Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 2 One chance

The wind descended over the cliff, and in the center of the land surrounded by trees, the roof of a three-story house made of stones and wooden boards, green buds grown from seeds brought by wild birds, trembled with the breeze.

The house is built with tightly bonded sand and slate, and the local clay mixed with plant sap is used as a strong and effective glue to fill the gaps. It seems almost a complete whole, only the windows are hollowed out with squares.

Some random scenes are painted on the exterior walls with pigments made from grinding local stones and plants; a small hand-carved stone lion statue stands at the door, as well as various unfinished carvings of leopards, griffins and wild boars scattered around.There are some pointed awls, stone hammers and measuring sticks placed on the low stool.

The owner of the house seems to have no patience for a complete handicraft, and this is where the complaints of the boy who is currently standing at the door with arms folded on his chest come into play.

"Why don't you finish them?" said Perturabo sarcastically.

Morse came out of the house after a while, carrying a handmade wicker chair.He gently dragged the wicker chair into the sunshine and breeze, and then tipped it over. His messy black hair spread out into the shape of algae.

"When you analyze with me from the outside to the inside, why you have to follow me home, I will tell you." He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sunshine.

Mors values ​​fairness. If Perturabo cannot come up with enough words to exchange, he will not have the patience to explain to the child.

Perturabo shut up again.

This was the most troublesome type of Morse, and he hated spoiling children and conforming to their tempers.

Perturabo was walking, dry earth touching bare feet, sand scraping grass seeds in crevices of rocks.The sound of his breath rubbing against the fabric was slightly distant. Morse raised his eyelids a little, and sure enough, the child stood up straight next to the finished stone statue of Perseus that he had built before.

Perturabo is a unique boy.

Objectively speaking, he has a young appearance, with smooth skin, well-coordinated limbs, and a face that is more solemn and angular than handsome.

But he looks more than just a boy. His aura is arrogant, and his behavior and mood often imply that his mental age has exceeded his appearance, and he has a natural wisdom beyond the limitations of his body.Morse won't deny his extra length.

But he still calls him boy.

Thinking of this, Morse smiled.

Because Perturabo's mental growth is quite consistent with his appearance age, even a little childish.

I don’t know why the craftsman who created this humanoid creature wanted to create such an inconvenient tool: it was so troublesome that even if the tool did not belong to him, it was enough to make him empathize deeply.

"What do you think of my stone statue?" Morse asked.

"Answer my question first." Petula put his knowledge to use.

Morse opened his eyes completely, put his hands behind his head, and let gravity drive the wicker chair to shake naturally.

"Isn't it possible to learn this?" He commented indifferently, "One request for another price, one transaction for one transaction. I didn't complete them because I was lazy and not interested in animal stone carvings. It's your turn."

Perturabo's throat seemed to be blocked by a stone, and it was difficult for him to speak. His gaze briefly crossed the sky and then deliberately avoided it, and then he said, "I don't know."

Morse gave a short laugh.When Perturabo thought he would have no further reaction, Morse stood up suddenly, and the groaning of the branches of the wicker chair was as sharp and piercing as teeth biting a bone, accompanied by broken and dangerous omens.

With a serious expression on his face, he stepped within ten inches of Perturabo in two steps.He could see panic appearing in the boy's confident eyes, and his eyes swept to a non-existent area in the air for the second time, his tense cheeks trembled, his whole body was stiff from the spine down, and the soles of his feet stubbornly stepped into the soil, restraining the instinct to retreat .

Morse stretched out his hand to hold the boy's head, feeling the stubble as hard as sawdust under his hands.Perturabo's trembling stopped completely, but the stiffness became more obvious, like a piece of iron stone that was suddenly cooled during the forging process and took a strange shape.

Who built this amazing instrument?He is so similar to humans, yet he strives to show his differences in every aspect.

He began to recall a list of friends who were capable of such artistic creations.

