"It's the Eldar, no doubt about it."
Morse said firmly, not even looking up from the papers on his desk.
After translating the Holy Code, the Emperor solemnly and solemnly carried his nearly five thousand pages of webway construction plan into Morse's office room on Terra, his deep eyes filled with trust in the important task entrusted to him. .
Morse refused to play this old trick, so he changed his mind and started to compile a comparative dictionary of Gothic and Greenskin with ready-made materials, and planned to let Magnus, who had always been a good teacher, be responsible for teaching "a "An alien race that is rich in potential wisdom and loyal will, but suffers from language barriers and is difficult to serve humans" teaches Gothic language.
"Eldar." Perturabo chewed the word. Although he had not yet met any Eldar, the harm this branch of the race had caused to his brother had already made him have a pre-set dislike for the Eldar.
"What is their intention in writing such convoluted and complicated words?"
"Oh, in fact, if you deal with them more, you will find that these slender creatures with pointed ears are rarely straightforward. I even concluded that their actions were not guided by prophecies - because the visionaries who interpreted the prophecies themselves were also Often we can only try our best to describe the inspired future through vague words, and prophecies are destined to be difficult to discern. This is a problem with prophecies themselves.”
Morse's holographic image turned the charcoal in a circle in his hand and leaned back on the wicker chair behind him. He is exactly what Perturabo calls the old antique who pursues retro writing and abandons the efficiency of data tablets.
"The refrain 'Xi Gaole' at the beginning, according to their language habits, should be the Eldar god they believe in and follow. My understanding of the Eldar culture is not deep enough to report the completeness of this god in their mythological system Positioning, but its current ability to send messengers can only prove that it is powerful or mysterious enough to help it survive the birth of the goddess of thirst, and its relatively active attitude in participating in world affairs."
"As for the next few sentences, I don't think it is necessary to explain them in detail. Although I don't know the structure of the Ancient Eldar Empire clearly about the 'Secret Capital', it was dug out from the webway by the greenskins recently. It seems that it may refer to an important city or large port of the Eldar in the Webway. The use of the term 'Midnight Gospel' here is a bit subtle, so let's put it aside for the time being. As for terms such as blood relatives and demigods, even if Even a mortal child just a few years old can understand it. Do you need me to explain?"
Mors crossed his fingers and laughed, giving Perturabo no chance to seize the opportunity to retort. He knew very well that if he paused for just one more second, Perturabo would immediately get up and fight back.
"And, this is undoubtedly a show of goodwill. But whether there is another price behind the show of goodwill, I can't predict. Humans and Eldar have their own positions, and it is not difficult to understand any self-interest actions for their respective races. The key is that both parties Whether the core interests of the Eldar empire are in conflict with each other - but who knows what core interests the remaining survivors can pursue after the Eldar empire collapses at its own fault?"
Perturabo assumed a pose similar to Morse's, fingers crossed on his crossed legs. "So your advice is to wait?"
"My advice is to pretend unethically that they did not make this gift until we are certain that there is an alignment of core interests between us," Morse said. "Is that enough to answer your question, Lord of Iron?" ?”
"It sounds like you're implying that you're busy," Perturabo said.
"What?" Morse raised his eyebrows, "I thought I was making it clear."
"So when will you finish?"
"Sometime between now and the time the Imperium of Man rules the galaxy, I will declare that I'm done."
"Okay." Perturabo said, "When will you return to the Iron Blood."
"So that's what you really wanted to ask," Morse smiled. "I thought I wasn't gone long?"
"Dorne told me that a Nucerian said that there is a custom here. If a companion has not returned to camp before sunset, others will usually think that he is dead." Perturabo tensed his arms. Every facial line.
Morse shook his head: "Is this Nucerian a gladiator?"
"Yesterday Dorn was reading basic hypnosis on materials to children and young gladiators who couldn't sleep." Perturabo answered in the affirmative in disguise.
