Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 278 Olympia

Olympia.

In Morse's memory, Olympia is a lush green planet.

Before everything began, before the meteor-falling Primarch sent the prelude of the new era along the invisible line of music to this planet that had spent too many peaceful days in the old night, Olympia was Such a place.

Silent and motionless, from the small needle-like green leaves on the tender brown treetops, to the hazy mist at the bottom of the cliff that changes every season, and the mist between the rugged rocks. In the snow-white city and the farmland villages beyond the bushes outside the city, the soft lights trembled and burned slightly, and the flowing streams lapped on the shore and murmured.

People rode four-hoofed animals, driving nailed wooden carts, carrying bundles of animal skins, dried bird feathers, or newly harvested barley. If they were close to rivers and valleys, they would add more. Get on a cart of river fish pressed with ice, go to the market in the center of the city, pull on a colorful sunshade cloth, and put a string of homemade straw hats beside the stall.

Then, imagine how the poets would sing in front of the temple you passed by on your way home.

——On the way back and forth, remember to avoid the sheep grazing on the road. Who knows what kind of disputes there may be?

When walking outside the city, you can take a look at the barracks and tents in the distance. If you get too close, the spears of the soldiers of the local lord will be blocked by the door.

They won't let people in, but even if you are bored enough to put on a different costume, perform a little deception, and enter the barracks, you will soon be bored and leave again. There is no other way. Besides food, spear racks and money bags, what else can be found in these places.

In Olympia, see these hills, many forests, valleys, oceanless rivers, flat heather fields, fortresses, dotted city-states, these scenes that have not changed for thousands of years - no, add Perturabo Before leaving Lokos, let’s do the magnificent work in the last ten years!

Then, there are still a group of factories built thirty years ago, some steel steam, a new military defense circle, more gray-white or yellow-black traffic roads, and new drainage channels that cannot be seen on the surface but do exist. , the regular street lights brought by the new power supply system, and the double-layered glass windows that reflect the bright sun and require curtains to block the midday sun in summer...

All living things are rolled up by the atmosphere of the planet, and the milky white clouds hovering above the earth are constantly wrapped in the silence of the universe, like solidified crystal or frozen amber, staying in Morse's final thoughts here. in memory.

Like a transparent and clear crystal ball that can be held in both hands, everything is clear and clean, converging into a soft and rhythmic familiar word, Olympia.

his home?

Did he ever say the word? Morse thought, He didn't.

Morse knew something would be different. The time he had lost was twenty years, and the separation from Olympia was more than thirty years.

If this period of time were placed in the old night, it would not even be as long as a minute or a millisecond; but now is the Great Expedition, in that bright and glorious day when the great hope shines like a dream, everything is competing, Dream shadows flicker, and the years change incredibly fast.

Although it is only a few decades, it is not difficult to imagine that the people on this planet can make up for the scientific and technological progress that spans hundreds of years. Under the guidance and planning of Perturabo and Califon, and under the Primarch himself, Under his selection and leadership, no matter how much Olympia changes, it’s hard to overstate.

Suddenly, everything appears, renewed. The planet appeared at the edge of his sight. His aimless imagination suddenly hit the bank of reality violently.

Those shiny thin threads, the bead-like monofilament network woven from metal, were clearly right in front of his eyes.

The space stations floating in orbit suddenly appeared in circles like rustling sounds in the dark universe, forming several intertwined artificial silver stripes that were woven around the outside of the entire planet.

Countless merchant ships exchange between the space station and space. Although the number is not as high as that of Terra, the core throne world of the human empire, with the snow-like clouds and looming verdant surface of Olympia as the background, combined with the careful planning and organization, it brings The regular interweaving and exchange of elements emphasizes the beauty of the combination of regularity and practicality.

Behind the clouds, in the green planet that once had different shades of oil paint, there are silver and black walls running along the terrain, reminding Morse of the silver edge on the shoulder armor of a Space Marine, or the edge of the Aquila flag. The flying tassels re-divide and utilize the original green material, transforming it into something that has been adjusted to adapt to the new era.

Olympia. Morse thought.

