Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"Roger Dorn, someone has sent you a new document." Morse walked through the dense forest of Espando. The invisible energy touched the branches blocking the way, causing the surfaces of these branches and leaves to condense. The cold blue ice crystals broke off and fell neatly.

His movements were as fast as the spread of fire in the dry season, and with a crackling sound of branches breaking, he suddenly appeared next to the three chatting Primarchs.

"This stack of documents is yours." Morse handed the documents in his left hand to Dorn. The white-haired giant leaned over to take it, glanced at it, and left thoughtfully.

"Angron." Morse patted the palm of the original body hanging by his right hand, "Onoma Mors calls you."

The Lord of Red Sand's eyes lit up, and he followed Dorn quickly towards the road back to the transport ship.

This made Perturabo speechless for a while: "Why didn't you just say that you wanted to talk to me privately?"

"I don't want to," Morse said, looking down from the edge of the jungle cliff.

Under the blue sky, the farmland extends infinitely on the vast dark yellow surface, changing the angle of light reflection under the influence of weak air currents.

In a few months, Espandor's rye will usher in the first round of maturity in the local calendar. The rye flour will be transported by ships to neighboring planets such as Macragge and Viridia. A small part of the flour will Mix it with wheat and make rye bread on the spot. Together with other by-products such as feed, ale, and straw for hat weaving and papermaking, it is supplied to the two local city-states built outside the vast farmland and vast forests. . After a planting cycle, during the fallow season, locals plant lupins and till them into the soil while they are still green.

"I don't remember you ever being so emotional," the Primarch said, straightening his gold-rimmed robes and sitting down leisurely on the exposed rocks on the edge of the cliff. "Is this a sign of age?"

"This is obviously a problem with the star sector itself." Morse snapped his fingers and sat back while causing the wicker chair to emerge from the air. "I can't understand why thirty thousand years later, there is still such a terrible area in this vast galaxy that respects ancient systems and collectively imitates the backward living habits of the Southern European region."

He waved to the farmland below the cliff: "Bread, cake bread, Parthia... What obsession do they have with bread? Why do you need three and one-half teaspoons of olive oil for a pound of spelt?" "

"How much should I add?"

"One and one-half, of course!" Morse took back his hand, rubbed his upper and lower teeth lightly, stayed still for a fleeting second, and then regained his usual cold face. "How long do we have to search the Ultramar sector to find the Primarch?"

He pretended not to see the surprised expression in his primarch's eyes.

"It has been more than ten years since we learned about the existence of this Primarch. I have never seen you so anxious." There were ups and downs in Perturabo's plain voice. Only those who know this Primarch well enough, Only then can you taste this unusual playfulness. "You sound younger than you look."

"And I'm using an appearance where the age starts with the first positive even number."

"Yes you are."

"I'm not going to be offended," Morse said. "You can go ahead and make fun of me. It's just intolerable to know that all this stems from the obsolescence and lag in the adoption of customs here."

"I'm not sure which ancient Terran period you are referring to," Perturabo spread his palms, "but are the customs in this galaxy older than the Greek style you once said? If you can Olympia - I have lived in Olympia, my home planet, for thousands of years. I can only assume that the civilization here originates from an ancient culture that is more distant than Greece."

"Oh," Morse said. "Yes, Rome is somewhat older than Greece."

Perturabo lowered his head, his shoulders shaking slightly. After a moment, he raised his head again, and there were still some subtle traces of the smile on his facial muscles.

"I thought you knew," the Primarch said evenly, "that Magnus and I spent several years of substantial historical study together in Terra's many archives and libraries."

"Then you obviously didn't realize that the first city-state of Rome was built much earlier than the curtain fell on Greece, scholar." Morse replied rudely, "That's why I say that the early days of Rome are older than the last days of Greece. Is there anything wrong with this? Mentioning this..."

Morse paused for a few seconds long enough to arouse the Primarch's suspicion. Then, he showed a subtle expression with a rather vague attitude.