"Okay, okay." Morse yawned, threw the charcoal, golden runes flew to the tip of the pen, and the charcoal automatically slid on the surface of the paper. "This can really make people sleepy. Anyway, when the War Dogs return to Terra next time, I will throw a body on the ship and ride with their Queen of Glory to Nuceria - what is the name of that ship? ?The Resolute Resolve?”
"Need I remind you that Angron said he did not want to join the Great Crusade?"
"Need I remind you that you are performing in front of me what it means to be concerned about the heart?" Mors snorted. "That's a Primarch, my Iron Lord. That's your brother, the one you're going to be with." The brother who set off a wave of rebellion and freedom throughout Nuceria. I can bet you that when he hangs all the high-ranking riders in Nuceria, he will definitely set his sights on the entire galaxy."
He shifted his sitting position slightly and rested his thumb on his chin.
"But you may need to encourage him," he said, "not to encourage him to join the Great Crusade. It is not difficult for him to be tempted by the Emperor's great cause, not to mention that he must be very excited about the Gladiator's revenge plan. You need to encourage him. He's inherently tougher and more aggressive."
"When we arrived at the arena, he was committing suicide." Perturabo emphasized. "How else can he be tough?"
"Come, think about this again: a person drags the problem to the point where it can't be delayed, and maintains the compromise to the point where it can't be compromised, so he has to use the most violent means to make up for the lack of courage in the early stage. Tell me now, Is he tough or weak?" Morse's comments left no trace of emotion, which made Perturabo's heart shrink under his sharp comments.
"Isn't this just proof of the gentleness and softness of his nature, and his firmness that is not bound by too much kindness in the end? You can't blame him for the suffering that the wrong environment has inflicted on him..."
Perturabo tried to defend his brother, but under Morse's typically cold eyes, he gradually lost more and more power to defend himself.
He sensed the weakness in his rebuttal words because he was lowering his demands on a person through the filter of suffering, and his personal emotions interfered with his rational judgment.
Perturabo exhaled and shook his head slowly.
"Maybe you're right. But my sensibility tells me that I can't call him weak in front of him."
"Why?" Morse asked. "Have you suddenly decided to give in to your emotions?"
"Because I love my brother," he confessed. "I love every brother I have met so far. In them, I feel a soul that is very close to and yet different from mine."
"Sometimes I think about why I joined the Great Crusade, whether I really yearn enough for the dream described by the Emperor, and whether I really have a broad enough concern for human citizens outside of Lokos."
"My answer is yes, but at the same time I found that I also found another equally important reason."
"I look forward to meeting more of the Emperor's children," he said. "Before we met, they were just another child of the Emperor. But after we met, we were brothers."
Morse's sharp eyes quietly softened, and Perturabo had already discovered that Morse, like himself, could not resist the frank words of those he cared about. Their hearts will be drawn closer - coincidentally, the two of them add up to exactly two hearts.
Only in front of Morse could Perturabo speak so bluntly. He knew that Morse would never ignore his sincere words. It was the positive feedback that Morse would always generously give, which gradually transformed into the courage and motivation for his self-expression.
"If you love your brother," Morse said, in the end, "treat him as your trusted, growing blood relative, not as a fragile, broken slave in need of every care."
"You are always so extreme," Perturabo said, "but not everyone is me. No matter what, I will find the balance."
Morse nodded, and the hologram began to fade. "I look forward to meeting you, Perturabo."
——
Angron seems to have grown taller again.
Yochuca thought, running over to join the other gladiators in hugging their large kin. When he found that his bandaged hand could still only hold one of Angron's legs, he felt that he must have grown taller with Angron - or that everyone had grown taller with Angron. tall.
Because the world has become shorter. The low caves could no longer accommodate them, nor could the low red sand pits. No one wants to go back, just like mentioning these blood-stained places will painfully shrink your size to its original size.
The slaves now have their feet on the ground, standing on a plane at the same height as the entire Desia. Everyone looked up and saw the sky. As long as they stretched out their hands that were free from chains, they could hold the clouds and stars in the sky.