It is like an old olive tree with lush branches and leaves, dark green and standing for thousands of years. The branches and young leaves sway privately year after year. In the remote plain wilderness, they rustle to themselves, making the world A canopy as thick and concealing as black velvet covered it.

Until one day, people found it, discovered it, decorated it with gold and silver ribbons, let it be rediscovered, and let the sky once again envelope it in another bright and joyful way, until it was covered by thousands of people. A golden light was sprayed with a layer of clear glaze again.

It's different. It's no longer the Olympia it once was. Even though it still bears that particularly ancient name, it has left Morse's memory.

It's not just the memories of the 30th millennium. What it really leaves behind are the memories of those 30,000 years ago that once belonged to him, and only to him, and to a few other lucky or unfortunate people.

The more ancient Olympia, the original one.

Morse wasn't sure how to describe the present...Olympia. Now it was a planet that belonged to Perturabo alone, the experimental city and utopia of the Iron Lord. It is a forward-looking microcosm of the future and a transformative manifesto of the past.

He quietly looked at the changed planet through the porthole of the Iron-Blooded.

The porthole was of course closed, reflecting his own face, a pale face divided by messy black hair, and an expression that always seemed to have some irony.

Outwardly, he has not changed much; but Perturabo and Olympia are moving forward, and the era led by the Emperor is marching forward, peeling off the puddles and stair railings on the country roads that are not conducive to the advancement of vehicles. of sawdust and the thin, attractive wildflowers at the edge of the fields were left behind.

Morse listened to the blood flowing calmly in the simulated blood vessels. He did not feel hesitant or confused, nor was he very excited.

If he still loved the land, it was because it was Perturabo's work.

——Suddenly, all the thoughts gathered together to form a long thread, passing through the maze, leading to a clear end point: there were some words written on the end point, which read like the language he was familiar with many years ago, and the meaning was roughly Yes, this place is called Olympia, but it is not Olympia of Terra.

Not from the beginning.

In the long river of time, it had once been similar and had become... Maybe this similarity also contained some of his handwriting, but he would not admit it.

Now, when the river forks and the planet chooses the better course, it never will be again.

No, what's wrong with that? He has never been one to dwell on the past.

Perturabo was proud of his achievements.

He turned from the window. Many familiar faces were gathered in Perturabo's office.

Konrad Curze, who was as silent as if he didn't exist; Magnus sitting on the pile of documents; the data tablet that symbolized Horus Luperkar - at this time, the center of the plate screen was empty, with only A map full of military markings was hung on the wall behind the desk; Fulgrim and Ferrus Manus each occupied a single sofa; An, who ran to the corridor to chat because the room was too crowded, Gronn and Vulcan...

And, of course, there was Perturabo himself, back in his Olympian toga, holding another dataslate and sitting in his steel chair.

"Morse," Perturabo said, putting down the tablet and pointing out the window, "The Iron Blood is about to reach the half of the planet where my space fortress can be seen."

"Your space fortress..." Morse raised an eyebrow and spoke in his usual carefree and brisk manner, "How does it compare with the Phalanx?"

"From what point of comparison?" Perturabo asked, "From what point of view should I begin to state the advantages of the Cheorwon?"

Behind him, Fulgrim let out a soft laugh.

"Rogal Dorn brought his Mountain Formation. If we can compare it directly, it is Ferrus' favorite competitive mode," Phoenix said. "This is the first time I have seen two space fortresses. Located in the same star system."

"It's coming," Curze said, in his characteristic sleepy and cold tone, but this time it was used to describe reality rather than fantasy, "Cheorwon?"

"Cheorwon." Perturabo confirmed.

He stood up from the iron chair, went to the window, and stared at the outline of its creation gradually revealed on the hazy edge of Olympia.

First, an iron-gray line segment about one-third of the diameter of Olympia appeared on the side of the planet. Then, the line segment expanded to one side, turned into a curved arc, and then expanded into a crescent-like edge. Finally, an iron-gray ring stopped steadily facing the window of the Iron Blood.

