Chapter 173 The Memorial Hall Not Yet Built

Kahn was waiting for the moment to put on his ceramite armor. He saw his blue and white armor being laid out in pieces, and soon his attention was attracted by the red hound on the shoulder armor.

The hound opened its mouth with fangs sticking out, and its four claws stretched out ready to attack, hiding its irritable and bloodthirsty nature; and its throat was surrounded by a spiked iron ring, symbolizing an emphasis on restraint and order.

Kahn often thought that this symbol accurately portrayed the internal characteristics of the Imperial 12th Legion with surprising accuracy. When they fought together with the 13th Expeditionary Fleet, cooperated with troops from wild worlds and even subhuman races for a long time, and through a series of violent conquests, they served the Sky Eagle Flag in those military operations that particularly needed to show annihilation and large-scale massacres to show their power, and their role was precisely the restrained violent hound.

Sometimes he did wonder that when the 13th Expeditionary Fleet, known as the "Blood 13", became famous in the galaxy, would people be troubled by the repeated name when looking at the Emperor's Astartes Legion, which was actually ranked 13th.

In short, he gladly accepted this title, because compared to the heroic stories and the glory of the leader that were widely sung after the war, a word used to describe the collective bloody behavior was obviously closer to the essence of war.

Khan looked at the battle axe next to him. This battle axe helped him win fame and exploits. When the enemy's head slipped from his axe tip, he knew that he was closer to the efficient and deadly killer in the mouths of his brother warriors.

Now he has become the captain of the 8th Assault Company, and more brothers have entrusted their lives and honor to him.

Similarly, he calmly accepted all of this and regarded them as part of the necessary experience during the Great Expedition. This does not mean that he was born as a higher existence, a gifted person who stood under the scorching sun and commanded soldiers, because even if this did not happen to him, it would definitely happen to another battle brother.

When he thought about all this, he often had a deep sense of honor, which had nothing to do with his military rank. He just found that his name, like countless brothers, was written in perhaps the greatest legendary story in human history.

There were some indelible blood stains on Kahn's boots, like dust being absorbed by a smooth surface. This was the consequence of actively participating in countless galactic massacres while choosing light-colored armor.

In these traces of blood, there was the air rolled by all the gunboats, the oil mist and powder formed by the melting and deforming iron and steel helmets in the burning city and the fuel gushing. The blood of different races fell on the surface of the collapsed buildings, and some blood stains grabbed his boots at this moment, seeping the proof of their existence into the gaps in the pale leg armor, leaving all the billowing smoke, burning noise and roar on the warrior who stood in the middle of the blood river and ruins at the end.

He ruthlessly enjoyed these moments that were difficult to describe in words, recalling the scream of the axe swinging and the touch of flesh and blood breaking. In every millennium of mankind, wars have been reincarnated in the flowing blood. When his brothers fought side by side with him, the support from his back and the silent fall of the enemy in front of him under the axe reminded him of the existence of life.

He fulfilled the mission entrusted to him by the Imperial Truth, and found the meaning he could obtain from this chosen path.

However, it is undeniable that Khârn had expectations for a certain time point in the future.

When Horus Lupercal led his Luna Wolves to fight, the legions that cooperated with him could only obey the command of the First Son. Their honor and sacrifice were often inadvertently obscured by this group of pearly white wolves, because the demigod Horus fought in front of the army.

When the primarch of the Fourth Legion returned early, the entire Iron Legion, which had been through many battles and had made many achievements, but whose thinking was almost questioned because of its rigidity in camp formation and engagement, was reborn. The entire army found a way of construction that was as important as the war itself, and took a completely irreplaceable and important position in the Emperor's plan. The Twelfth Legion still faithfully performed their fixed function of shedding blood on the galaxy.

Let’s not talk about the Fifteenth Legion, which was brought up by the Primarch. This is simply incomparable. Their first battle was to fight side by side with the Primarch. The bloody nature of the Ninth Legion, which was suppressed for unknown reasons, was temporarily ignored. What really shocked Kahn was the arrival of the Primarch of the Sixth Legion.

Leman Russ, with the most understated hand, blew the cold wind of Fenris through the entire extremely barbaric army. The Primarch’s home planet culture, the Primarch’s own will and the soul of the Legion were combined into one. Their aimless barbarity was transformed into a unique Legion temperament, and the Space Wolves were born.

