Chapter 245 Over-the-Shoulder Throw

The appearance of this Raider airship is no different from other Eldar airships, and even the interior furnishings are similar enough. Warriors, servants, and a few freaks hid in their respective places, wisely turning a blind eye to their fellow archons and strange visitors.

The light penetrated into the spacious cabin from the portholes, and was filtered by the colored glass into a confusing flash of bruised purple-red and uncomfortable blue-green. In the dark background where the light does not shine, iron chains hang down from the ceiling, part of which is binding emaciated corpses, like poisonous dried meat.

The seat that Victor chose for himself was wrapped in a hemispherical shield. It was not his real throne but a looted makeshift, so it looked like any throne that an old noble would use. , the golden light is bright, and the luxurious and complicated lines create a deliberately extravagant elegance.

Morse waited for Victor to select a few suitable ones from the jungle of iron chains, and hung the still trembling torso of Haemonculus Gabbiad and his soft skin as pale as snow flakes in sequence.

"Do it yourself, huh?" Morse asked. "No need for help?"

The Eldar pulled off an iron rope and inserted the sharp barb through the gap between Gabbiad's collarbone and first rib. "I do not yet have the authority to keep my hands clean, respected craftsman."

"You can just call me by my name, Victor." Morse stood boredly in the middle of the cabin, arms folded in front of his chest, tapping his left arm with his right index finger. "I'm not going to strangle you to death for calling me by my first name...at least Konrad Coates doesn't want to kill you, right?"

"He doesn't want to kill me yet." Victor took two steps back and inspected his work without appreciation, exposing his profile and dark eyes to the craftsman's view. "Morse."

Morse looked at the Eldar and smiled silently. There are ambitious people everywhere in Gomo, and Victor is a particularly typical one among them.

If he now evaluates Victor as a natural overlord, then it is probably based on a fleeting glimpse of the future, which means he is optimistic in advance. In fact, what he saw was more of a little lord who concealed his restless heart and drew energy from his gloomy appearance.

"A few hours ago, the 'Avatar of Vaal' as you call it received a perfunctory gift: a box of Dreamstones that were supposedly modified to protect the wandering soul from the prying eyes of the Warp. Of course, the gift itself is irrelevant. , it doesn’t matter even if the Eldar who gave the gift is hung on the wall by you..." Morse told Victor, "The only person worthy of attention in this matter is Conrad Coze. What's something important that he can't tell his brother?"

"If this is a test of loyalty, I don't want to be outed in Conrad's eyes, please forgive me." Victor replied politely.

"Okay, you passed." Morse said regretfully, noticing a fleet flying low through the sky outside the window. Even without the use of psychic amplification, he could clearly see the bow and the center of the scarlet sail. icon.

"Church of the Sun." Victor also saw those eye-catching ships. "To Konrad Curze's above-ground tower."

Morse said: "This simply gave our dear Val incarnation a sign to guide the way, 'Look, follow us and you will find Curze'... Yes, Curze said nothing to us, this is not It means that the brothers who share the same blood with him cannot weave the clues into the outline of the answer on their own."

He stopped, "A common blood? Oh, Perturabo doesn't have a drop of living blood in his body now."

He couldn't stop laughing, and for a long time it was the only noticeable sound in the cabin.

Victor was lost in his thoughts, reassessing Morse's presence.

In his previous experience, he classified Morse into the troupe faction of the Pied Eldar under the Laughing God, and regarded Conrad Curze and the mysteriously appearing Perturabo as forces of the same level - yes , Curze refuses to tell him Perturabo's name and pierces his hand with a knife, but this is merely a harsh statement against his prying behavior.

Both of them knew that Perturabo had spoken his name at the door of the church on his first day on the bright stage of Gomor.

And when a person tells the news in an unguarded corner of the Dark City, the news will quickly spread from mouth to mouth to the ears of everyone who needs to know.

Outside the window, a thunderous cracking sound came, shaking the eyes and ears of the Gemo people. The Sun Church's fleet opened fire.

Morse looked at the turbulent clouds, and Victor could not see any unnecessary emotion in his eyes.

Not to mention Curze, who is particularly emotional, even the machine named Perturabo can vividly simulate many rich emotions that can be detected by sensitive Eldar in his movements.

But the craftsman who plays her horny self sees the world as if he doesn't really belong to it.

