Chapter 276 Arrangement

"We...they have a kind of cheese that uses specially cultivated and selected tiny fungi to make a cheese with a unique taste; the recipe has been inherited from the ancient Eldar Empire, and its only function is to make people with normal tastes within a Terra week. Not in the mood to eat. But, huh..."

Conrad Coates held a fork awkwardly with his hand, flipping the square piece of burnt black pickled pork on the plate, watching the sauce of unknown raw materials flow along the surface of the silver fork, leaving traces of traces wherever it went. Next piece of thick black pulp.

"I found another use for it, and that was to help induce vomiting during emergency procedures after someone had taken this bouncing meal."

After finishing speaking, Coze showed a signature abnormal smile to the Emperor sitting opposite him.

"Am I right, Father?" He deliberately softened his voice. "How did you manage to eat these... things, great Emperor of the Galaxy?"

On the other side of the long table, Morse grinned. Under the sudden change in the tone of the Primarch's voice, he smoothed the shivers on his skin through his sleeves.

The Emperor lowered his hand on the fork gently. He glanced at Conrad Coates calmly. No matter whether it was the golden laurel crown on his head that seemed to be emitting platinum light, or the black robe embroidered with gold eagles, there was no trace of being messed up.

It’s hard to imagine that such a noble king calmly finished a plate of fried mushroom slices half-cooked with his gold-plated fork.

A whole plate.

"I actually didn't ask you to eat..." Angron moved forward in his seat.

As the Emperor took his first bite, Angron admitted that he was actually laughing. But after the Emperor and Konrad Curze began to inexplicably compete secretly over the objects on the table that could barely be called "food", Angron gradually felt a sense of guilt and unease in his heart.

"Normally they wouldn't make Tiao Tiao like this. Today they were thinking about how to prepare the best meal for the emperor to celebrate, so they developed some... unusual food."

"Oh, Angron," Mors said, sitting on a special high chair, tapping his fingers on the table casually, "in front of us, you don't actually need to restrain your greenskin accent. For example, 'Rehmannia', I I quite like this pronunciation.”

The Emperor turned a deaf ear to the chatter beside him, still looking intently at Conrad's face.

"You can do it too," the Emperor said. "You have the potential to defeat me in these areas. Will you do it, Eighth Son?"

Conrad Coates took a bite of pickled pork and put his fork down sharply the moment his lips touched the tip.

"I'm not Leman Russ, why do I have to compete with you in eating and drinking?" Curze leaned back angrily, pushing the plate away from him and his awkward fork. "You win, Emperor."

Once a person develops the bad habit of grabbing food with his hands early in life, tableware will change from a practical tool in his eyes to a cynical "ineffective prop for falsifying civilization."

The Emperor nodded calmly, and a layer of golden light floated on the surface of his empty dinner plate, just like a speck of dust in the air stirring up ripples in the air current.

After the light floating on the surface faded, the illusion was exposed. The untouched puff-ball grilled mushroom slices were stir-fried half-cooked and reappeared on the porcelain plate with gold-rimmed patterns.

"I win, Konrad Curze." The Emperor said, without any clue that he had just won an eating and drinking contest by deception - or maybe it was not an illegal trick, after all, there was no one in the game. Clear competition rules have been stated.

Curze's eyes fell on the emperor's full dinner plate and the clean, golden fork beside it, and he couldn't leave.

The Emperor spoke slowly, with a solemn expression: "You set your rules, Eighth Son. But not everyone will obey them; and among those who obey, there will be deception and betrayal. You will remember this. One day, and at this time, all this only happened on a high table in a small hall. "

"Here we go again," Morse murmured in a low voice, and at the same time let his psychic power help his voice float into the ears of everyone present, "Find some glorious lines as resplendent as the Emperor's Dream to embellish your personality. The egregious nature of the conduct.”

"Morse." The Emperor turned to him.

