Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Perturabo plunged into his busy work with his still endless questions.

Why did Andos become like that?

What was it about the realm of brass and blood that he fell into?

Is Morse's transformation into an indescribable state related to the tearing of the sky in that field that day?

Will Olympia suffer such a serious crisis again in the future?

Will Callifon die with her loved ones one day?

From these main questions, Perturabo's thinking automatically helped him expand into countless related details, and he could almost predict the answer he would get from Morse: Can't tell, don't ask, You guess, maybe, mortals are mortal...

He lowered his head in frustration and tugged at the large, improvised robe.

He has grown a little taller in the past two days, and is now about one foot to three meters taller.

The tailors who had to make at least four sets of clothes a day dared not speak out recently until Perturabo ordered to increase their compensation, and then he gained a group of happy craftsmen who were smiling and could produce five sets of dresses for him every day.

He carefully squeezed the doorknob of Morse's room with his huge fingers and held a stack of papers in his other hand, ready to tell the other party a strange news.

Perturabo knocked lightly on the door panel that would become extremely fragile under his hands. After receiving Morse's response, he bent down and squeezed into the room.

Morse was busy in all aspects, and it seemed that since he got rid of the human body - Perturabo later thought about the past and discovered that Morse really had not exposed any inch of skin except his face. , he also completely let go of the use of extraordinary abilities, so much so that Perturabo began to think about whether he needed to be advised to remain cautious.

He ignored the noisy harp that was being automatically plucked and looked at Morse's desktop.

In the past, the workbench was unremarkable except for a large number of exquisite semi-finished art products, but now there were a number of paint brushes floating on it that were dipped in paint for drawing.

A long scroll depicts a series of serial stories similar to the style of ancient murals, which seem to depict the life of a king wearing a laurel crown and conquering all directions.

Strangely, the scroll seems to vividly depict the king's untimely death with some free and angry strokes.

When Perturabo took a closer look, some special runes came out to interfere with his visual nerves, making it impossible for him to see clearly.

He lowered his head to look at other objects.

A miniature castle frozen in frost, a black and white chessboard with automatically moving chess pieces, a new building model for the Royal Palace of Lokos, a mysterious parchment being filled with quill ink...

Every exquisite work has some damage. The spire of the castle has been shaved off, the chessboard has deep cracks, but the palace is intact, and the end of the parchment is filled with storm-like circles of black ink...

The room literally took on a life of its own, a terrifying life of resentment and powerful creativity.

Finally, in the corner of the room, Perturabo found that the remake of the statue that he had been curious about for ten years was finally completed.

It was probably one of the few things in the room that wasn't badly damaged; other similar items included the wallpaper, which was luckily unscathed, and a portrait of Andos, with half-dried paint, that wasn't at all ruined.

The statue is wearing a loose robe, a gold leaf laurel wreath on its head, holding a flaming sword in its right hand, and on the fingertips of its left hand hangs a heraldry with a silver-edged ribbon that has been burned until it melts, and wears a blank shield on its face. The mask makes one wonder about the true appearance of the statue.

As soon as he saw this finished product, Perturabo immediately felt a strong shock and intoxication from the depths of his soul.

No matter from which angle it is viewed, this unique and painstaking work shows flawless perfection and beauty. Its existence is the conceptual combination of strength and beauty, majesty and softness.

With his fully restored knowledge base, he only saw an unfathomable gap in his skills. He didn't even know where to start catching up with Morse.

Not only that, he immediately fell into the strong emotions contained in the statue, intoxicated by the creator's strong and complex emotions, almost resonating with a kind of dizziness and shaking all over his body.

The only reason the work did not shame him was that it was by Morse. Petura could not help but want to get closer to it, and his remaining sanity was his last limiting valve.

"Give it to you." An extremely plain voice came into Perturabo's mind.

A piece of black linen appeared from the air, and inside the linen there was an illusory human body outlined with countless golden spells.

Perturabo woke up from his immersed thoughts, looked away from the statue, and used his restored rationality to regain his confusion.

"I don't need him, Morse."

Accepting such a priceless treasure as a gift gave him a subtle trepidation.

The man wrapped in linen seemed to tilt his head, and Perturabo heard a chuckle.

"You really don't need it?" Morse raised his voice and asked in an intriguing tone.

Perturabo didn't know why: "Do I need it?"

