Chapter 151 Skull

After selection, discussion and mutual ridicule with Morse, the final version of the Dorne language translator was determined by Perturabo to be a form that particularly possesses the characteristics of the human empire and the combination of the Imperial Fists Legion's logo - hand and skull.

The Iron Lord embedded the white bone skull made of steel into the gilded palm of the stone sculpture, allowing the golden palm to hold the skull steadily. The adjusted oval gold-copper gem was inlaid in the forehead of the skull, and the shadow of the rune flashed across the surface of the skull and palm, and the work with the same proportion as the mortal skull was completed.

"He will like it." Morse said.

"Dorn?"

"Of course. Rogal Dorne will like your gift."

Perturabo began to cut the wood to make a gift box. "No," he said, half of him concentrating on the handicraft, "his aesthetic style is not enough for him to fully understand my art. He rejected my design for the renovation of the round duel arena three hours ago."

"He will like it because it looks golden." Morse added the reason, "and it is a gift from a brother, and it may be practical, that's enough."

"Dorn better like it." Perturabo whispered.

Morse smiled and touched the finished walrus tusk from the air.

This tusk, about one meter long, is just the right size for the Primarch to decorate the room. It will not occupy precious limited space because of its large size, nor will it inadvertently highlight the Primarch's different nature from mortals because of its small mortal size.

He found a place to put the walrus tusk, just as a gift to anyone who saw it. Most of the time, a work will be abandoned by him at the moment it is completed-because the potential and possibilities in the raw materials have disappeared. It is rare that the work is left with him.

Perturabo looked at the ivory with a strange painting style and said nothing more. The wooden board became flat under his hands, and the edges were designed into precisely measured, convex and concave blocks that could fit together, eliminating the need for metal spikes.

After a while, he raised his head: "Another me saw the Emperor's shuttle appear over Terra."

"Thank you for the reminder." Morse said, "I'll go back."

He lay down on the sofa, and his body shrank smoothly and became as flat as paper. Just as Perturabo was about to put Morse away and find a place to put him, the body quickly returned to its living state, causing Perturabo's outstretched hand to retract stiffly - he had intended to grab a corner of Morse's body and lift it up.

"There is one thing I forgot to ask," Morse raised a hand flat on his chest and waved, "Have you synchronized the memory of the last time you hit Dorn into the wall with you on Terra?"

"Synchronized!" Perturabo suddenly raised his voice, and looked to the side as if nothing had happened, "Why should I hide my experience in front of myself?"

"It seems that my stopping checking the data packets you communicate is still effective." Morse blinked, and after a smile, he spread out again as if the air was sucked out. Perturabo grabbed the neck of the body and threw it into the cabinet.

After he closed the cabinet door, Rogal Dorn's footsteps appeared at the end of the corridor.

Perturabo quickly returned to his seat, first pushed the finished skull to the most conspicuous place on the table, then picked up the hand saw to continue cutting wood, and made a focused posture without raising his head when Dorn entered the door.

"Perturabo, are you done with your work?" Dorn asked when he came in.

"You have eyes." Perturabo replied calmly.

"I saw a combination of a skull and a hand on your desk," Dorn said, "you are doing woodworking. I don't know whether you regard the skull and hand combination and your woodworking as a whole, or whether you think the former is finished alone; so although I have eyes, I can't accurately judge your working status..."

"If you don't want the box," Perturabo interrupted Dorn with the clang of a hand saw, "then it's finished. Take it away, your translator."

"Thank you." Dorn nodded in thanks and picked up the small imitation skull product from the table with one hand. For mortals, they need to hold the object with both hands in the palm of the original body, just like a toy given to children. "Does it have a unique work name?"

"No, you are its owner, you name it." Perturabo said, "Your touch on the gemstone on its forehead can start or stop it from working."

"That's it?" Dorn's finger touched the switch.

A line of Gothic words appeared above the skull. What Rogal Dorn meant was: Can this prop be activated?

Dorn's serious face showed a hint of smile. The white-haired Primarch touched the switch again to turn it off. He knew that Perturabo didn't need a medium to understand him.

"When will you leave Inwit?" he asked.

"Wait until I finish this box." Perturabo said, "Set sail today. Goodbye, Rogal Dorn."

"I have a question." Dorn said, "Can the Imperial Fists go with the Iron Warriors?"

Perhaps there are really not many things in the world that can change Dorn's unchanging calm tone, so that Perturabo reacted for a few tenths of a second before realizing what Rogal Dorn had asked.

"Why?" He asked in disbelief, unable to tell whether he was too happy or a little annoyed, and if both were true, which emotion accounted for a larger proportion. "Inwit, the Phalanx, clearing the greenskins, haven't the Iron Warriors done enough for you?"

"The Iron Warriors have done a lot for the Imperial Fists, and I think it is necessary to compensate them through cooperative operations." Rogal Dorn said that he had thought about this proposal many times. "At the same time, you are a learning template in the triple identity of the father of the legion, the primarch, and the commander of the Great Crusade."

"Did we have a similar conversation last time?"

"Yes, Perturabo. This is what I wanted to talk about when I came to communicate with you last time, but you interrupted me with the gift and told me to shut up and keep quiet at the end. I didn't find the right opportunity to finish my words."

Dorn stated the facts completely and calmly, and Perturabo forced the two wooden boards together. His huge fingers completed the work at hand with strange flexibility, and his body size itself gave his movements enough power-his action of assembling the wooden box was like squeezing Rogal Dorn into the wooden board together.

Then, Perturabo said: "Yes, as long as you don't mind the glory of the Imperial Fists being eclipsed by the Iron Warriors."

"I don't think this will happen." Rogal Dorn said, "because your respectable character ensures that you will not intentionally cover up our honor."

"Oh, Dorn." Perturabo sighed, "You'd better leave this room quickly and prepare the army to leave Invit."

"It's ready, my brother. Because I believe you will agree to my application."

"My dear brother, then please do the first half of the sentence!"