Chapter 272 For Rehmannia

"Long time no see, Morse. Angron stood on the side of the gangway where the Pied Eldar's poker airship landed, opening his arms to greet Morse who was coming down the ladder." Perturabo suddenly told me, if he saw a painted ship of colorful Eldar airships, that's you. Alas, his heart tells me that he misses you, especially the first few years and the last two or three days. His surge of emotions was unforgettable..."

"I'm here too, Angron." The mechanical Perturabo coughed, interrupting Angron.

His slightly electronic voice came from the shadows inside the hatch.

Then, his semi-mechanical body walked out of the cabin and looked into Angron's amber-like warm eyes on the gangway.

"I didn't notice you!" Angron shook his head in surprise, "You...this part of your heart was covered up by another cry of sleep. I didn't mean to..."

"A fragment." Morse explained, standing in the oil mist with a milky white base and a layer of gleaming green light, his feet firmly planted on the ground.

He did not hide his smile, "Zahurash's noise made me fortunate to hear your true voice, Perturabo."

"No, Angron's words are quite boastful..."

"That's not what you think?" Morse joked, turning around and looking up at Perturabo who was frozen on the gangway, "Stop standing here, you've got Conrad stuck behind."

Perturabo gave up his defense and silently agreed to this sentence.

"You'd better not be proud of this, Morse." He said solemnly, then walked down the steps and looked back into the shadow of the hatch: "Conrad?"

"...here." Conrad Coates loomed in the shadows, half of his face exposed to the light. With his pale face, vertical black hair, and his gloomy expression, it was quite a bit strange. A lack of kindness.

He took a step forward, a re-dyed loose black robe covering the leather boots he still wore.

"Who are you?" he asked, staring at Angron with a strange expression.

"I am Angron," Angron answered, "Primarch of the World Eaters of the Twelfth Legion, from Nuceria. I assume you are the Konrad Curze that Perturabo spoke of?" Nice to meet you, brother.”

"Are you Angron?" Curze muttered, as if some expired fruit had been stuffed into his mouth that made his teeth sore, and even the words turned into a low hiss. "Okay, you're Angron. Where's your army? Become..."

He looked at the walls of the Empire's self-made network tunnel under the guidance of the Emperor, which glowed with a strange light and the rough surface twists, and his sour expression gradually deepened.

"...turned into green-skinned orcs? That's why they're called World Eaters, because they eat wherever they go?"

"No, my legion is still composed of Astartes warriors." Angron explained good-naturedly. He could not feel any malice in Konrad Curze's heart, but the level of shock was a bit excessive.

Perhaps the misunderstanding that all the troops under the banner of a Primarch are aliens is a bit too unbelievable for this newly returned brother?

"I didn't see them." Cozz's dark eyes swept over Angron's head. The results he obtained made him a little frustrated, but his steps became brisk. He stepped on the flexible leather boots that fit his feet and walked down the gangway. It floated down like a black cloud. "They don't ask where their generals are?"

Angron laughed twice with a cheerful expression, "This goes back to one of the most correct decisions I have made in my life. I handed over the responsibility of the army commander to Kahn! I am not good at managing military affairs. Why not delegate it to talented and credible people?”

"You're right." The expression on Conrad Coates' face relaxed, perhaps because of the bright background reflected, or perhaps because he suddenly gained some inspiration from it, and the pupils of his eyes shone slightly, " You're right, Angron. That's good advice."

Although Angron didn't understand why, the happiness in Curze's heart was real.

He nodded, pointed to the other end of the webway, and took a step forward. His familiarity with this stretch of road spoke volumes.

"This is the way back to Terra. We can just walk this distance. Perturabo, Morse, I think Perturabo is waiting in the Mysterious City - the Webway Node City. At least I When he came, he was there to supervise the project."

"Wait a moment," Morse floated up, "Okay, you just go ahead and walk."

"But what are these statues?" Conrad Coates glanced at them and then looked away.

Having lived for a long time in the palace spire that inherited the gorgeous legacy of the Ancient Eldar, he couldn't praise the design of these rough statues. If he were here, he would rather build a creaking bone path with green-skinned bones. In order to add some pleasant interest to the boring and unchangeable journey of the webway during the walking process.

"I can't stop them," Angron briefly spread his hands, and then continued to let his hands swing naturally and generously by his sides.

The bright red triumphal rope around his waist is still bright, but at this moment it no longer seems to represent a painful scar, but a decoration, embellishment and record of the past. Knots are indeed one of the oldest ways of writing and remembering since the birth of human intelligence.

"They must build these statues for me. Every time they finish their work, they come here to worship, first praising the golden guy, then praising the axe guy... What can I do? Not to mention you," he looked at Perturabo, his eyebrows sank, his face helpless, and grinned, "You said that this is also a gift, it seems I have to accept it."

"When did you make the gift so weird?" Morse patted Perturabo's shoulder beside him.

"Considering that you have spoken my mind," Perturabo replied, looking at the Lord of Red Sand, "I seem to have earned the right to explain how you share happiness with this group of creatures in the alien pile, Angron."

"A warrior, a brave man wielding a huge axe, a general who can withstand ten thousand enemies, the master of the red sand, but often comes here in his spare time to guide the greenskins to speed up their work, and occasionally fight with the greenskins, while taking time to immerse himself in the jubilant spiritual atmosphere and emotional waves. I can hardly find a more heretical Primarch than you-"

"And some people, when they first learned that they were going to lead the greenskins to build, were still procrastinating and worried outside the webway, and even Rogal Dorn agreed to it. Who is so different before and after?"

Angron's grinning mouth never closed, "Well, brother, you must say that I am the most heretic person, how can I stop you?"

