Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 495: The Light of the Star Torch
“What?” Orlanius waited for Morse to elaborate, and he added in advance: “Thank you.”

"Arcanes. Incantations. Babel... those things you did not prevent the Emperor from obtaining, those things you refused to use," Morse said. "I will give them to you, and you will choose the next learner - stop looking at me like that, Perturabo. This does not mean that I am saying goodbye to you in this way. I am only going to give you a tutorial book."

He took out a hardcover glowing scroll from the air, just like taking out a roll of soft silk. Every character on it was as hard to distinguish as if it was engraved in the air, and as small as dust. Around it, a series of constellation-like characters floated up and down, gathering in all directions of the scroll.

John Grammaticus looked away after a glance, his face looking as if he was about to vomit. He resolutely faced the wall, supported by the dripping stone, and waited for himself to recover.

"why?"

"You did not destroy it then, and you will not destroy it now. And your severity even denied Neos control of the curse. You will choose a suitable carrier for this power, and Constantine Waldo will accompany you, Or."

Ol Persson whispered, "You still believe in me."

"Why not? There is no further objection, Or, and you may depart. I have further words to speak to Perturabo."

Morse nodded to them, and the scroll fell into Orr's rough palm, who took it. "I'm sorry for leaving...Morse."

"Goodbye, O'Reil. And you two." Morse gave a simple wave.

John found his body beginning to merge into the air, and before he could shout out, a circle of runes lit up around them. Within the range framed by the runes, silver light swirled out a mercury-like vortex. A few seconds later, accompanied by an expressionless gaze from the commander of the Imperial Guards, they disappeared into the formation leading to the webway.

"It is our time now," Perturabo said, his voice like the heavy rumble of armor colliding as the Titan's divine machine moved. "Where are you going?"

"You feel it," Morse smiled, raised his hands, and held a symbolic ball of phosphorescence between his palms. "I won't beat around the bush with you, Perturabo. I will bid you farewell for now."

"Because of the Astronomican?" Perturabo understood what he meant in an instant after only looking down at the ball of light in the black-robed craftsman's hand. The corners of his mouth trembled for a moment, but then he tried his best to suppress it.

"Everyone has a duty, and Constantine rarely speaks words that are pleasing to the ear, Lord of Iron. The Webway is not safe, and cannot accommodate our entire army... We need the Astronomican, and to do so, someone must give power to the Hollow Mountain."

Morse explained briefly, then paused when he realized that his thought-about simplicity wasn't as concise as it should be. "I know what you're worried about. I'm only a guide of power, not a provider of Astronomican fuel. After this war is over, I will find the time to return."

Looking at Perturabo, he emphasized again.

"I hate to leave without saying goodbye, Perturabo, and I never try to sugarcoat things to you, delaying matters until they are too late. I make my choice clear to you: I will go to the Hollow Mountain and guide the Astronomican's dying light. If possible, I will explore ways to prevent the Throne from seeing the Astronomican's guiding light."

A farewell without saying goodbye happened between them once, and that was enough.

He paused, watching the silence on Perturabo's face. "Since we are competing for the throne, we need to get more chips on our side."

Perturabo nodded slowly. During the time it took a Primarch to nod, he could think enough to precisely control the direction of all artillery fire in a planetary battle, or improve the built-in energy engine of a Glorious Queen. However, however... he did remain silent for the time it took to nod.

"Besides, the Imperials need the light," the Iron Lord said. "They are the ones who need it. Five million worlds - before the war reaches them. The extinguishing of the Astronomican will affect far more than just a few armies."

"Life will continue until death," Morse laughed at the meaninglessness of this sentence, and listen to what he said!
But, of course, the galaxy is so vast - what a contradiction, but not unattainable... Even though Terra is about to burn, they would rather most of the subjects of this empire not even know that this war has taken place... Until the results of the rebellion are announced, the throne is changed and returned, or the end and death...

Even though it's just a wish...

"So, who is supporting the Astronomican now?" Perturabo asked. "It is not completely dimmed, but there is still a trace of light."

"Like a candle in a storm, right? I have some guesses - to be more precise, I ran a list of all the Imperial psykers through my head, and I hope my first guess is correct, otherwise it would be a shame."

"I understand." Perturabo nodded, and a long-silent candidate also appeared in his mind.

At this moment, he found that he didn't have much to say. He thought of the wine that the Red King's son had creatively brewed from almonds and grapes. The taste was mellow and bitter, full of contradictions, rising on his tongue.

"Are you leaving now?" he asked.

"Unless you have anything else to say, Perturabo," Morse replied, letting out a breath, hoping that this would happen quickly and easily, rather than in some circumstances so grand as to seem like a fateful farewell.

He hoped to finish what he had to say right here - the words that had to be said, not the unnecessary, trivial words: those overly messy words seemed like soft and sharp claws, scratching his cerebral cortex... the claws of some abandoned small mountain beast, that thing was wandering back and forth hopelessly in the dense forest, rushing around.

But what was there to be sad about? He himself could not say, and he thought there was nothing to be sad about.

Morse smiled, and his figure suddenly expanded. He looked at the giant in front of him and patted Perturabo on the shoulder... an equal, a grown man.

A question crossed Perturabo's mind, a question without an answer. He asked himself who had the power to maintain the Astronomican now, especially with the threat of the Dark Throne... No one. No one indeed.