Minutes passed, and Victor still didn't hear Conrad Coates' voice coming over the radio. He knew in his heart that his ally had fallen into the fantasy of a dramatic script again. At this time, he was probably arranging a recovery plot in his dark mind like a prelude to the climax of the play.

Coates almost unconsciously pursues artistic features that can highlight the legendary and sublime in realistic scenes, as if this can prove that he is the protagonist of a drama, the hero of the story, rather than a sentimental banshee.

A ground-to-air ammunition rose up, tearing the fluttering sails in an instant, and the scattered sparks instantly ignited a handful of burning fire.

Morse pinched his chin with his right hand: "Let Perturabo handle it all. Where are we going next?"

"Up." Victor said, "The spider silk horn tower that maintains the angle of the dimensional rift where the black sun is located."

"It sounds good, Perturabo will be interested in this technology." Morse turned back, "In addition to military talent, he is indeed a craftsman who is obsessed with craftsmanship."

Victor nodded, and suddenly changed the subject: "The webway has many intricate roads, and my conspiracy group has mastered some of them. One of the gates leads to Cordoris, which was once called the workshop of Val."

"Before the Fall, Cordoris was destroyed by the war between the Eldar for the Craft World, but the conjecture of the great treasure hidden there is unshakable, just as the legend of the craftsman god Val is well known."

"Is this your gift, Asdubal Victor?" Morse asked.

"I don't know what exists on Cordoris," Victor said frankly. "I just provided a door."

——

As soon as Perturabo entered the building, he knew that this was not where Konrad Curze usually lived.

The half-collapsed tower was free from the mud of the outside streets, and was made of gorgeous partitions separated by obsidian, gold and snow-white marble. All the furnishings were decorated with gorgeous carvings, and slender columns supported the empty crystal hall. A large number of traces of laser cutting and bloody battles destroyed the original luxurious style and gave the tower a new damaged beauty.

He kept walking, and his mechanical feet lightly stepped on the broken crystals and glass residues on the ground, crushing these blood-stained building materials.

Perturabo went up along the spiral steps against the wall until the steps above his feet completely collapsed into a pile of rubble, like an ironic tombstone specially left for the dead female warriors.

He looked up and saw Conrad Curz looking down from the top floor of the tower. The small space that had not been blown up forced him to curl up his huge, bloodstained body in the corner of the floor, hiding in the shadow of the rubble.

"You're here." Conrad Curz muttered. "You found this place."

Perturabo shouted directly at the top of the tower: "Come down! I don't understand why you-"

"Hide from you? Deceive you? Play tricks, half true and half false, borrow your name, impersonate your reputation, to obtain my despicable interests, climb up among the aliens, and obtain a higher position?"

"No," Perturabo swallowed a sulfur-like choking word, "My brother! Why don't you come out of this tower and wait for the light spear to explode on your head?"

"Why?" Curze repeated, "I can come out, I can leave this tower at any time."

"Then let me make it clear! Why don't you ask for help!"

Curze's body was still, and then he jumped down, landing silently in the rubble at the bottom of the tower, like a thin piece of paper falling to the ground.

Perturabo estimated the distance and also jumped down from the spiral steps. The weight of his fall caused a large number of stones to be further broken and excessive dust to spread.

Curze coughed, his pale face showing a waxy feature under the light, and his black eyes with oversized pupils were close to a kind of blind stare, looking forward through the messy hair.

"I can..." he whispered, "solve all this."

"And let your brother know nothing about it in the whole process?" Perturabo stared at Curze, hoping that his expression was still vivid enough for Curze to see clearly: "I never thought you were such an arrogant person, Curze. Forgive my words."

"Let's talk about it somewhere else..."

"No, Conrad, don't try to prevaricate me. We realize that the problem exists, so we can't let it continue... Damn, this is Dorn's line." Perturabo was even more depressed because he casually said the words that Dorn used. "You borrowed my name, but you didn't say a word about your plan. I thought you regarded me as a relative?"

Yes, he did not expect Conrad Curze to easily have a good impression of the Empire. After all, he had even been using a rather rebellious title to describe the Emperor.

But the Bloody Marquis said nothing on the surface, but arranged a series of big plans behind the scenes, which really aroused some unfriendly associations in Perturabo.

"I would rather face a Rogal Dorn." He ended with this sentence angrily.

Curze's eyes widened. "Who are you talking about?"

"Rogal Dorn, is there a problem?" Perturabo said, "The seventh Primarch, and also your brother. Haven't you seen him in the prophecy?"

