Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"Although Constantine Valdor has a bad character," Morse ensured that his words could be heard by the commander of the imperial army walking in front, "but the changes in the Royal Palace of Terra are indeed beyond imagination. In order not to be separated from the palace and the high walls of the palace, Falling into eternal confusion and abnormal wandering, we really need someone to lead the way——"

"Yes, Perturabo, I know you have the palace map in your mechanical brain now, but I just want to say the beginning of the sentence to Waldo in a reasonable way.

Perturabo shut his mouth.

The bright green light on his chest shimmered slightly, dimming of its own accord, as if even unconscious inorganic things would shrink away from the Emperor's glorious light that filled the palace's golden buildings and pavilions.

"You're right, Morse, he never even introduced himself to me."

Conrad Coates rarely expressed his opinion, or approval, on something in such a straightforward manner.

And all this is just to let the commander of the imperial army give a slightly different feedback, rather than acting like a precise golden instrument.

In fact, if the mechanical Perturabo and Constantine Waldo were placed together, perhaps the former would be more similar to humans.

Waldo held the golden helmet in his hand and turned a deaf ear to the chanting coming from behind. Either he thought it was unnecessary to join in the conversation, or he simply had some objection to the mission.

Or was he really a perfect machine built by the Emperor himself?

No, the birth of the Primarch had shown that, at least in creating pure tools, the Emperor was not that successful.

"I don't think he's changed, Conrad," Morse remarked, transmuting the playfulness in his tone into objective indifference.

"From the first time I learned of his existence - when was that? Thirty years ago, we were outside the Tower of Astartes, looking at the white marble tower in the distance, discussing side by side how the Emperor created the Ten Thousand Men. group to protect his fragile and too big dream."

He said to the head of the Imperial Guard: "So you are still the same Constantine Waldo. No matter in appearance or personality."

"What do you mean?" Waldo finally said. "Why are you mentioning this?"

"Just some exclamations, the Emperor's strong shield." Morse replied, raising his right hand and using the space between his fingers to measure the distance between the two golden spiers in the palace.

"The same goes for the Royal Palace. It is richer and more splendid, the average distance between spiers has shrunk, and the old columns have been replaced with royal columns filled with more reliefs... But it has not really changed, just take a look at the main hall If you look at the golden dome, you will know that this is still the place where the sun of all mankind lives.”

"Actually, that's Dornishuu..."

"Don't worry, I was about to ask you how you gave up the task of repairing the palace to others." Morse said, "And you, Prime Minister, your appearance has not changed at all. I waited for a minute and a half when I was curious. Do you have a total of three hundred and sixty gray robes in your wardrobe, or have psychic powers helped you keep your garments clean for six thousand years?"

"Good question, craftsman." Malcador walked over with the long staff and nodded slightly to Constantine. The commander of the imperial army nodded back. This time, his duty of guiding the way was completed, but he did not leave immediately, but remained sideways. Stand by and watch.

It seems that the invalid nonsense just now caused some ripples and waves in Constantin Waldo's heart to some extent.

"I also have a question, Morse." Malcador said leisurely, "We both know that your clothes are made of fireflies in the super-material reality, so does this mean that you have not been wearing it for tens of thousands of years? Laundry clothes?”

"This debate is starting to become moot."

Malcador's smile was hidden between the folds of his skin, "You can't ignore the verbal smoke you lit in this way." He commented casually, turned to Conrad, his eyes were searching: "His eighth child , he told me about you, a unique visionary."

Constantine Valdo turned around and left after Malcador mentioned the word about heirs, presumably finally deciding to continue devoting himself to the busy work of the Imperial Guard - no matter what he was busy with.

Cozz seemed to think for a while, his dark eyes flashing slightly.

"Malcador, I met him in the wild world of Ibsen," he said lowly and softly, and the Gothic language became hoarse but sweet in his mouth, like a layer of black gauze mist, rising and falling hazy, "He... …seems fair.”

"It's his style," Malcador said, then sighed.

