Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 7 Welcome
"I am not a mortal." Perturabo's stubbornness may not change even if Olympia is destroyed. "I'm different from them, it's just that you took away part of my extraordinary abilities."

"And a talent for cooking?"

Perturabo immediately stuffed the grilled fish into his mouth, chewed a couple of mouthfuls, and swallowed with his neck stuck. "You don't have enough taste to appreciate my work."

He was afraid that Morse would provoke him again with this matter, so he quickly lowered his hand, twisted his wrist, and carried the grilled fish behind his back, away from the other party's sight.

"Yes, yes." Morse responded casually. "You are not a mortal, you are just a magical child who knows nothing, and you may not even find the courage to face a group of harmless guards. Perturabo, face your fate, Locus Guards It's been a long time for you."

The psionic-shaped ice trembled closer and closer, and Perturabo also turned his head to look in the direction of the forest.

The corridor-shaped trees and the ice-covered ground formed a natural echo corridor, and the friction between the metal armor and the leather was amplified by the natural airflow, rolling toward Perturabo very quickly.If he had been a pale leaf that had fallen from a branch, he would have been torn and swept away by the force.

But his feet still stepped directly on the dry hard soil, which was heavier than high-density steel, blocking his imagination of shouting "This is a last resort" while saving face and drifting away in the wind.

But he is obviously no longer steel, he would rather be a reed.

Perturabo firmly grasped the only thing he could hold tightly in his hand, feeling the slender warm metal embedded in the lines of his palm, and then he suddenly realized that it was he who planned to challenge Moore Sri Lanka's grilled fish.

He immediately turned his head back, seeing Morse dissipating into the air with his nameless and powerful ability.

That abominable man is fading rapidly, and the obtrusive black clothes fade away as if being wiped away by detergent, allowing the gorgeous and messy painted murals on the house behind him to take his place in the cross-section of the world.

His black-haired, disheveled head remained the longest, perhaps specially reserved for him; the thin lips rising from the pale skin made Perturabo feel a rush of blood rushing up his spine, stretching all the pulse vessels.

"Morse—" He rushed forward to grab the opponent, waving his fingers, grabbing nothingness in the air.

"Come out! Give me back my abilities, my wisdom and talents. I have a unique mission, and I shouldn't dedicate my life to a city-state limited to a planet..."

I can't be this vulnerable.

His heart was beating powerfully in his body. For a mortal heart, even the slightest stimulation made him dizzy.The illusion of coldness came from all directions, wrapping around his skin, invading from every small wound he had accumulated in recent days, and going against the lines of blood vessels and nerves.

"Morse-" he shouted, he couldn't face a group of mortals like this!
"Crack."

The toes of the iron boots kicked over the leftovers of a semi-finished stone carving outside the house, and the weight at the end of the long-handled blunt spear broke a weed outside the house fence.

More breaths gathered around Morse's domain.

Perturabo's heart suddenly fell into a blank. Under the accumulation of panic, his brain almost restored its previous functions for a brief moment. Countless messages rumbled through like a majestic waterfall. The first one was that these people heard him Did he call Morse? The second reason is that these people must have heard him calling Morse loudly. The third reason is that he is just a passing mortal child who has strayed into danger and is unknown to anyone.

Great Perturabo?Who is that?It could never be this weak and useless shell.

Absolutely not!Absolutely not!Nothing like it!

Then his legs turned his upper body, stiffer than a dilapidated mechanical tower clock, hollower than a soulless faceless suit of armor.

Without a teacher, he placed a long metal stick across his chest to show his strength and danger.

At the end of the long stick, the burnt black grilled fish that has been tortured for a long time is constantly oscillating. The two half-moon-shaped gaps that have been bitten off are particularly eye-catching, and the fragmented fish skin hangs from the edge, giving off a fierce reflection.

Perturabo stared at the officer at the front whose face was covered by a small part of the helmet, trying to meet the eyes in the shadow.

The officer's hand caressed the fluted gold and silver gun barrel at his waist, and from the man's body language, Perturabo could read a tiny trace of pretending to be calm.

He hoped that he was not so in the eyes of the other party, and at the same time selectively hinted that he was ignoring the grilled fish on the long sign in his hand.

"Who are you?" Perturabo broke the silence, leaving aside the desire to escape in the end of the sentence, "Helmers, what have you done so far?"

The leader took half a step forward and bowed his head in salute.

"By the order of our lord Damekus, come to find the boy of Cadisia. He slew Yepidae in the body of a boy, and the Serpent of Calamity with a club and a hammer. From the mountains Son of God, my lord invites you to visit Locus."

"I don't remember anything you mentioned." Perturabo said, pulling out the decorative sword flower in his hand according to his imagination, taking the opportunity to throw away the charred grilled fish, and then piercing the end of the long stick into the soil, like a stick The sword stands upright.

"I'm not a child of God either. There are no gods in this world. Please leave here."

It is true that the knowledge in his head was blocked by some hateful weirdo, but Perturabo can still be sure that there is no god in this world.

This information was innately present at the bottom of his mental model. He discovered it, cherished it, and was always ready to demonstrate it.

There was a small commotion among the soldiers on the opposite side, like a gust of wind caressing the surface of the water, causing cascading ripples.The feathers on their helmets quivered, the golden leather that covered their skirts shook back and forth, and their vambraces reflected a turbulent light.Perturabo could clearly see someone shaking his head at the back of the line.

The leader of this team stepped forward again, took off the platinum color-patterned helmet, and faced Perturabo with his true appearance.

"We have been able to witness the great deeds of the Son of God along the way." He said solemnly, "There are rumors in the countryside that you beheaded a big snake, and the shepherds saw you climbing the towering cliffs of Pulygia. When we come, the frost and the dense forest will give us the way. My lord Damex invites you to come, and Locus will do the favor of the lord."

Perturabo looked at the team in front of him silently, rubbing his fingers on the long metal stick.Warm metal brushed against the scabs on his fingertips, and he remembered what had left the wound—the wooden handle of Morse's stone hammer, a disastrous wooden thorn that had escaped his distracted observations at the time.

A wooden thorn is enough to pierce the opening and pierce the shield of words.

Just like the "miracle" that this team witnessed with Morse's messing around, it was impossible for him to prove that he was just a mortal.

Just like the opportunity Morse left for him before, he found a crack to break the deadlock.

Perturabo looked up.His voice became lighter.

"I am not the lord of this place, nor the son of the gods. What you are looking for is someone else, a craftsman beyond the ages, a wise man who lives alone. It is not me that Damex is looking for, but he—"

He raised the long stick, pointed at the empty rattan chair behind him, and at the same time gritted his teeth and said, "Morse, you still owe me one condition!"

Morse's messy black hair appeared on the top of the empty wicker chair facing away from everyone, and then there was a hand raised upward, lazily wrapped in black cloth.

"Here I am," he said weakly.

(End of this chapter)