Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"Perturabo?" Morse rolled the name on his vocal cords and picked up the cards from the table with his left hand.

"I don't want to deceive anyone, including myself. So you're right, Palmist. Overall, I feel lucky to have met Perturabo in Olympia."

The sign-bearer's surprise was fleeting: "I haven't heard such candid words in a long time. Five, four, six, stop."

Morse tilted his head easily to acknowledge the compliment.

On the scoreboard on the side, there are three vertical lines under the name of the person who signed the card and his own name.

He paused here, and considering what a brave and fearless prime minister the person holding the seal was, he decided to add another point to the opponent.

"Six, nine..." He took two cards first. Anyone with a total of more than 21 points will lose directly. At this time, if you continue to take cards, the loss rate will be higher.

"What do you think I am, a Sealbearer?"

The young bearer leaned forward: "You are a man shrouded in mist, Morse."

"I have a lot of mysteries for you? I'm going to take the card, three, and now the total is eighteen."

“I feel like it’s not just for me.”

"Okay, I have to admit that in the whole of Olympia, perhaps the person who knows me best is my private storage room among the cliffs. Two, totaling twenty. It seems that I should swear that I am not a person who is used to cheating in games."

"Perhaps the wording comes from another person we all know," the Palmist hinted euphemistically.

Morse frowned slightly and silently pulled out another card from the top of the deck.

"One." He collected the remaining cards in one hand. "Blackjack, Blackjack. This is not my luck. You are here, Emperor."

He turned sideways and faced the entrance of the grotto. Waves surged in the golden light, and a tall shadow was projected into the light, shaking like the reflection of a blazing flame.

The signer stood up from the table, picked up his cane, and welcomed the visitor.

And Morse picked up the last playing card between his fingers. He could not tell whether it was a provocation or a greeting, and calmly waved to the visitor.

"I did think you didn't want to see me again," Morse said. "What made you change your nature?"

The man with dazzling golden light took another step forward and stepped out of the excessively tall halo.

The magnificent golden statue seemed to evaporate and dissipate from his body, peeling off its ostentatious halo, leaving only a man with simple clothes stained with Olympian dust, broken leaves and dew.

Before the Emperor dissipated the golden light, Morse subconsciously thought that he should look more energetic and charming than the one holding the seal. After all, for many years, the core of his memory was the back of that dazzling leader walking in front of him - glorious, dazzling, boundless momentum, promising countless great possibilities.

But not only did he not look like an emperor, he was not even as young and energetic as the prime minister who accompanied him.

The traces of wind and frost made his cold dark eyes show a vague majesty. When the mask-like golden light was removed, the lofty and firm image in Morse's impression was also peeled off and faded to a kind of pale. Signs of decline.

Morse suddenly caught a flicker of panic in his heart. The great and mysterious statue that had been forever shrouded in halo for so many years suddenly voluntarily disintegrated and fell before his eyes, reorganizing into such a trance and despair. image.

This made him remember his entire past, re-experienced thousands of years in this momentary dumping and whirling, his non-existent heart tore his chest, and some vague absurdity and confusion filled his mind. His heart was squeezing his blood vessels, and he couldn't help but want to use his lost right hand to grab something stable and stable to resist the intense dizziness.

He discovered that he was not indifferent to everything.

"You are getting old, Emperor," Mors said. However, how he said this sentence was something he couldn't remember clearly.

He realized that he was still sitting, and the rough solidity of the rocks in the illusory space brought him back to the middle between consciousness and wakefulness.

He carefully detected any possible surprise or doubt on the emperor's face, but there was none, not at all. He immediately felt much better.

He stood up, then remembered to put down his cards, so he did.

"You were in Olympia," the Emperor said, answering the question. "I should have expected that this was your character, Rei..."

"Morse."

The Emperor looked at him intently, "Morse."

Then he turned his head and looked at the golden-robed sealer. "This is Malcador."

Morse sat back on his stone bench, pressed the backs of the cards on the table with his fingertips, and pushed the deck of cards one by one to the middle of the table. "It really amazes me that you can recruit such an excellent assistant."

"He persuaded me to come to Olympia in person." The Emperor said, walking towards the grotto and looking down at the simple scoreboard beside the table. "But I would have come."

"After you threw your creation half way across the galaxy, you decided to retrieve it?"

"And you." The Emperor said, stern lines etched on his face, foreshadowing a familiar solemnity.

Morse suddenly saw that dazzling flash of light in the middle-aged man's tired depths.

The years have left him with a vague and tired outline, and the most critical part of him - that tragic, endless, futile and absurd soul still proves the distance of his absurd dreams in his cruel and endless struggle. Pursue.

Morse suddenly felt peace regained in his heart. This was exactly the person he had known in the past time, a miserable Eternal, a ruthless fire thief, and a fire itself.

"My work will require your participation," the Emperor said. "I wanted to tell you the last time we met."

the last time. he thinks.

"But that time was too sudden, and you forgot to mention it? You are still willing to control the fate of others, Emperor." Morse said, but it was not out of ridicule. As he said, the effectiveness of self-deception was completely lost on him.

He drew four kings from the deck. David, Charlemagne, Alexander, Caesar. The four playing cards are arranged one after another with their backs facing up.

Malcador rubbed his hand on the surface of the cane, and looked at the emperor with a look of kind inquiry.

Morse spoke calmly: "You hope to achieve your goals, and I can never even deny your nobility. This is a terrible thing. You just set all theories and things, both physical and non-physical, on fire."

"Who can do this?" the Emperor asked.

"This is the scarier thing," Morse looked at Malcador, "He always sounds right."

"Actually," Machado said, "he makes mistakes all the time."

Morse smiled: "Your description is more accurate, Printer. So please, any one of you, tell me, what great job is recruiting temporary workers this time?"

"Your Majesty?" Malcador hinted.

The Emperor blinked. "I want to take back the galaxy."

Morse leaned back. After hearing this ambition, he found that he was not surprised at all: "This work will start with retrieving the creation you lost, right? Let me guess, your greed is not You will only create one child for Perturabo."

At least there should be a backup.

"I have recovered one," said the Emperor. "Sixteenth. He came with me on his own flagship, insisting on greeting his brother."

Morse suddenly had a not-so-good premonition. "You found... one?"

"Yes, twenty in total," the Emperor said calmly. "Perturabo is fourth among them. I am retrieving them, delivering them to the Legion, and beginning to reclaim the Lost Sector of the Galaxy. Morse, you know This is a period of peace not to be missed.”

The excessive amount of information helped Morse regain his dizziness. He held the edge of the table with one hand, and a deep nightmare of being surrounded by twenty Perturabo appeared in front of his eyes.

The Emperor thought for a moment and then added: "Also, the name of Number Sixteen is Horus Luperkar."