Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 450 Planets and Planets

Unlike the planet Sivers, which once belonged to the silversmith, the planet Ishtar is located at the other extreme of the human habitable table - if the period they are in must be divided into millennia, it is likely the second human millennium, and the population density here matches this year exactly.

The outer deep blue hue is just some kind of veil-like psychic shielding - it blocks prying eyes thousands of miles away, unless the observer has a clear goal and extraordinary ability. Looking out from the inside of the atmosphere, the sky of Ishtar is whitening because of the cold.

It might have been the hour now, and the sound of a bell rang out faintly from the town where they had landed, chilled to a crisp by the temperature of the season.

Morse heard the wheels bumping over the ice crystals in the potholes in the road, and the creaking of the wooden spokes under the weight of the weight. The hay cart was tied with two bright blue ribbons. In one house, people were arguing, plates and bowls were banging, and the family next to them was practicing the arrangement of the triangle, and a violin that was frozen out of tune by the air was being tuned. The air smelled of wood and cigars, and the unmistakable smell of livestock. On the outside, there was a wealthy family, and the rose-colored lampshades reflected the unusual elegance through the glass windows, carrying the essence of all institutions and politeness condensed on the surface.

The town was so filled invisibly by its inhabitants and the space they needed to live that Morse and Perturabo felt like they were being squeezed in from the outside world.

They did receive corresponding treatment. The weather was cold and there were not many people on the street, but everyone was curious about their existence.

Children in homespun clothes, bought or sewn at home, looked up at them in groups, fiddling with a crudely made wooden doll - the body and arms were on one side, and the head and legs were broken and held by another child.

Their nurses or neighbors—for the children's skin was not the same color as the women's—also looked up at Perturabo, holding the children in her frail arms, and breaking the quiet concern she had for them with an expression of surprise.

Soon after, a child timidly asked, "Aren't you cold, uncles?"

The language he used came from Ancient Terra, and fortunately the Primarch and the craftsmen had reasons to understand it.

Morse and Perturabo looked at each other's attire, one in a thin black robe, the other in a sleeveless, wide white robe, the white mist floating in the air when Perturabo breathed.

The woman asked, "Where are you from?"

"You probably don't know where it is," Morse said. "Locos is a big place, too, and it's a long way from here."

"In a foreign country?"

"Not in your country." Perturabo lowered his voice, crouched slightly, and took the doll and its parts from the child's hands. "Do you need it fixed?"

The children nodded one after another, and the same child spoke up: "Your accent is really weird, big brother."

"They call you two hundred years younger," Morse said, handing Perturabo a knife from his sleeve.

The Iron Lord easily re-articulated the joints of the wooden puppet, even though the puppet itself was no longer than one of his fingers.

He made a set of movable joints and returned the doll to the children. The two children looked at each other, and the woman took the doll and handed it to one of the older children: "Don't break it again. Thank you, these two big brothers."

They received thanks from the children, who then ran away.

The woman watched them hide under a low shed covered with an old blanket and not go far. She turned back, wiped her hands on her apron, and smiled at Perturabo, who had squatted much lower. She deliberately slowed down her speech, worried that the two strangers in front of her could not hear clearly: "How can I help you?"

"We heard that some old friends were living here," Morse said. "That was a long time ago. The elders had some quarrels, and after many years they decided that they couldn't stop communicating."

The woman seemed to understand something and looked at the two outsiders with a different gaze.

She looked at their faces, gradually shifting her focus to Perturabo, as if trying to read some familiar lines or recognizable contours in that tall face.

"Yeah, how can there be so many people of the same height and strength?" she said.

"Tell us about it?" Morse asked, leaning familiarly against a red brick wall. "I'd appreciate it, really."

Before arriving at the town, his psychic power had carefully swept across the entire planet, which was dominated by a peaceful environment. Only a few places were shrouded in fog, and one place that could not be clearly explored by Morse had already proven its strangeness.

They visited three towns in succession, two of which said they remembered a tall woman, her snakes and her son, and sometimes an old man dressed in a refined manner would also go there, with a conspicuous set of silver keys hanging from his waist. But for those two places, one said their appearance was at least fifty years ago, and the other said it was twenty years ago.

"Oh, there's nothing to thank for. You'll get the same answer no matter who you ask," the woman said, taking two steps toward the two children she was carrying, watching them study the floral patterns on the blanket, her tone softened. "They're very noticeable."

"Three or four years ago, a very tall woman came with her taller child, spoke to the owner of the east house, and bought his house. She was always wrapped in a dark blue cloth, or perhaps she had more than one set of clothes, for no one had ever seen the cloth fade. The child was as tall as you," she told Perturabo, "but the woman always looked at him, and seemed anxious when he left. If you want to find her, look for her son; you can always see her nearby.

"In the first week here, they held a dance at the manor and invited us all. Her son got to know everyone. He was easy to talk to, didn't say much, but was always humble and a little mysterious. She stood on the second floor looking down, her hands folded together, gloomy, silent, making people feel cold like the wind behind their necks. Later, Serpent took Zalda back to the room, and then came down again and asked the waiter to light the fireplace hotter. There was a very strange element in his tone, and he was very happy when he did it."

"Serpent?"

"It's the name his mother gave him, but he doesn't use it. He calls himself 'Eleven', and we don't think it's a good name. Only a few young people are willing to call him that in private." The woman said, and gradually, more memories emerged from her heart. Morse could cross the boundaries of language and directly see the images that floated through her mind.

He saw Erda, sitting quietly in a high-backed chair, with a blue scarf that hid the function of psychic deflection framing a face as tight as sandalwood, one hand on the table, where a lamp was placed. For a while she was motionless, and then she spoke, her voice was very soft, as pure as her eyes.