On the outside of this steel hollow ring frame with a diameter of about two thousand kilometers, hidden behind the well-sealed iron gaps, are undoubtedly numerous detection instruments, remote turrets and void shield generating devices. Any arc can be supplemented. The firepower output of a fleet - and the standard of firepower is naturally the fully equipped offensive fleet of the Iron Warriors.

Ferrus Manus turned sideways in his seat, his silver-mirror eyes filled with the structure of the Cheorwon. He was the Primarch who best understood the design of Perturabo's fortress. Because of this, he was particularly surprised by the effort and technology the Lord of the Fourth Legion put into this fortress.

Within the hollow ring, three levels of concentric circles are nested. The central circle forms a cohesive and towering shape, like a double-sided tower. This is undoubtedly the core hall of the Cheorwon, as well as the control center of complex mechanical devices such as energy supply and transmission.

In the outer two floors, each round of concentric circles is divided into regular large sections, which serve as different functional zones. Different segments and different rings have gaps visible to the naked eye in the middle; segments are fixed by silver-white annular rings that they rely on together; rings and rings extend outward from the center of the circle to three straight steel bars on the frame. locking.

These structures nested in circles form the main structure of the space fortress. They are like a segmented rotating sundial, reflected in the light of stars, floating over the Taylorfus Snow Mountain. No matter which side it is on, it is covered by Surrounded and set off by the pure sheen of light and reflection, it almost seems to emanate light of its own accord.

...or a city, a water city floating in the sea of ​​stars, an ideal city that shines brightly in waking dreams.

On the outside of the closed hull, it was difficult to tell what each specific block was used for, but Morse never questioned Perturabo's planning abilities. Whether it is the bridges and tunnels connecting the blocks, or the different sizes and layouts of the blocks themselves, they were all carefully designed by a Primarch.

The resources consumed in the construction of this space fortress are completely unimaginable for any single planet, or even smaller galaxies.

"How does it feel?" Perturabo lowered his head and asked, "Is there anything... worth criticizing? I designed it as a city, a fortress and a ship at the same time."

"How did I criticize the Iron Blood?" Morse said. "I remember I gave you at least a hundred thorns, Perturabo. Are you sure you want to do it in front of..."

He looked around pointedly at the Primarchs in the office.

Fulgrim was listening intently to the conversation between Perturabo and Morse: The Purple Phoenix's curiosity about the mentor who could teach a Primarch like Perturabo was growing day by day.

Although he regretted that he could not continue to observe the two people getting along, he still said consciously: "Let's go find Angron and Vulkan outside first? I don't know what common topic they are talking about... Ferus , Stop staring at the Cheorwon, your home planet can’t dig out stones and build one for you.”

"Forget it," Mors rarely gave in. He patted Perturabo's wide sleeves, "Let's change the window... No, okay, I'll let you be proud for a while. Look at it here. I can't find any obvious weak points or flaws in the appearance. How much can be adjusted with such a simple graphic design? So, if you ask, I can only say..."

He smiled, "Nothing to criticize, Perturabo. Very creative. Considering that Rogal Dorn is not here, I will say that at least from a styling point of view, I like this fortress better. Not to mention that you finally don't No more abuse of yellow and black stripes.”

"...I'm here." Rogal Dorn's voice came from the tablet that Perturabo had put down.

"Oh, okay, Rogal Dorn." Morse didn't care. "I didn't criticize you behind your back. My intention was to praise Perturabo behind your back."

"Exactly so," said Perturabo, turning back from the window. After receiving the approval, his behavior remained within the limits of composure, as steady and controlled as ever.

"Thank you, Morse," he said quietly.

Conrad Curze laughed silently. "Let me use the bathroom, Perturabo. Call me when whatever equipment is ready for landing is ready. I thank you."

"I never thought there would be a Primarch who cares more about cleanliness than I do," Fulgrim said mockingly, lifting his long platinum hair and letting it fall from his fingers. "I think these hairs are enough. It’s smooth, what do you think?”

"Hmm." Ferus said, still looking at the appearance of the Cheelwon attentively, his lips moving slightly, as if he was making some secret calculations.

"Ferrus!"

"Oh, your hair is nice, Fulgrim," Ferrus said, then paused, "Really."

