Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Perturabo raised his armored hand and covered the incomplete data pad inside the tank.

In the panel composed of iron and various minerals, simple to rudimentary forms flicked a few times from time to time. Long paper tapes recording data and instructions ran out from the exit on the side of the machine and piled up like a mountain on the floor of the tank. .

He had to clean it up from time to time, and based on the principle that the paper tape and carbon black originated from the vast nature, he threw them back into the embrace of nature through the opening on the side of the chariot, waiting for the additive-free wood pulp to be used again by that kind of Things called microorganisms eat it clean.

Perturabo straightened the iron band decoration on his head that was skewed due to repairing the machine, opened the roof of the chariot, and let the morning air mixed with dust fly past his cheeks to take away part of his irritability.

The more he studied, the more he understood that there was definitely a broader world outside Olympia, a more distant utopia.

Lokos's collection of books that no one can decipher has allowed him to touch the corner of the long ladder leading to the high sky. Endless great ideas are rushing from his brain to his fingertips, eager to verify his countless fantasy designs. But, but!

His depression made him couldn't help but bang his fists on top of his machine, and then he immediately checked whether the machine was damaged. After a few minutes he was convinced that the machine was undamaged and seemed to be operating slowly and normally again.

Perturabo rubbed his aching hand, regaining the feeling of fire in his heart, and continued to be depressed that Lokos's basic industry could not keep up with his progress from all angles. Materials, theory, industrial precision, manpower... everything is too missing and too backward.

He couldn't even find anyone with whom he could communicate normally.

He excitedly introduced to others how to understand the dynamic multi-pooling convolutional neural network model, which uses a framework to learn sentence-level representations based on capturing meaningful semantic rules at the word level, and uses a dynamic multi-pooling strategy to extract trigger words and The event argument, the other side will just say "What sentence? What god? What do you want to ask the god of poetry?"

Oh, except Morse.

Morse would only quip that he didn't really think his theory was perfect; if the guy had just sunbathed and was in high spirits, he could have had a few more in-depth and enlightening conversations.

Perturabo couldn't deny it to himself, that was one of the moments he looked forward to the most.

Another expectation, of course, is when his Creator comes to find him. He must compare Morse with his real Creator. At that time, he can say that Morse's character is really inferior.

A chariot followed him from behind, and the roof of the vehicle gradually opened as well. Callifon stood up from it and waved to him, her long hair tied with a hairband hanging behind her back. The headband has black and yellow stripes in someone's strong style, indicating the identity of the giver of this headband.

She put her hands around her mouth like amplification props, even though the distance between them was enough for Perturabo to hear her voice clearly.

"Why are you throwing notes out again, Perturabo?" Callifon shouted with a teasing smile. "The wind blew the note into my hand!"

As she spoke, she grabbed a long string of paper tapes from the seat and let the strings of holes punched in them rise and fall with the airflow.

"You should keep the roof closed!" Perturabo shouted back.

"No, then my driver won't be able to see and clear the road!"

"Isn't your glass opaque, Callifon!"

Kali Feng's smile became even brighter, and her black hair shone brightly. "The driver said he couldn't see the surroundings through the glass, and he couldn't get used to it."

"Sooner or later I want people to not have to observe the battlefield through the naked eye. That would be stupid!"

"Ah, I'm looking forward to your achievements!"

"Let's sit down and talk!"

Perturabo pulled up the top panel, pulled out the radio reception cable and plugged it into the interface of his humming machine.

After a while, Callifon's voice rang clearly in Perturabo's ears through the radio waves called "telepathy of the twin gods" by the locals. After no longer having to shout loudly, her voice became softer again, more like a blood relative chatting intimately.

"This is the first time you have left Lokos since you came here," Callifon said, "even with the intention of war instead of peace."

She paused here, maybe she wanted to ask Perturabo if he was ready, maybe she wanted to ask how far Perturabo would take this battle before he would stop.

The current brings her silence, and silence often allows the listener to interpret it according to his or her own inner expectations.

Perturabo leaned back in his chair, nailed the manuscript paper he used for calculations on the wooden board, and said in a stiff tone: "If I don't lead troops, then I won't be able to come back after leaving Lokos."

"Yes..." Kalifon sighed, "Actually, this is also the first time I have left Lokos."

"When Damex visits a neighboring country, you are not allowed to follow him?"

Calliphon's laughter set off a small plosive sound in the electricity. "It's enough to go to Harkon. What am I going to do? Is it possible to see which prince suits my liking?"

Her laughter melted away in Perturabo's silence, and a trace of empty darkness floated like a roaring heaviness in the current. This emotion opened a gap in the outside of Perturabo's heart, and the bond between the two Side intertwined extensions.

For a moment, Perturabo suddenly questioned why he could still sit so silently and coldly, analyzing this absurd situation rationally.

He then thought about why he was so eager to push everything forward, and whether he was truly changing everything in the vast land of Olympia.

"Okay, Perturabo." Callifon said softly, "You are about to become a real general. And I am a busy quartermaster under the respected general, and I have to arrange all the supplies for him. Logistics, the fodder that feeds the army is being sent out one after another."

"No more small talk with you, I want to see if your soldiers have eaten their lunch."

After Callifon finished speaking, she was about to cut off the communication. Her hand should have been pressed on the depressed button, and she was about to press it again to make it pop up.

Perturabo stopped her, "Wait a minute, Callifon."

"What's wrong?"

Perturabo looked at the road in front of him through the glass: "What Morse tells me most is to confess."

He didn't know what he was saying anymore, he just spoke, opened his lips and tongue, and let the words climb up from his heart and march out through the open aisle. His calmness was even beyond his own rational expectations.

"So I give you permission - I want you to say my name in shorter syllables."

He heard a surprised intake of breath, and the trembling air directly penetrated the deepest tremors in his soul.

At one point, he even despaired of his reckless expectations, until Califon's voice sounded again: "Bo, is this okay?"

"Of course, Callifon," Perturabo blurted.

From this moment on, he knew that he no longer had to struggle with his own weaknesses in a never-ending, recurring cycle of misery.