He shouldn't have thought of this question until now: navigation, this should be on par with any of his previous considerations, or even more important. This is enough to determine the success of the rebellion. He really should think about it carefully, instead of forgetting it the first moment he touches the answer. Perturabo felt his heart become heavy in an instant, and a smoldering coldness burned through it. He silently accepted this pain and chewed it in silence. Yes, everyone has their own responsibilities.

"No more," he said quietly, and perhaps even smiled. "Go ahead. I thank you."

Morse's figure merged into the dust and gray mist raised by the cave, and his body collapsed downwards under the force of gravity. Before he completely disappeared, he paused and brought a few words that he could not hide.

"I know the strength of your will. Now you have grown to be unique. You can withstand anything, and you have been called by the road. Twenty years later, or ten years later, or maybe earlier, you will come to tell me your legend, and I will smile and tell you that I am not blind to the light of the Astronomican."

Then, he turned around hastily, and the inner part that could support the shell finally left completely. Perturabo waited for another standard Terra second - was it really a standard second? Or did he feel so - then he squatted down, picked up the shell left by Morse, and looked down.

He folded it slowly, with a strange feeling, and decided to put the object in the cabinet he had left for Morse, as he had often done in the past.

Soon he called the transport boat and waited until the metal slope was below him and a passage leading to the interior of the iron creation opened up to him.

Not long after, he returned to his flagship. He first put down the empty body in his hand, stopped for a while when passing the lower elevator shaft leading to the workshop, and then turned directly to the road leading to the command hall.

A portable servo board was connected to his nervous system. He summoned the senior commanders on the Iron Blood one by one, and before they arrived, he confirmed that they had not received any signals from outside Moro - of course, the navigation hall sent a negative message, and navigation has not yet been restored.

When he arrived at the command hall, the soldiers who had received the order were already waiting for him inside. Some of them even put on combat armor, which was a potential statement that they were ready for war. Even though they didn't know what was going on...

"Who do you think we will fight?" He named one of the men, watching as the armored warrior stood up and bowed to him. "I don't know, father."

"Now, give me an answer." Was Perturabo surprised at the rudeness in his tone? No, he calmly expressed his turbulent emotions through words. He already knew that he would not be able to remain completely calm throughout the entire battle that was to follow. He would often be in pain and anger... and he would be happy to endure it.

"...The Word Bearers," the warrior said respectfully, a little uneasy about his own answer. "There is a conflict between us."

"Very well. Are you willing to go to war with the Word Bearers?" he said coldly, forming a hollow triangle with his hands on the table.

"Father! He is our cousin after all. How could he..."

The warrior paused for a moment, and without waiting for Perturabo to interrupt, he continued, "… affecting our reputation within the Imperium, and our credibility with the Throne, my lord. We have already lost much in this regard, and this may mean that we will be stopped by the Emperor."

"Besides, no one likes to take action against their cousins ​​and brothers, right?" Perturabo sneered.

"I trust your orders and decisions," the soldier said firmly. "Although I don't like it, we will obey all your orders."

Perturabo looked around at his brood and motioned for the warrior to sit down. "I believe you all share the same sentiments. If you have any additional objections, you would do well to let me know now."

The silence in the room seemed to stretch infinitely under his gaze, and then, at a suitable moment, when they were ready, Perturabo broke the silence.

"Well done," he said. "I appreciate your attitude. However, you have made one mistake. This is not a war between us and the Word Bearers, my warriors."

He watched them, looking for signs of disapproval and unease. He found some, and he would correct them.

Under his silent command, the door of the command hall was quietly locked.

He stood up, and his voice was like thunder in the rain, sweeping across the tense faces of those who clenched their teeth.

"The Great Crusade is over, warriors, but the blood and fire are endless. What awaits us is the next dark undertaking.

"I will not use any words to sugarcoat what I am about to do. If there are people in the Empire who see us as traitors who have broken their alliance, then that is correct. If you realize that we will be wading through thorns and into darkness and spend a period of difficult years, then that is also accurate. Except for one thing: I do not think I have betrayed humanity. If you think so, then you are wrong. There is no chaos in heresy.

"Because this is a war between us and the Throneworld, I have made this decision. Yes, next, the Iron Warriors will betray the Golden Throne."

He said, solemnly meeting the uncontrollable shock of his senior commanders, their uneasiness and trance made him feel cold and sour, and equally strange and refreshing. This was not what he expected - this was what his blood waited for. This was the purpose for which the Primarch was created, and he focused on the dangerous edge under his feet, trembling in front of the challenge he had chosen.

“Whether you have noticed the abnormality on Terra and all the strange things that have happened in recent days, darkness is approaching. As the warmaster of the human empire, since I cannot save all this from the dark throne, I will let the galaxy burn.

"Magnus the Red has laid the first step, and we will continue in his footsteps, destroying all we have built, destroying all the throne seeks to strengthen - then we may be able to save humanity from darkness, but we must do so."

The ambiguous irony in these words caused a cold smile to freeze at the corner of his mouth.

"Since you have heard my words, it means you must stay with me. Next, I will give you five minutes to think about all the questions you are going to ask. After that, we will discuss in detail how this decision will be put into practice."

(End of this chapter)