Chapter 177 Some Small Talk

"This is a boring question, Perturabo." Morse's hand slid across the long-awaited steel fence and stood leaning against the railing in the shuttle. "What's so special about the Resolute? First, you have to tell me what's special."

Behind him, Perturabo sat in the shuttle, letting the sights of the Ironblood recede behind him. Even though the Primarch's brain could process thousands of pieces of information in a microsecond, he still focused most of his attention on Morse.

"Speciality is what is different from my Iron-Blooded Horn," said Perturabo, "what is worthy of your suggestions or criticisms. You are keen to comment on everything you see, but I have not heard you comment on Angron. Legion.”

"Oh, I didn't pay attention." Morse said casually, raising his head to look at the simple decorative structure of the dome above the Iron Blood. "I want to correct a small misunderstanding of yours. It's not something closely related to me, and I don't always have enough drive to appreciate and comment on it."

"On the Perseverance, I spent most of the time among the astropaths. The psychic climate there was relatively pleasant, and there was a food supply suitable for mortals. Unfortunately, some people with three eyes seemed to capture them in the later period. I found some unusual traces, so I made some innocuous technical adjustments to their memories... At this point, I discovered that I have not been to the mortal kitchen of the Iron Blood. Do they eat more canned food or freshly cooked food? "

"Depends on the natural environment of the recently conquered planet. The staple food served in the recent canteen should be saltwater fish from the ocean planet RA-113." Perturabo answered, who signed the approval for the consumption of the Legion's mortal auxiliaries about a year ago Rigorous testing of local food regulations from different planets makes it easy to answer this question.

"Sounds good," Morse said.

"I don't think it can compare to the standard of the Terra Palace kitchen."

"Hey, Perturabo, I smell something probing."

"I didn't mean that."

Mors smiled, glanced at Perturabo, and continued to watch the Iron Blood's condition.

This was the first time the craftsmen had returned to the Ironblood in the years since Perturabo and Rogal Dorn had sailed from Invet and Morse had sailed back to Terra alone. As for the last time I took a shuttle with Perturabo to observe the Glory Queen-class battleship designed by the Iron Lord, it dates back to even longer ago.

In his eyes, the ship hadn't changed much.

A system of multiple components, connections and pipes faithfully transports and handles various fluids, gases or solids, fuel and air are properly mixed and burned under the supervision of coolant, multiple regularly maintained racks, tunnels and The components are welded to each other. Due to the personal relationship between Perturabo and the Mechanicus, it is difficult to evaluate it in terms of quality - the Mechanicus has not yet given any further results on the restoration of some species. This is not so much a lack of ability, but rather a certain person. In a subtle nod to the overly independent nature of the Olympia, the Iron Warriors' own technical overhaul sergeants and mortal servants are constantly conducting efficient probes and inspections, maintaining the massive ship's complex firepower and power systems.

Everything operates stably within the originally formulated rules and functions, converting countless huge manpower and material resources through the transfer and collection of battleships into actual forces that supply the Emperor's Great Crusade. Numerous intertwined steel pipes support the arteries of the grand aspirations of the human empire in both the material and symbolic fields.

In a sense, the determination and soundness that remain unchanged despite the war are the best phenomena.

At this point, Morse sometimes wondered whether Rogal Dorn's presence had subtly given Perturabo a positive influence associated with this trait. This was the reason why he admired people like Donne, but it was not enough for him to actively establish an overly close relationship with Donne. That undoubtedly means approaching a stubborn rock that actively places infinite tasks on its shoulders.

He stood up a little straighter and changed his stance so that he was talking face to face with Perturabo.

"Objectively speaking, there is really nothing particularly noteworthy about the Legion of War Hounds," Morse said. "Like any Legion, their positive and negative traits are within an acceptable range."

"They are ruthless killers when it comes to dealing with the conquered. This was undoubtedly the specialty chosen for the Twelfth Legion when the Emperor assigned duties."

"In terms of their views on the original body, they are Astartes warriors who have high expectations for the return of the original body. Some people, such as the representative commander of the 8th Assault Company Kahn, after learning about the original body Others were determined to obey at the moment of their existence, such as one of their pharmacists, Garlan Sulak, who expected the Primarch to inject the new homeworld culture into the Legion and give it more identity. degree of cultural identity. The pharmacist was a driven man who excelled at the full task assigned to him, but who was truly willing to do more than what was asked of him.”

"Ambition?" Perturabo suggested. Morse often uses positive words to describe negative things.

"I don't know," Morse said. "I still like the nervous little pharmacist on your ship. His name is..."

"Titus."

"Titus. He is more reassuring to people like us."

"His professional ability is worthy of recognition, but his character can also be improved." Perturabo replied, "I have watched the Agora fair of the descendants several times. In the debate, whether the point of view is right or wrong, Titus often chooses to give in. He should be tougher sometimes."

Morse nodded: "Nice conclusion, remember to tell this to your new brother. I watched the entire meeting ceremony between the War Hounds and the Primarchs in the shadows, as well as their internal discussions on changing their name to the World Eaters. A captain named Jager praised Angron, thinking that if his own gladiators could conquer cities, then the War Hounds could conquer the world for him. Their new name came from this."

"Is there any problem with this?" Perturabo asked, but his tone did not sound like a question.

"Maybe, maybe not." Morse shrugged. "Objectively speaking, I do like their new name better than War Hounds, which emphasizes the subjective motivation of the Legion rather than blindly following its master - don't tell the Emperor this. By the way, where is Rogal Dorn?"

The Primarch's office was approaching, and Perturabo stood up from the seat of the shuttle and sorted out the pipes on his head. Some short black stubble had grown back and covered his scalp. It is not difficult to imagine how the new black hair will achieve a visual harmony with these matte cables after a period of time.

"He is leading the troops." The Primarch said, "The Imperial Fists are indeed more offensive than my Iron Warriors. He should be on an unnamed planet, fighting a small human regime based on psychic technology."

"Really busy." Morse commented briefly.

"I am also busy." Perturabo said, his expression became complicated. Both of them knew that he was referring to the Webway.

After the shuttle arrived at the destination, the fence was automatically removed. Morse stepped onto the ground first. Between respecting the door lock of the Iron Blood Primarch's office and demonstrating his own psychic power level, he reluctantly chose the former and allowed Perturabo to complete his identity verification.