Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 497: Blade of Lar
Akurduna's silk purple robe lifted slightly on the way to the Primarch's trophy display room. The mirrored passage with walls like whale ribs was spotlessly cleaned by the servitors, which made the Second Captain of the Emperor's Children feel unusually uncomfortable.

Their recent campaign against the insurgency in a nearby system was mainly on a dusty and barren world, and they were covered in dust during the battle, and it took the servants a long time to clean the mud from the finely carved patterns of their armor. Regardless, it was a battle that brought victory and honor, and they enjoyed their achievement.

He walked into the showroom, stepped on the adamantine floor engraved with mysterious patterns, and realized that there were many new holographic projections here: an interesting thing is that since Fulgrim replaced half of his face with steel, he picked out many precious collections and threw them into the furnace without any nostalgia, watching those unique and gorgeous weapons melt into molten iron in the boiling fire.

It was said that a sharp cry had hissed from the forge as a portion of the blade burned away. This was a legend passed down among the mortal servants of the Legion, but if it was true, then Akurduna would have shown a great deal of approval to his Primarch.

In fact, he felt a sense of relief as he looked at the virtual hard-light projection that replaced the real thing. The display room was as beautiful as ever - even if it was slightly diminished, the danger that the Fifteenth Legion had whispered about was undoubtedly gone.

What truly adds color to the entire display room decorated with onyx and lapis lazuli stripes and makes the beauty here overshadow everything else is only and will only be the Primarch, the Purple Phoenix Fulgrim, who is standing in front of the glazed screen at this moment, holding a curved long sword.

"Father," he called out to the tall shadow among the dazzling devices, "Are you calling me?"

Fulgrim tilted his head, and compared to his milky white and clean skin, the beauty of the half-faced silver mechanical carved mask he generously revealed was almost as beautiful as the natural vitality that the Emperor gave to the phoenix when he created a Primarch. The balance of machinery and skin on his body was so perfect, and under the amazing, fiery vitality of his bright eyes, they reached a shining and bright unity.

In addition to those eyes, his long silver hair cascading down like a waterfall and his purple robe woven with fine silk threads were also part of his dazzling beauty, but that was not worth mentioning.

"Akulduna, I did call you." Phoenix smiled brilliantly. His smile was so bright, but fortunately the second captain was already used to it.

The Primarch twirled the silver sword in his hand, holding the amethyst end against the metal side of his palm, and showed it to his chief swordsman, who could observe its shape and forging techniques.

"Loot from the Laers, father?"

"That's right. I was looking through my locker today, and I stumbled upon it again - how strange! Such a mysterious and alluring sword, then in its black stone sheath in the temple. I should have destroyed it the first time. I don't understand why I didn't destroy it, but brought it from that place... Well, accompany me to the forge, Akurduna. Make sure I don't hide it away on the way."

Fulgrim said in annoyance, closing his eyes, wrapping the sword in black linen, and then opening his eyes again.

"Come with me. I do not wish to waste time on this sword," Fulgrim said, his tone sharpening. "We must still find the way to Chemos, or first of all to Ferrus. The darkness and loss of the Warp have cast us across the galaxy, and we have searched for days and months, but to no avail. And that warning - though it was given to me, I must also take into account what might have happened to Ferrus."

The swordsman remembered that Lord Fulgrim seemed to have received a message a day ago, and the Primarch had hurried to the showroom after that - a warning and persuasion from another Legion. Even if how that Legion had struggled through unknown secret roads and twists and turns to get the message to them when the warp storm was everywhere was still a secret in the deep midnight.

"Please give me the sword, father. If anything happens to you with the sword, I will be unable to resist you. Therefore, only I can carry this deadly blade."

Akurduna volunteered, a smile on his face as he decisively raised his hands to Fulgrim to take the wide, curved blade that was also a two-handed sword for the Primarch.

Fulgrim nodded, his hands motionless, still staring at Akurduna. "I give it to you. Do not be reluctant to part with it."

Akurduna savored every word of this in his heart. He then suddenly stepped forward, snatched the silver sword from Fulgrim's hand, held it in his arms, and smiled at the stunned Gene Father: "Don't be reluctant, father."

Fulgrim came back to his senses, raised the one eyebrow he could still raise, and patted the soldier on the shoulder with a smile: "Thank you very much."

They greeted Lord Commander Vespasian, who they met on the road. This was the last Astartes warrior they met along the way. During the days when the Warp Storm blocked the road ahead, the entire fleet slowly drifted in the silent deep space, and the life and combat rhythm of the Emperor's Children Legion inevitably slowed down.

In any case, perhaps this cannot be considered as passive resistance - any group that needs to use the warp to stir up trouble will probably not be able to stir up trouble in such weather... However, what about those planets that are already in possible danger and waiting for help? They are powerless and blind...

To those shining worlds of steel far off in the horizon… flanged pipes and hard, scaly sculptures flowing with oil and inorganic fluids… sunlight filtered through clouds of complex, pungent chemicals, turning into a sticky, purple mist…

"...Throw the sword in." A distant voice came from a direction that was extremely difficult to determine. Something in his spiritual world was quietly shaken, but it was not enough to make him let go.

Oh, such a blasphemous and evil place, flourishing somewhere in the real universe, growing and forming, polluting a planet into a filthy pus-yellow color... Some glittering things vaguely emerged in the dark and squirming corners, scaly creatures weaved a shaky window, and the brilliant and ever-changing purple-blue fireworks swayed with dazzling light, and the quiet flowing mist was lifted from the bizarre, constantly fractal and pieced-together building block-like towers...

