Chapter 282 Perfect

"Why don't you just kill him?" Konrad Curze said impatiently in the Eldar language, his nails tapping the table, making a crisp sound.

He paused, hooked a paper towel from the table with his nails, pressed it on the wooden table, rubbed it with one hand and tore it into pieces, in order to calm his fluctuating emotions.

"No, Hexacarys," Curze slowed down his tone, "We can't let an innocent pharmacist suddenly die in the grand celebration held by Perturabo... My brother invited me here not to let me cut other people's throats and drain the blood of my brother's son... Describe him more, Fool."

Hexacarys, the old blood-playing man who wore the red robe of the Mechanicus as a disguise and was called the King's Court Fool by the Blood Lord, felt a quiet joy that his master was willing to listen to his words more.

Part of him clearly understood that this was a mental illusion brought by the blood potion; the other part of him happily accepted it, because being able to serve the Bloody Marquis was his only lasting honor.

At the same time, he also hoped that Conrad Curze could draw some joy from his dedication.

"Like other children of the Emperor, Fabius Bile has the same white hair and purple eyes. As a pharmacist, he claims to be interested in the art of genes and flesh in the genetic code."

The old blood argot said, and his voice followed the wireless sound transmission array and reached the communication tower built by the Rokos Palace based on the Great Library.

"But he broke into my laboratory and claimed to be here by accident. After inference, my lord, he must have learned that there are some alternative lives in your battle barge through some perception methods attached to his homemade prosthesis." He hinted obscurely.

"I still need a maze in the night," Curze muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly, "More jammers and hazy veils to confuse others, they should exist... How does Fabius Bile look? Haggard or healthy? Is his gene in good condition, or on the verge of collapse?"

"This Space Marine is in a stable physical condition, my Lord. His body retains the damage caused by the previous genetic defects and the secondary damage caused by the attempt to repair it; but under current observation, he has no serious illness."

Curze put his index finger on his forehead.

Fabius Bile, in the prophecy, his name is equivalent to disaster; but as Magnus, who now warns others to use psychic power carefully every day, said, you cannot predict the changeable future of a living individual based on outdated experience.

...So, why not just take his life and cut off the trouble?

Because he needs to abide by his own laws. Curze thought. He needs to maintain awe of justice.

"You know how to observe and examine a person, Fool. You are old enough and experienced enough. I allow him to come, but you have to find his omissions for me and search for any available evidence, but remember not to fabricate false evidence. If he asks about your identity, tell him that you are a researcher from my home planet who has undergone complex transformation."

"Yes, my lord, but I have some personal opinions."

"Speak."

"It is my unexpected luck to meet a scholar in your race who is also immersed in genetic technology."

"However, although I am not a human, I can imagine that people who share the same ideals and interests with us Haemophilus in the path of flesh and blood must be the outliers among humans."

"I agree with your advice."

Curze cut off the communication, passed the genetic verification set up by Perturabo, and walked out of the soundproof communication room.

He smiled briskly at Fulgrim who was waiting at the door, and exaggeratedly extended his hand to the room as a symbol of invitation. His smile remained until Fulgrim closed the door.

Interestingly, perhaps due to the similarity of the genetic template used by the Emperor when creating the Primarchs, this door should be used only by the Lord of Olympia, and other Primarchs can also pass the genetic verification.

Curze was not sure whether Perturabo knew this, in any case, he would inform the Iron Lord of this matter later.

Fulgrim's voice was blocked by the heavy ceramite door. While waiting, Curze imagined what kind of interesting reaction he would get if he gave his brother a door made of adamantium.

A more real smile gradually appeared on his face, and it deepened when Fulgrim smiled and floated out of the house like a purple cloud and appeared in front of him.

"One of my sons," Fulgrim said, "wants to know if he can work with one of your apothecaries, Hexacarys, on a research project on genetics. Fabius Bile believes that the search for genetics is endless, and he hopes to gain experience from similar research on the road to perfection. I think it's a good idea, don't you?"

