Chapter 305 Iron Warrior Memorial

It turns out that the Emperor was not the only one who received an invitation to visit the famous Iron Warriors Memorial.

When the golden boots of the Lord of Mankind landed on the soft crimson carpet dyed with real animal fur outside the Great Memorial of Olympia, several Astartes gathered at the door were frightened to tears by the Lord of the Galaxy.

These outstanding warriors who have experienced hundreds of battles and have an average of twenty scars from head to toe, all they need to do is to put their Primarch in front of them, and their brains will be empty when they first see their gene father.

Not to mention the Emperor, if the brains of those who first saw the Emperor were not filled with the Emperor's golden light for more than 30 seconds, it was probably because the Emperor's psychic aura was so strong that they fainted before 30 seconds.

This was the scene that Rogal Dorn saw when he arrived at the memorial after the Emperor. As usual, he ignored the turmoil caused by the Emperor and walked up to the Lord of Mankind to greet him.

The Emperor is good at gaining the loyalty of others at a relatively low cost, and the aura of divinity is an example of this - this is what Alpharius said, or Omegan. Rogal Dorn dared not assert which one he met when he returned to Terra last time.

"Rogal Dorn," the Emperor called his name, and the same time he returned to Terra last time, the Emperor's eyes stayed sad. He always did this, while conquering the galaxy, he also accepted the fact that all the misfortunes that had happened in the places where humans lived were still continuing under his rule today.

But at this moment, Rogal Dorn could not feel those low emotions.

Perhaps the mountain breeze of Olympia made the Emperor feel comfortable, just as Rogal knew that a person who was alone in the icy wind outside Invit for three hours would no longer be able to indulge in grief no matter what.

"Father," Dorn nodded, expressing his response in a concise way.

"Is this your first time here?" the Emperor asked. He was just chatting, and the Lord of Mankind actually has the unique ability to chat.

"Perturabo invited me several years ago," Dorn answered honestly, "but I didn't have the chance to visit until recently."

"I am so sad, the golden fist of the empire," the voice didn't seem to come from a horizontal direction.

Soon, Conrad Curze slid down from a shadow on the other side of the street and landed quietly beside the Emperor. His landing cushion just constituted a bow to the Emperor. "'Several years ago', listen to you, I finally got the invitation from Brother Perturabo a month ago, much later than you, alas..."

He straightened up, and a string of leather bags slapped each other on his waist: "Greetings to you, Emperor."

Rogal Dorn didn't want to say much. He wouldn't be happy to catch loopholes in each other's words with everyone.

This time, it was Fulgrim who spoke for Rogal Dorn. He was wearing a pair of elbow-length white gloves with purple and gold patterns. His newly permed fluffy curly hair cast a large range of exquisite shadows on half of his snow-white cheeks. Hidden in the shadows was half of a finely carved silver mask.

He only brought with him the chief swordsman Akurduna, whose steps were stiff and whose face had not yet recovered from the paleness of his serious injuries. Other undamaged and radiant children, such as Kesorron, Eidolon, Lucius, etc., were not seen at all.

"Father," Fulgrim greeted the Emperor first, and then smiled and stabbed Conrad: "Conrad, you and Perturabo have only known each other for a month, and he invited you to his beloved home planet. This speed is unprecedented."

Conrad's smile was full of annoying complacency. Even the Emperor's children, who are often considered too proud, would not have such a typical expression.

After that, a captain of the Eighth Legion followed the normal walking path, emerged from the road, and hurriedly followed his gene-father. Konrad Curze patted the shoulder of the warrior who had just painted the power armor with a blue lightning pattern, and invisibly stopped him from saluting.

On his waist, a bolter engraved with a silver skull had obviously been carefully maintained countless times, and was fixed by a brown belt and buckle. This weapon, given by the Primarch himself, was the most eye-catching decoration on the warrior - considering that he actually only brought this one device that could be called a decoration.

Before they said more words to each other that had no significance for the Great Crusade, an Iron Warrior finally rushed to their side and respectfully expressed his respect to the high-ranking officials of the Empire.

"The gate of the memorial is open," he was not good at using his tongue to carve out a flower of diplomatic rhetoric, and his angular face was almost full of this. "I am the commander of the 11th Battalion, Barabas Dantioch. Please allow me to lead you to visit the Olympia Memorial. Master Perturabo is touring the memorial with several other Primarchs who arrived earlier."

"Okay." The Emperor said.

