Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"I am not a mortal." Perturabo's stubbornness may not change even if Olympia is destroyed. "I'm different from them, it's just that you took away part of my extraordinary abilities."

"And a talent for cooking?"

Perturabo immediately stuffed the grilled fish into his mouth, took two big bites, and swallowed it while holding his neck. "You don't have enough taste to appreciate my work."

He was afraid that Morse would provoke him with this matter again, so he quickly lowered his hand, twisted his wrist, and carried the grilled fish behind his back, away from the other party's sight.

"Yes, yes." Morse agreed casually. "You are not a mortal, you are just a magical child who knows nothing. You may not even have the courage to face a group of harmless guards. Perturabo, go face your fate. The Lokos Guards are looking for you." It’s been a long time for you.”

The tremors on the ice shaped by psychic energy were getting closer and closer, and Perturabo turned his head to look in the direction of the forest.

The corridor-like trees and the ice-covered ground formed a natural echo corridor. The friction between the metal armor and the leather was amplified by the natural airflow, and rolled towards Perturabo very quickly. If he were a pale leaf that had fallen from the branch, he would have been torn apart by the force and swept away.

But his feet still stepped directly on the dry hard soil, which was heavier than high-density steel, blocking his imagination of shouting "This is a last resort" while saving face and drifting away in the wind.

But he is obviously no longer steel, he would rather be a reed.

Perturabo grasped the only thing in his hand tightly, feeling the slender warm metal embedded in the lines of his palm, and then he suddenly realized that he had prepared something fierce to challenge Maul. Sri Lanka's grilled fish.

He immediately turned his head back and saw Morse dissipating into the air relying on his nameless powerful ability.

That abominable man was fading rapidly, the unsightly black clothes fading as if wiped away by detergent, allowing the gorgeous and messy painted murals on the house behind him to take his place in the cross-section of the world.

His head with shaggy black hair remained for the longest time, maybe it was reserved just for him; the thin lips raised in the pale skin made Perturabo feel a rush of hot blood rushing up his spine, stretching all the pulses and blood vessels.

"Morse-" He rushed forward to catch the other person, waving his fingers and grabbing nothingness in the air.

"Come out! Give me back my ability, my wisdom and talent. I have a unique mission, and I should not devote my life to a city-state limited to a planet..."

I can't be this vulnerable.

His heart was beating powerfully in his body. For a mortal heart, even the slightest stimulation made him dizzy. The illusion of coldness came from all directions, wrapping around his skin, invading from every small wound he had accumulated in recent days, and going against the lines of blood vessels and nerves.

"Morse-" he shouted, he couldn't face a group of mortals like this!

"Click."

The toe of the iron boot knocked over a scrap of semi-finished stone carving outside the house, and the weight at the end of the long blunt spear broke a weed outside the fence of the house.

More breaths gathered around Morse's domain.

Perturabo's heart suddenly fell into a blank. Under the accumulation of panic, his brain almost restored its previous functions for a brief moment. Countless messages rumbled through like a majestic waterfall. The first one was that these people heard him Did he call Morse? The second reason is that these people must have heard him calling Morse loudly. The third reason is that he is just a passing mortal child who has strayed into danger and is unknown to anyone.

The great Perturabo? Who is that? There is absolutely no way it could be this frail, useless body.

Absolutely not! Absolutely not! No resemblance at all!

Then his legs and feet drove his upper body to rotate, which was stiffer than a mechanical tower clock in disrepair and hollower than a set of soulless faceless armor.

Unexpectedly, he placed the long metal stick across his chest to demonstrate his strength and danger.

At the end of the long stick, the long-tortured and blackened grilled fish kept vibrating. The two half-moon-shaped gaps that had been bitten off were particularly eye-catching. The torn fish skin hung on the edge, giving off a fierce reflection.

Perturabo stared at the face of the officer at the front, which was less than half covered by the helmet, and tried hard to look into the shadowed eyes.

The officer's hand passed over the grooved gold and silver gun barrel on his waist. From the man's body language, Perturabo read a subtle hint of calmness.

He hoped that he was not so in the eyes of the other party, and at the same time selectively hinted that he was ignoring the grilled fish on the long sign in his hand.

"Who are you?" Perturabo broke the silence, brushing aside the desire to escape at the end of his words, "Helmed ones, what are you doing here?"

The leader took half a step forward, bowed his head and saluted.

"By the order of my lord Damex, he came to seek the boy of Qadithia. He slew the Epidae as a boy, and killed the Serpent of Disaster with a club and a hammer. He came from the mountains. My dear son of God, my lord invites you to visit Lokos.”

"I don't remember anything you mentioned." Perturabo said. He pulled out a decorative sword flower in his hand according to his imagination, took the opportunity to throw away the charred grilled fish, and then pierced the end of the long stick into the soil, like a sword. The sword stands upright.

"I am not the son of God either. Gods do not exist in the world. Please leave here."

The knowledge in his mind was indeed blocked by some extremely hateful weirdo, but Perturabo was still certain that there was no god in this world.

This information was innately present at the bottom of his mental model. He discovered it, cherished it, and was always ready to demonstrate it.

There was a small commotion among the soldiers on the opposite side, like a gust of wind caressing the surface of the water, bringing up layers of ripples. The feathers on their helmets trembled, the golden leather wrapped around the skirts swayed back and forth, and the arm armor reflected the turbulent light. Perturabo clearly saw someone shaking his head at the back of the team.

The leader of this team took another half step forward, took off the white and gold patterned helmet, and faced Perturabo with his true appearance.

"We have witnessed the great deeds of the Son of God along the way." He said solemnly, "There are rumors in the countryside that you beheaded the snake, and shepherds saw you climbing the towering cliffs of Prygia. When we walked towards your residence, frost and dense forests gave us a path. My Lord Damex sincerely invites you to come, and Lokos will do his best to be a good host."

Perturabo silently examined the team in front of him, rubbing his fingers on the long metal stick. The warm metal brushed against the scabbed scar on his fingertips, and he remembered what had left the wound—the wooden handle of Morse's stone hammer, a disastrous wooden splinter that had escaped his absent-minded observation at the time.

A wooden splinter was enough to penetrate the flaw, to pierce the shield of words.

Just like the "miracle" that Morse had messed with, which made it impossible for him to prove that he was just a mortal.

Just like the opportunity that Morse had left him before, allowing him to find a crack to break the deadlock.

Perturabo raised his head. His voice became lighter.

"I am not the master of this place, nor am I the son of God. You are looking for someone else, a craftsman who transcends time and a wise man who lives in seclusion. Dammex should not be looking for me, but him--" He raised a long stick and pointed at the empty rattan chair behind him, while gritting his teeth and mouthing: "Morse, you still owe me a condition!" Morse's messy black hair appeared on the top of the empty rattan chair with his back to the crowd, and then a hand raised upward, lazily, wrapped in black cloth. "I'm here." He said weakly.