Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 54 Snow on Mount Telefus
"Perturabo?" Morse rolled the name on his vocal cords and picked up the cards from the table with his left hand.

"I don't want to fool anyone, myself included. So you're right, Padmarker. Overall, I feel lucky to have met Perturabo at Olympia."

The sign-bearer's surprise was fleeting: "I haven't heard such candid words in a long time. Five, four, six, stop."

Morse tilted his head easily to acknowledge the compliment.

On the scoreboard on the side, there are three vertical lines under the name of the person who signed the card and his own name.

He paused here, and considering what a brave and fearless prime minister the person holding the seal was, he decided to add another point to the opponent.

"Six, nine..." He took two cards first, and the player whose total points were greater than 21 would lose directly, and the chance of losing would be even higher if he continued to draw cards at this time.

"What do you think I am, a Sealbearer?"

The young pawprinter leaned forward: "You are a man shrouded in mist, Morse."

"I've got a lot of mysteries for you? I'll take the cards, three, and now the total is eighteen."

"I feel like it's not just for me."

"Well, I have to admit that in the entire Olympia, the person who knows me best is probably my private storage room among the cliffs. Two, the total is twenty. It seems that I should swear that I am not a person who is used to cheating in games."

"Perhaps this wording comes from another person we all know." The palmist suggested tactfully.

Morse frowned slightly and silently pulled out another card from the top of the deck.

"One." He collected the remaining cards with one hand, "Blackjack, blackjack. It's not my luck. You are here, Emperor."

He turned sideways and faced the entrance of the grotto. Waves surged in the golden light, and a tall shadow was projected into the light, shaking like the reflection of a blazing flame.

The signer stood up from the table, picked up his cane, and welcomed the visitor.

And Morse picked up the last playing card between his fingers. He could not tell whether it was a provocation or a greeting, and calmly waved to the visitor.

"I did think for a while that you didn't want to see me again," Morse said. "What made you change your nature?"

The man with dazzling golden light took another step forward and stepped out of the excessively tall halo.

The mighty golden colossus seemed to evaporate from him, stripped of its aura of frills, and all that remained was a man with Olympian dust, broken leaves, and dew on his plain skirts.

Before the Emperor dissipated the golden light, Morse subconsciously thought that he should look more energetic and charming than the one holding the seal.After all, for many years, the core of his memory was the back of that dazzling leader walking in front - radiant, dazzling, boundless in momentum, promising countless great possibilities.

But not only did he not look like an emperor, he was not even as young and energetic as the prime minister who accompanied him.

The traces of wind and frost made his indifferent dark eyes show a vague majesty. When the mask-like golden light was removed, his lofty and firm image in Morse's impression was also peeled off and faded to a pale color. signs of decay.

Morse suddenly caught a flicker of emotion that could be called panic in his heart. For so many years, the great and mysterious statue that had been shrouded in halo for so many years suddenly collapsed voluntarily before his eyes, and reconstructed into such a trance and despair. image.

This made him remember his entire past, re-experienced thousands of years in this momentary dumping and whirling, his non-existent heart tore his chest, and some vague absurdity and confusion filled his mind. His heart was squeezing his blood vessels, and he couldn't help but want to use his lost right hand to grab something stable and stable to resist the intense dizziness.

He discovered that he was not indifferent to everything.

"You are getting old, Emperor," Mors said.However, how he said this sentence has already made him unclear.

He realized that he was still sitting, and the rough solidity of the rocks in the illusory space brought him back to the middle between consciousness and wakefulness.

He carefully detected any possible surprise or doubt on the emperor's face, but there was none, not at all. He immediately felt much better.

He stood up, then remembered to put down the cards in his hand, and so he did.

"You were in Olympia," the Emperor said, answering the question. "I should have expected that this was your character, Rei..."

"Morse."

The Emperor looked at him intently, "Morse."

Then he turned his head and looked at the handprinter in the golden robe. "This is Malcador."

Morse sat back on his stone bench, pressed the backs of the cards on the table with his fingertips, and pushed the deck of cards one by one to the middle of the table. "It really amazes me that you can recruit such an excellent assistant."

"He persuaded me to come to Olympia in person." The Emperor said, walking towards the grotto and looking down at the simple scoreboard beside the table. "But I would have come."

"After you threw your creation half way across the galaxy, you decided to retrieve it?"

"And you," said the Emperor, the stern lines etched into his features foreshadowing a familiar solemnity.

Morse suddenly saw that dazzling flash of light in the middle-aged man's tired depths.

The years have left him a vague and tired outline, and the most crucial part of him--that tragic, endless, futile absurd soul still proves the remoteness of his absurd dreams in his cruel endless struggle Pursue.

Morse felt suddenly at peace again. This was the man he had known in other times, a pathetic Eternal, a ruthless fire-stealer, and a fire itself.

"My work will require your participation," the Emperor said. "I wanted to tell you the last time we met."

the last time.he thinks.

"But that time was too sudden, and you forgot to mention it? You are still willing to control the fate of others, Emperor." Morse said, but it was not out of ridicule.As he said, the effectiveness of self-deception was lost on him.

He drew four kings from the deck.David, Charlemagne, Alexander, Caesar.The four playing cards are placed one after another with their backs facing up.

Malcador rubbed his hand on the surface of the cane, and looked at the emperor with a look of kind inquiry.

Morse spoke calmly: "You hope to achieve your goals, and I can never even deny your nobility. This is a terrible thing. You just set all theories and things, both physical and non-physical, on fire."

"Who can do this?" the Emperor asked.

"This is something more terrifying," Morse looked at Malcador, "He always sounds right."

"Actually," Machado said, "he makes mistakes all the time."

Morse smiled. "Your description is more accurate, Handprinter. So please any of you tell me what great job is hiring temps this time?"

"Your Majesty?" Malcador hinted.

The Emperor blinked. "I want to take back the galaxy."

Morse leaned back, and found himself unsurprised by the ambition: "This work will begin with the recovery of your lost creations, will it not? Let me guess, your greed is not will let you create only one child in Perturabo."

At least there should be a backup as well.

"I have recovered one," said the Emperor. "NO.16. He came with me on his own flagship and insisted on welcoming his brother."

Morse suddenly had a bad feeling. "You recovered...one?"

"Yes, twenty in total," the Emperor said calmly. "Perturabo is fourth among them. I am retrieving them, delivering them to the Legion, and beginning to reclaim the Lost Sector of the Galaxy. Morse, you know This is a period of peace not to be missed.”

The excessive amount of information helped Morse regain his dizziness. He held the edge of the table with one hand, and a deep nightmare of being surrounded by twenty Perturabo appeared in front of his eyes.

The emperor thought for a while, and then added: "Also, the name of NO.16 is Horus Lupekar."

(End of this chapter)