Chapter 251 Good News Before Bed

"If you are satisfied with this, human artisans," said the Troupe Master, without using the unnecessary derogatory term, "take the fragment of this sharp blade. This is another gift we can give you; the finest forging material, taken from the embers of the cooling star. The human empire is not so good at playing with the stars, is it?"

"I assume you are not as crazy as you act, Avatar. I assume you do not really think that there is any essence worth using in this material that has been deeply corroded by the warp."

"Don't belittle Anaris of the Dawn like this. Vaal spent a lot of energy to forge it. The corrupt breath of the sword comes from Vaal himself who fell into the abyss, not how the material was affected..."

"What will happen if you take it away." Perturabo interrupted the two people's nonsense directly, and the fragments of the sword floated in front of him, casting a bright white light in his eyes. "How will your Var-Vastol who fell into chaos react?"

"The Eldar still fear the direct mention of this term," the troupe leader played with his golden buttons, "but you are not even willing to be surprised by our secrets, oh my... Primarch, I really see fate drawing circles in that colorful vortex, and dragging us into the depths of the swirling story one by one - no, don't grab my neck, it makes me a little breathless, haha, Vastol will not react, friends! He is so weak!"

The troupe leader who was picked up turned over nimbly while falling back to the ground, and finally landed on all fours successfully.

He covered his throat and chuckled as he climbed up: "Even Kaishamenla was torn into a thousand drops of blood by the fight between the Lord of Blood and the Prince of Darkness. How can poor Val survive? Its vulnerable strength is enough to guard the funny little forge, so how can it pay attention to every dangerous person who touches its relics?"

"No, unless you can think of something particularly unique and good, Vastor will not move his limited eyes to your heads!"

"What about the Tuchucha engine?" Morse asked suddenly.

"That's enough...Honorary Unicorn, that's enough. The Broken Sword smelled the smell of the engine, and the demon of the forge had to move his turbid eyes to Cordoris," the clown answered gently, and the colorful glowing stones on his body jingled when he waved his hand, "But how did you think of it? Which sentence of mine revealed this truth? Ah, I really don't know..."

Perturabo's next artillery attack accidentally hit a layer of residual camouflage illusion.

The Laughing God's followers flashed to the other side of the forge in the blink of an eye, and shouted across the dull roar of the furnace: "O Primarch! How did I anger your noble iron body?"

"When did you start planning all this!" Perturabo suppressed the surging thoughts in his chest, and tried his best to restrain the sudden boiling anger, and expressed it through continuous bombardment, "Nukeria? Macragge? Omegan's early return? When did this scam start?"

Seemingly unrelated events are connected in series, and the coincidence of fate is like a gear that fits together, driving the fate of the universe forward.

Every time he thinks of the twenty years taken away by the Tuchucha engine, and all the negative effects that may follow, which may not be accidental, Perturabo's anger will usher in a new round of expansion.

For his mechanical body, his disappearance is insignificant.

But the loss of the Star God fragment stored in his body, the suspension of the Iron Ring team, the suspension of the Olympia Space Fortress designed based on high-power energy, and even Morse's departure from the Empire, and even Konrad Curze's fall into Gomor, and then traced back to the unrest caused by the damn Omegan in Macragge, and even the initial Eldar attack on Nuceria... All of this now seems to be related to this group of crazy doomsday pied-a-terrestrial Eldar.

As the fleeting images of these events flashed through his memory module, Perturabo's emotions became more and more excited.

For so many years, in such a long time, he had already learned to control his mind in order to observe the world more clearly and control it more powerfully.

But if the many misfortunes he and his brothers had experienced were closely related to this group of damn prophets... He restrained the pain echoing in his heart, and could hardly think of how to suppress this cold and bright anger that was ignited.

In the corner of his eyes, a layer of iconic golden rune shield has added a layer of protection to the fragment of Anaris of the Dawn.

Morse's acquiescence completely eliminated Perturabo's last worries.