"You think it's a good idea?" Curze stared at the Phoenix's face, his smile frozen.

"Of course, my brother." Fulgrim blinked, and took Konrad Curze through the spiral metal corridors of the communication tower. "Is it an evil thing to pursue a better self and regenerate from the existing imperfections?"

"Not necessarily, Fulgrim," Curze whispered, limiting his voice to a certain level. "On the thousand-year night when the Eldar Empire was destroyed, they all insisted that the destruction of their empire should not be blamed on their endless pursuit of things."

"Konrad!" Fulgrim was slightly unhappy with Curze's analogy.

This may be the psychological preparation needed to have a brother who grew up among the Eldar, he thought.

"I don't understand your upbringing, my brother." Phoenix took the initiative to soften his tone, also using this to soothe his own emotions, "But you don't understand mine either, right?"

Curze's dark eyes looked directly at Fulgrim. "Yes." He said hoarsely.

"My home planet Chemos was once a pale and gray planet. We were short of resources and relied heavily on industry and trade," Fulgrim said, tapping his soft boots rhythmically on the metal ground. an accompaniment to his words. "Things in Chemos continue to go from bad to worse, even as the rulers try to maintain their current achievements."

Curze nodded silently.

"I did not grow up in an artist's courtyard, Konrad. I grew up in Carax Fortress, working in factories." Fulgrim pushed back a strand of white hair from his ear, "In the factory, if you want to be seen, you have to be better and better than others. Like all Chemos, you can never be satisfied with the status quo, otherwise you will only move backwards."

"I have endless energy, Conrad, and I can always give more; similarly, my observation skills are keen and I have discovered too many production details that can be improved and refined."

"I keep moving forward, constantly filling and improving various vacancies, and the people around me witness my efforts and spontaneously participate in more work. From an assembly line to the entire factory, this collective nature The pursuit of excellence seems to have become popular in just a few months.”

"We all want to do better, and the result is that we do bring better output." Fulgrim sighed, which contained memories of the past. "The productivity we brought finally filled the needs of Carax Fortress, and at the same time, a spirit was established. That is to do better, because there is always room for us to do better."

He shook his head, his white hair flowing over his face.

"Before we pursue, work hard, and practice like this, how many people in Chemos are willing to look at a better possibility?"

"That's it. The rise of Carax Fortress and the hope it brought have allowed the entire Chemos to realize its potential for development, and I naturally became the master of the planet. We have the right to become better. , also has such potential. If no one is willing to pursue perfection, we will only fall behind the times in this cold universe."

"You...never said those words," Coates said.

"Of course I didn't, Konrad," Fulgrim looked back and smiled, the light reflecting luster on his facial lines, "We haven't discussed our respective ideas yet, even though when you fought Vulkan, Introducing your path to justice.”

"I mean, you never said these words." Kurtz repeated, shaking his head violently, as if throwing some illusions away from his eyes. "Never has your perfection been spelled out like this."

"Perfection," Fulgrim repeated the slightly longer word, "exists above the factory's production quota. On the fixed, existing quota, there is always higher room waiting for us to reach. The pursuit of excellence, To grow, it's all part of the definition of perfection. You have to look beyond what you have now."

He suddenly laughed.

"Forgive me for using a factory as an analogy! I usually still like to use artistic theory as an analogy. It seems to be easier for my soldiers and other high-level officials in the empire to understand. But in fact, they are all the same. What is the difference? Except for many Mortals always don’t want to believe that a Primarch like me has the first job of making the best screws on the planet!”

They said goodbye to Nador, the war blacksmith who was on duty at the door of the communication tower, returned to the natural sunshine of Olympia, and headed towards the foot of Mount Telefus together.

If Perturabo's team hung out long enough, maybe they could arrive earlier.

