Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"You can't—you can't throw me in here." Magnus said in a panic, tugging at the high sides of the paper tube. Some golden runes wrapped around the paper tube, strengthening it to the strength to face the plasma. " I can help you fix your miniature! "

"That's just a paper tube, wise man. Figure it out yourself."

Morse let the surveillance screen woven with golden light float in the air, sharing with the robed Perturabo the fried puffed food containing corn, white sugar and oil that had been recently recreated in the Terra Palace.

In the picture, Rogal Dorn was still standing alone in the middle of the deck, motionless except for blinking regularly, waiting for Perturabo's arrival with minimal energy consumption.

Morse had made a small rune array for image transmission before transferring his consciousness back to Terra, so their current remote observation was pleasant and relaxing. His small models, which had broken corners, were not repaired, and Morse decided to have Magnus fix them for him later.

"Is that my new brother?" asked Perturabo here.

Apparently for various reasons, Perturabo in Invite orbit has not yet synchronized the information - perhaps because he was so angry that he forgot, or perhaps because the transmission of memory is essentially completed by Morse after receiving the request. Transfer, and Perturabo didn't want Morse to go over the whole thing again.

"Rogal Dorn, the seventh son of the Emperor, within one day of your meeting, you punched him into the wall." Morse introduced, picking up an expensive dinner plate made of gold wire. Chew puffed food.

"What did he do?" asked Perturabo here.

"Donne is not very particular about his words," said Morse. "Oh, there you are." "

A giant man dressed in iron gray stepped out of the floating light and shadow, attracting the attention of everyone inside and outside the screen - except Magnus, who was invisible in the paper tube.

On the Invet orbit, the Iron Lord pinned Rogal Dorn in place with his cold eyes.

"Speak, Rogal Dorn."

"Perturabo," Rogal Dorn said, "I find that a verbal apology cannot satisfy you, so what effective thing do you need me to do to satisfy you?"

"Are you just not going to say sorry to me?" The Iron Lord's calm appearance was immediately broken, "You think there's no need to say it?"

"I'm sorry if you think it's necessary," Roger Dorn said without hesitation, "I deeply apologize for every word I've ever said that caused you anger since we met."

"Which sentences?"

"Except for the last time I misidentified Morse, I never intended to offend you." Donne explained logically, "So I don't know which statements caused your anger. However, according to my relationship with You must have endured your anger many times. I am not only sorry, but also grateful for your patience.”

Perturabo of Terra had already begun to raise his eyebrows, and by the way, he pinched a golden fried grain particle from the plate and threw it into Magnus's paper tube. "Incredible," he said.

Morse nodded slightly: "It's amazing that you can endure Roger Dorn for a day. This shows that you have made great progress in self-control."

"Where did I hit him? In the abdomen?"

"I was punched in the face and now healed by the Emperor. It may be detrimental to the Emperor's glory to let the child go to meet the upcoming heir with the wound." Morse said briskly.

In the light screen, the Lord of Iron's fist quietly tightened again, and the fingertips were pressed against the palm of his hand. After putting on a suit of iron armor, Perturabo had an advantage over Rogal Dorn in both width and height, so his pressure increased significantly, like a torrent rushing through a stubborn rock in the middle of a river.

"Did you not use your efficient brain to reflect on your words and deeds for such a long time?"

"In the past two hours, the Emperor first communicated with me the necessity of the existence of the Empire and informed me of the arrival of the Seventh Legion. Later, Morse and I had an enlightening discussion on the logic of my actions. Let me reconfirm the possible problems caused by my language habits and suggest that I stop irritating others in time. Therefore, the time left for me to reflect on my words and actions is not enough time for me to come to the Iron Blood and wait for your arrival. I completely checked out your expression after I said which words..."

Rogal Dorn suddenly shut up tightly, his light eyes carefully looked at Perturabo's body language, and then asked in an unfamiliar tone: "Are you going to be angry, Perturabo?"

The Lord of Iron closed his trembling eyelids and gritted his upper and lower teeth together. After a long silence that seemed as old as the universe itself, his attitude finally became stable, and his low words fell like a hammer: "Why? You know it and you still ask, Rogal Dorn!”

"I..." Dorn uttered a syllable, and then he hesitated to hold it back.

He did as Morse said and shut up before others got angry, but his reason told him that continuing to remain silent might make Perturabo angrier.

This put him in a dilemma.

"Speak!" shouted Perturabo.

"Morse suggested that I stop using language that annoys others." Donne immediately sped up his words, his tone extremely sincere, "But I haven't had enough practice, and I don't know exactly when to stop. So I hope I know if you were going to be angry just now, but now it seems that I have indeed aroused your anger again. I am very sorry, this was never my intention. "

"What did Morse advise you?"

"Shut up before you get spanked," Dawn said honestly.

In the Royal Palace of Terra, Mors cracked a fried cereal. For the first time, he began to doubt his ability to teach.

In the scene he imagined, Roger Dorn should judge the mood of the interlocutor after finishing a sentence, and then smoothly terminate the inappropriate topic, give both parties a time to calmly think, and avoid the outbreak of unnecessary conflicts. Also avoid physical violence.

Now it seems that even he underestimated Rogal Dorn's power.

Perturabo next to him also looked surprised: "Did my consciousness really only punch him once?"

"Oh, because you quite like him," Morse said.

"Huh?" Perturabo exclaimed together with the paper tube in Perturabo's hand.

The Lord of Iron was silent for a few seconds, and the anger flashing in his eyes could not disappear for a second time. He sneered: "Very good, you did shut up before you were beaten, Rogal Dorn. Your fleet is almost here. ?”

"I think so," Dorn replied. "The Emperor says they are about to sail from Terra."

"Why don't we do something to celebrate your offspring?" said Perturabo, his nervousness peaking as he spoke the words of celebration, "like a Primarch vs. Primarch show."

"Is this your request?" Dorn asked, "I agree. There is a similar tradition in Invite, and the friendship between tribes is deepened through the exchange of combat skills."

"How to deepen the friendship!"

"I misunderstood again, and I'm sorry." Dawn reacted, "You just wanted to hit me."

"We each wear armor," Perturabo said, "and are equipped with weapons."

"Okay." Dorn replied succinctly, seeming to be a little relieved by the emergence of a plan to repair the bad relationship between the two.

"I will use the hammer that Morse gave me." Perturabo emphasized the name of the giver. "He is an extremely good craftsman."

"I'm looking forward to it," Dawn said. "I will be armed with Inwit's conventional weapons."

Perturabo stared at Dorne's calm face, suddenly not sure whether beating him up in front of Dorne's children was too humiliating.

The sudden burst of anger made him change the way he approached the fight. At first, he just wanted to resolve the matter privately, such as pressing Dorn's head into the ice deep in the rarely visited glacier.

Before he thought about whether to show mercy and retract his words, a golden light returned to Invite urgently, and in a blink of an eye, it changed into the body here, floated to the blind spot of the Primarchs, and then walked calmly to Perturabo. .

"Don't show your weapons to strange legions, Perturabo." Mors said, quietly checking the status of the runes attached to the war hammer he gave to Perturabo, and then suppressed his smile, "Seventh The Legion doesn't deserve this."

Perturabo walked down the stairs, deliberately prolonged the silence, and then spoke in a low voice: "Thank you Mors, Rogal Dorn. I will not embarrass you in front of your legions. This place can be Are there uninhabited glaciers?”

"Everywhere," Roger Dorn replied. "I can provide the location range. And, thank you, Morse."