At this time, the Twelfth Legion, named War Hounds, was still wandering in more fire and blood, looking for no way out.

When will their Primarch return? By then, what kind of transformation will the Twelfth Legion get?

Blood Thirteen is the name of the entire Thirteenth Expedition Fleet, and War Dogs is the name given to them by the Emperor. So what kind of expectations will the Primarch himself give to his offspring?

Kahn asked in his heart, waiting for someone to give him an answer one day.

The servants visited him and appeared beside him. He waited for them to help him put on the armor, but today, from the unusual speed of these servants, he keenly smelled the smell of some unexpected message coming. In fact, this abnormality was reflected in the long stay of their fleet when they were getting supplies on Terra this time.

A soldier whose status as a legion veteran was reflected by the iconic pattern on the Mark II helmet walked toward him. His usually firm steps became more rapid, and the hatchet and pistol on his waist hit the armor on his legs.

His cloak of iron wire looms over his armor, its deep blue, bronze, and creamy white tones mirroring the blue and white armor of the warhound itself. Legion Commander Kil[1] personally awarded him this cloak as a reward of honor after the commander turned the tide of the war with his outstanding ability and crushed an armed team of technological barbarians in one fell swoop.

Captain of the 18th Company, Margo.

Mago found Kahn alone, and the battle brothers such as the Standard Bearer and the Executioner who always accompanied him did not appear. Even through the iron barrier, Kahn could still feel the abnormal joy and eagerness from this legion brother who joined the War Dogs at almost the same time as him.

"Kahn!" Margot got straight to the point and couldn't hide her excitement. Before Kahn invited him to discuss matters in detail, and even before he finished his next words, his footsteps were already on the verge of leaving.

"The Resolute Resolve is about to depart. Our Primarch has been recovered. He personally requested from the Lord of Mankind to meet us - come here and tell the news to others with me, my brother!"

——

Desia. The city of high-level riders. Scar of Nuceria. A city governed and enslaved.

The liberated city. The city of red sand. The city of Angron. City of Tears. Brand new city.

Perturabo handed the parchment to Angron.

"Choose two contrasting names," he said, "as the names of the cities that will be used for the memorial I give you. The hounds of war have set sail, and we can build it before your Twelfth Legion arrives. "

"I don't need a memorial," Angron said. "This is something that the upper class rulers need. Only those who lack real merits will need to add those to themselves by building these statues and preaching everywhere. Artificial brilliance.”

His posture as he sat next to Perturabo was no longer tense. The trauma that had shrouded his heart as a shadow a few days ago, and was reflected externally through subtle tremors and hallucinations that sometimes woke him up, was gradually eliminated by the busy war arrangements and every smile that appeared in front of him after victory. The war with hope and lofty goals gave Angron his expectations for the future, and turned it into new hot blood, injecting it into his heart and soul.

It was pleasant for Perturabo to witness the growth of a brother, especially when this transformation happened with his help - the exception was Magnus's growth. Even looking back today, it is still a rare event. A collection of serial disasters.

"No, my brother," said Perturabo, "what you have done for Nuceria should be part of their history."

His attitude was more serious than the last time he met Angron. The anger left over from the last external conquest that had just ended, as well as the deliberate behavior of maintaining dignity to distinguish himself from his own mentality in the Webway, combined to fix his current psychological state.

But he still retained the patience to face his brothers.

In the universe, there are only twenty beings made of similar materials to him. He tries to avoid getting angry unless the person is too good at unintentionally annoying others with an unpleasant mouth.

"If a person has no real merits and has never really brought tangible benefits to the people, then his statue, no matter how beautifully carved, will be covered with dust. But if he has been respected and loved by others, even if If he does not erect a statue himself, people will make their own heroes out of stone and clay," advised Perturabo.

"Then let people build their own statues." Angron shook his head. "I don't want to decide for them."

"Then think of it as my personal gift to you, how about it? Except for some completely unmined building materials, the Iron Warriors will not use any additional manpower and resources of Nuceria."

"Perturabo, this is not necessary. Give the strength of the soldiers to those who need it more."