Surika?Joe?Ryan?Orpeson?
he does not know.

Countless hours had passed since the last time he communicated with any of them.

Using some innocuous psychic energy, Morse turned Perturabo's head towards where the statue of Perseus was.

He controls the boy's head, and the boy himself controls his body.

"Look," he whispered, raising his left hand and pointing the hand wrapped in black cloth at the statue.

"In order to reproduce this ancient work of art, I did not use rock concrete. Fortunately, I found marble, clay, wood, and I also obtained gold, sometimes iron. I did not get ivory, the planet There are so few creatures of such beauty on earth that I have nowhere to show my cruelty."

"Do you know his story?" Morse asked, adding: "This is an additional question. Even if you don't exchange information, I will give you the answer."

"I know." Perturabo replied quickly, he only dared to win the game here. "Perseus was instructed by Athena to take the head of the banshee Medusa."

Perturabo looked at the wings on Perseus' helmet and the blade held tightly in his hand, as if they were comparing themselves to something.Gradually, he began to have to hide his surprise.

Morse looked at the statue.He spent some time carving it, bringing it completely back from time.

On a planet regressed by the loss of culture, there were not many recreational activities for him.

"Continue." He said softly.

Encouraged, Perturabo glanced across the sky for the third time from the corner of his eye.His breathing is disturbed for a moment.

Morse noticed this.

"The art of the same period of this statue did not form a unified style. Artists would compete to express their own characteristics, such as strengthening the modification of details, emphasizing imagination and novelty, focusing on human body depiction, and the layout would use perspective skills, sometimes beyond common sense. , contrary to reason,” this word made him exhale involuntarily with disdain, “the beauty of the form and the reserved and arrogant features make people uncomfortable.”

He concealed his dissatisfaction with Morse in a hostility to the artistic style of the statuary.

Morse affirmed approvingly: "You know a lot, good boy." He rubbed the boy's head, and then let go of Perturabo, who still seemed to be immersed in his sudden praise and unable to get out. .

And he has already obtained a lot of information, such as the person who imbued this tool with a memory module was born at least 3 years ago, and there is no upper limit.

who can that be?

Morse picked up a sharp awl, took two steps back, and looked at the Mannerist sculpture that embodies the vigor and external beauty of the human body, then suddenly raised his hand, and quickly raised the awl, quickly and precisely, with a loud sound and stone There was a sound of a block falling to the ground, and the left hand of the statue holding the skull was broken off on the spot.

There was the sound of the boy breathing in behind him, the fabric vibrating, his heels rubbing against the ground, and Morse confirmed that Perturabo had taken a step back.

He raised the awl again, and the second break occurred in the right hand of the statue. The stone blade shattered under the iron tool, first cracking, then gravel, and finally dust.

"I don't like his story," Morse shouted. "Get guidance from God and kill a monster."

The sharp cone slashed across the hero's face, piercing a crack from the corresponding part of the upper jaw on one side, the marble cracked, and the hero lost his face.Destruction is much easier than creation, but it brings no less excitement than the joy of making things.

Morse seldom takes the initiative to enjoy the excitement. He has no interest, so he attracts unreasonable attention and crises.

"Do you like this story?" he asked. "Relying on some god-given knowledge that comes from nowhere, and relying on arrogance that comes from nowhere, to defeat something you fear?"

He turned and threw the cone at Perturabo.The boy's limbs could catch the tool without even a mental reaction, and for the first time there was a hint of hollow pain in the boy's eyes.

Morse looked at the sky. It was clear, clean, and filled with the unique clarity of a primitive, non-industrial planet.

He couldn't see what Perturabo feared, but he had a guess.

"You don't like this story." He chewed each syllable, chewed it, and spoke it out in a measured cadence, "because you can't even conquer your fear. Tell me what it is, Perturabo, this is your only chance. .I’ll only ask this once.”

Morse grinned. "Otherwise I'm off to take a nap."

(End of this chapter)