Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Morse tilted his head slightly.

Before morning came, the stars were winding into an infinitely huge python in the sky, and every flicker was the reflection of the snake. The atmosphere of Olympia is a frosted giant ball, and the pythons circle and shrink outside the giant ball.

A hundred years ago, he raised his head and witnessed the birth of the soul-resounding cry projected in the material universe, and he has often had this illusion ever since.

He raised his legs and stepped on the high stone steps. This twisting path on the cliff was unmaintained. When the Lokos guards passed by, they waved their swords used to kill the enemy to kill part of the earth and stone. The dust succumbs to the iron tools forged by craftsmen, and the trail is gradually dedicated to humans by the cliff.

Above, on the relatively flat road, the guard named Miltiades and his accompanying team were waiting silently, their white-gold armor losing color before the dim morning came.

Hidden along with the colors are the voices of the guards. Out of unknown respect and admiration, these spear-bearers who enforce laws in city-states and countries do not dare to have the slightest thought of urging Morse and Perturabo, who are slowly falling behind. .

Morse turned around, observing Perturabo's every move with a research attitude.

Even after transforming from a complete manufactured weapon into a flawed mortal, the boy's learning and growth rate is still outstanding.

Half an hour ago, Perturabo had secretly frowned at the rugged road and the height difference that was too large for the boy's size. Now he had learned to skillfully look for every convenient place to stay, holding on to the stone wall with steady fingers. Hold on to every protruding rock and move forward with minimal effort.

But he still wasn't fast enough.

Morse leaned forward, stretched out his arm downward and diagonally, and placed his helping hand in front of Perturabo's eyes.

The boy glanced at him. "Move away," he gasped.

"You are too slow, Perturabo," Morse said evenly. "The Lokos Guard is waiting for you."

"Then let them wait." Perturabo moved his lips and spit out a string of Gothic words.

"I'm waiting for you too."

Perturabo said nothing, just lowered his eyes, and firmly grabbed Morse's black cloth-wrapped palm, allowing Morse to lift him up lightly. Then, Morse kicked his feet lightly, and the two of them flew upward against the gravity of the planet's center.

Morse let go of Perturabo before he could regain his balance. This made the boy almost fall in front of the Lokos. He shook and said nothing, anger flashing in his eyes.

Morse blinked and nodded to the Lokos.

These soldiers seemed to be relieved, and they all nodded slightly to Morse, then immediately turned around and led the way in an orderly manner, perhaps even more orderly than when they were being read by the tyrant of the country.

Morse put his right hand on Perturabo's shoulder and accepted the courtesy of the soldiers.

The mountain mist rolled in the half-light darkness, sliding silently over the edge of the road covered with thorny vegetation. Perturabo raised his chin high, only to be scratched by the sharp edges of the leaves. When he reached the edge of the sole of his foot, the expression on his face twitched briefly.

A chill pierced Perturabo's shoulder from Morse's palm, and then the boy heard a sarcastic voice.

+They respect me. +

Psychic energy stirred, and a private communication channel opened.

Perturabo glared at Morse, and learned by himself how to let two minds begin to communicate and collide in the psychic circuit. Of course, he doesn't know how to use psychic powers, and it was Morse who temporarily gave him permission to use this ability.

+Because you are an extraordinary craftsman. I told them. +

+What are you angry about? Do you want this respect too? Do you want Olympians to love you with adoration? +

+No! I don't need the love of mortals. + Perturabo said proudly.

+Oh, not needing it and not having it are two different things. You're so honest, kid. +

Perturabo frowned quietly, hoping that the vast darkness of the night would make the shadows gathering between his eyebrows less noticeable.

+ Of course I can get it, as long as you give me my ability back. You took away a part of me that I was born with, and you laughed at me for not being able to satisfy you now. Do you enjoy the satisfaction brought by the status gap from me? +

+I feel even more satisfied with this: In your mind, the only value you can gain from others' love is your superhuman talent. Once you lose your extraordinary appearance, you will easily believe that with your own character and mind, it is impossible to gain the respect of others. What an interesting realization! You know who you are and I appreciate you, good boy. +

Perturabo felt a stream of hot blood rushing to his cheek. He twisted his body and got rid of Morse's hand.

The psychic connection was quietly disconnected. He looked up and met Morse's scrutinizing gaze for only half a second. He hurriedly moved his eyes away while avoiding the mortal guards in front, letting his eyes fall on the hazy night scene around him. middle.

At the end of the mountains, where the edge of the dead mountains meets the pale night, a majestic city-state looms. Vaults and spiers occasionally emerge from beneath the earth.

This is where they are going, Perturabo thought silently. He will travel long distances, through cold mountains, to a city where he will gain nothing.

He continued to look around. The valleys were cracked and the terrain was undulating. The planet itself relied on mountains and rocks to divide countless plains.

And humans themselves relied on weapons and power to divide the regions again.

Perturabo saw the farmland, and the village lights were a warm color opposite to the stars, creating bright yellow spots under the gray sky. The flowing stream water stabilizes in the man-made reservoir and is transported to the fertile land via mechanical waterwheels.

He couldn't help but try to conceive of some more elaborate layouts and machinery in his mind to improve the efficiency of water supply and allow the food in the farmland to grow better; he also tried to conceive of a gentle, spacious, and continuous road. , erasing the influence of the mountains, allowing for a more fluid industrial exchange between villages and villages, city-states and city-states.

He couldn't help but imagine a more mechanized, advanced era.

He thought about drainage systems, about building zoning, about fast transportation and residential structures that were both beautiful and practical.

Houses will be machines for living. It may be possible to liberate building facades from load-bearing, use more advanced structural designs to make planes more convenient, colorful and dynamic, restructure the concepts of blocks and inner courtyards, and restructure roads. It is distributed between buildings in a grid pattern, allowing three-dimensional transportation to run through the entire city like lines of precision instruments, extending the distribution of public services and collective operations to the entire planet and even more regions...

Then he failed. This knowledge flashed through the depths of his mind like a stream of light. He wanted to grab it, but he could only hold a handful of mist in the mountain wilderness.

Perturabo suddenly felt a sense of emptiness, and the dislocation between desire and reality truly came to the depths of his soul, making it impossible for him to get out.

However, unlike the previous anger and annoyance caused by forgetting knowledge, this time, Perturabo even forgot the patience and self-recognized shame he often thought about.

The place he was heading to was Lokos, and perhaps his construction would begin there. The tyrants of the country would welcome him, he could be sure. Didn't the man named Damex send soldiers to meet him?

From towers and fortresses to workshops and fields...

He was immersed in the grand ideas of the project, and he felt in a trance that the broad road was already completed under his feet, and his people who did not yet exist were welcoming the coming daylight in their clean and tidy houses.

Until a sharp arrow pierced in front of his eyes was shattered by the defense of the psychic shield.

"Be careful, someone is attacking." Morse said calmly, raising his hand to point to the hidden shadow of the mountain. There, some murky shadows moved quietly.

Perturabo finally woke up from his fantasy world. He first looked up to see Morse's reaction.

The strange thing is that on that boring cold face that he has become familiar with in recent days, there is a hint of smile and encouragement directed at himself.

At some point, the Lokos team surrounded the two of them, with two people in front and two behind them, in a fighting posture, firmly protecting Morse and Perturabo in the center.