Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 52 Fantasy Tutor (4k)

Perturabo plunged into his busy work with his still endless questions.

Why did Andos become like that?

What was it about the realm of brass and blood that he fell into?

Is Morse's transformation into an indescribable state related to the tearing of the sky in that field that day?

Will Olympia suffer such a serious crisis again in the future?

Will Callifon die with her loved ones one day?
From these main questions, Perturabo's thinking automatically helped him expand into countless related details, and he could almost predict the answer he would get from Morse: Can't tell, don't ask, You guess, maybe, mortals are mortal...

He lowered his head in frustration, and tugged at the improvised voluminous robe.

In the past two days, he has grown a little taller, and now he is about one foot to three meters short.

The tailors who made at least four sets of clothes a day dared not speak out recently. It wasn't until Perturabo ordered to increase their rewards that they reaped a group of happy craftsmen who were smiling and could give him five sets of dresses a day.

He carefully squeezed the doorknob of Morse's room with his huge fingers and a stack of papers with the other hand, ready to deliver a strange news.

Perturabo tapped lightly on the door panel that would become extremely fragile under his hands, and after receiving Morse's response, he bent down and squeezed into the room.

Morse's busyness is all-round, it seems that ever since he got rid of the human body——Perturabo later recalled the past, only to find that Morse really didn't show any inch of skin except his face—— , He also completely let go of the use of supernormal abilities, so much so that Perturabo began to think about whether he needed to be persuaded to maintain a certain degree of caution.

He ignored the noisy harp that was being automatically plucked and looked at Morse's tabletop.

In the past, except for a lot of exquisite semi-finished works of art, there are a few brushes floating in the air at this time.

A series of serial stories similar to the style of ancient murals are drawn in a long scroll, which seems to depict the life of a king wearing a laurel crown and conquering all directions.

Oddly enough, the painting seems to focus on vividly portraying the king's untimely death with some kind of angry free strokes.

When Perturabo took a closer look, some special runes came out to interfere with his visual nerves, making it impossible for him to see clearly.

He lowered his head to look at other objects.

A miniature castle frozen in frost, a black and white chessboard with automatically moving chess pieces, a new building model for the Royal Palace of Lokos, a mysterious parchment being filled with quill ink...

Every exquisite work has some damage. The spire of the castle has been shaved off, the chessboard has deep cracks, but the palace is intact, and the end of the parchment is filled with storm-like circles of black ink...

The room literally took on a life of its own, a terrifying life of resentment and powerful creativity.

Finally, in the corner of the room, Perturabo found that the reworked statue that had intrigued him for a full decade was finally complete.

It was probably one of the few things in the room that wasn't badly damaged; other similar items included the wallpaper, which was luckily unscathed, and a portrait of Andos with half-dried paint that wasn't at all ruined.

The statue wears loose robes, a golden leaf laurel wreath on its head, a flaming sword in its right hand, a burnt to molten coat of arms on the heels of its left fingers, and a blank mask on its face. The mask makes people wonder about the true face of the statue.

As soon as he saw this finished product, Perturabo immediately felt a deep shock and intoxication from the depths of his soul.

No matter from which angle it is viewed, this unique and painstaking work shows flawless perfection and beauty. Its existence is the conceptual combination of strength and beauty, majesty and softness.

With his fully restored knowledge base, he only saw an unfathomable gap in his skills. He didn't even know where to start catching up with Morse.

Not only that, he immediately fell into the strong emotions contained in the statue, intoxicated by the creator's strong and complex emotions, almost resonating with a kind of dizziness and shaking all over his body.

The only reason the work did not shame him was that it was by Morse.Petura could not help but want to get closer to it, and his remaining sanity was his last limiting valve.

"Give it to you." An extremely flat voice came into Perturabo's mind.

A piece of black linen appeared from the air, and inside the linen there was an illusory human body outlined with countless golden spells.

Perturabo woke up from his immersed thoughts, looked away from the statue, and used his restored rationality to regain his confusion.

"I don't need him, Morse."

Accepting such a priceless treasure as a gift gave him a subtle trepidation.

The man wrapped in sackcloth seemed to tilt his head, and Perturabo heard a chuckle.

"You really don't need it?" Morse raised his voice and asked in an intriguing tone.

Perturabo didn't know, so: "Do I need it?"

Morse let out a "tsk", and a string of curse runes flashed. He then asked: "Are you sure you don't need it?"