"You pronounce my name to the point of despair, Emperor." Morse said, "But I still recommend that you try the Green Skin Butter Mushroom Beer. It is really good. It has a refreshing taste and is spicy enough. It is better than yours." Imperial’s Amaceco is much better.”

The Emperor made no move. "I remember that this body of yours did not complete the debugging of the taste system." He said.

Konrad Coates grabbed the goblet, glanced at the bubbling mushroom beer, closed his eyes and drank it in one gulp, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"Morse is right, father," Coates said.

Perturabo, who was quietly watching the entire royal dinner where the green-skinned chef devoted himself, suddenly said: "That's true."

Angron picked up the cup, fanned the hot air from the top of the beer to his nose, then took a sip and said, "It's very good. It's rare for them to think about the right thing."

The emperor sighed softly, half believing it or not, but hesitantly stretched out his hand to pinch the handle of the cup and wet his mouth slightly with beer.

He put down his cup and fell into silence.

"How?" Morse smiled.

"...Not bad." The emperor said, showing a rare surprise in the two words.

"Is that so?" Morse did not hesitate to let his laughter echo in the hall. For a moment, the huge golden hall was filled with the laughter of a mortal-sized humanoid - or maybe it was just because the others were too quiet.

"Morse..." The Emperor interrupted him.

"I just want to say," Morse immediately stopped laughing, just like the previous laughter was just waiting for the end brought by the Emperor, "Now you finally find out that there is only one person in this hall who is lying, respected human emperor. Do you think I will do the same fraud as you?"

"In addition, I did calibrate the settings of the taste organs because I am ready to return to Olympia."

Considering the various possibilities after returning to Olympia, he actually prepared the body under the black clothes for use. Twenty years ago in Macragge, wandering around the large bathhouse without being able to enter, still remained in his memory.

The Emperor slowly inhaled and exhaled, and the glittering psychic light on the surface of the golden crown fluctuated, sometimes bright and sometimes dim.

"You are right," the Emperor said, giving up on further argument.

He probably just realized that there were three Primarchs in the hall, three of whom were talented in debate and all of whom had a good relationship with Morse, and he was alone, and would suffer a more unfortunate defeat in the debate than the fried mushroom slices of the puffball.

The Emperor took another sip of mushroom beer. This time the drinking process became more straightforward.

"When are you going to Olympia?" the Emperor asked, "Why?"

"Do you say it, or do I say it?" Morse turned halfway to emphasize the presence of Perturabo beside him with body language.

"Let me do it." Perturabo nodded. "I am going to hold a global sports meeting on my home planet to celebrate the successful progress of the expedition, to restore the competitive spirit needed for the expedition, and to launch the space fortress I built. After the other part of me returns with the energy source, the Iron Wing will be able to rise into space. If you allow, father, I hope to return after confirming that Conrad Curze has completed the meeting with the Legion."

"Why this time?" Curze whispered, "Will I do anything to my Legion?"

"Olympia Games?" asked the Emperor.

"Yes... that's the name." Perturabo was a little surprised. He was not sure whether the Emperor just guessed the name or he really knew something.

"You found this word from the waste paper pile of the old library in Olympia, Perturabo," Morse said, "and our human emperor is much older than that pile of paper."

"What about you? How old are you?" Curze asked curiously. He was always curious about this person who had never appeared in his prophecy. He was now gradually certain that the deviation between reality and prophecy was definitely closely related to Morse.

"Older than Malcador," Morse said, "He has made himself look like a gray-clothed old man. Who knows that he is still young and in his prime in the etheric field?"

"Malcador is vital to the Empire." The Emperor said, "You are also."

"I heard a kind of 'even' in your 'also'," Morse used a fork to poke the jumping sauce on his plate, "So, are you coming to watch our sports meeting?"

"There are many expeditions, and the responsibility of human revival is borne here. Although a moderate amount of leisure and play is a way to conserve energy, I don't need This is a chance to rest. "

"If nothing goes wrong, I will write the scripts for the opening and closing ceremonies," Morse said leisurely, speaking slowly and clearly, "Perturabo suggested that the theme be human history. I think this is not only of great significance, but also rich in material and legends. It is the best choice."