As the decision was established, the energy in the body of the Iron Lord began to surge like a tide. The green energy was precisely regulated and converted in the translation nodes inside his body, and the star-like power that had experienced countless generations was released here. All the hidden artillery pipelines in his body were opened, weaving these disordered energies into a powerful symphony of guns and cannons. The sound of cannons echoed in the hall, shaking many corners.

The Pied Eldar shuttled between the thick smoke of gunpowder and the beams of lasers, avoiding the flames that burned his clothes, desperately looking for a glimmer of life. In this life-and-death moment, his body showed extreme dexterity and agility. The excuses uttered by the masked face were like vague whispers sinking into an endless abyss, swallowed up by the long distance, the chaotic environment and the shooter's anger, and could not reach Perturabo's ears.

The troupe leader wanted to escape from the melee, but the closed hall built around the forge was a huge cage from which he could not escape. The bone-white mask on his face revealed a clear image of crying during a brief pause. He suddenly disappeared over and over again, moving quickly, as if he had been blessed by the Laughing God, bursting out with incredible potential.

And when the entire grotto began to tremble in Perturabo's anger, witnessing the full expression of the Primarch's anger, but the huge mechanical man still had no intention of ceasefire, the Primarch's anger hidden in Trading conditions became cold and stark.

Either he would be struck here, or Perturabo would completely destroy the remains of the Temple of Vaal, and even turn fire on the Harlequin airship in the sky, undoing all they had accomplished so far.

He immediately stopped his next dodge, and in the blink of an eye, the laser accurately penetrated his abdomen, burning his spine from front to back.

The troupe leader fell heavily, supported the ground with one hand, and knelt in his hot blood, in exchange for the silence of the Iron Giant's cannon fire.

Behind him, the metal wall was exactly at the previous level of damage that was about to completely collapse, and was not far away from collapse.

"Now we can talk," said Perturabo, no trace of irrationality in his tone.

"Believe it or not believe it..." the troupe leader coughed, turning the pain into a harmless smile, "We just follow the footsteps of fate until someone places us on the chessboard... Don't overestimate our power. , demigods created by the emperor of mankind, don’t transfer the bitterness in your heart to the surface of the facts, demigods, we dare not design a path, and we have no intention of forcing you to do anything..."

He tapped his mask with his free hand: "The changing threads of destiny in the galaxy have brought you and Tuchucha here, and we, the little pawns in the universe, only provide what the human emperor needs when necessary. A little help if…”

The Eldar wiped away the blood that spilled from under his mask.

"If you don't bring this fragment to the surface, Vastor will not be aware of Tuchucha's existence in the barrier of the ruins of the temple; if you want to see the corrupted Craftsman God, then, in After its will is triggered, it will have about three days to allow you to set up a trap."

"You sound more confident about capturing a demigod than we do, Avatar."

Morse said, crouching in front of the troupe leader to achieve eye-level perspective next to the crumbling disciples of the Laughing God.

"Is this the gospel of the Laughing God that the troupe obtained? About how to lure the fallen god of the Eldar to the humans who are enemies of him?"

"A long time ago, I made another joke." The troupe leader laughed loudly and threw his injured body to the ground. "I said to an old friend, look, old madman, I will challenge you. Now, you might be able to eat your companions and rob them of their strength! He smiled and said, "Don't lie to me. Do you think I'm a fool? I might as well eat you to fill my appetite." !”

"Then, he took a bite from the left and a bite from the right, making his own kind look like me, and swallowed them all in his stomach. The fragments were tossing in his skin, making his head hurt. In the end, the old lunatic discovered the truth and tortured himself crazy, so he ran away!"

His laughter stopped abruptly: "This is a malicious plan, humans. My sincerity to the Emperor of Mankind is already enough! What about you, respected friends, what do you want to do with my gifts and What’s your intention?”

Perturabo looked at the fragments of the sword, assessing its value and the rewards that a weak craftsman god could bring to the human empire.

After many years, he was still deeply impressed by the memory of facing one of the dark gods in Olympia; and the comparison of Vastor's current power undoubtedly revealed a clear and absurd gap.