"There is indeed no record of the founding of the Roman city in Terra's public archives, right?"

"What is that?" Angron walked out of the forest again, "Onomamos came to the conclusion of the research. There is sufficient sunlight outside Nuceria, good drainage, loose soil structure, deep soil layer, and long growth this year. The best harvest is a crop called potatoes, which we plan to continue promoting next year.”

"It seems that we have forgotten the two brothers who have never learned the history of Terra." Morse leaned back in the wicker chair, his tone was brisk and jumping, "I sincerely suggest that you go and find out why the files on Terra are There is no record of that legendary story that was once widely circulated. Although it may be mixed with many false theories and false histories, as well as many speculations, slanders and embellishments, the final effect is indeed both surprising and emotional. mean."

Perturabo pinched a dark pipe hanging on his shoulder. He was more interested in the connection between that legend and Morse himself than in the legend told by the craftsman.

"I can feel that someone here is applying his unparalleled talent to speculation on irrelevant matters." Morse snapped his fingers for the second time, and the man and the wicker chair disappeared from the eyes of the two original bodies.

Rogal Dorn happened to step out of the forest, looked around, and found no trace of the craftsmen: "In response to Wit's letter, a new batch of young people are being recruited to join the Imperial Fist. Why is Morse talking? After finishing the story about Greece, Rome, the history of Terra, and building cities, he disappeared?”

With the Primarch's hearing, it was not difficult to follow the entire journey. Although Rogal Dorn tried to get as far away as he could after realizing that Morse was going to talk to Perturabo alone, the mentor and apprentice from Olympia started chatting too quickly and he didn't have time to get far.

"I don't know. As we get closer to the core of this sector, he seems more and more..." Perturabo found a suitable adjective, "Younger."

The Iron Lord stood up from the moss-covered rock, stepping on the edge of the cliff with his leather half-military boots. Small pieces of gravel cracked under his feet and rolled down the mountain wall.

"Doesn't he like this sector?" Angron asked.

"In fact, I think he likes it." Perturabo turned back, "But he won't admit it. Maybe no one except our father can know the reason... In any case, we should find the person who should be here as soon as possible. The brothers nearby are better.”

"Robert Guilliman is on Macragge," Dorn said calmly.

"Okay." Perturabo nodded habitually, then suddenly paused: "Who?"

"Our brother. The only son adopted by Konor Guilliman, the Archon of the planet Macragge, Robert Guilliman." Rogal Dorn said, "Your war blacksmith just sent the news to the command room. The local The Man and the Iron Warriors spoke of the unusual arrival and transcendent gifts of Robert Guilliman, who was undoubtedly our brother."

"What a name." A voice came from the air, and the hand wrapped in black cloth pushed away the air, and Morse walked from the invisible back to the tangible. "I mean, the name doesn't have any annoying reflections or metaphors. A good name. Okay, let's go to Macragge."

——

Even though Perturabo had known hundreds of planets that could be settled by humans in recent years, he still dared to say that what they landed on now was a surprisingly peaceful world. This can be concluded simply from the fact that small ships in the fleet can find space ports suitable for their size.

Although there were some unavoidable deviations in their communication with the Macragge trading port, such as the semi-intelligence of the extremely classic language, unknown customs entry regulations, incompletely matching ship models, and lack of corresponding application interfaces, etc. It may also need to land on its own landing module, and the port scheduling habits are difficult to cope with - this almost caused a small frigate of the Eighth Expedition Fleet entering the port to collide with a merchant ship that had not yet left the planet's orbit...

But ignoring the above innocuous difficulties, for the several expeditionary legions who came all the way from Terra and were forced to find places to land in various environments from ocean planets to primitive worlds, they can follow procedures in a place with a set of rules and regulations. Arriving on the ground smoothly is simply a matter of relaxation for the commander and captain, both physically and mentally.

What's more, the first sentence Macragge sent to their communicator was a carefully worded and sincere welcome letter.