"Throw it away!" The voice was getting closer and closer, and behind the calm command there was a hint of shock and anger.

Then there were some crisp noises of collision, silver colliding with iron, his wrist was shaken and it hurt, and there were strange, blank-like interruptions and pauses. The illusions in his mind were swirling violently, stirring together with all the milky white steam into a ball of bright red pigment. Sometimes he felt that he was standing there numbly and ignorantly, peeling himself off from his current body, watching him fighting with some noble existence.

His lips trembled, and he seemed to want to curse. He waited—the witchcraft lightning flashed across the gloomy twilight, and the clouds fell down to release iron filings. The fragments flooded the ground covered with viscous liquid with rainbow colors, like petals rotting in the pulp... His fingers were numb until a trace of scorching grace burned his fingers. He subconsciously let go of his hand. There was a wailing sound of breaking through the air, and the thing in his hand fell down...

He followed, and the temperature under him suddenly became so hot, as if a blazing fire had licked his toes... He was pulled back, and a sick feeling came over him. He bent over and spat out a mouthful of bile...

"Thank you, father." He retched and looked at the boiling hot molten iron at his feet. With Fulgrim's help, the swordsman flipped back into the guardrail and grabbed the high fence of the long bridge above the foundry, gasping for breath. More than thirty meters below them was the rolling molten metal, and the Blade of Laer had already fallen into the depths of the molten iron without making any extra sound.

Somehow, in Fulgrim's bright, slightly angry eyes, Akurduna was able to confirm that the evil blade had been completely burned. He then realized that he had a lot of temporary blood on his body. Even if the battle master who fought with him restrained the power and skill of each of his blows, it was still unrealistic for Akurduna to remain unscathed.

Fulgrim threw down the steel bar he had temporarily broken off from the railing, thought for a moment, and kicked the steel bar with several sharp sword marks into the furnace below. Before Akurduna fell to the ground in exhaustion, he put his arm around his shoulders.

"There are always things that are plotting our fate." The Purple Phoenix whispered majestically, and the flames of the furnace outlined the glittering contours of his face.

A strange flame vanished from his palm without a trace—as if the sacred fire had been kindled deep within him since that long-ago Olympian day.

Then, he bowed his head and said soothingly, "I hope your soul feels well, Akurduna, otherwise we cannot contact the Think Tanks of the Thousand Dust Sun, nor the Rune Priests or Storm Seers at this time."

"I think it's OK," Akurduna paused, carefully observing his own condition, from body to mind, and then repeated, "I think so, father. If you are worried, please keep me in prison for the time being, so that there will be no traces of bewitching left in my body."

"No need. You can just stay with me for the time being. What kind of imprisonment can be safer than being watched by the Primarch himself?" Fulgrim smiled, and noticed that Akurduna was still in a state of contemplation, so he put away his smile and asked, "What else have you discovered?"

"I think I see a world in panic," Akurduna analyzed the visions he saw, and some of the traces that still existed became clearer, outlining a shocking outline that frightened him. He frowned and analyzed carefully until Fulgrim's hot palm tightened, awakening his memory.

"Medusa," Akurduna said solemnly, stepping gently away from Fulgrim's hand and offering him a warrior's salute. "In my vision, I saw a trapped planet. That was Medusa."

Fulgrim's expression was frozen in anxious thought.

"The darkness of the Warp..." the Primarch muttered.

"It will disperse," Akurduna said. "Shall we then go to Medusa?"

"Without a doubt." The Purple Phoenix replied coldly.

-

When he faced Cariphon again, how should he begin?

Perturabo looked out at the snow-capped mountains in the distance, and the lush forests that grew greener as they moved down the ridges. In the valley surrounded by the mountains was a city of gold and white.

She possesses the most solid defense fortress in the entire galaxy, but because she tries her best to keep a low profile, she is barely hidden between the pages of the history book currently being written by the Memoir Court.

However, no one would doubt that this is a rare dream city-state in the entire galaxy filled with laughter and melodious music... just as no one would doubt that the huge military factories and orbital shipyards on the other side of Olympia consume countless amounts of steel every year and spit out one artillery shell after another and huge ships with their bellies full of munitions.

This is Lokos of Olympia, home of the Iron Warriors.

"You're back, Primarch," Queen Cariphon's figure appeared in front of the Iron Warriors Primarch through the transmission of the communication line and the enhancement of the optical screen.

Although more than ten years have passed, Carifeng has not aged much since the last time they met. Her hair is still lustrous and her eyes are as bright as before. Some gentle marks still carve out her natural face, adding a touch of soft glow.

For a period of time long enough for a planet's governor to rotate through ten generations, Calliphon and Perturabo together became the living statues of the Olympian Cluster: an unshakable set of symbols, a living guarantee of a stable and peaceful life.

Cariphon's dewy eyes fell on Perturabo's face and gradually fell silent.

"What happened, Abo?" she asked softly.

"We will meet and talk," Perturabo said, his face expressionless. "I will explain all this to you, Calliphon. I must thank you for allowing Olympia to stand to this day. This is a great work. And I must tell you that I will ask Olympia for a stronger legion, and even a potential war - once the fire of war is ignited, it will no longer be controlled by the one who started it."

Kaliphon looked at him calmly: "Come on, Abo. All these changes are brought to Olympia by your wisdom. No matter what you will do, I believe Olympia will be proud of you... Come, let us hear your voice with our own ears."

(End of this chapter)