Chapter 127 The Primarchs' Quarrel Time

"That's a tough question, Dorn," Perturabo answered, choosing his words carefully to give himself time to think.

"You are the first person to ask me this. If Morse were here, the first question he would ask would be how to define what you call 'father's rights and responsibilities.'"

"Quality education, and the transmission of emotions." Dorn said, "In Inwit, I did not have a father, but a mortal grandfather. By observing the family existence of other mortals, I think I understand the word 'father' , which is relatively consistent with the definition of father under conventional circumstances.”

"He did change my character," Perturabo said with some inexplicable bitterness in his mouth, which was the sweetness and bitterness of the memory. "Otherwise, according to my original temper, the first question when we met would have been enough for me to beat you. "In the wall."

"I don't think the walls of the Phalanx building are strong enough to..."

"stop."

Dawn shut up.

Perturabo continued: "As for emotions, he has emphasized to me many times that emotions need to be expressed through verbal measures to achieve final characterization. But this does not mean that emotions do not exist when they are hidden. There are things I can’t deny.”

"So?" Dawn asked.

He actually heard Perturabo's emphasis on the last two sentences.

After talking to Perturabo for three-quarters of the day and night, he had become familiar with Perturabo's sometimes sudden and obscure language habits, but Rogal Dorn still liked to get more direct affirmation. No misunderstanding answer.

"Dorne," Perturabo sighed through his teeth, "are you some damn automaton that I have to enter true or false to understand the meaning of words?"

"I'm not." Dorn's tone was as calm as ever, which was a bit unusual. Perturabo knew that even Dorn would not remain unresponsive after encountering obvious ridicule. "I understand what you mean, and you answered in the affirmative."

"What do you want to say?"

Donn's hands, which were naturally folded on his legs, changed their positions.

He knew that the question that was about to come from his throat would not please Perturabo, but he felt that his question was necessary, so he spoke.

"This is dangerous, Perturabo," Dorn called his brother by name. "He has too much influence over you."

Perturabo couldn't believe his ears for a moment: "What are you talking about?"

"You see, Perturabo," said Dorn, "your reaction proves what I said. Even if he is not present, you are still extremely sensitive to events related to him. The twenty people I get along with This is the second time within hours that you have shown symptoms of uncontrollable emotions.”

He thought for a while and added: "The first time was when I mentioned your legion."

"You'd better give me an explanation, Rogal Dorn." Perturabo's voice turned completely cold. "Are you trying to provoke me on purpose?" "

"This is not my will," Dorn said, putting his hands on the table as Perturabo questioned him, instinctively strengthening his persuasiveness. The details of these adjustments seemed to be etched in his genes.

"I never want to have a conversation with an angry person, I just ask the question honestly."

"The only thing you ask is to provoke."

"No." Dorn did not shake his head. He looked at Perturabo with very focused eyes, as if his heart was clearly visible behind his irises.

"You can't fail to realize how easily you can be emotionally affected by him. That's a serious weakness. It's aggravated when he's around."

"Rogal Dorn! Are you one of those people who thinks that emotions are a weakness for warriors..." Perturabo almost used the variant Ur-Phoenician commonly used in Olympia. The only reason why he didn't was because Dorn I don’t understand, “That kind of stubborn stupid person?”

"No." Donn said, "You are always paying attention to his movements, which is an unreasonable weakening of your personal will. You are a complete piece of steel, but you let him affect your every move at will. This It's a very dangerous phenomenon, to a certain extent."

Perturabo felt a throbbing pain on his forehead, and his breathing was becoming heavier. More of the heat in the tent was burning his face, and he felt that his face was turning red.

"You'd better take your words back, Rogal Dorn," Perturabo said.

"If I take back what I said, we will have continued conflicts and differences on today's issues. I don't want to be like this with you. It will have a negative impact on our future joint work and normal communication..."

"He didn't control me!" Perturabo growled, the iron surface of the armor pressing against his skin, trying to calm him down, "This is the fact, do you understand?"

Donne looked at him, and the everlasting determination and coldness on his sharp-lined face now took on a hateful meaning.

Then Donne shook his head firmly: "You are losing your mind. This is not like you. We must repair the existing cracks between us and solve your problems through discussion and negotiation..."

Perturabo punched the edge of the wooden table.

Without Morse's secret repair, the stressed tabletop immediately cracked with countless forked lightning-like vertical lines. The next moment, the cracks burst from the lines, and the broken wood blocks and raised debris and dust first bounced off. Land after rising.

This fragmentation quickly extended to half of the tabletop, countless wooden structures were destroyed, one of the legs on Perturabo's side of the table broke off, the tabletop tilted, and the drawings on the table began to slide.

Dorn held the edge of the table to stabilize the pile of drawings that the two had just sorted out. His eyes did not leave Perturabo: "You lost control, brother."

"Damn it, you also have relatives!" When Perturabo stood up, the edge of the armor hooked over the chair. "Don't you have feelings? Haven't you relied on your grandfather?"

"It's different." Dorn replied, "First of all, my grandfather is dead. Secondly, I don't treat my relatives with a special attitude like you and dare not admit it. Finally, I have feelings..."

"What's the damn difference? Why do you question my family affection?" Perturabo stepped to Dorn's side, and Dorn, who was sitting, raised his head to look at him.

"My grandfather was a mortal," Dorn said, ignoring the hand he had to stretch to hold the table, and the annoying, inexplicable worry in his eyes about Perturabo, he looked as calm as ever, "a human."

"Morse is not?" Perturabo blurted out, "Only your relatives are human?"

Dorn's facial features finally added some confusion, he recalled the conversation between him and Morse when they first met, confirming that he was not wrong.

"I'm sure he is not human," Dorn said, "I can see that he is not, he himself admitted it, and you acquiesced to his words. I don't think the Empire will allow a Primarch to cultivate kinship with non-human creatures, let alone such a serious dependence, which is the root of all problems..."

"Then what do you think he is." Perturabo's tone became emotionless, like a hole hiding a trap, or the last boundary of a cliff. His armor hummed.

"A alien shaped like a human." Dorn said.

Perturabo punched Dorn against the wall.