"Then, when Conrad comes back, we can set off." Perturabo nodded, and Conrad Curze quietly slipped out of the door. His speed and erratic movements made Vulcan who happened to pass by the door. A little scared for a moment.

"Should we visit my space fortress first, or should we return to the ground first?" Perturabo returned to his seat and looked at Morse and said.

"Ground?" Morse picked an option.

"good."

——

"I thought you would accompany them to visit your main city, Perturabo." Morse pulled the magnetic buckle inside the aircraft cabin and fixed himself like a normal person, even though he didn't need it. "That is your guest, the Lord of Olympia."

"They are Primarchs," Perturabo replied, sitting on the seat next to the hatch and issuing temporary Olympian Pass IDs to Rogal Dorn's Phalanx.

"My brothers all have different personalities and different preferences. Instead of tying them all together and walking with me, I want them to be free to watch and play as they wish. Olympia is ready for today. Finally, we are in Los Angeles Just meet in the palace hall of Kos."

"It makes some sense." Morse agreed with his reasoning. He waited for a while and asked, "Has Lokos changed much?"

"It's okay." Perturabo replied, "I followed the urban framework I designed thirty years ago, that is, the design pattern of the city rebuilt after the Chang Prince's coup. The current construction is mainly to add buildings and non-residential areas. Mainly local rearrangement, it won’t change to the point where you can’t recognize it.”

Morse smiled and said: "I almost don't recognize Olympia, Perturabo. She is now a shining pearl in the vast universe, unique and important. She is your planet and belongs completely to you. You Take credit for your greatness.”

Perturabo glanced at him, then lowered his eyes. "I kept some things," he said. "You can't fail to recognize Olympia."

The aircraft landed smoothly, and the wind pressure flattened the surrounding grass. The hatch opened in the airflow. Perturabo took off the telescopic cable used for driving and left first, waiting for Morse to follow him out.

This is a jungle below the cliff, with lush vegetation, branches and leaves blocking the sky, and birds chirping without a trace in the trees. Animal hoof prints and traces of wild beasts are densely distributed, and are everywhere in the dark green leaves and pale sky.

From here, looking up, except for the thin silver thread drawn by the orbiting space station that surrounds the entire planet, I can't see any evidence of rapid technological advancement.

Everything is sealed in a slow and peaceful primitiveness, supported by shorter ferns and topped by dense forest leaves in the sky.

Morse noticed long, narrow marks on the tree trunks that looked like cuts made by hot blades.

He stretched out his palm wrapped in black cloth, and then, thinking that he had actually prepared the inner body, he hesitated, let the black cloth fall off his palm, and directly touched the fire marks with his fingers.

"Lokos Deer..." he said, following the direction of the traces and looking deeper into the dense forest.

"Your hunting method is really unscrupulous," said Perturabo, "It is simply a misuse of psychic powers. And in front of you, the land that you have completely turned over, where the roots of the trees were twisted and then frozen. , it took several years to gradually recover.”

"What's a long time if you can recover in about fifty years? It's just the blink of an eye," Morse retorted.

"Okay, you're right." Perturabo sighed, "It's exactly the blink of an eye. But your blink is a bit long."

"Oh, you have finally degenerated to the point where you use figurative words as expressions for literal meaning?"

"Who knows?" asked Perturabo, carefully pushing aside the branches in front of him to prevent the trees from being overturned by him.

"Okay." Morse sighed and snapped his fingers towards the dense forest. The trees that had just grown for several years were torn open to both sides again, rolling out a piece of moist dark land. Then, clear ice crystals once again covered the straight road guarded by the trees. The frost crystals were very gorgeous.

"I'm sure they'll grow in the next blink of an eye," Morse said. "Now, let's move faster instead of like molluscs gliding forward on slime."

Perturabo smiled. "If I let go, you won't be able to keep up with me. After all, our height difference is now..."

"Go on your way, Perturabo!" Morse floated up. "I don't think you can keep up with me."

His voice rippled far away with the wind, echoing and dissipating in the dense forest.