"I haven't said my name yet, Conrad." Malcador continued, "Maybe this sentence seems arrogant and useless in your eyes, but please use prophecy with caution and don't be superstitious about it. Throughout the ages, mistakes have been made. Those who are far-sighted and prescient will never be able to count the numbers with just one hand.”

Afterwards, Malcador watched with confusion as Coz suddenly fell into uncontrollable laughter. His actions even caused Constantine Waldo, who had just left, to poke out a red tassel from the shadow of the side door. .

"This is..." Malcador asked the mechanical Perturabo for help with his confused eyes.

Obviously, during these lost twenty years, Perturabo had proven his reliability by the Emperor's side, and by comparison, in ordinary matters, this reliability was definitely better than Morse's mouth. More trustworthy.

"No, it doesn't matter, Prime Minister." Cozi stopped laughing suddenly, and his face turned cold instantly, "Prophecy, prophecy..."

He snorted slightly from his nasal cavity, and a bit of ridicule leaked out of his tone. "Don't worry about it, Prime Minister. Apart from the group of Eldar who followed the Ark and fled in all directions, who else cares about it?"

Malcador nodded and grasped the surface of the scepter with his palm: "He is waiting for you in the hall, Conrad."

"For you," Malcador looked at the direction of the mechanical Perturabo and Morse, "I think he is here."

Morse turned around and saw the giant.

Within the scope of his more transcendent senses, he actually knew that in the laughter of Conrad Coates, the heavy and powerful footsteps behind him had already approached them and stopped not far behind.

But he turned around just now.

The giant's size seemed to have increased, or perhaps it was because he was wearing thick armor. The thick armor that Morse had never seen before looked dazzling in the sun, and the edges of the layers of iron armor were reflected by the golden light in the palace.

The number of jet-black cables that have definitely gone through several rounds of upgrades has increased, and a single cable is more slender, blending invisibly with the black hair, directly connected to the armor's data system, and seeming to hang straight inside the armor's neck guard. .

And his face showed that even the Primarch would not remain unchanged over the years. Some extremely small battle marks were added to the sharply contoured face, scratched on the left cheek, across the right eyebrow, and hooked on the chin.

Every scar that is so small that it is impossible to detect it with the naked eye, and can only be detected by fellow originals or those who are good at using psychic perception, symbolizes a difficult battle, whether it is a firefight, or other aspects such as the development of weapons, etc. Another battlefield of occasions.

Perturabo lowered his head and met Morse's gaze from a distance.

Then he squatted.

"Long time no see." he said.

"Oh... hello." Morse said, and added inexplicably: "Can you still squat while wearing this armor?"

He quickly stopped and frowned, "No, just pretend I didn't say what I just said, Perturabo."

Perturabo changed his squatting position slightly, making his squatting in this heavy armor smoother and getting closer to Morse's height.

"I heard you," said the giant, "but I might as well have pretended not to hear you, Morse."

He seemed to choke a little on the last name that came out of his mouth, and blinked. The eyes were still the glacier blue familiar to Morse, recalling the snow-capped mountains of Olympia.

"That's good." Morse tightened his expression, "You have changed quite a bit, Perturabo."

"Other people's comments are the same, so why is it different for me?" Perturabo asked.

"A feeling, a feeling." Morse replied, "I can't describe it in words. This... in short, it's different. I mean... forget it."

He took a deep breath, then sighed, slapping Perturabo's armored arm hard.

"Long time no see. We don't need to talk about this at the emperor's gate, right?"

Perturabo smiled, not exaggerated or restrained, just a plain and sincere smile, staying there, on his face that rarely smiled.

"Okay." Perturabo stood up straight again and looked at his other self. They nodded to each other, although it was no more meaningful to the same person than looking in the mirror.

Or maybe it’s a double-enhancement of some kind of affirmation and satisfaction.

"Conrad Curze," Perturabo said—the heavily armored one, flesh and blood covered in steel, extending a hand toward Curze. "I hope you can accept that I am not a machine."