"I know you can do it," she said. "Although you have his blood flowing, you don't have his arrogance. It's easy to detect his ambition, but it's hard to question him..."

The local woman's voice became louder again, filling the gap in thinking, "Serpent has a snake, but no one has ever seen it. There must be some hissing sound there. Serpent himself admitted it ambiguously, and Erda denied it firmly. When she came to the market..."

Morse saw a layer of mist in the memory of the local women, which was the mist blowing on the glass windows, making the outside hazy in the snow. Two tall people walked side by side on the night street alone, saying something inaudible. Morse read the lip shapes, "You need to change your cufflinks," said Zalda, "change to a thick vest to match your coat, you-"

"I don't need it."

"You are his son. You can't keep wearing old clothes. You also have to manage your estate. This is an easy task for you."

"I'm a snake," said Eleven, "and snakes don't need silk coats." They walked farther into the snowy night street, until even the farthest lights couldn't illuminate their backs. The local woman came back from the cold window, adding a piece of pumpkin to the soup on the stove, then the next piece, cooking it into a pot of warm, yellow stuff. She put on a pair of heat-insulating gloves padded with several layers of cotton and cloth.

"It's east of town, isn't it?" Perturabo asked, his expression showing no emotion, his expression restrained.

"Yes, but they left town a few days ago. However, the house is still there, so they may come back."

"We'll go check it out, thank you, ma'am."

The local woman hesitated, as if she wanted to give some advice or comment, but finally shook her head. "I think... maybe you should meet them."

-

Lorgar Aurelion carefully sat down in a chair at the front of the chapel, the only place where he could put his legs.

He held two bunches of wisteria in his right hand, and a wreath of wild flowers surrounded his golden head, which was shaped by the resilient branches that grew in spring. These were all picked for him by the locals in the morning when the dew had not dried yet. Lorgar could only dry the old flowers and bake them before giving them to his priests.

When he first arrived, he carefully examined the local people's beliefs, fearing that the consequences of Erebus would happen again - he still did not let the venomous snake die, which was one of the few things that Lorgar could not convince himself to forgive; he hoped that the venomous snake would struggle in purgatory as long as possible, just as the True Word Bearers would whip themselves every day until now.

The answer delighted him: the people of Asime truly believed in the Emperor from Terra, followed His teachings devoutly, and revered Him personally, rather than some false idol that deceived the world and stole his name.

Lorgar was always happy to see these people living in peace and happiness. He felt that nothing could soothe his soul more than the innocent joy of His children.

There was only one small thing that always bothered him. There was something that the locals did not do properly, even though it was not a big mistake in principle, but just the result of a lack of proper guidance.

"I told you, brothers and sisters."

He lowered his voice gently, knowing that the voice of a Primarch speaking at full volume could be loud enough to cause discomfort to the fragile heart of a mortal.

“Don’t always intentionally ask Him for too many answers. We cannot be false, empty shells, waiting only for His light to fill us.”

He took the hand of the mortal beside him and led him to sit next to him. "Tell me, why do you always try to prophesy in His name?"

"The Emperor will guide us, Aurelion," the mortal raised his head and said sincerely, "When we don't know where to go, only the Emperor will protect us. We are in His love."

Lorgar shook his head slightly: "You are immersed in His selfless love, Bondo."

"Is this not optional?" Bondo asked.

"This is what you should do, but it's not the only thing you should do." Lorgar said helplessly, "You seek guidance from Him, which is good and not deviant, but how can you only ask for things from Him? He gives us love, what should we give back to Him?"

“Please enlighten me, Aurelion.”

"That is understandable, Bondo. He is to us like a father and a mother, and we serve Him like sons and daughters."

"In our confused childhood, He led us forward; when we grow up, we also need to give back, do our best to glorify Him, and offer Him all the help we can. Otherwise, aren't we just like the hungry children who have no intention of thinking about giving back and repaying? Aren't we just greedy for the love He gives us, instead of learning to love Him Himself?"

Bondo frowned, thinking deeply about Lorgar's words, "So, how can we give back to Him?"

Lorgar nodded with a smile and continued, "He has long told us to prove what is God's good, perfect, and pleasing will. Each one must carry his own burden. He who tills his own field will be well fed, but he who follows vain pursuits lacks wisdom. Make it your goal to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business, and to work with your own hands, so that you may walk properly toward those who are outside, and you will not need anything."

“We need to do our own thing?”

"His voice guides us in these matters, and we must also give back to Him in our own responsibilities, rather than being at a loss as to where to go and often losing faith and wisdom. 'Wisdom is the first, and blessed is the man who finds understanding.'"

Another female believer came up to him and sat down beside him. Lorgar made room on the chair for her and smiled back.

"Aurelian, are you saying that if our hearts are toward Him, His guidance will be given to us. Only when we can no longer feel Him do we have to seek Him artificially?"

Aurelion's smile widened.

"Yes, if we pray with questions, then the questions must first be something we intentionally seek to solve, rather than just sitting there and waiting for His love to be selflessly given to us."

"Then..." The female disciple hesitated for a moment. Aurelion waited patiently, looking at her sincerely, silently encouraging her to speak out.

“What if He spreads His love among us and passes on His prophecies to us?”

“That is enlightenment,” Aurelion said joyfully. “That is what He wants you to hear and see for Him. That is what He trusts you to do for Him. Can you share it with me, Rivka?”

“Of course,” Rivka nodded. “I—I saw the light, and then I heard your brother’s voice, Aurelion. I knew it was your brother, but I didn’t know who it was…”

"Tell me what you heard."

"I heard... I heard him say that his father would come to an end."

Luo Jia's eyes changed slightly.

(End of this chapter)