Chapter 274 Moment

This feeling is a little strange, Perturabo thought.

He sat behind his desk, with more than a dozen interconnected Thinker screens flashing quietly on the table. Files and data were quickly exchanged between his brain and the machine through thin cables.

In these flashing characters and numbers, the pattern of the world was disassembled and reconstructed, and the reality of human cognition was redefined by theory and presented to the Primarch in a form that was reorganized and summarized.

Then, a fragment of memory came to him, and the picture, sound and emotion all came from a younger self.

Crazy swirling spots and howling winds entangled between the broken reality and the warp, Morse lost his body and turned into a floating black cloth. Their fall spanned time and space, and the alternating realms brought an unexpected separation.

This is the first moment. Perturabo thought. An important moment.

And in front of him - a more realistic and more focused front, his first captain of the engineering company was reporting on his weekly work.

Kedomo Fricks, in the engineering team of the reorganized Webway, this Terran descendant who yearns for Olympia is one of the few surviving Iron Warriors in the first team to arrive at the Webway.

As the progress of this grand project deepened, the number of warriors killed in the exploration and development of the Webway began to exceed Perturabo's expectations; and their deaths and disappearances, even more, existed in an unexpected and irreversible short moment.

The dimensional storm brought by a broken Webway door is enough to cause an entire section of uncontrolled space to collapse. A complete individual may be decomposed and teleported into a thousand lost fragments in the blink of an eye.

This is not pleasant.

Every promising warrior who was drawn from the glorious galaxy to enter the endless Webway project is equivalent to experiencing one or two deaths-the first in social terms, and the second in the possible physiological sense.

Therefore, when some rumors were spread to the expeditionary army, Perturabo never denied that he personally caused the sacrifice of his offspring.

"... This is the result of this week and the problem to be solved next week, father." Fricks said, his helmet was held near his waist armor, and from his micro-expression, Perturabo realized that the warrior saw his distraction at that moment.

"I remember you longed for Olympia." Perturabo said.

Fricks was stunned for a moment, and his originally calm expression tightened. "Yes." The warrior answered honestly. "Do you miss it, father?"

"Some." Perturabo closed his eyes and opened them again. "I don't always have time to go back, but the Queen of Olympia's message is always alive in my data stream. Maybe I should allow you to visit Olympia and then bring you into this milky white network."

Frex saluted, "Thank you, father. But I am deeply satisfied with my current work and life. If you have any troubles, I am also willing to share your worries."

"Then help me watch Angron and tell him not to bring wine into the greenskins. No alcohol is allowed, and Fenris mead is even more prohibited."

"Yes, my lord." Frex prepared to leave.

"Wait a minute, Kedomo." Perturabo leaned back in his seat, his hands folded in his lap, "Magnus mentioned that the new chief of his Black Crow School has been decided. Who do you think it will be?"

"Azak." Frex said immediately, a smile appeared on his serious face, "I will save my blessing for him until the day the project is completed."

"Well, go." Perturabo said. It is undeniable that he likes others to mention the future of great achievements with a confident attitude.

...Then the memories came. Some more moments came one after another, swarming in.

The black rain, the dim dying stars, the artillery fire that illuminated the Gomora in the sky, and Konrad Curze who was thrown to the ground by his backhand. He stared at that arrogant and panicked brother. And Morse fired the first bullet for the future disputes under the control spire of the Irmea star.

He had these moments, but he had more. Those were some moments that he didn't know how many years it would take for Morse to return.

These moments were not as difficult to get through as imagined.

He had the guidance of the Emperor, the company of his brothers, and the fighting side by side with his sons. Without the second body made by Morse, he had to find a way to take time out, advance the expedition, build the webway, and return to Olympia to do the work that the master of the star cluster must do.

And Morse had said it long ago.

If something happens, let them separate. He must be ready.

The words echoed in the wind along with the falling snowflakes, blowing in his ears.

He cherished it, and therefore, Perturabo found many things to do for himself.

He looked to the left and pulled a document. This was an invitation from Roboute Guilliman, asking if he wanted to go to Ultramar to visit several newly recovered forge worlds, and, of course, to see what he could take away and what he could add to Roboute.

This was not the document he needed now.

If Roboute's document could be delivered a month earlier, he would definitely go to see what mechanical units the Mechanicus had played that were too wasteful to be piled in the warehouse. But he didn't have the leisure time now.

He folded the files in a familiar format and placed them in a square box with patterns of golden eagles and skulls on the table. Then he stood up and searched for the box he needed in the filing cabinet behind him.

In another moment, the blood rain condensed into thick paint, and the paint rolled across the surface of the filing cabinet, like a torrent and a waterfall, like a bleeding sun, falling into the dark city below. Every stone falling from the top of Comor will have an endless impact on the bottom of Comor countless miles below.

High in the sky, he and Vastor fought in the ashes burned by the scorching sun.

Morse was behind him, watching him, maintaining a volley platform for him to fight on.

His fingertips seemed to be stained with Youdu's blood. And his feet seemed to be swaying in a golden network of runes. This network supported his weight and remained unbroken and unshaken throughout the battle.

Perturabo shook his finger, and the fleeting memories fell like a tide. A very small amount of dust floated in the air, and the iron-gray filing cabinet shone slightly in the golden light of the palace.

Now that the craftsman is back, there's no need to think about it anymore.

He found the correct filing cabinet, verified his identity through genetic testing, and took out the slightly yellowed letter he really needed.