"I used to be an apprentice." Curze said, pulling back the dark hood to protect the sun, looking for those relatively harmonious words for sunny weather suitable for Olympia. "Working for researchers. They... are also constantly exploring the depths, going deep into unknown research areas, and becoming addicted to them."

"They caused misfortune, didn't they?" Fulgrim easily deduced the hidden meaning of Konrad Curze's words. "There is no doubt that they have set the wrong direction for their pursuit. The Emperor's Children need to become better people, rather than pursue becoming extremely bad people, we all understand this..."

He clapped his hands and belatedly guessed the reason for Coz's extra vigilance: "Are you worried that studying genes will cause problems?"

"Actually," Kurtz touched his upper and lower teeth, letting a crisp sound echo in his skull. "I've created a problem."

Fulgrim was slightly surprised, and a trace of worry flashed across his face: "How could it be?"

"I'll fix it," Curze said, silent, vaguely regretting that he had given away too much information.

"It would be nice if it could be solved," despite saying this, Fulgrim still frowned, and the light from the roof of Lokos's house deepened the shadow on the arch of his eyebrows. "Before I returned, my legion also encountered genetic problems. Although an unknown person stopped the progression of the blight at that time, the shadow has already shrouded the head of the third legion."

"I think... this is why some of my warriors are particularly interested in genetic research. They were once only a step away from death." Fulgrim sighed.

"Empathy interferes with your judgment, brother." Curze said, casually using his nails to move his red cloth robe to wrap his body as much as possible. "I will keep my evaluation, but I will also try to remove my prejudice. Of course, I allow him to come."

"Thank you!" Fulgrim immediately thanked sincerely and patted Konrad Curze's shoulder, whose half face was blocked by the hood.

At the gate of the Rokos Palace, the back half of the outline of a vehicle waiting for them appeared between the fields of vision blocked by the columns. It looked like a two-wheeled steel chariot, which could accommodate two Primarchs standing side by side.

Curze accepted Fulgrim's touch. In any case, the cleanliness of the Purple Phoenix was second to none among those Curze had ever seen.

By the way, objectively speaking, the one who ranked at the top of Curze's cleanliness level was actually Perturabo's mentor craftsman; because his existence was completely illusory, it didn't matter whether he was dirty or not.

"Fulgrim..." Curze rolled his eyes, swept across Fulgrim's figure, closed his eyes, and looked away. "Morse's play, I think it is worth remembering."

"I'm so glad to hear you praise me like this, Conrad Curze." Morse appeared from the vicinity of the vehicle, still wearing the same black robe and black strips wrapped around his arms. His hair seemed to have just been roughly dried, looking particularly messy, and his expression was also rare and relaxed and satisfied.

"You're welcome, craftsman." Curze retracted his smile. "Why are you here?"

"Of course I'm here to be your driver for free, Primarchs." Morse imitated the crisp sound that would come out of the mouth of a horse rider, "Guess where this thing came from?"

The two Primarchs stepped forward and saw the full picture of the vehicle, and couldn't help but be surprised.

In front of a two-wheeled steel chariot, two two-wheeled motorcycles were fixed with iron chains and rubber ropes as the power source of the chariot. The engine of this combination has been started, and it is now emitting a faint steel hum.

It is not difficult to imagine how fast this thing will be if it is running on the field, far exceeding the speed of flesh and blood.

"Ferus would like this design," Fulgrim said, reaching out and stroking the motorcycle head of the steel chariot. "But who built it? It doesn't fully conform to Perturabo's aesthetics."

"One of the illegal vehicles confiscated in this riding competition," Morse said, patting the guardrail of the steel chariot, climbing onto the driver's seat, and pulling the two reins, "That planet insists that this is not an unnatural transformation, but a naturally born mechanical creature, and the culture of the planet cannot be discriminated against."

"How was it confiscated?" Fulgrim asked.

"Our regulations require four-legged animals," Morse motioned for the two Primarchs to board the chariot, "but it has six wheels. How can we not confiscate it?"