Morse let out a "tsk", and a string of curse runes flashed. He then asked: "Are you sure you don't need it?"

"I'm sure there is no need..." Perturabo hesitated. There must be a trap here, but he had too few known parameters to help him deduce the true identity of the trap.

Morse chuckled twice, and the laughter quickly amplified and turned into a hearty belly laugh.

His abnormal performance made Perturabo's body tremble as he approached three meters away. He almost forgot about the strange incident he was going to report today, and just wanted to escape from the unknown caused by Morse's rare laughter. threaten.

"Morse?" Perturabo tried to stop Morse's long laughter by calling his name. It worked.

Kuro Azabu stopped smiling and returned to his usual slightly sarcastic tone.

"You really made me regain my good mood, Perturabo. I hope that in the coming days, when you face anyone, you can remember the decisive tone you used when you refused today."

"I will." Perturabo regained his composure.

He found that Morse had not called him the word "child" in recent days. Could it be that Morse finally recognized that he had grown up and matured?

This realization satisfied him.

Morse's room had no chair suitable for his size, so Perturabo decided to give his report standing with the confidence of an adult.

"The Recorder has sorted out the notice for this incident to be disclosed to the public. I hope to confirm the rationality of this notice with you. Afterwards, the notice file will be sealed for historical records. After Califon comes to power, The first official historical revision was recorded in the history book of Lokos, which was preserved until the destruction of Lokos."

"Or until some tyrant decides to burn the library," Morse said. "Tell me about it."

"The last history revision was about twenty years ago. After discussion with me, Callifon decided to let me be responsible for the compilation of my history in Lokos."

"I divided the task into chronology, notes, miscellaneous items, seasonal events, geographical environment, personnel turnover, government affairs records, and important biographies, and distributed them to various talented clerks to write and compile them. Now they are submitting first drafts of materials to me one after another. Most of them only require limited reorganization and correction to remove conflicts and ensure authenticity as much as possible.”

At this point, Perturabo paused.

Earlier today, the contents reported to him by the clerk responsible for biographies, and the heartfelt advice that followed, made him experience for the first time what it meant to experience a real shock like thunder piercing his body, and an unforgettable feeling of sitting on pins and needles.

He handed over a pile of documents in his hand, his nerves became tense, and he made mental preparations like a trial.

"Perhaps it would be better for you to review this part yourself, Morse."

Papers flew into the air and were arranged in an orderly manner into a thin wall of paper. An idle pen flew from the table, using red diluted paint to draw circles on the paper.

Looking from the light-transmitting back, Perturabo easily turned the pattern over in his mind, reading Morse's modifications in real time.

This biography begins with the earliest events after Perturabo's arrival.

Before ordering the large-scale collection of information, Perturabo himself did not have his first small memory.

Now he still relies on other people's statements and memories to feel the shadow left by his childhood behavior in this world——

Arrive at a village, ask for iron, carbon and tools from the blacksmith, take the forged iron sword and leave on your own, kill the basilisk, slay the multi-headed dragon, and abandon the crude gifts of the locals, just like nature. Consciously create cold oppression and panic...

For the first time, he identifies his own behavior entirely from the perspective of others and summarizes his own character and true achievements.

Morse's reading can be described as relish, even though his face, which contained nothing but curses, was expressionless.

Perturabo savored Morse's mood from the light and dancing pen that adjusted a few words from time to time.

Sometimes he would feel that such indirect observation was more valuable and interesting. Of course, most of the time, he would prefer to see a familiar guy lying on a wicker chair as soon as he opened the door, erecting a twisted black wire. Bu's fingers greeted him lazily.

Soon, the revision of the biography progressed to Perturabo's growth period, including his self-presentation and debate when he first entered Lokos, his subsequent competition with Andos, and his review of the entire country of Lokos from agriculture, transportation, and military affairs. comprehensive planning and construction.

The civil servant initially used excessive praise and even partial exaggeration to emphasize his great contribution. However, he ordered this part to be completely rewritten, and priority must be given to ensuring authenticity.

He also approached Callifon to discuss with her the relevant parts of Andros's biography, to re-highlight Andros's amazing talent, noble character and regrettably hidden potential.

Perturabo knew that he had never truly defeated Andros and would never have the chance again.

Morse did not make many changes to this new version of the account that had been retold, but only used a paintbrush to correct various data.

The accuracy and comprehensiveness of his data made Perturabo have to press his upper and lower teeth together to suppress his surprise.