So Jochuka only managed to get Ferguson who was willing to accompany him back to the cave and get him a painting of a small figure that he had drawn with charcoal on a rag that was hidden in a rock crevice.
Angron held the door on his back and sat down with everyone else, forming a familiar circle, like a burning bonfire in the middle. His brass eyes remained firm, and the tenderness still rested on his face in the form of the tiniest smile, but another, brighter color lit him up.
Yochuka wasn't sure how to describe it better. He just felt that when Angron comforted him to sleep with a high fever, he would be able to survive the current long night safely. But now that Angron was here, he didn't even dare to think about what would happen tomorrow.
"I'm back, brothers and sisters." Angron said, "I'm back to you intact and alive. Onomamos has also woken up from the edge of death and is now undergoing a complete treatment. I Come here to tell everyone that we are all free."
He earned a wave of cheers, with a few fighters shedding tears of joy. For them, it was clear that there was neither painful whipping nor mourning for bereaved friends, but the tears were harder to control than ever.
"You may already know that my relatives found me. They selflessly rescued us from the red sand and imprisoned the dissolute nobles of Desia City. What makes me even happier is that I can see that even if I am not them Brothers, they will do the same thing - because they are engaged in a great crusade to bring prosperity and freedom to the world that should be liberated."
Angron's deep voice echoed in the splendid King's Palace, where the Tarc family has lived here for generations, raising slaves and hosting gladiators. Now these high-ranking knights were stripped off their fine clothes and their bodies were thrown into His Highness's dungeon. Perturabo and Rogal Dorn didn't ask for a penny for this, and they planned to pay even more.
If Nuceria could one day be peaceful and prosperous...
That may indeed be the time for him to repay his brothers.
Angron looked around at the faces that were either excited or sad, and his mind was soaked in the ocean of emotions in the room. "My blood relatives promised that they would provide all support for Nuceria to change the sun and moon, and I was wondering if there was anything we could do in the process."
"On the way to the King's Palace, I first passed by the tomb of bones in the mountains. There, I seemed to hear the wails of the ghosts after the deaths of countless fighters who had pursued freedom for hundreds of years. This is the scene of countless Nuceria The resentment that I have accumulated from the red sand over the years is the will of revenge that belongs to the Nucerian gladiators."
"The blood debt of high-level riders is owed to ourselves."
He stretched out his giant palm toward the crowd forming a circle, feeling the hot gladiator hearts approaching him. Even Yochuka, who was the most lively and cheerful when not sick, his voice became strong and calm enough.
Everyone has been looking forward to this moment for so long.
The blood debt must be paid, and the blood father and blood son will demand until they take back everything they were born with.
"My brothers and sisters! If you support organizing a liberation front with me, and relying on our own strength to completely liberate Nuceria from the control of slave owners, you will entrust your hands to me."
Without hesitation, everyone immediately reached out eagerly, huddled together, squatted or stood, and quickly folded their palms into Angron's open hand. Dozens of hands are stacked high, supporting each other and leaning against each other.
Angron covered the other hands with his own, gently wrapping the palms and even the hearts entrusted to him by his companions.
"Okay, my brothers and sisters." Angron said softly, "It's time for us to revolt. The first thing is to deal with the Tarc family in the dungeon deep under our feet. Tell me, how will we deal with them? "
The discussion immediately exploded.
"Public trial! We want to put them on trial!"
"They don't deserve a public trial, I'm going to kill them directly!"
"Hang them and let them die ugly enough!"
"The fat in these people's bodies will be burned for a long time if they are tortured by fire!"
"Skin them, like these damn beasts did to my Ankana..."
"We can throw them into the arena," a grey-haired one-eyed old gladiator roared hoarsely, his broken throat destroyed by a bloody gladiatorial fight many years ago, "these slave owners, they...ahem...also It’s time to understand the pain of being chained and fighting in the red sand!”
(End of chapter)
