Chapter 219 Unfortunate Workload

Among all the eighteen sons of the Emperor, Alpharius Omegan is more mysterious than the Lion of the First Legion, the Blood Bat of the Eighth Legion, and the Raven of the Nineteenth Legion.

The head of the Hydra who acts alone is often labeled as unpredictable and incomprehensible, and their whereabouts frequently appear behind the shadows of the mortal life of the Empire. Rogue traders, planetary governors, alien scholars... just like the throne watchers who return the shining gold and hide in the shadows, the snake head is everywhere.

The first appearance of Alpharius Omegan is no longer verifiable, but it is certain that the conflict between the 20th Primarch and Roboute Guilliman, the master of the Thirteenth Legion, originated before the official return time of the Primarch announced by the Empire.

Surprisingly, the Iron Lord of the Fourth Legion did not hesitate to give relevant reminders, or even reveal them in a not-so-good-intentioned way. This formed an unsolvable conflict with the fact that Perturabo personally named the important defense line of the Empire in Betagamon the Alpharius Fortress, which brought about the hint of good relations within the Primarch. ——"Alpharius Omegan: The Scourge of the Empire"

"Perturabo. What's the matter?"

Rogal Dorn put down his hand reaching for the bell at the door and calmly called the name of the person working inside. The moment he came to the door of the ship's workshop at the bottom of the Iron Blood, Perturabo controlled the heavy iron door to fold and open automatically to both sides through the neural cable.

Perturabo's workshop is very different from the entire Iron Blood, and even the entire Iron Warriors fleet.

The simulated natural light softly sprinkled on the slightly messy wooden long table, and the drawings and hand saws and other tools were hung or placed flat on the wall or tool table in a self-contained system. Stepping into this place, it was as if the interior of the Queen of Glory-class ship, which gathered the most advanced technology of mankind in space, suddenly fell into a secluded place in a quiet valley on a garden world.

Robert Guilliman and Perturabo sat on either side of the wooden table, holding several thin drawings for observation and review. Perturabo turned to Rogal Dorn and waved: "Have your soldiers written reports for you?"

Rogal Dorn sat down naturally in the empty seat next to Perturabo. "You mean Vladis Lore wrote a report to apply for approval of the joint operation request of this squad and the Iron Warrior Captain Barabas Dantioch."

"Of course." Perturabo snorted, "Can there be a second report I'm curious about?"

"I haven't approved this application report yet. He failed to fully state the reasons that are sufficient to be established."

"It seems that Dantioch should be more honest. This Vladis Lore has a new recruit named Alexis Pollax. My captain said that he and this new recruit are very happy to cooperate." Perturabo didn't sound happy, "Dantioch, this is not the first time he has made such an individualistic action application."

"Did you approve it?" Dorn asked.

Perturabo stared at Dorn for a few seconds and nodded.

Dorn took out the datapad and data pen, worked on them for a while, and put them away calmly. "Okay, I approve it too."

"You don't ask again... okay." Perturabo took a deep breath and sighed briefly, reminding himself that this was Rogal Dorn, and his legion was as troublesome as he was.

Guilliman laughed, abruptly turning the laugh into a light cough, and refocused his eyes on the drawings in his hand.

"Anything else?" Dorn asked, his calm expression as solid as a rock mask.

"If you have something urgent to do, go ahead," Perturabo said.

"The second round of large-scale cleaning of the Phalanx is underway," Dorn replied, and explained to Guilliman: "The first round is to clean up the mutant greenskins."

"Nothing else?"

"Do you have anything for me to do, Perturabo?"

"Ahem," Robert Guilliman said cautiously, "We are grading the new round of memorial statue drawings for the Iron Warriors."

"I need subjective evaluations from non-professionals," Perturabo said, "Sit down and help me score the designs of these guys."

Rogal Dorn looked down at his chair, as if thinking that he was sitting anyway. But he knew not to say more: "What are the grading criteria?"

"Out of five points, the specific criteria are optional. In the future, these statues will be exhibited to Astartes and even mortals, so they cannot be measured only by rigid theories."

Perturabo said, pressing his temple angrily, pulling out a stack of papers from the pile and slapping them in front of Rogal Dorn.

