Chapter 141 This Is Impossible

If Perturabo had thought just an hour ago that there were not many things in the world that could truly surprise him, now he had encountered one.

"Take a look for me, Morse." The Lord of Iron frowned, glaring at the piece of scrap metal floating in the air of the detection platform with a ghostly expression as if he had bumped into the Emperor in the corridor in the middle of the night, "Why can it resist gravity?"

Morse came over and looked at the broken iron sheet.

It looked like a part removed from some poster shelf, with half of the fancy paint sprinkled on it and brown rust corrosion caused by years of neglect.

There are no anti-gravity-related components installed on the surface of the iron sheet, nor are there any imprints of witchcraft or psychic energy. There is only a brown-red picture that looks like an arrow or a big tooth, but it just floats around like this. , just like the gravity stabilizing device on the Phalanx has long since failed, and this thing is flying freely in the universe.

Morse raised his eyebrows slightly and reached out closer to Ironhide. There seems to be a vague spiritual connection on this piece of iron sheet, which leads directly to a huge and mysterious consciousness hidden behind the scenes... Wait, one, or two?

Before he actually came into contact with the iron sheet and dismantled the weird force field connected to it, the iron sheet seemed to have suddenly lost its vitality and fell back to the table with no tendency to resume floating.

"How did you do it?" Dawn asked. Are there any hidden mechanical components on it? "

Although he is not as proficient in steel creation as Perturabo, this does not mean that Dorn knows nothing about it. After all, the maintenance of the Phalanx was mainly completed by the mortal engineers of Invite, and Perturabo only accelerated this process. But this strange creation that violated convention was completely beyond the scope of his common sense.

"Hmm..." Morse retracted his hand, and the curse rune flashed, burning the tip of his finger for a round of insurance. "It's a pity that I haven't seen anything like this before."

"Really?" asked Perturabo.

"Just because I have lived a long time does not mean that I am a galactic encyclopedia." Morse replied, "But we can assume that the attackers either have very high psychic attainments, or the technological level has far exceeded the level of the empire, otherwise we Can't explain it all."

"If so, this will not be an easy battle." Dorn said. He was not afraid, and was simply thinking about how to win the first battle since returning to the empire.

In his mind, some vague portraits of the enemy were taking shape - a vicious and mysterious psychic group, surrounded by cold and strange lightning, relying on reckless first-round shooting to cloud their judgment; or a mechanized high-tech group, It walks on cold iron tentacles, and can command the ship's macro cannon to fire a volley by raising its hand.

"Just be prepared. Wingdings: ♦︎♦︎⬧︎♦︎◆︎⌧︎♦︎♦︎□︎❍︎" Morse said, "Let go first. If there is a problem that you can't handle, then call me - although I think The probability of encountering such a serious situation is about the same as the probability of us finding out what force this piece of scrap iron relies on to levitate. "

Dorn's eyes rested on Morse.

"You'd better not say any more disappointing things like, 'Your work is free.'" Perturabo paused, "Rogal Dorn."

"I won't say these words again," Dorn replied seriously, "I'm just thinking about the upper limit of the fleet size that Morse can fight against."

"Oh, Primarchs." Morse spread his hands and threw a bolt of lightning to effectively disinfect the scrap metal on the table. "What I mean by asking you to call me is that I will report to the Emperor and let him Send a fleet to rescue. My diligence is not enough to support me in fighting personally."

"I'll keep that in mind," Dorn said.

Perturabo sighed: "Ask your soldiers to send the remaining parts here, and I will see if I can find more clues from other relatively complete parts."

"This piece is the largest fragment salvaged by the Mortal Auxiliary Army."

"Then send all the remaining parts and give me enough scratch paper. I need to make statistics and calculations in all aspects."

Perturabo rubbed his fingers together. Such a confusing creation successfully aroused his long-lost anger and competitiveness, and he allowed himself to indulge his emotions in a place where the life of a soldier was irrelevant.

Dorn pressed the data pad to find his subordinate. Aeolus arrived in the analysis room earlier than he expected, and Dorn immediately understood that this was because Aeolus had something to report to him.

The former Imperial Fist commander bowed his head in salute, and then spoke quickly: "A ship transporting semi-finished building materials was suddenly attacked by aliens. Since there was no military protection nearby, all the citizens on the ship have undoubtedly devoted themselves to the great cause under the glory of the Sky Eagle forever. "We are fortunate to have the final video of the ship, which has been sent to the strategy room. In addition, the remaining shell fragments are on their way to the analysis room and will be available immediately."

Perturabo and Dorn looked at each other, and received some tacit permission in each other's eyes. Then the Iron Lord said to the Imperial Fist warriors: "Send the video here together, and we will analyze it while processing the fragments. ”

Aeolus looked up hesitantly at his genetic father, feeling a silent shock from Dorn's quiet majesty.

"Yes, my lord." He omitted the precise pronoun and left quickly.

What was sent first was the last video of the ship before its sacrifice.

It began with a plain and ordinary logbook, recording how they brought semi-finished building materials for the expansion of non-military functional components on Rog Dorn Fortress from Inwit's subordinate planet to the middle of the route, and set the route to the ice world.

Then, during the ordinary voyage, the subspace stability shown by the auspicious instrument suddenly fluctuated greatly. Immediately afterwards, a huge and strange thing with a gurgling sound and sparks suddenly appeared from the void. The whole ship was simply made of garbage and scraps, painted with extremely ugly yellow-green paint, and the sealing and shape design were a mess. It seemed to be accompanied by a hearty and wild howl.

It was a complete miracle that this insult to Perturabo's mechanical knowledge could work, not to mention that it even rammed through the void shield with an attitude of contempt for physics and hit the middle of the ship. The fragile scrap iron was like the best quality ramming horn of the Empire, easily cutting through the obstacles, which made Perturabo's eyes slightly widen, and his fingers on the table trembled a little.

"It doesn't look like psionic energy," Morse said softly. "It doesn't look like science either - science in the conventional sense."

"Replay this part," Perturabo muttered, then amplified his voice, "Replay!"

Dorn moved the progress bar on the data board, showing Perturabo frame by frame the spacecraft that completely broke Perturabo's cognition. The Iron Lord's pen was suspended on the draft paper, and at first he wrote a large number of shorthand symbols at a speed that was difficult to distinguish even with the afterimage. Gradually, Perturabo stopped writing, and the trembling pen tip showed his mental shock.

"This is impossible." Perturabo maintained a calm expression, "Their technology is indeed beyond my analysis. Going forward, I want to know what kind of advanced race can create such a... simple and practical wisdom that can use a bizarre appearance to conceal the true level of technology."