"...On behalf of the Macragge Senate, I would like to extend my warmest welcome to you. We look forward to having in-depth exchanges with you and discussing our future cooperation and development. We believe that your visit will be a great benefit to Macragge." Lage brings new opportunities and will bring more benefits to our people. We have arranged a series of activities for you, including visits to our historical and cultural heritage..."

"If you feel like you are having a sweet dream, go back to your room and repeat the process of getting out of the quilt."

Mors propped one hand on the edge of the iron table, floating next to Perturabo, and together with the primarch, he read the welcome letter jointly sent by Macragge's two archons, advising sincerely.

"I know what you are thinking, 'If every planet in the galaxy was so self-aware, I would go back to the countryside of Olympia Lokos tomorrow and work for the rest of my life.'"

"That's you, my will is in the universe and the galaxy." Perturabo muttered, still immersed in the profound shock this letter brought to him, and even couldn't help but compare whether his Lokos was receiving it outside. With such advanced etiquette habits. He almost sent a letter to Olympia on the spot to see what kind of welcome speech they would write.

Morse floated to the other side. "They know you are going, Iron Lord. You have indeed made a huge splash in this sector. More than two hundred thousand Astartes swept through half of Ultramar. Since their short-distance inter-system communication is If the events of the old night are well preserved, then the ruler of this planet will not be able to stop you."

Perturabo flattened the data tablet and left the iron table where the fingerprints on the table had been repaired.

"Three legions," he said, "are gathered here. This is certainly the reason for our welcome, but I hope that even if I come here alone today, I can still receive such a letter expressing my wish for peace."

Morse fell to the ground.

"Then according to your wisdom, I think you have also noticed that the handwriting of this letter is consistent with the signature of only one of the Archons." The craftsman said, "Connor Guilliman, the adopted father of your brother in the rumor. As for the other Archon, Galan, I did not see his traces in other places except the signature." The Primarch nodded. "There are many possibilities behind this." "Okay," Morse said, "Wait for your diplomats to come back and report, then you can go to land. I smell a smell full of heresy." Perturabo frowned quickly, and a deep tension emerged from his solidified expression. "Is there a problem here? Alien? Heresy?" A solemn look flashed in his eyes, "Dark Gods?" "The golden throne that can accommodate a 15-meter-tall giant is on it," Morse sighed, "Didn't you notice that the olive oil salad provided by the port uses banana sauce? What a heresy! I will die of hunger within a week if I live in such a place." Thirty minutes later, Perturabo, Rogal Dorn, Angron, and Morse squeezed into the same landing craft without mounted weapons and landed on the surface. If the heritage of Terra's ancient civilization is scattered on several neighboring planets that are or have not yet been connected to Macragge in terms of information and communication, then Macragge is undoubtedly the epitome of the "Roman" characteristics mentioned by Morse.

The architecture and people's livelihood here are both similar and different from the customs of Olympia for many years - if you must say, it is also somewhat similar to the town ruins of some parts of Nuceria. At least the widely used stone buildings, carefully configured long column proportions and residential styles with openings and light in the atrium ceiling made Perturabo feel deeply intimate, although the habit of these people building domes everywhere made the Iron Lord secretly shake his head. He resisted the urge to start commenting on the architecture.

After a certain war blacksmith who was pulled out to do diplomatic work completed the preliminary negotiations, in order to simplify the prescribed procedures that have been long disliked by the entire Iron Warriors Legion and several unfortunate Thousand Dust Sun warriors, the next step was a meeting between the supreme leaders of both sides. The garden outside the Councilor's Hall is already in front of the group.

+I want to emphasize again that I smell a smell of heresy, Perturabo. +The familiar psychic channel suddenly opened.

Perturabo glanced at the top of Morse's head, which was steady as he walked, and continued to look straight ahead. +What dish is not to his taste again? +

+Oh, this time it was actually the Greek fire pot. + Morse said, +Within a week, this batch of arms reserves had just been completely evacuated from several uninhabited residential tunnels on the street. We really landed in a peaceful place. +