"I'm sure there is no need..." Perturabo hesitated. There must be a trap here, but he had too few known parameters to help him deduce the true identity of the trap.

Morse chuckled twice, and the laughter quickly amplified and turned into a hearty belly laugh.

His abnormal performance made Perturabo's body tremble as he approached three meters away. He almost forgot about the strange incident he was going to report today, and just wanted to escape from the unknown caused by Morse's rare laughter. threaten.

"Morse?" Perturabo tried to stop Morse's long laugh by calling his name.It worked.

Kuro Azabu stopped smiling and returned to his usual slightly sarcastic tone.

"You really made me regain my good mood, Perturabo. I hope that in the coming days, when you face anyone, you can remember the decisive tone you used when you refused today."

"I will." Perturabo regained his composure.

He found that Morse hadn't called him "child" in the past few days. Could it be that Morse finally recognized that he had grown up and matured?
This realization satisfied him.

Morse's room had no chair suitable for his size, so Perturabo decided to give his report standing with the confidence of an adult.

"The Recorder has sorted out the notice for this incident to be disclosed to the public. I hope to confirm the rationality of this notice with you. Afterwards, the notice file will be sealed for historical records. After Califon comes to power, The first official historical revision was recorded in the Lokos history book, which was preserved until the destruction of Lokos.”

"Or until some tyrant decides to burn the library down," said Morse. "Tell me about it."

"The last historical revision was about 20 years ago. After discussing with me, Carliphon decided to let me be responsible for the compilation of this period of my history in Locus."

"I divided the task into chronology, notes, miscellaneous items, seasonal events, geographical environment, personnel turnover, government affairs records, and important biographies, and distributed them to various talented clerks to write and compile them. Now they are submitting first draft materials to me one after another. Most of them only require limited reorganization and correction to remove conflicts and ensure authenticity as much as possible.”

At this point, Perturabo paused.

Earlier today, the details reported to him by the clerk who was responsible for biographies, and the heartfelt advice that followed, made him experience for the first time what it meant to experience a real shock like thunder piercing his body, and an unforgettable feeling of sitting on pins and needles.

He handed over the pile of documents in his hand, his nerves became tense, and he made mental preparations like a trial.

"Perhaps it would be better for you to review this part yourself, Morse."

Papers flew into the air and were arranged in an orderly manner into a thin wall of paper.An idle pen flew from the table, using red diluted paint to draw circles on the paper.

Looking from the transparent back, Perturabo easily turned the pattern over in his mind, reading Morse's modifications in real time.

This biography begins with the earliest events after Perturabo's arrival.

Before ordering the large-scale collection of information, Perturabo himself did not have his first small memory.

Now he still relies on other people's statements and memories to feel the shadow left by his childhood behavior in this world——

Arrive at a village, ask for iron, carbon and tools from the blacksmith, take the forged iron sword and leave on your own, kill the basilisk, slay the multi-headed dragon, and abandon the crude gifts of the locals, just like nature. Consciously create cold oppression and panic...

For the first time, he identifies his own behavior entirely from the perspective of others and summarizes his own character and true achievements.

Morse's reading can be described as relish, even though his face, which contained nothing but curses, was expressionless.

Perturabo savored Morse's mood from the light and dancing pen that adjusted a few words from time to time.

Sometimes he would feel that such indirect observation was more valuable and interesting. Of course, most of the time, he would prefer to see a familiar guy lying on a wicker chair as soon as he opened the door. Bu's fingers greeted him lazily.

Soon, the revision of the biography progressed to Perturabo's growth period, including his self-presentation and debate when he first entered Lokos, his subsequent competition with Andos, and his review of the entire country of Lokos from agriculture, transportation, and military affairs. comprehensive planning and construction.

The civil servant initially used excessive praise and even some exaggerations to emphasize his great contribution, but he ordered all of this part to be typed back and rewritten, and the authenticity must be given priority.

He had also approached Calliphon, and discussed with her the relevant part of the biography of Andos, re-emphasizing Andos' amazing talents, noble character, and regrettable hidden potential.

Perturabo knew he had never truly defeated Andros, and would never stand a chance again.

Morse did not make many changes to this new version of the account that had been retold, but only used a paintbrush to correct various data.

The accuracy and comprehensiveness of his data made Perturabo have to press his upper and lower teeth together to suppress his surprise.