"I really don't understand why they designed these shapes that are either devoid of creativity and artistic tension or distorted in all sorts of weird ways! They're not as good as the works I made when I was six or seven years old!"

"I think this kneeling shooting work is very realistic." Rog Dorn said.

"But this is an honorary statue! This warrior should show his bravery and perseverance, not to be so realistic that he should first carve out how much alien plasma is on his body that even covers the shoulder armor relief! He also marked the color, '60% orange', do I want mortals to think that we attack orange monsters in remote worlds every day?"

"Oh." Rog Dorn said, taking the pen handed to him by Perturabo and writing "five points" in the upper right corner of the drawing.

Perturabo stared at Rog Dorn's score for a while and said nothing.

Under the control of the data cable, the built-in simulated glass window of the workshop was opened, and the cool artificial breeze and gentle sunlight filled the room together, cooling Perturabo's nerves.

"Very good." Perturabo muttered, "Robert, are you done with your pile of marks?"

"It's almost complete. Roboute Guilliman held up the drawing, and the light illuminated the clearly drawn picture in his hand. "Don't be angry, brother. This statue of the legions supporting each other is outstanding, showing the fighting spirit and brotherhood within the legion. I'd give him a high five. "

"Guess which warrior is the protagonist of this set of statues?" Perturabo saw the content of the drawing from the transparent back of the drawing.

"I guess it's..." Robert reacted, his tone rising, "The one on the ground?"

"You guessed it, brother." Perturabo said dullly, "It seems that the designer thought that only one of his hands in urgent need of rescue was revealed in the entire work, and at the same time his heroic squad leader was depicted in a large area. People will care if he gets out of line too fast in that fight.”

"Off topic, I'll drop it to one point," Guilliman said.

"Thank you, Robert." Perturabo glanced at Roger Dorn, who was reviewing the drawings in an assembly line, "He will be asked to redesign."

"However, can I keep this statue in Macragge?" the Lord of Macragge asked. "This is enough to show the admirable fighting charm of the Iron Warriors and the inseparable relationship between the two legions of the Ultramarines and the Iron Warriors. The lost friendship.”

"If you really want, I can design it myself."

"That's perfect." Robert Guilliman smiled self-consciously in gratitude.

Perturabo turned the pen in his hand irritably. No drawing on his desk received a rating higher than three.

Every time a memorial to the Iron Warriors was expanded or built, he would experience a surge of rage, so much so that he sometimes even wanted to quietly end this Legion custom, lest he one day finally couldn't help but turn those designs into pieces. Legionnaires who were several levels worse than mortals were built into the walls of Olympia, along with their terrible written reports.

In addition, since the foreign exchange scholars from the Thousand Dust Sun finally happily ran back to the Magnus flagship parked outside Ultramar two days ago, the Iron Warrior's clerical skills finally plummeted completely, which almost made Pei Turabo wondered if the group of cubs who hid in the iron sheets every day were deliberately trying to make him angry.

He took out a new stack of white paper from the drawer and touched the surface of the paper with his rough fingers, feeling the creative space contained in its smooth touch.

"I will design it for you now, Robert," said Perturabo. "What look do you want?"

Robert Guilliman was lost in thought, and many images flashed through his great mind, which was complex enough to handle hundreds of parallel events at the same time.

From his time in Illyrium when he learned that his brothers had arrived on Macragge, to the green garden maze where Harmony first met, to the vast amounts of azure data that rolled across the screens of the Gray Thinkers during the push for reform, the Primarch The steaming white mist when we bathed together, and the scarlet blood bathed side by side in the subsequent war, and now the light golden light and shadow floating in the sunny workshop...

He was stunned for a brief moment, then came back to his senses and described the scene where the waves of thoughts flowed through his brain and finally stayed on the shore of his soul.

"A few of us, plus Conor Guilliman, Thalasa Yutun, and Artisan Morse, we were in the wheat fields together, wearing casual clothes and wearing sandals, visiting the generations who have been farming in Macragge. "

Robert Guilliman smiled sincerely, his eyes bright: "This is the first one, placed on the central lawn outside the rebuilt chamber. Later, in the war memorial, we will also need a group of statues, or a group of statues." Narrative murals depicting war scenes, the first of which is..."