"Wise words." Cozz whispered, and then raised his voice, "You are one person, even though you are twenty years apart, this is what you want to prove to me and Morse? No, does this need to be proved? "

He briefly shook Perturabo's hand, and waved his hand rather casually to Malcador, who was hiding behind the scepter and smiling, "Take me to him, Prime Minister. The true glory of the Eternal King." , It won’t blind a shadow bat born in darkness.”

He laughed harshly twice, "But if you continue to stay here, it won't be necessary."

"What does he mean?" Morse said to the closed door of the hall, "Who is he mocking?"

"I don't know." The two Perturabo said in completely synchronized voices with slightly different voices. The mechanical voice's imitation of the human voice was flawless, but it was a slightly lower noise in the complete Perturabo voice. .

"No, you... just pick a body and speak." Morse deliberately showed an expression of discomfort.

"Whose?" said the two Perturabos.

"Oh, you can coordinate it yourself!" Morse shook his head, "Why should I care about this?"

He raised his right hand, and the golden rune string hanging on his wrist trembled and emerged from the air. Each rune flashed rhythmically as if it was spiritual.

"I don't want to hold on to this thing anymore. The psychic environment of the Terra Palace has given it signs of awakening. Which vault grid does your father want to put it in?"

"The edge of the Hollow Mountains." Mechanical Perturabo said, "relatively far from the artificial entrance of that passage. The space environment there is extremely unstable, and any accidents may occur."

"Any surprises?"

Mors shook his head, floated up skillfully, and kept up with the pace of Perturabo, which also ended the two people's deliberate slowdown in waiting.

"To be honest, I just realized it today. It's a shame that the Emperor dared to set up that important entrance directly in the Throne World. He couldn't study it slowly on the moon. If something went wrong, he would blow up the moon and build another one."

He shook his hand, threw the curse chain back into the invisible ether realm, tied up the Tuchucha engine, and made this dangerous and important thing move forward in a form that was incomprehensible to the material world.

"The matter has come to this." Mechanical Perturabo said, "Research has begun, and the resources invested cannot be recovered. Perhaps setting up the passage here also means to facilitate control and management."

"Okay, let's talk to another person, you two... you, Perturabo." Morse said, "Can't you let me hear a few more words from the voice that is unfamiliar to me?"

"Okay." Armor-piercing Perturabo nodded, "By the way, the pair of semi-finished products..."

"I'm keeping it for you. When will you finish it and give it to Coze? Do you have a name?"

"Although the materials blessed by the Emperor have been upgraded to a higher level in quality, the properties of the materials have indeed changed. Using Vulcan's forge, I can only create a pair of defective products that waste materials. I need to It’s brought into my forge, re-characterized, and crafted using my own tools.”

Perturabo replied, every word coming out so naturally, as if he didn't want to waste even a minute in the awkwardness and confusion that characterizes exasperating reunions.

"And names, in a sense, I've come to believe that Konrad Coates was a master of naming. So, just leave it to him."

"Night Ghost, Blood Marquis, Atonement, Sin Atonement..." Morse read aloud, "There are so many coined words, maybe only a teenager would name them like this."

"If he had seen many prophecies early on, then he was indeed more than ten years old when he created these words in his brain." Perturabo said.

"What's wrong with you? Don't correct me like Rogal Dorn."

"This is not like Rogal Dorn, this is the way you pick and choose among the problems exposed in other people's words."

Mors stared at Perturabo in disbelief: "Here is the emperor's golden chair. I swear you have definitely changed. Have you been hanging out with the green-skinned orcs for too long? Have you eaten their skogo?"

Perturabo shrugged. Only when he moved his head and neck, it was obvious that the pipeline on his head was not black hair. "If you are really curious, we can have a chat after putting the engine in place."

"Of course we want to talk, do you still want to say nothing?" Morse said coldly, trying to make sure his voice was the same as usual, "You can walk faster, I don't want to be floating here all the time."