"I am the most heretic Primarch." Konrad Curze said suddenly.

"Why do you say that?" Angron turned his head. "Although I am not familiar with you, you don't have to belittle yourself, Konrad Curze. This is just a joke between Perturabo and me."

"No, I am just objectively stating an unknown fact, my brother," Konrad stretched out the tail sound, echoing like a thin thread in the empty environment of the webway.

In this empty surreal space, his words sounded like a thin spider thread, and the tiny noise was erased and offset by the vast blank space, leaving only the purest emotional experience, which was something close to pleasure.

"I really don't understand what you are comparing, young people," Morse said, "The Emperor's halo, I have been away for twenty years, not stepping into the time and space that went back twenty years ago."

They continued to move forward, letting the leader of the Laughing God's followers, whose real name is still unknown, drag the Tuchucha engine behind them and slowly follow, until a noisy noise gradually came from the empty environment, as if there were thousands of lives shouting and screaming in the same place, while crackling and moving messy building materials everywhere.

Conrad Curze's face was tense, his steps slowed down slightly, and he forced himself to catch up again.

He had already smelled an unpleasant smell - perhaps this was also a manifestation of his oversensitivity to dirty environments.

Soon, the first trace of green appeared at the edge of vision. This was a symbolic omen. In the unique spatial transformation of the webway, after a few steps, the green-skinned orcs were already close at hand.

This group of noisy creatures of different sizes, with tattered vests of either red or yellow, or black and yellow, hanging on their clumsy bodies, and hard hats on their heads that were either too big to block their eyes or too small to be like a small bottle cap, were busy on the road.

The big green-skinned foreman was showing off his power and commanding the construction boys to run around. Along the way, all kinds of debris and chaotic dyes that seemed to not exist in this world were painted all over the ground.

"Hurry up, you kid, hurry up and stuff this square stone into the gap for us. I know it will definitely work and can block it. Let you be lazy, and wait for Brother Axe waaaagh to come back..." It spoke in a low Gothic language that could fully prove the failure of Magnus's education, and ordered a jumping boy.

"I'm here." Angron said.

"For Rehmannia!" The big greenskin turned around suddenly, and suddenly thought of something. He turned back and quietly spit out the elastic Sgugo that he was chewing in his mouth, then turned back, "Boss Angron!"

"Who allowed you to chew Sgugo here? I don't know if you will..."

"Yes, yes, boss, we will beat this kid to death with eleven strokes, and it will not happen again next time, I understand!"

"Come back!" Angron called him, "Why are you trying to be clever with me? Forget it this time, tell me where is the boss Hongsui who is on duty here?"

"I don't know, I just saw him walking back, maybe that what, what... what?" The greenskin thought about the human word for a long time, but couldn't spit it out.

"Shift change?" Angron asked, "Then we wait here. According to the current regulations, entering the area within the boundary from the outside requires the permission of the Imperial Guard. You...what are you doing?"

"Who are these three people?" The greenskinned foreman approached Conrad Curze secretly, "Axe Boss, why does this big guy smell like that? How do you say it, the pointy ears..."

"Get out of the way," Curze frowned, held his breath and stretched out his claws, stepping back, his already too large dark eyes widened further, staring at the greenskin angrily.

This expression in Gomor would be enough to make any Eldar who knew the name of the Blood Marquis feel like they were falling to the bottom of the underworld. If it were in Nostramo, the old nobles and gangs might have already started kneeling and asking how many bones they had to hand over as taxes today.

But the greenskin contractor just stretched out his dirty big hand, put it on the top of his head that had never been washed in his life, and scratched it hard, "Why are you running away? I won't touch you, and Axe Boss will be very unhappy. No, who are you? And this black shrimp, I smell it, it seems a little familiar..."

"Return to the queue, Wakala Big Head." A calm voice came through the golden helmet.

The eagle helmet hummed, the red robe was draped, and a guard strode in, with a red tassel on his head flowing like blood. As soon as he appeared, the greenskin changed the vitality when Angron appeared, and he was depressed, dejected, and listlessly focused on his work.

Morse could feel that behind the golden helmet, the guard was examining the unfamiliar Conrad Curze, and even without looking at the pattern characteristics on the armor, he gave people a familiar feeling.

"Constantine Valdor," Morse said, with a ceremonial fake smile on his face, "I'm glad to see you again."

He thought of the Emperor telling him a few days ago, in the universe outside the Forge of Fire, that Constantine Valdor was also the key to the plan.

How could a Guardsman, even the commander of the Guards, the leader of ten thousand men, be called this?

"Morse," Valdor said, turning his helmet, his golden face looking directly at the man in black robes. "You were absent."

"Before. Remember to change the tense, Commander." Morse shrugged nonchalantly, "Are you here to check the machine?"

Valdor nodded slightly, so little that the red tassel on his head hardly moved.

"The engine will be placed at the bottom of the Hollow Mountains. My Lord has set up a place for it to be restrained," he looked at the Eldar airship following behind the others, "This thing must not approach the Terra Palace."

The runes on Mors' palm surged, and he snapped his fingers, and Tuchucha immediately broke away from the tail of the airship. A seemingly invisible string was wrapped around his wrist, pulling behind him like a kite's long line.

"Where is Perturabo?" Mors asked, "I heard he is in the Mysterious City, why don't you go find him?"

"No need." Valdo replied, "Come back to the palace with me, the fourth son is waiting in the hall. Angron, take care of the construction rules here, don't forget the rules."

"So serious," Konrad Curze snorted, "Constantine Valdo. Yelling at my brother again, huh?"

Valdo did not respond, as if he had not heard.

"Let's go," he said.