"Stop," Perturabo said, "I thank you for your trust. In fact, this is the first time I have received a purely artistic commission. But you should give me a demand document afterwards."

"I've finished the approval." Donne said suddenly.

Perturabo cut out a second pile of papers: "Thank you, Dorn."

"Are all the drafts placed on this wooden table?" Donne asked.

"Yes. There are only three-digit drawings to review, and after that, the Iron Warriors must also send me multi-directional view cameras of the semi-finished products in every step of the carving, until the work is completed a week later and is shipped to the transport ship. Sent to several planets where the Iron Warriors have built memorials."

"This is really...a lot of work." Robert said.

It's not terrible to count this alone, but there are many chores to take care of in the day of the Primarch, especially Perturabo, a stubborn general who insists on maintaining a high degree of control over the Legion, which sometimes makes Robert ·Guilliman thought about his future work and life - there is still a huge space in the Ultramar sector waiting for the Ultramarines to explore and recover.

Perhaps designing some positions for Astartes warriors to command several parts of Ultramar would be the right choice.

"I chose to finish the job," Perturabo replied. This is the simplest answer.

He makes the choice, the path is clear, so He must end the promises He made. This is neither vanity nor honor. It is the promise of finality, like a finished work of steel, unchangeable until it is broken.

Besides, he definitely didn't hate this job when he was looking deep into his heart and exploring the root. In fact, he was willing to imagine how he would take the blood brothers he met along the way to visit the memorial hall in his spare time, so that everything the Iron Warriors had done would be proved and remembered.

Robert Guilliman leaned forward: "I'm curious about the conditions under which this decision was made, Perturabo."

A boy who had just won a great victory, reunited with his loved ones, was not sure how to treat his newly acquired army, and happened to learn that collecting other people's past history could effectively cause a very efficient psychological impact on others, of course, would make some interesting choices that seem quite incredible now.

"At that time, I was thinking about the reward and punishment system of the Legion." Perturabo replied, "I hope that my measures can be innovative enough and become a cultural representative of the Iron Warriors. The memorial system was born."

"Very creative." Guilliman nodded and looked around. This was his first time to come to the workshop on the bottom floor of the Iron Blood, and everything displayed here gave him a new understanding of Perturabo. "I was thinking... maybe Macragge could open a unique memorial dedicated to the works of the Primarchs, which would help mortals improve their understanding of the Primarchs and the Imperium of Man."

"I've finished reviewing." Dorn waited politely until Guilliman finished speaking before speaking.

Perturabo handed Dorn another stack of drawings.

"Good idea, Robert. We can build a relief wall and carve the images of each of us according to our due Primarch numbers." Perturabo quickly came up with a new idea, "Two, four, six, seven, twelve, thirteen, fifteen, sixteen... There are already eight reliefs that can be designed!"

"It's a good idea indeed." Morse walked into the workshop, followed by a box of floating documents. "You really know how to give yourself a workload, Lord of Iron. Let's review the latest batch of reporting documents first. Your warsmith has been standing at the door of your office for two hours as punishment."

Perturabo immediately called up the monitoring neural interface and found that it had errors due to several new coding conflicts and failed to correctly update the monitoring screen at the door of his office.

He shook his head in annoyance: "Give it to me, Morse."

The file box flew to Perturabo's feet and landed with a dull collision sound.

"Don't be so dejected, Perturabo. The format of the report they wrote this time is surprisingly clear." Morse smiled and disappeared silently.

Perturabo opened the first file with doubts.

"Iron Warriors Action Report

To: Primarch's Office of the Primarch of the Glory Queen-class flagship Iron Blood

From: Eric Anderson, Captain of the 13th Company of the 9th Battalion of the 2nd Battalion

Subject: Briefing on the arrival of the maintenance period of the Howling Light Cruiser

Attachment..."

He felt a burst of pain in his temple again.

"Robert..." Perturabo whispered.

"I'll go ask who shared the official document template with the Iron Warriors." Robert Guilliman stood up and left quickly.

Rogal Dorn looked at the pile of drawings that Guilliman had been reviewing for a long time without any reduction, stretched out his hand, and decided to approve all these drawings at once.