"If this exhibition is successful, I can write all the plays required for the next twenty sessions at once, which can be regarded as doing it while I am in the mood... So, are you sure you don't want to be the artistic director of the historical play I wrote?"

+I will go.+The Emperor said in a different way.

"Can I receive an invitation?" Curze asked. "I am not in a hurry to go to Baal."

"Of course, if you want." Perturabo thought for a while and agreed.

In an instant, he thought of a possibility. If this sports meeting can have enough space warriors from different legions attend, it may not be impossible to develop into a grand event that includes all legions in the future, which can also be regarded as further laying the foundation for the importance of Olympia in the human empire.

"After you meet your gene-children, you can also bring some of them. I will add a fighting match between Space Marines." Perturabo said, "Although the rules will be different from your legion's red sand field," he nodded in Angron's direction, "it will still be a feast of weapons."

"Feast of Blades," Curze spat out a word, staring at Perturabo, "Why don't you name it that?"

"Also," said the Iron Lord, after a little thought, and shook his head slightly, "No, the word is too sharp, more like the naming convention adopted by the Imperial Fists. In any case, thank you for your suggestion."

"Angron, are you coming?" he asked.

"Let me ask Kahn," Angron replied, "to see if the Legion can spare some time."

"Okay, Olympia looks forward to your arrival."

"I also look forward to seeing the memorial you mentioned, Perturabo," because the two were separated by a table, Angron did not pat Perturabo's shoulder as usual, but just widened his smile, "You built so many Iron Warriors memorials, but we didn't have the opportunity to see them."

"It's just that we have a rare opportunity to go to Olympia together," Perturabo said, noting the Emperor's expression, "Father, you can also visit our memorial together, do you agree?"

+Okay. +The Emperor replied briefly and continued to drink his mushroom wine. He always enjoyed the time when he didn't have to talk.

Perturabo called his brothers' names one by one in his mind, and finally said regretfully, "Magnus may not have this free time. There is a crisis on his flagship... the combination of inanimate objects and the soulless flesh and blood of the real universe to break through the veil."

"He has informed me," said the Emperor. "I told him that he has the right to deal with it alone."

"It actually sounds more like a request for help from you," Morse commented casually, "You know, Magnus really doesn't like to deal with things behind the veil."

"Not very like?" Curze repeated, this time it was indeed a subconscious action. He pinched the fork, rolled his teeth over his lips, and then restrained his habit of biting his lips to taste blood.

"To be precise, Magnus's sense of the ether is relatively complex." Perturabo added, "He will not resist, but he does not want to use it too much - and the premise of all this is that he may be one of the few best psionic masters within the Empire."

Curze took a deep breath. "Okay, so Magnus is not free to go? You made me want to meet him once."

"He himself is not free, but another version of him must be able to."

Perturabo raised a finger, as if to compare the height of something.

"And some of his descendants are still participating in a new round of exchanges in my legion, Iskandar Khayon, the captain of that team. Therefore, it can also be counted as him leading the warriors to visit Olympia?"

"In addition..." He thought, "Those far away in the other side of the galaxy will hold off on inviting them, but Fulgrim, Ferrus Manus and Vulkan will all return to Terra in the near future. Father, will they receive new urgent tasks?"

"Horus Lupercal will." The Emperor said.

"Well, you have a unique way of expressing your trust in him." Morse shrugged. "Where did your warriors go? Where did your warriors turn? So we can go with you to find him."

"That's settled for now," Perturabo smiled. "I will invite you, Konrad Curze, Angron, Fulgrim, Ferrus Manus, Vulkan, another Magnus, and Rogal Dorn to watch the first Olympic Games together."

"I will meet with my Eighth Legion tomorrow." Curze stood up and said, "It is really exciting." He said with a double meaning.