Perturabo carefully uncovered the fire paint that had never been sealed, opened the letter, read Ur-Phoenician, the common language of Olympia, on the paper, added a new date at the end with his pen, and folded it again. , melt the red wax, and truly seal the letter.

This little gadget can finally come in handy, and all the preparations made in the past are not in vain.

"So, yes. Our rhetoric at the time unintentionally foreshadowed the future, or the past compared to the present."

Perturabo said calmly. Behind him, two heavy adamantine doors closed tightly with a slight hiss.

A string of magic patterns of the Imperial Chancellor that are different from Morse's curse, the emperor's unique golden cold spiritual energy, and the curse seal from Magnus's hand, are carefully designed by craftsmen on the surface of the door. The resulting skull patterns and coincident patterns blended into each other, weaving a tight network in the shape of a five-pointed star, completely nailing the space around the Tuchucha engine.

The three rays of light appeared and flashed in turn, appearing fragile in the trembling. However, if you observe it deeply in the etheric field, you will find that this trembling weakness is not actually the fragility of the rune itself, but the reality. When space carries such majestic energy, it gives unbearable feedback to these three levels of runes.

Morse stretched out his hand to touch the seal on the door, and Magnus's power gave way to him. The light of the magic pattern softly blocked his approach, while the cold light of the Emperor almost blocked the void energy that made up his fingers. Decomposed back to the original runes.

He retracted his hand, repaired his middle finger, and leaned back against the damp, dripping cave wall of the passage.

"How many people?" Morse asked.

"Thirty thousand warriors," Perturabo replied, "divided into thirty engineering companies, led by three war blacksmiths. This is an invisible war, and I have adopted the title of war blacksmith for them."

Morse waited for him to finish, his expression immersed in the soft shadows cast by the cave, but the changes in light and shadow could not hinder the judgment of a Primarch.

"I'm not asking how many people are still alive," Morse said.

"Twenty thousand and sixty-one people." Perturabo said, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breathing, and this rise and fall was hidden under the thick iron armor. "There shouldn't be so many, but this important building A serious void shield rupture occurred in Node City."

"Have you ever searched in subspace?"

"Magnus paid a visit and I think he did the best he could."

Morse was silent for a while, "nearly a tenth of the total," he said. "That's why you subconsciously told me that the warsmith I accidentally asked about was still alive."

Perturabo raised his head. Above the dark tunnel of the Dripping Cave, the Terra Palace, covering hundreds of thousands of square kilometers of land, was constantly emitting sun-like brilliance under the gray sky.

The Light of the Astronomican, the Light of Terra, the Light of the Emperor.

"I didn't keep a record book," Perturabo said. "Fortunately, when the Emperor created me, he allowed my brain to record enough bytes of data."

Morse lowered his head. Due to his height, when he did this, even the Primarch would not be able to see Morse's face through the barrier of the actual object.

"I don't want to make things too heavy, Perturabo," Morse said. "And I don't want to do too many sentimental eccentricities. But some topics can't be buried in the dirt and wait for it. It was just like luck, someone accidentally dug it up on a certain day. We said so frankly many years ago. "

"Today, you are no longer a child, or an immature individual, so I will explain some...my thoughts more directly, but only once."

"Okay." Perturabo replied solemnly.

"In my eyes, twenty years can only be counted as one moment. Even if I spent this entire period in the real universe, I would give the same evaluation, not to mention that I didn't even get this moment. "

"But I know that in your eyes, in the eyes of an individual who has grown up with a human identity and a sense of time, twenty years is composed of countless moments, countless seconds, and even days, months, years, and decades. Although I cannot experience it."

"But there is something that is indeed common between you and me, and you have already accidentally passed it to me."

Morse raised his head, he still had little expression, perhaps he didn't have the mind to imitate additional emotions at this time.

"Emotion." He said, "The vast ocean of the warp is the reflection of sentient spirits, and emotion is one of the foundations of consciousness and memory. Therefore, even if I don't deliberately decipher the code of memory and read these specific moments one by one, I can feel the essential emotions that constitute this information wrapped in these contents, and what emotions are composed of them. It has never been so vivid and heavy."

"Really?" Perturabo answered, and then he was a little dumb. "Yes." He admitted silently.

This made him feel that he had shrunk again, his age was reduced, and he became the child he had been a long time ago. Still, there was something different. Morse wasn't forcing him to answer. He was just waiting for his answer.

Morse nodded. "So, while this may sound pretty self-righteous - I really don't think I've done anything wrong on my part, I think it's best for me to say one word to you. I'm sorry."

"What do you think of that word?" he asked.

"This..." Perturabo exhaled, feeling the warm breeze that rolled over his teeth and brushed across his nose. "It's not your fault."

Morse exhaled an exaggerated sigh of relief, shrugged his shoulders, and spread his hands across his chest.

"I told you, it's not my fault. Well, I've had enough of this moment, and I guess the Emperor and Konrad Curze are done talking, unless they suddenly think of relying on the Emperor's golden light for a candlelight talk. I'll have to go find him later."

"And," Perturabo said. "Welcome back."

Morse pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes, "Well, I'm glad to see you too, even though you and I have never been apart. Damn it."

He reached out and gently patted the leg of the mechanical Perturabo next to him.

"Shall we go out?" Morse asked.

"Before that, I have one more thing." Perturabo said, taking out a letter from his armor that was produced at least ten years ago, but the wax could only seal it for a few hours at most.

"What is this?"

"You mentioned it." Perturabo leaned over and handed the invitation to Morse who held out his hand, "You said you wanted to watch the Olympic Games. So... I think the stadium I built has been used as a temporary open-air theater hall for a long time."