground was cracking. Soon, at the end of the field of vision, there was the sound of blade wings cutting through the air.

Vulkan immediately recognized the leading Eldar. He had almost smashed the head of the black-armored bastard, and watched helplessly on the ground as he fled on a speedboat. Now, he dared to return again!

The original Eldar in the barrier retreated in the opposite direction in front of the new Eldar, caught between the barrier and the two forces inside the barrier, and was in a dilemma.

The three Primarchs could not see the front of Curze, but they could hear the familiarity conveyed in Curze's Gothic.

"The big injury has healed, Victor?" Curze asked.

The black-armored Eldar named Victor looked at the three Primarchs behind Curze openly, and he also used the Gothic language of the human empire: "Blood Lord, I swore to the innocent Shanadore and Asuryan that the dark Eldar would not invade Ibsen."

Curze smiled. "Don't we lack secondary planes and satellite worlds?"

Victor glanced critically at his cousins ​​who grew up in the wild world and lived with humans, and snorted. "I will treat them well for you."

But Fulgrim's tone had changed.

"Who are you calling 'we' with, Curze? When did you know the Eldar, my brother!"

Curze finally turned half of his body and showed half of his profile to his Primarch brother.

"Twenty years ago," he said lightly, "from the moment I was born, Fulgrim. From the moment I opened my eyes."

"You! Didn't you say...? I only saw that you decorated the building a lot!"

"You deceived us." Ferrus said.

"I admit it, Fulgrim, Ferrus Manus." Curze lowered his eyes, "I plead guilty to my deception."

"How can you say that?" Fulgrim shouted, "How can you just..." He was so angry that he twisted his upper lip to his teeth and smiled, "Admit that you told such an important lie?"

"Lies, any lies, are not beautiful." Curze said, tilting his head, "Any lie violates the law of moral truth, whether it is good or evil, otherwise morality will fall into the vicious circle of consequentialism. So, I admit this sin."

Even if the Primarch thought of Rogal Dorn at the same time, no one was interested in mentioning him at this time.

Vulkan took a deep breath and felt a rage accumulating in his chest, and it was burning more and more fiercely. He held the warhammer, letting the weight of the hammer pull his hand and at the same time pull the reins of his reason.

He has read a lot of implicit information from this conversation.

"You deceived your brothers, concealed your collusion with the aliens, and insulted their trust and feelings..." Unconsciously, his words gradually became heavier, "You found an excuse to come to this planet just to save your alien companions, instead of making your preparations to join the Empire!" When he finished speaking this sentence in one breath, Vulkan found that his heart was curling up in pain because of his rebuke to Curze. Every word of these words was not what he wanted to say, but he had to speak, letting the pain of the flames burn his tongue. "How do you want us to forgive you, Conrad Curze?" Vulkan said weakly. "Do you know how many sins the Eldar have committed and how many humans they have killed?"

Curze was half facing the Primarch, half facing the Eldar, standing sideways and opening his mouth. Every word he spoke was crystal clear: "I repent of my lies, Vulkan. And only of them. I deny that I am only here to rescue the Eldar from your hammer, while once again stating that I am fighting to join The Empire makes all the preparations I need."

Beside Curze, within the barrier, more Dark Eldar are lining up, like dark chess pieces, forming a ready-to-go square array.

They wear faceless pale helmets and dark armor; except for a few Eldar who hold guns and spears, most of the warriors each have a broad-bladed sword more than two meters long in their hands. Runes are engraved on the blade, and there is a streak on the tip. Hook.

Vulkan immediately recognized that this was the prototype of the sword that Curze was currently holding. His fists were already clenched, and he found himself within ten meters of Coz at some point.

"You...this is already with the Eldar..." Tears hotter than flames rolled down Vulkan's face.

"Don't cry for me, Vulkan," Curze said softly. "I'm touching a path of rediscovering justice?"

He shook his head proactively, "No, this is an interesting topic, about where justice should come from under different cultural environments..."

"Stop!" Vulkan murmured tremblingly, then amplified his voice and roared angrily: "Stop your reasoning, Konrad Curze! Tell me whose side you are on, who is yours?" Blood relatives! Give me an answer!"

Curze pursed his lips, let go of his hand, put aside the sword that Vulkan said he had borrowed, but actually gave him as a gift, and let it clang to the ground.

"This is not a matter of position," he said, "although I can tell you that I am on the side of humanity."

"Then come here!" Vulcan shouted loudly.

"You are too angry, Vulkan." Coze looked at the face of the black-skinned giant, "and there is nowhere to express this anger... Ferrus Manus, please tell me, when you and Rogge Do When there was a conflict between the two, what advice did Horus give?”

"Power and truth," Ferus said, "Sigismund and Soth fought a duel on behalf of the Seventh Legion and the Tenth Legion respectively."

"Then, come on." Curze turned completely to Vulkan and faced the Imperial Expeditionary Force. "Wait for our respective notaries to arrive, and then, we fight."

"Are you just like this with your bare hands?" Vulcan couldn't help but ask, "And I..."

"Take it," Coates said. "I know it's a hammer."

He listened carefully and suddenly said: "My notary is here, and yours is here too."

Within the barrier, a figure that was highly similar to the originals strode forward. Its appearance was particularly astonishing. It was half machine and half skin.

If that were all, it would not be enough to surprise the Primarchs who had gone through many battles. What really makes it difficult for them to understand is the face outlined by the skin on that half of his body.

"Perturabo...?" Fulgrim couldn't believe it. The appearance of the Primarch of the Fourth Legion - or a machine closely related to him, made the situation even more chaotic. He couldn't figure out why Perturabo, who had been theoretically on Terra recently, was involved in this matter.

Mechanical Perturabo nodded slightly. "Hello." He said, and the familiar voice once again confirmed his identity. "I am Perturabo."

"Hello, Perturabo." A light voice came from below. "I'm here. I heard that you need a dueling notary here, right?"

Fulgrim turned around and looked.

Mortal Fas appeared here at some unknown time, waving his hands and running towards them from behind. The tattered clothes made of coarse cloth seemed to be faintly shining with a layer of golden light.