They moved forward on the frost road, sometimes Mors in front, sometimes Perturabo in front, like an inexplicable little game, in which a meaningless joy gradually overflowed.

The wind that blew down the cliff blew towards them from the tree-lined center, and they chatted about little things, how much of a trouble they had been to each other, and how many miscellaneous mistakes Perturabo had made until that day. A small three-story house appeared in front of them.

The hut was made of stone slabs and wooden boards, held together with an adhesive made from local clay and plant juices. The entangled green vines and buds are becoming more and more dense, almost blocking the pictures painted on the outer wall, and wrapping many semi-finished hand-sculpted statues in the vines, which seems to be protected and treasured.

The pointed awls, stone hammers, measuring rulers, and scrapers were all still scattered on the low table.

Morse pulled a lounge chair out of the air, without any additional decoration or imprint from Macragge, or Nostramo, or Gomorr, or whatever. This is just a handmade rattan chair, woven by a soul who has lived alone for fifteen thousand years.

He placed the wicker chair in the center of the courtyard, letting the sun and breeze blow through it, then lay down and let his hair spread.

"Why don't you come and sweep the dust, weed, and pluck some wild flowers for me," Morse laughed, closing his eyes and letting the wicker chair sway gently.

"Dare I touch your things?" Perturabo said, pure laughter in his voice. "You talk like this house is your tombstone."

"What are you afraid to move, Perturabo?" Morse said, turning his head in Perturabo's direction.

He heard the scraping of cloth. Perturabo bent down and picked up a sharp-nosed chisel that was too small for him to use, and played with it in the palm of his hand.

"Is there anything I don't allow you to do?"

"I wouldn't dare try," Perturabo replied, walking to the side of the house and dragging out a cart.

Morse opened his eyes and raised his upper body. I saw a group of stone statues covered with black cloth on the cart. He did not use extraordinary means to peek.

"What is this?" he asked.

Perturabo tapped his fingers on the top of the statue. "I remember there was one little thing I didn't learn to do."

"Carve a good enough double stone statue and vividly depict how you knocked my head off?"

"It's not that," Perturabo removed the black cloth and revealed the marble statue in front of Morse's eyes.

The main subjects of the sculpture were still Morse and the young Perturabo, but with just one glance, Morse knew that this scene had never appeared in reality.

Because they were sitting opposite each other by the fire, each holding a grilled fish. Morse's fish was burnt to the bone, while the grilled fish in the boy Perturabo's hand was plump and shiny, and it looked like it was grilled. The ultimate master in the way of fish.

"If you want to defeat me on this road, why is it necessary?" Morse shrugged, pinched his cheeks with both hands, and pressed the corners of his mouth downwards, "Just use the intelligence the Emperor gave you. "

"You just said that there is nothing I'm not allowed to do." Perturabo pretended to shake his head and frowned.

"How could you, a four-meter-tall Primarch, be so pretentious?" Morse said, turning down from his chair. "The stone was brought here, but it's not edible. Take it away quickly, I'll keep it here. Your first little stone, and the statue you later competed with Prince Andos, can be put on display as a series."

Perturabo stretched his eyebrows and covered the black cloth again: "I am indeed willing to make a few more sets of stone statues in my spare time to prevent my skills from becoming rusty and one day the level of carving will not be as good as that of my descendants in the stonemason club. But. As an exhibition...it remains to be discussed.”

"Okay, Perturabo," Morse put away the recliner, "What else do you have to show me, Lord of Iron?"

"Many things." Perturabo said, "I didn't move on the path we took from the bottom of the cliff to climb Lokos, but it is said that there have been some landslides recently... I don't think it will affect our climb. The stone statue at the entrance of Lokos was replaced It became a statue of me, you know that. The Grand Theater I originally designed almost went bankrupt due to poor management by the businessman who contracted it. Fortunately, Califon took it over and turned it into an open art park. The shops on the street are doing very well, and Space Marines are allowed to eat for free, but each person has a limited share..."

He paused. "These are your part of Olympia, Morse."

"I don't know why you are smiling more exaggeratedly now than when I praised your Cheorwon."

"I don't know why you didn't forget to say something sarcastic to me when you laughed."

