Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 81 Strange Ceiling
The mist covering the hazy firelight reflected in the warp by Prospero's beings temporarily faded, and the evil gods were forced to let go of their claws after fighting and being wounded, unwillingly loosening their control over this place.

However, considering the characteristics of the Lord of Change, Morse still seems to be able to smell a trick and plot from the seemingly calm and vast ocean waves.

He didn't think about it anymore, and directly let his compound spirit body respond to the echo of another body.

In an instant, before any waves of shifting colors and twisted dimensions could capture him through his senses, he woke under an unfamiliar ceiling.

He looked at the ceiling formed by the splicing of bright silver steel, and distributed the perception units to the part of the body that should be the skin according to his thoughts, and a cold iron chill came from under him immediately.

Morse jumped down from the waking plane and found that it was an anvil of a size suitable for the original body whose display significance was far greater than its practical value. It was placed in Perturabo's office.

Perturabo himself was wearing a serious expression that was more unchanging than steel. He folded his hands on the table and waited for him to come over with a calm expression.

"Good morning." Morse took out a wicker chair out of thin air, sat down and then floated the chair to a suitable height for a meeting with the Primarch, and said, "Is this your temporary flagship?"

Perturabo immediately and accurately pulled out the document he wanted from the pile of paper bricks in his hand, flattened the triangular creases in the corners of the paper, and handed it to Morse.

At the same time, he spoke firmly and forcefully: "Yes, I temporarily use a battle barge as a command ship. This is my future flagship drawing and current progress report in the early stages of construction. You can take a look."

"Don't gnash your teeth like this if you're not in the final battle, Perturabo." Morse flipped through the drawing, "I know you're nervous seeing me, it's okay, I won't stuff you with a spoon Into the soup pot."

Perturabo's brows trembled. The original body maintained his seriousness meticulously. Except for a few muscles used to say "I already know", no part of the body changed from tense to relaxed.

This surprised Morse: Perturabo usually did not sit so upright and serious in front of him.

Perturabo pulled out a black pen suitable for mortals from the pen holder on the table. After Morse took it, he skillfully made annotations on the side of the drawing marked with the name of the ship "Iron Blood".

"As your first design, this boat is obviously a bit over the top. Who collaborated with you?"

"The Adeptus Mechanicus," Perturabo said, flashing back to the red-robed cyborgs that almost made him fire his hand cannon. "They believe in the God of All Machines."

"Understandable. In the midst of strife and darkness, gods can be in any form that can satisfy people's psychological needs. The design is good, but what about the windows on your ship?"

"The eyes can deceive us, and there are so many ways, both in war and not, that our sensory experience can be seriously misaligned with reality."

Perturabo received the other's shared senses and found Magnus lying in the yellow sand again, holding his throat and retching. As a child, he was helplessly patting the red giant's arm.

When he receives information from another place, there will be a brief pause to process another set of senses that violates the common sense of the brain.

This sometimes causes him to mistakenly think that his own body is his extra body for two or three seconds, so that he almost says two wrong sentences or does strange things.

So Perturabo wouldn't do it at a critical moment.

"In comparison, I still believe that data and logic will be more reliable." He said, thinking about Magnus' disaster.

"Relatively speaking, yes," Morse said. "Although any further discussion of senses and things-in-themselves would lead our conversation into another fruitless argument."

He returned the annotated drawings to Perturabo: "Is there anything else you wish to show me? I think under normal circumstances, it is impossible for a general's desk to be filled with all the summaries of several days in chronological order. Summarize the document.”

Perturabo did not ask how Morse could read the contents of the folded papers on his desk.

The original body was silent for an insignificant period of time, then stood up from his seat and placed one hand on the back of the chair.

"You can sit here and read any of these documents." Perturabo placed his broad palm lightly on the top of the extremely high pile of documents and said, "I will answer any questions I can answer."

"You have nothing else to do, Lord of the Legion, who is not too busy?" Morse asked inquiringly.

"I'm free enough today." Perturabo remained motionless, and was bound to accompany Morse on a harmonious day trip to the warship in the office.

"Hmm..." Morse silently swept across the entire battle barge decisively.His support for privacy protection has never been a positive number.

Within a second, countless conversations and instant thoughts between Astartes and mortals poured into his mind, and they were quickly categorized and analyzed.

Morse raised an eyebrow, realizing what was the first thing Perturabo's Iron Warriors learned from Olympia.He got up from the rattan chair, floating in the air, and the hem of the black robe floated in the air.

"I came here to find you because I actually have a business to do," Morse said. "I hope to contact the Lord of Humanity through normal communication in a clean place far away from Prospero. Whether it is about the situation of Magnus or the status of the No.15 Legion of Terra, I have many questions to ask Communicate directly with him."

"I'm going to find the Astropath right now." Perturabo immediately picked up the ship's communicator, and Morse shook his finger at him.

"There's no need to rush." ​​The man in black robe pointed at the locked door of the office, and the door lock was silently unlocked amidst the flowing shadows of runes. "There is no urgent crisis there, Magnus. I have decided to take a tour of your territory first, without an escort, and you can do your business."

Perturabo's expression was serious. If there were other command-level Astartes here, they would immediately find that their genetic father had already adopted the attitude of thinking about tactical strategies in battle.

"Today is a rest day." Perturabo said, "There are no collective training and group activities to visit. But if you want, I can take you to the Masons' Club that is being formed in the legion."

"In addition to the actual exchange of carving techniques, talented and interested steel warriors will gather there to test the latest offensive and defensive theories and conduct sandbox battlefield simulations."

"My sons formed this party themselves, though the original intention seems to be to avoid the Legion being famous for its poor workmanship in my memorial hall."

Speaking of this, a smile flashed across Perturabo's face, "But the current development trend of the assembly is good, maybe I will select the first batch of candidates for the war blacksmith in the assembly."

"I can accompany you to find them." He quietly added emphasis to this sentence.

"You think your most trustworthy heirs are there?"

"Not exactly, but a lot of people have joined. Like the officers who were the first to meet me."

"Well..." Morse said, "It sounds like you really believe them. Let's listen to what your heirs are talking about in private."

He pulled out a projection screen-like phantom in the air, which was a spacious room in the ship where many sculpture practice supplies and war sand tables were placed.

At this time, there were three Iron Warriors standing there who were whispering to each other. One of them was holding his helmet tightly, and one of them was wearing an obviously older shoulder armor on his left shoulder.

"Father said he was off today, so let's not bother him," Nador said. "We will test this tactic ourselves."

"Did father really have a mentor who was already...?" Defess asked in a low voice, "I thought it was a rumor caused by the limited vision of the Olympians."

"But our Lord Perturabo really seemed to want to speak to the air more than once." Nador was worried. "It's like he's in another world far away."

"And that craftsman only showed up at our legion's first meeting."

"Shut up," Harco said impatiently, "and don't disrespect the Primarch."

"You firmly believe that is a rumor?"

"Even if it's not, don't talk about it in private," Hacko said. "Does that mean he's our genetic father?"

"It shouldn't have much impact," Morse said.

The three people turned their heads in horror and saw a man in black robes appearing behind them at some point. The shadow cast by the hood covered his face and floated silently behind them.

"Hi everyone." Morse greeted.

Thirty seconds later, Perturabo hurried into the room, glared at the nonsense steel bastard, "Where are the others!"

Nador pointed out the door.

"Go find the Astropath for me," Perturabo said quickly, "and deliver it to my office."

As soon as the words fell, Perturabo hurriedly left again.

(End of this chapter)