"I will follow your instructions, Emperor." Dantioch raised an arm towards the granite gate carved in the local style of Olympia. This seemed to be a move he learned from the waiters who opened the door for him in previous diplomatic missions.

"Before that, can you wait for a moment, Captain?" Fulgrim asked, and saw the familiar figure in the corner of his eye, "Oh, Ferrus is here."

Ferrus Manus walked up to Fulgrim and greeted the Emperor. He came alone, without a clan to accompany him.

This is the inevitable consequence of inviting too many people at once, someone will always arrive first or later.

The Lord of Mankind's eyes slowly swept over the several heirs standing in front of him, tracing their outlines with his eyes. "Let's go," he said.

"The Iron Warriors Memorial, originally established in 809.M30, the capital of the planet Olympia, Lokos, is the cultural and spiritual core of the Fourth Legion Iron Warriors for the collection of important objects worthy of commemoration. Over the decades, the first memorial has been renovated and expanded many times to meet the growing demand for storage and exhibition..."

This is actually the first time that Barabas Dantioch has actually entered the interior of the Great Memorial of Olympia. How this honor suddenly fell on his head, Dantioch himself did not know.

Walking under the tall sloping roof, the sunlight passed through the carefully designed glass panels, with the best refraction angle, coating the collections in the cabinet with natural light.

This place is no longer just a place for displaying statues. Here, the proof of the Iron Warriors' battles to date is stored, whether it is a glorious victory or a regretful defeat, a model worthy of praise and learning, or a pain that makes people unable to sleep at night every time they think about it.

And the Emperor saw these proofs. Dantioch suddenly realized this.

The Emperor is watching everything the Iron Warriors have done for the dream of the Great Crusade.

Dantioch recited the manuscript he got on the spot, and breathed a sigh of relief that these true giants were willing to slow down a little and wait for him to catch up.

After adapting to this sudden explanation work, he gradually began to add some personal understanding. He has indeed not been here, but many things here are either really familiar to him or he has learned similar content in his past experience.

He introduced the first batch of early equipment that had been retired in the years of technological development, and talked about the small troubles that these unoptimized designs had created in the specific battle process that indirectly led to the warriors being carved into the sculpture hall, and the inevitable fatal accidents that caused such damage.

He described a story of a runaway drive engine model, how the chain reaction caused by the exploding plasma was like a solar flare, destroying half of the cruiser's armor at once, exposing the section directly and dangerously to the debris and floating objects in space.

Then there was the inner tunnel network that penetrated the crust, boldly designed by a member of the Masons Club and completed by the nearby Mechanicus, arranged in a planetary belt where the surface environment is generally extremely harsh, providing local residents with a miracle path across the mantle and from one end of the planet to the other.

The more intact and best-written version of this series of design drawings was retained by Perturabo and placed in the Great Memorial.

The demigods were more approachable than Dantioch expected.

Dantioch noticed that the Emperor and the Primarchs were indeed interested in the exhibits collected by Perturabo.

The Emperor paused at the right moment, Curze and Fulgrim went back and forth between singing the same tune and confronting each other, and Ferrus selectively let some of the exhibits draw his attention away from the Primarch beside him... Rogal Dorn was the only one who could even add the relevant background story that Dantioch did not mention.

Their viewing was not a polite disguise, Dantioch was honored.

Anyone in the Empire who had a little understanding of the Primarchs knew how different these natural demigods were.

Dantioch thought in his heart that their minds were particularly agile, thanks to their sharp brains and thinking abilities. Although not obvious on the surface, their emotions were also richer than those of humans.

They had another kind of alien mind, based on humans, but there was undoubtedly a subtle but sharp difference. Perhaps the Primarchs were to the Astartes as the Astartes were to mortals.

However, when they showed their curiosity about Dantioch's story, shared their amazement and feelings like real brothers and families, and - well, mainly this, when they expressed respect and appreciation for the Iron Warriors for this, all this no longer mattered.

Even those who do not seek honor and recognition will not refuse to be commemorated for their practice of ideals.

It is said that the first photo of the 12th Primarch Angron hugging his fellow gladiators is hung in front of the main entrance of the hall of the Alpine Sanatorium in Nuceria.

Passing through the corridors, passing by some large displays and murals, another door hidden in the wall's texture for design beauty, after Dantioch stopped and verified the identity authority, it automatically opened respectfully for visitors.

"This is the sculpture hall, which is also the first part of the memorial hall built," Dantioch said, while asking the distinguished guests to walk in front.