Perhaps he was injured by Chaos when the Eldar fell, or perhaps the damage caused to him by Bloodhand Kane has never healed. The fallen Vaal is still not worthy of the title of god; as to whether there will be a turning point in the future, it is unknown.

In a sense, what the followers of the Laughing God handed them was indeed a rare gift.

"I will not fight a Chaos Demigod." Perturabo said, walking around the muffled ancient Eldar forge and walking to Mors. "Do me a favor, Morse."

"Okay." Morse said, "What's the matter?"

"Return to Gomor alone and tell Conrad Curze of Vastor's existence. He is my brother. He will see this as an opportunity and you can travel independently through the Webway."

The steel giant raised his head, as if he was seeing the dark city at the other end of the network through the thick soil.

"I'm waiting here. In three days, I will return to the surface with the fragments of Dawn's Anaris. At that time, I hope that the Harlequin airship can send Tuchucha and me back to Gomo, hanging in the sky above the black sun, waiting... …”

"The fallen scum of the false gods come to boldly offend the true demigods?" Morse said.

"The Chaos Demigod has come to boldly offend the descendants of the Lord of Mankind." Perturabo corrected his wording, then looked down at the troupe leader lying on his back, "This is my request."

Furthermore, he was not prepared to add any further discussion to anyone other than his own brother and Morse about what to do with Vastor, or indeed Gomor as a whole.

"Of course, of course," said the Avatar, "Can you take me with you when you return to the surface, dear friend? You see, I am a little inconvenient to move now..."

"Enough," Morse interrupted him, "Stop the pretense, Avatar of the God of Laughter."

——

"Morse said: This is the whereabouts of the God of Craftsman."

Conrad Curz closed his eyes, leaned quietly in his cold chair with several layers of leather cushions, and muttered broken words to himself in the unique accent of Nostramo.

"The craftsman couldn't help wondering why people still haven't seen the Eldar who fell into Chaos... Or maybe it's just a matter of luck and probability."

"A feast on the gambling table, a golden cup made of flesh and blood, was delivered to my bloody hands by my brother, the giant of machinery and the master of craftsmanship. My bleeding fingertips were burned by tolerance, and my wounded heart trembled in front of unknown opportunities, pulling my dry bones and blood."

"Drink it, I seem to hear the whispers, drink your pride, and be shocked by his understanding of you. Your amazingly dirty soul, in the gift of blood relatives, received a blessing of forgiveness and the best news before going to sleep. Your inner affectation is easily seen through, even if he is thousands of miles away from you..."

A cheer from the crowd woke him up. He opened his eyes tiredly, his dark eyes fixed on the noisy and jubilant Eldar, watching another new item of goods being wiped clean by slaves, carrying wooden boxes into the vast hall that once belonged to the Church of the Sun.

His remains servant, Lilia Ande, silently instructed the visitor to deliver the gift to the shadow covered by the leather curtain with her scarlet-gloved hands, and piled it carelessly with a large number of other gifts.

These Eldar, who respected power and thirsted for power from the depths of their souls, had already regarded his court as one of the most important forces with potential in Gomori. Hints of surrender were endless, and gifts and agreements piled up like mountains.

Conrad Curze did not shirk his responsibility and accepted them all. He was happy to enhance the active atmosphere inside the Underworld and let the Eldar themselves guess his true thoughts and ultimate goals.

Whether the Eldar regarded him as a foolish upstart who had gained power overnight, or a hidden overlord who was thinking too much, all of this would be determined when the Emperor came here, and the sins would be thoroughly cleansed; but before that, he had to hold Gomo in his hands first.

He didn't have enough time. A mere ten years of experience was almost insignificant to the Eldar society that counted thousands of years. But... Perturabo gave him a gift that was exactly in line with his plan.

Conrad Curze put his hand on his chest and felt the beating of his heart.

In a moment, he looked at the entrance of the hall, waiting for a familiar figure to approach him.