Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"Do you think they will discover that the Black Temple was formerly a vegetable field full of green skin?" Morse observed the transparent, fully sealed ecological petri dish - or in other words, a bottle mouth that was roughly squeezed shut by psychic energy. , a transparent glass bottle with runes to ensure sound insulation and heat insulation.

In this small space that is completely enclosed except for natural light, even the orcs can't get up. After three days of banging on the wall of the glass bottle, they began to fight in a circle depressedly, trying to grab the delicious skogo from their companions' mouths.

"Definitely. Many engineers know that the location on the drawing is the shipboard ecological field." Perturabo took the newly arrived Legion documents and sat down in the office Dorn lent him, and glanced at the glass bottle on the table. , "Is this potted plant okay?"

"You're still very energetic and can continue to take care of yourself." Morse replied and sat down on the sofa on the side. A carved walrus tusk fell out of the air, and Morse stretched out his hands to catch it and hold it in his arms. This time he used abstract hunting in the ice field as a pattern. He inlaid miniature colored chips on the outer wall of the walrus tusks to improve the monotonous colors.

Perturabo began reviewing the papers. Recently, he has devoted so much energy to the ineffective sterilization work of Rogal Dorn's Phalanx that the regular affairs of the Iron Warriors Legion themselves have been neglected to a certain extent. When he realized this, he immediately corrected himself and buried himself in the pile of paper marked with black and yellow stripes.

"With the Imperial Fists' style, the predecessor of the temple will not make them doubt the temple itself." Perturabo said, "The practicality of this black temple has been proven."

“Just like you would in Olympia, the Locos Theater was a former wet market full of fish, beets, honey and straw hats.”

As Morse spoke, he applied the diluted, flowable bright red pigment along the tip of the pen into the engraved details. It quickly flowed and extended in the carved lines, strengthening the concave and convex three-dimensional surfaces through the bleeding lines.

As Morse waited for the paint to dry, Perturabo continued: "There is nothing wrong symbolically with the Black Temple, which was founded on alien bones and death."

"Anyway, considering that this was once a green-skinned mushroom field, I still find this waste recycling interesting." Morse commented, "I can almost imagine other legions and the Imperial Fists one day interacting with each other. fight, and poke fun at the Templars' behavior with the origins of the Temple on the Phalanx."

"How to make fun of it?" Perturabo skillfully used the multi-tasking ability of the Primarch, and threw some of his attention into thinking about jokes against the Imperial Fists, "Say that they pay too much attention to pragmatism?"

"You are too serious." Morse picked up a dry brush and enhanced the texture of the carving. "If it were me, I would say that they are indeed fanatics who can make the orcs feel ashamed."

"Black orcs?" Perturabo said coldly.

"Wow," Morse laughed, "Watch out for the Templar getting angry."

"I would not call a son of Rogal Dorn that in front of outsiders," Perturabo said seriously, discussing an unserious topic. "It would be beneath his honor."

"I know. But this is actually quite appropriate. The sleeveless robe Sigismund is wearing is black. He only needs a black armor to fully meet the literal description of this term."

Perturabo lowered his head, letting the shadows on his face hide the raised corners of his mouth. "Well," he said, "it's a pity Roger Dorn loves lemon yellow paint."

"He doesn't even know what a lemon is," Morse pointed out. "Have you ever had Invite's lemonade?"

"You drank, what happened?"

Morse snorted, "Pure industrial garbage, a completely nutritious and light-flavor concoction, a nightmare taste that only anyone who has never drunk lemonade can imagine - do you want him to come in? There is a giant knocking on the door. ”

"Good morning, Dorne," Perturabo said.

"Don't lemonade taste like that?" Dorn pushed the door open because Perturabo hadn't locked the door and he had knocked on it. "When I have time, I will have the laboratory research a better formula."

He arrives at the door as the two talk about lemon paint.

After briefly confirming that he indeed liked lemonade, and that Invite's lemonade was indeed an industrial synthetic product, Roger Dorn calmly accepted the two people's evaluations, and praised them for knowing the true self and Invite so well. Feeling particularly relaxed.

"I'm glad that I didn't criticize you along with Morse." Perturabo said, "When it comes to lemons, we have conquered all the way, and indeed we have not seen any planet that retains lemon plants."

"He discovered more fragments of Shakespeare than lemons."

Morse created a magnifying glass in the air to allow for more detailed painting of the tiny carvings. Rather than letting the eyes shine directly, he feels that this relatively retro approach can better express the unique nobility of handicraft inheritors in the technological age.

"A whole second act of Hamlet, and eighteen continuations written by people themselves, such as Hamlet becoming the king of the Wild Hunt and wielding a sword to slay Frank."

"That ending was obviously made up by the locals themselves," Perturabo said. "It's very different from the previous work. I think Hamlet and Laertes together..."

"Stop, my Iron Lord." Morse quickly stopped. "Laertes was male in the original version."

"Huh?" Dawn asked.

"Nothing." Perturabo said, "I made a mistake about an insignificant thing. And if you really want a lemon, you can entrust the Mechanicum to restore the lemon's genes. I believe they have preserved the relevant gene fragments. ”

"What is this, Perturabo? Since you commissioned the Mechanicus to restore kiwi fruits and received a box of melons with kiwi fruit labels, you decided to test the Mechanicus' abilities again?"

"We must ensure that the capabilities of those who contribute technology to the emperor can meet the needs of reviving the empire."

"Okay, I'll keep this in mind," Rogal Dorn said. "I thank you for your selfless dedication to clearing the Phalanx of greenskin orcs."

"I understand, brother," Perturabo said, keeping up with Dorn's leaps of thought - or maybe that's what Dorn was here to say, and felt that any transitional language between lemons and thanks was too much. Too redundant. "No need to say thank you, we work together under the Sky Eagle banner."

"If you think that such gratitude is equivalent to what you have done for me, then I will not continue to say more." Rogal Dorn blinked steadily at regular intervals, "In addition, Perturabo, I thank you for your heir. Made for my pursuit..."

"Okay, Dorn." Perturabo put down the pen used for processing documents, opened the drawer, and took out a square iron box. "Any more?"

Dorn closed his mouth and opened it again, "I would also like to thank your engineers for the Invite and Phalanx..."

"as well as?"

"Thank you for your exemplary role in the healthy development of brotherly relationships and providing me with a learning goal." Roger Dorn finally finished a sentence.

"You'd better not tell the other brothers that you learned from me." Perturabo whispered, throwing the iron box towards Rogal Dorn, who reached out and caught it in the air. "The Phalanx and Inwit have been repaired, and the Iron Warriors are preparing to rejoin the Great Crusade. Open it and take a look. This is my parting gift to you."