I'm in Warhammer, please don't praise Doraemon

Chapter 706 Mortalian's Mathematical Skills

"Fairus"

Fugen's words caused Fugrim's expression to pause slightly, and his lips to tremble slightly:

"Are you talking about Ferrus?"

“Of course!” Fugen gripped the Brokensmith Warhammer tightly and growled, “What will Feralus say when he sees the once-mighty Purple Phoenix fallen to this state?”

“I have never regretted killing Feralas,” Fugrim said softly.

Fugen paused for a moment, then said, "I didn't ask—"

"I have never regretted killing Felus!"

Fugrim's voice suddenly rose, his four arms flailing like a kaleidoscope of motion, his twin swords, whip, and claws weaving together as he pressed down on Fugen.

Fu Gen's expression hardened, and the Forgebreaker's warhammer unleashed a torrent of intense heat.
The serpentine blade in Forgrim's left hand screeched as it clashed with the Forgebreaker's warhammer, the explosive energy illuminating the surrounding area for hundreds of meters as if it were daytime.
Fugen's arm went numb, his bones were cracking, and he felt as if he were facing an ancient colossus more powerful than an entire Titan legion, a colossus that had humbled itself in the mortal dimension. But it was not Fugen who suffered, but reality itself.

Sanguis, Lane, and Guilliman never used their full strength when they fought themselves in the gladiator cage.
He deserved to die!

Fugrim's voice was sharp and razor-like.
“You wretch! I once fought alongside Felus, we forged weapons together, we shed blood together and swore oaths together.”

"And you, you wretched woman, are just spying on my memories. When have you ever seen Felus?"

The deadly whip lashed down, tearing through Fugen's armor in an instant. Flesh was violently ripped away by the barbs on the whip, and excruciating pain swept through Fugen's body.
This whip is not only a weapon of war, but also a complete instrument of torture. It is coated with a poison that is not fatal but can cause boundless pain. An ordinary person would probably have already passed out from the terrible agony.
But Forgione, at least physically, was still the Primarch. His extraordinary immune system came into play, quickly suppressing the pain, and his exceptional reflexes further distanced him from Forgione.

"Ferus, he's pedantic! He's boring! He's as cold as iron!"

Fugrim roared and gave chase, his flaming sword arcing as it clashed with the Forgebreaker's warhammer.
"He doesn't understand art. He can't appreciate paintings, he can't understand the rhythm in music, and he doesn't know how to appreciate the existence of beauty."

The flaming swords before Fugen seemed to multiply into thousands upon thousands in an instant, slashing at him from all directions. He wielded the Forgebreaker's warhammer, struggling to defend himself.
But attacks still managed to break through his defenses and land.

His armor was constantly dented, damaged, and scorched.

"He has stolen my honor time and time again, he has overshadowed my glory time and time again, he has betrayed me time and time again!"

“I invited him with brotherly affection, because of our sincere friendship, to invite him to join a new order.”

"But he rejected me! He betrayed our friendship!"

"He deserved to die by my sword!"

Fugrim's voice became shrill and piercing:
"So ungrateful! So stubborn! So incorruptible, so unshakable, so tenacious, so unyielding."

Fugrim's voice grew softer and softer.

“Yes,” Fugen nodded and said, “I have never seen Feralas in person; I have only spied on your memories.”

"But I still know his resilience, his indestructibility. If there is anything in the world that is perfect without carving, it must be Ferrus."

“I have loved him even though I have never walked alongside him. How could you not love him, having walked with him in person?”

Forgrim's attack faltered, and he slightly opened his mouth, tears welling up in his violet eyes.

Fugen felt a surge of power within him, a power that seemed to originate from Fugen's body.
Fugen recalled what Caul had once said.

He is becoming Fogrem.
Fugen let out a wild battle roar.

He leaped to his feet, swinging the Brokensmith's Warhammer in an arc, the hammerhead aimed directly at Forgrim's distorted face.
As expected of the Primarch, Forgrim was faster than Fulgrim. Even though Fulgrim caught him in a moment of distraction, he still managed to evade him.
Fugen's Brokensmith Warhammer struck his shoulder with a sharp, cracking sound as the intricately carved eagle on Fugen's armor snapped, exposing Fugen's shoulder to the air.