Perturabo leaned forward a little, "You accepted the honor of the war without any resistance, and you also accepted our assistance to the local people of Nuceria. But at other times, no matter what I want to give you, Every time, you object. I'm not sure why you're rejecting me, but I can assure you that my gift is out of pure kindness."

Angron was stunned for a moment, and it wasn't until Perturabo made it clear that he realized that this was indeed the case - he usually didn't have the time to review these little things about himself.

"Gladiators never accept free rewards," he said. "We rely on our own fighting to gain praise from the outside world and hugs from each other."

The mood around Perturabo took on a fleeting tinge of anger, and though this wave was quickly replaced by restrained sorrow, Angron was still aware of it. He couldn't help but start to wonder if he had said something wrong.

Perturabo stood up, his robes floating with the change of posture, and the golden dark lines reflected the light when the angle of light and shadow was just right.

He opened his arms and looked into his brother's brass eyes.

"Have you ever noticed this, Angron: that is the 'we' you call us, belonging only to you and your gladiator brothers and sisters."

"You occasionally call me brother, but you talk about 'brother and sister' every day. I can see that when you see the gold thread on my clothes, there is something on your face that you have never noticed. Disgusted. After we confessed our wishes and sincerity to you so unreservedly, you still presented my gift as a reward from the ruler..."

He paused for a moment, briefly considering whether he might be getting too close to Morse's edgy style. Then, using Morse as a negative example, he dialed back a bit.

"Yes, it's not difficult to understand..." Perturabo lowered his voice to hide his frustration. "They have been your companions for many years, while the high-level riders who look similar to us have tortured you for many years."

Angron's hand grasped his arm, and the Son of the Red Sand had eagerly risen to his feet, shaking hands in the way warriors cheer each other up before surrendering to dust and blood.

"I...can't say that I never meant this," Angron said, "but I absolutely respect you. This is because I cannot correct my attitude immediately, and it is not your problem."

"No, of course this was an oversight on my part, I was too eager...but I still insist on building a building for you and we can talk about what you really need at this stage - I should have paid attention to this. Also, here In fact, I also have my own needs. I recently need to use this method to observe and select some descendants for a confidential mission. "

As Perturabo spoke, he found that the awkwardness suppressed in his heart quickly dissipated surprisingly quickly, and another kind of peaceful peace filled the gap.

He blinked and suddenly felt something was wrong.

In a flash of thought, he noticed Angron's hand grabbing his forearm, and at the same time, more clues were quickly connected.

"Angron, I noticed that I no longer have negative emotions." He raised his head and searched for clues in his brother's expressions. "And I know that some of us have abilities beyond the ordinary."

"I guess it's my gift," Angron said gently, letting go of Perturabo's hand. "I don't know what to call it, but I can make people who are in negative emotions feel better."

Perturabo did not deny his interest. Based on his experience of many battles with psykers in recent years, as well as being interfered with by Magnus through various strange accidents, he felt that this sounded like the use of some kind of psychic talent; this was similar to the Sun of Thousand Dusts. The styles of Tianxiao School are somewhat similar. The difference is that one side prefers exploration, while the other side prefers guidance.

"Such a treasured ability, I will invite Magnus to come and discuss it with you," Perturabo said, that comfortable sense of peace continuing to envelope him, making him feel like he was in his favorite Lokos workshop , the sun opened the window, making him relaxed and focused, "Your talent may be further developed."

Angron smiled. "Okay, thank you, brother. And you just mentioned that building a building is based on your needs?"

"You can think of it as a selection before the secret mission." Perturabo said.

"Can this be said directly?"

"Keeping secrets, rather than keeping secrets. But I can't provide more information. Since you don't want a memorial, let's see if we can build some other buildings..."

Suddenly there was a knock on the door outside. Perturabo and Angron looked at each other. The latter looked at the door and said loudly: "Come in. What's the matter, Kleist?"

The female gladiator pushed open the door and entered, and it was the sliding sound of her knife tip that made Angron easily identify her.

"Two of the Hozan gladiators we rescued committed suicide." Kleist said, "Angron, I think you will want to know about this as soon as possible."

[1] Yes, I have advanced some timelines, such as the time when the former WE Legion commander who was sent away by Angron after meeting him took office.