"No, no... I have seen him," Curze's expression gradually became dazed. When he first met Perturabo, the phantom of the Battle of Fal began to surge in the depths of his memory again, "You, would rather face Rogal Dorn?"

"Yes! At least he can make his words clear!"

"But he is so stubborn!" Curze's mouth twitched with disgust, and his hands almost couldn't help but clenched into fists, "Treating my warning as absurd nonsense! And you... how are you related to him?"

“Why not?” Perturabo gave up on controlling his temper. He didn’t want to hear more questions about Rogal Dorn. It was like hearing someone questioning himself. “He is an excellent general, an outstanding emperor, and most importantly, he never deceived me!”

Koz looked desperate as if he had just eaten a whole mandrake. The cold and noble demeanor of the Blood Lord on the day of their first meeting finally disappeared. In this ruin, his consciousness returned to a more stubborn and unpolished state.

"Well, Perturabo!" he said loudly, "It seems that I have misjudged you and the world I am facing now! Everything I am facing, then I will reveal more plans to you and confess my conspiracy and evil deeds to you. Is this what you want, the Emperor's spokesman?"

"What's the matter with you?" Perturabo also raised his voice and pointed to his head, "Now theoretically, it is me who cannot confirm whether the brain is functioning normally due to the mechanical structure. I rescued you from an attack in the name of brother. Did this destroy your plan? Or did I inadvertently insult your precious dignity?"

"My heart is full of gratitude for what you have done, noble brother. But what can this change? Why should I use friendship as a threat to force a Primarch to intervene in the dirty and boring power struggle of the Eldar, making you more disgusted with me. 's heart! '

"Why should I hate you?" Perturabo was really surprised, "Are you planning to use Gomor to attack Terra?"

"No way! It's just that the person in front of you has failed many times, is not worthy of respect, has made many mistakes, and has not said the right thing. He can't be as popular as others and be famous for a while; my existence is worthless, all kinds of hard work are often in vain, tired of endless self-struggle, tired of never-satisfied self-will; often harboring such deep self-loathing, it is even more disgusting! '

"Who are you describing?" Perturabo felt his mechanical components screaming in the place where his brain should be, "Yourself? A person who has nothing but can make great achievements in the alien city of sin? No... Are you describing the self in the prophecy? '

He frowned suspiciously, and more speculations came into his mind: "You see that we hate you."

Conrad Curze's expression returned to peace. "I'm not sure." He said quietly.

Perturabo was so angry that he laughed. He began to think that this was some kind of damn personality test, designed by this guy who had a brain that was ten times more complicated than Robert Guilliman and a hundred times more complicated than Rog Dorn, specifically to detect his maximum tolerance.

"And, thank you for your help, Perturabo." Konrad Curze continued.

"Well, Konrad Curze." Perturabo gritted his teeth viciously, "I never work for free, so I want two rewards."

Conrad raised his eyebrows and hissed, "Please speak."

"First, information sharing. And teach me to ask for help. If you have any requests, just ask, otherwise I will no longer tolerate your behavior of borrowing my name privately."

"Okay." The Blood Marquis said softly, "Second?"

Perturabo approached Konrad Curze and made an invitation to shake hands.

When Conrad reached out, he suddenly grabbed the other's arm, and the mechanical arm pressed against Curze's body, turned quickly, pulled him up to his shoulder, and used his shoulder as a fulcrum, and immediately bent over and threw him.

Curze fell to the ground with his back and groaned.

"You didn't predict this, did you?" Perturabo said, patting his hands.

"No..." Curze replied, lying in the rubble. "So, are you satisfied with this?"

"Satisfied with what? A successful shoulder throw, or your brother?"

He thought for a moment and squatted next to Curze. "Neither, Conrad."

"I can't change it." Curze's black eyes flashed with a dark luster.

"This wouldn't be my request," Perturabo said, "You might as well make a list of plans for me first, otherwise I can't guarantee how I will accidentally ruin your damn big plan next."

Curze smiled, and this relatively sincere expression always looked distorted when he made it. "Thank you, my brother," he said again.

Some insignificant complaints:

Silversoul, who only invented the infinite loop in the chronology M33, had already appeared in the period of the end and the death 2; the flower bean dance, which is also in M33, also appeared in the novel text before the emperor went to the toilet; combined with the phenomenon that the overall year of the bean sprout chronology was moved back, it makes people wonder if the author of the black map thought that the weak relatives had already invented this thing at this time...