"You bitch!" Fogrim shrieked, the twisted blade aimed at Fogrim.

Fugen leaped aside to dodge the attack, simultaneously swinging his warhammer toward the broken eagle on Fugen's chest.

The eagle flew out of Forgrim's chest under the hammer blow; the ornament's claws had indeed pierced Forgrim's chest, drawing blood.

Fugrim let out a wail and retreated repeatedly.

"This was given to me by my father!" Fogrim cried out, looking at the broken eagle on the ground.

"A gift from the Emperor?" Fu Gen asked, tilting his head slightly as he landed on the Emperor.

He never imagined that Forgrim still kept the gifts the Emperor had given him.

But Forgrim ignored Fugen's question. His狰狞 (zhengning, meaning ferocious or hideous) face slowly rose, and the wound on his chest healed almost instantly.
He stared at Fugen with an extremely gloomy gaze.

“You stole my things,” Forgrim growled.

“I’m more inclined to see this as a form of recognition.” Fugen gripped the Broken Furnace tightly, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he provocatively said, “You yourself admit that I’m more like the Purple Phoenix than you are.”

“You are nothing but a counterfeit, a fake, a clone,” Fugrim said in a sharp, grating voice.

“The Primarch of the Emperor’s Son must be the most perfect one.” Fugen stared at Forgrim, showing no fear. “Whoever is more perfect is the Primarch, and whoever wins is the Primarch.”

“Fool.” Foggrim actually laughed out loud: “The more perfect you are, the more you resemble me. If you can defeat me, it only proves that you are exactly like me.”

"The path to perfection is like this: the more you walk, the clearer your imperfections become. You call my posture decadent, but I call it the necessary path to perfection."

“I don’t think this is the result of the perfect way.”

Fugen shook his head and said:

"I have been thinking about what exactly perfection should look like."

"Do you remember that ten thousand years ago, Chagatai Khan gave us a jade pendant from the early days of human civilization?"

“You praised the jade carving as beautiful and admired its history, but it was actually made from a piece of scrap.”

Fugrim was slightly taken aback.

He still remembered the jade carving, which depicted a traveler wearing a straw hat walking in a swirling snow, with a withered tree swaying beside him. At the time, Fugrim was indeed attracted by the exquisite beauty of the jade carving and couldn't help but exclaim in admiration.

"This jade carving was created in the era when Zhou Yun lived. When I talked to Zhou Yun about it, he told me that the jade carving was created from waste material." "Using cotton as snow, cracks as trees, and moss as a straw hat, a traveler returns home on a snowy night, turning decay into magic."

“I think Chagatai Khan realized at the time that we were going down the wrong path, and used that jade carving to warn us, but we didn’t realize it.”

"I think the way to perfection is not about how many flaws we cut off. Flaws can never be completely cut off. If we keep cutting, all that's left for us is an empty shell."

"True perfection depends on how we face our own flaws, whether with nobility or with cowardice."

Fugen gripped the broken furnace in his hand, a slight smile appearing on his lips:
"So Belisarius Caul is wrong. I am not your past. You and I are different outcomes."

"I choose to acknowledge my imperfections with dignity, while you choose to cowardly run away from them."

"We are the two ends of fate, like the ouroboros, but it is still unknown who will be the tail that gets swallowed and who will be the head that gnaws at the tail."

"Three is the beginning, six is ​​the end; the snake bites the phoenix, the phoenix pecks the snake."

"Six is ​​the beginning, three is the beginning, when the phoenix falls, the snake is bathed in fire."

Mortarian muttered something under his breath, six stone dice dancing between his fingertips before landing on the table: three threes and three sixes.

Then Mortalian began to write and draw on the documents in front of him.

Guilliman, sitting across from him processing documents, even fell silent for a moment.

He only intended to make things difficult for Mortarian, to make Mortarian understand that the current situation was not what he wanted.

But surprisingly, Mortalian's document processing skills were actually quite good.
Although his method of handling documents was inexplicable and always interspersed with a series of feudal superstitions, it was undeniably effective.
Mortarian claimed that this was the power of numerology.