After the door opened, Dantioch saw several giants at the other end of the hall at a glance.

His Primarch Perturabo himself was also here, introducing the stories of the heroic statues to the brothers who arrived earlier.

Over the past few decades, there have been many Iron Warriors who have made great achievements in battle, and there have always been a few who have been outstanding enough to have their personal images placed in the Olympia Memorial Hall.

Dantioch himself has a sculpture, and it is located relatively close to the middle of the sculpture hall of the Great Memorial Hall. In the sculpture, he is posing as if he is debating: that was the day he decided to build the Agora Market.

For this reason, Dantioch once asked his brother who was on duty at the Great Memorial Hall to take a photo of his sculpture for private remembrance.

Of course, the negative examples are also inevitably increasing slowly year by year under the premise of the huge base of the overall Iron Warriors.

For example, the one not far from the door, under his command, the signal of the communication series was deciphered by the enemy, but because he took the wrong reference material when sending the information and had an outdated code book at hand, their enemies naturally failed to achieve the ideal results.

In any case, the soldier still obtained the qualification to enter the Great Memorial Hall with his legendary negligence.

In contrast, the captain of the grenadiers' execution team who obeyed the order at the time judged that there was definitely a problem with the order, so he asked the headquarters to confirm the information for the second time under pressure. He saved the lives of a hundred-man team.

Dantioch knew that his duty of explaining today was over, so he saluted several giants. Fulgrim smiled and said goodbye to him, and asked him to take care of Akurduna who was walking with difficulty.

In the blink of an eye, Konrad Curze floated all the way to Perturabo's side as if he had sneaked into the shadows. When Perturabo turned around, he showed a friendly smile, which posed a certain challenge to the Iron Lord's ability to maintain a stable facial expression.

"Perturabo," Curze stretched out the end of his words, "the level of sculptures designed by your warriors is somewhat uneven."

Just look at what Curze's pale and slender fingers pointed at, and you will know that he is deliberately trying to create contradictions. Because the group of statues he pointed at was designed by Perturabo himself.

"Everyone is different." The Emperor may feel that he should say something. In any case, words with rich interpretation angles sometimes bring positive effects, and sometimes just confuse people.

"If you don't know what to say, why bother to speak, Emperor?" Morse shrugged and whispered. He is indeed here, but his height makes him less conspicuous.

"All the statues in this section were designed by me." Perturabo confessed this, even though he thought that among the many Primarchs present, there should be no one who could not feel the subtle differences.

In theory, their senses and thinking abilities can help them perceive details a hundred times more than ordinary people, and deduce conclusions from them.

"Which of the statues do you have a personal opinion on, Marquis?" He emphasized Curze's self-proclaimed title, hinting at the artistic attainments of another race deep in the shadows that they think they have no rivals in the galaxy.

Several Primarchs looked at him, Rogal Dorn still looked at him with his stubborn face, and Vulkan gave him a gentle nod.

The Fire Dragon Lord was the only brother who expressed support for him, how sad.

Curze narrowed his eyes and looked at the statues one by one.

The exhibits in the sculpture hall also seem to be a manifestation of the development of Perturabo's personal artistic concept.

In this row of more than 20 statues, there is a development from relative roughness to strict refinement and comprehensiveness, and then gradually began to focus on highlighting key features, emphasizing the guidance and emphasis of the audience's sight, so as to grasp the overall characteristics of the sculpture and the characteristics of the hidden emotions as quickly as possible.

He could almost see Perturabo's facial expression when he drew the design drawings from these statues. Before that, he always felt that Perturabo would be the kind of artist who restrained his emotional expression.

Koz stopped in front of the statue closest to the edge and pursed his lips with interest.

He first looked at the front half of the sculpture breaking through the wall, and the lifelike, shocked and puzzled expression, then slowly walked around the back of the statue, facing the lower half of the body stuck on the other side, struggling desperately, with a thoughtful look on his face.

"This may be one of your most impressive works, my brother." Curze pinched his chin, "May I ask who this unfortunate little warrior is?"

"The current commander of the second battalion, Eric Anderson." Perturabo said, his tone intriguing, "It is also the first work I carved for the Legion. His story is on the base of the statue, my dear brother."

He paused and added: "I believe Anderson will be very proud to have such a deep impression on everyone."

Curze licked his lips, leaned forward exaggeratedly, and glanced at the High Gothic language on the base. Surrounded by the Primarchs and the Emperor, he clearly read it out.

"Half on one side... half on the other side."