"Now the Emperor is going to be shocked, because we don't know anything." Morse snorted, clapped his hands, and wrapped the black cloth again, "You introduced me like this, why don't you take me directly? have a look?"

"Of course, you haven't been back here for so many years." Perturabo nodded, walking side by side with Morse towards the cliff. The path that the late guard Miltiades took them many years ago still exists now.

"Back to where? Olympia?"

"If you want..." said Perturabo, walking with Morse up the cliff path that he had needed a hand to climb as a child. Now, what he has to worry about is not accidentally trampling on the road completely. "You can also call it another name. At least...I will call Olympia the home planet."

"My home planet is definitely not Olympia. I remember I told you..."

"You pointed at the night sky, I remember. You were actually pointing at Terra."

"What a good memory."

"So what are you going to call this place?"

"Oh, what do you think I would say? Home? Haha, don't think about it."

They chatted tirelessly across the plain, talking about the battle between the Arxians and the Lokos Guards, remembering Perturabo's sword; passing through the city gates, where a fire had been burned, but That was also many years ago.

On the streets, people knew exactly how to welcome Perturabo, how to approach the true master of Olympia, or how to keep a proper distance; when the teenage Perturabo passed through the streets with the fruits of his reforms, At that time, people also greeted the cold-faced young man who always looked serious.

They passed by shops and workshops. Some of the workshops that Perturabo studied with at that time are still open today, but the main force has been changed from masters to apprentices, or apprentices' apprentices. A shop selling parchment paper switched to making fruit cakes, but the cakes still seemed to smell like ink.

Some of the trees that Morse had pointed out to be planted when he was watching Perturabo plan the city have grown up now. The shadows of the trees are swaying on the windows. They are tall and big, and their thick branches support the shade. Looking blankly at the street, there were still a few leaves scattered on the ground.

They find the workshop used by Morse and Perturabo outside the palace. The place is still preserved, no one disturbs it, and it is only one step away from collapsing due to lack of repairs. Nowadays, their porches are crooked, and the corners of the walls are gray. The sunlight shines through the diamond windows and shines into the dust flying indoors, making it look like gray snow falling one after another.

"It looks like a tombstone now," Morse said, stopping at the door. "But that geometric pattern you painted on the door was really ugly. I swear."

"Where are my yellow and black stripes?"

"I can barely see it," Morse said with a smile. "When we return to Olympia, should the first thing we do be clean?"

"You can... look like your old favorite..." Perturabo suggested.

Morse snapped his fingers with the rune that vibrated the air between his fingers, and the entire hut seemed to turn back time. The dust dispersed, the door and wall were clean, and the erosion caused by the leaking water was complemented and restored by a kind of power. In the blink of an eye, everything goes back to thirty years ago - yes, the fleeting time is indeed not worth a blink of an eye.

"This is exactly the same." Morse raised his foot slightly and pushed open the door.

"There are still a full shelf of works. You took them away at that time." Perturabo accompanied Morse into the room and touched the clean countertop with his fingers. "There are still two people."

"Andros, Callifon." Morse turned around, "How is Callifon lately?"

"I made an agreement with her to come here..."

"Come in," Morse interrupted. Just like in the beginning.

Without knocking, there was a slight push at the door. The wooden door opened, and a figure appeared outside.

It was a woman, her guards were far away from her, and only a close maid was watching over her. She was wearing a loose golden and white robe, holding a wooden staff with a little force, and wearing her iron crown on her neatly combed hair.

Even though she needed a wooden staff to support her, her posture still revealed her inner strength and determination, and at the same time, she had never lost the soft beauty she had when she was young.

Although her face was covered with traces of time, with fine wrinkles, darker skin, and eyes that were not as clear as they were thirty years ago, it still maintained a pearly luster, a depth and brightness that only time can give.

"Is my hair a little too curly?" Kalifeng noticed the two people looking at her.

She smiled slightly, her voice was gentle, and she used her free hand to stroke the curled ends of her hair mixed with silver threads.

"I've been wearing the headband you gave me for too long, Abo. Now my hair can't even stay straight - since you're back, just give me a new one."

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