But Guilliman couldn't completely hand over the work to Motalian.

Mortalian's administrative abilities are indeed excellent when handling specific cases.

But when it comes to things related to computing...
Guilliman glanced at the financial statements that Motalian had just processed in his hand.
It's a terrible sight.
It's riddled with numerous basic calculation errors, making it utterly unbearable.

Is this the mathematical level of the supreme master of numerology?

Ugly, so very ugly. What is he doing with the extraordinary mind that the emperor bestowed upon him?
Guilliman discovered that Motalian had a tendency to oversimplify everything, completely ignoring the underlying reasons for things.

It's no exaggeration to say that Mortalian's understanding of mathematics is roughly at the level of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.

But strangely, many things that fell into his hands did indeed become simpler.

For example, a significant conflict previously broke out between the Space Wolves and Gray Knights under the command of the Guilliman Expeditionary Fleet.

Guilliman had devised a series of complex plans to mitigate the conflict between the two sides.

But Mortarian struck first.

He directly captured the Wolf Lord and the Gray Knight's Grand Mentor, who were in charge of commanding the Space Wolves force, threw them into the arena, and demanded that the two of them engage in a bloody duel.

If they both die, and the conflict between Space Wolf and Grey Knight remains unresolved, Mortarion will continue to capture people for bloody duels according to the command sequence until their conflict is resolved.

Mortalian's method was surprisingly effective; the conflict between the Space Wolf and the Grey Knight was resolved before the first deadly battle even began.
The wolf lord and the grandmaster exchanged a glance, and immediately reached an agreement. One picked up an axe, and the other channeled his psionic energy, launching an attack on Mortarian.
Finally, after being thoroughly beaten by Mortarion, the two sides surprisingly developed a bond of camaraderie and reconciled.
This left Guilliman somewhat at a loss for words.

Just then, Motalian, who was across from Guilliman at his workstation, suddenly stood up and slammed the dice he was holding onto the table.

The power of the Primarch was naturally terrifying; the six dice slammed into the wooden table like six meteors.

Guilliman stared blankly at Mortalian's actions.
“This is the wooden table my father, King Connor, left me. It’s been with me for tens of thousands of years,” Guilliman said to Mortalian.

Mortarian paused, pointing to the dice on the table, and said:
“Look, nine.”

Guilliman looked down and saw that the die Mortalian was pointing to had rolled a nine.
"Wait, isn't this a six-sided die? How come it has a nine?" Guilliman blinked and couldn't help but say.

But Mortalian ignored Guilliman.

"Nine is the sacred number of the Lord of Change, which foreshadows certain actions of the Lord of Change."

“Look, this is seven, this is six, seven plus six equals thirteen, which means the Lord of All Changes is taking action against you.”

"Why seven and six? You rolled seven and nine, why couldn't you just roll thirteen?" Guilliman couldn't help but ask.

“Because seven is the sacred number of the Father, it means I will help you,” Mortarian said matter-of-factly.

"And what about the sixth? What is the Lord of Thirst doing?" Guilliman pressed.

Mortalian ignored Guilliman's question and pointed to the next pair of dice.

"Look, nine and six add up to fifteen. The Fifteenth Legion, Magnus is coming to attack you."

Guilliman was too lazy to bother pointing out the far-fetched nature of Motalian's explanation.
His gaze fell on the last die.
"Eight? Blood God is involved too... Hmm?" Guilliman paused mid-sentence, then paused again.
The die didn't have eight dots on it, but the number 8.

“This isn’t eight, it’s ∞, it’s infinity,” Mortarian said, pointing to the last die.

".?" Guilliman was at a loss for words to describe Mortalian.

"Then let me ask you a math question: which is bigger, the sum of two infinity or infinity?" Guilliman asked, staring at Mortalian.

“Of course it’s two infinity,” Mortarian said matter-of-factly.

“You can continue,” Guilliman waved his hand.

"Infinity, ouroboros, symbolizes the self-coupling of fate."

"It is the Well of Eternity!"

"Tzeentch threw Magnus into the Well of Eternity, creating something to attack you!"

(End of this chapter)