Perturabo had never known that Morse kept precise and private records of all his involvements, and this left him with a mixture of bewildered emotions.

He couldn't explain the origin of this emotion, he just felt that the blood in his body was bringing him more warmth.

Finally, as the brush moved closer to the last sheets of paper, Perturabo couldn't help but glance at Morse - all he saw was a piece of black linen, of course.

The paintbrush hovered for a long time, and the gradually solidified paint deformed the tip of the brush.

A voice of chanting suddenly came from the black linen: "Perturabo and Callifon rushed to the palace. At this time, due to the ignorance and evil deeds of the rebel Harkon, the tyrant Damex and the prince Andos were dead. die."

This was followed by a cheerful chuckle, and a recitation that suddenly began with emotion: "Apart from the dead bodies at the scene, there were still the blood-stained and badly damaged regular clothes of Perturabo Mentor Morse. Considering that many citizens had witnessed Mo Morse marched towards the palace, and since then Morse has not left any trace of appearing elsewhere, and it is reasonably inferred that Morse, the craftsman, has unfortunately died in this rebellion.”

As I read this, the brush dipped in more paint and drew a squiggly line of praise beneath the sentence.

Perturabo's toes began to point toward the door, while Morse's passionate recitation continued.

"Perturabo was deeply emotional, worried too much, and blamed himself for not being able to return to the capital in time. From then on, he was often seen wandering in a trance, talking alone, and seemed to be engaged in conversations with people in the air all day long."

"The freshness of his performance and the solemnity of his attitude make it very likely that he has conceived a mentor who has not sacrificed in his fantasy."

"This sad phenomenon not only confirms Perturabo's high morals and deep friendship with his mentor Morse, but also worries the entire Locus."

Perturabo felt his stomach constrict.

"I hope that Perturabo, the young war lord of Lokos, will soon get out of the haze of the past and accept the cruelty of reality, so that he can face his grief, get rid of illusions, accept himself, and realize his ambitions... How well said! For the expectations of the citizens who love you so much. Change, great Perturabo!"

Perturabo covered his face angrily, and said hastily, "So Morse, when will your body be ready again?"

"Miss me so much?" Morse said leisurely, the ends of the golden black linen fluttering happily.

"They say I'm like a lunatic. Morse, can you go to those historians quickly?"

Perturabo sped up his speech excitedly, the words on the tip of his tongue were obviously speeded up repeatedly through cyclotron, flying out one after another like high-speed particle cannonballs.

Heimabu shrugged maybe part of his shoulders, "Try telling them that I'm not dead?"

"How do you explain this? You leave behind a blood-stained robe, and I grab every citizen who is worried about my mental state and emphasize that you are safe and sound?"

"Isn't this just a testament to your noble moral character of empathy?" Morse said without any haste.

Perturabo had never felt so embarrassed. Without Morse's personal testimony, the more he refuted, the more he proved the rumors circulating among the citizens.

What made him most helpless was that the last few reports on the fantasy teacher were handed over to him by Kalifeng himself.

Perturabo took a deep breath and mentally recited the first 51 perfect numbers at once to help him regain his composure.

He peeled off the hanging papers one by one, stacked them and put them away, while asking: "When will your body be ready? I hope you can be there with me at Callifon's coronation ceremony."

"You have learned to find reasons, Perturabo." Morse said softly, and the golden light from the characters appeared on the black linen.

The next moment, his pale face and disheveled hair reappeared in the world, and the outline of the whole body was wrapped in slender black cloth, and the linen cloth also turned into a loose and wrinkled toga-style robe.

The craftsman snapped his fingers with satisfaction.

It was actually very difficult to make a sound through the fabric, but under Perturabo's intentional observation, he finally noticed with his extraordinary eyesight that Morse's snapping fingers were accompanied by a barely visible incantation specially used to vibrate the air.

"You'd better hope that people don't say you built a humanoid sapient in a few days, Perturabo. That would be too dangerous."

Perturabo would never admit that when Morse reappeared completely, the boulder that had been heavy and depressed in his heart these days was removed in an instant.He had never felt so light and relaxed.

He remained serious and said quite seriously: "Olympians do not have such advanced imagination."

Morse lay back, and the familiar wicker chair appeared automatically to catch the black-robed craftsman.

His voice floated leisurely: "They all imagine that you have a fantasy mentor. Everything is possible."

(End of this chapter)