Perturabo had never known that Morse kept precise and personal records of all his involvements, and this left him with a mixture of bewildered emotions.

He couldn't tell the origin of this emotion, but he felt that the blood in his body was bringing him more warmth.

Finally, as the brush moved closer to the last sheets of paper, Perturabo couldn't help but glance at Morse - all he saw was a piece of black linen, of course.

The brush hovered for a long time, and the gradually solidified paint deformed the tip of the brush.

Suddenly a chanting voice came from the black linen: "Perturabo and Calliphon rushed to the palace. At this time, due to the foolish and evil deeds of the rebel Harkon, the tyrant Damex and the prince Andos were already dead. die."

Then there was a cheerful chuckle, and a sudden recitation full of emotion: "In addition to the corpses at the scene, the blood-stained and severely damaged regular clothes of Perturabo's mentor Morse were left. Considering that many citizens had witnessed Morse that day, Morse marched towards the palace, and since then Morse has not left any trace of his appearance elsewhere. It is reasonable to conclude that the craftsman Morse has died in this rebellion. "

As I read this, the brush dipped in more paint and drew a squiggly line of praise beneath the sentence.

Perturabo began to point his toes toward the door, while Morse's passionate recitation continued.

"Perturabo was deeply emotional, worried too much, and blamed himself for not being able to return to the capital in time. From then on, he was often seen wandering in a trance, talking alone, and seemed to be engaged in conversations with people in the air all day long."

"With his vivid expression and solemn attitude, it is very possible that he has conceived a mentor in his imagination who has not sacrificed himself."

"This sad phenomenon not only confirms Perturabo's high moral character and his deep friendship with his mentor Morse, but also worries the entire Lokos."

Perturabo felt his stomach tighten.

"I hope that Perturabo, the young war lord of Lokos, will soon get out of the haze of the past and accept the cruelty of reality, so that he can face his grief, get rid of illusions, accept himself, and realize his ambitions... How well said! For the expectations of the citizens who love you so much. Change, great Perturabo!”

Perturabo covered his face in annoyance and said hastily: "So Morse, when will your body be ready again?"

"Miss me so much?" Morse said leisurely, the ends of the golden black linen floating happily.

"They say I'm like a lunatic. Morse, can you go to those historians quickly?"

Perturabo spoke faster in excitement. The words on his tongue had obviously undergone cyclotron acceleration repeatedly and flew out one after another like high-speed flying particle cannons.

Heimabu shrugged maybe part of his shoulders, "Try telling them that I'm not dead?"

"How do you explain this? You leave behind a blood-stained robe, and I grab every citizen who is worried about my mental state and emphasize that you are safe and sound?"

"Isn't this just a confirmation of your noble moral character of empathizing with others?" Morse said unhurriedly.

Perturabo had never felt so embarrassed. Without Morse's personal testimony, the more he refuted, the more he proved the rumors circulating among the citizens.

What made him most helpless was that the last few reports about the fantasy mentor were handed over to him by Callifon himself.

Perturabo took a deep breath and recited the first fifty-one perfect numbers in his mind at once to help him regain his composure.

He peeled off the hanging papers one by one, stacked them and put them away, while asking: "When will your body be ready? I hope you can be there with me at Callifon's coronation ceremony."

"You should learn to find excuses, Perturabo." Morse said softly, the golden light of the characters shining through the black linen.

The next moment, his pale face and disheveled hair reappeared in the world. Slender black cloth wrapped the outline of his body, and the linen cloth also turned into a loose and wrinkled toga-style robe.

The craftsman snapped his fingers with satisfaction.

It was actually difficult to make a sound through the cloth, but under Perturabo's deliberate observation, he finally used his extraordinary eyesight to notice that Morse's snap of his fingers was accompanied by a barely visible flash of a special spell that shook the air.

"You'd better hope people don't say you built a humanoid intelligent machine in just a few days, Perturabo. That would be too dangerous."

Perturabo would never admit that when Morse reappeared completely, the boulder that had been heavy and oppressive in his heart these days was instantly removed. He had never felt so light and relaxed.

He remained serious and said quite seriously: "Olympians don't have such advanced imagination."

Morse lay back, and the familiar wicker chair appeared automatically to catch the black-robed craftsman.

His voice floated leisurely: "They all imagine that you have a fantasy mentor. Everything is possible."