Chapter 521 Your Guilliman Is Out of Service Area

[The Emperor just sent me a new order, brother. 】

【He is calling me. 】

"Father calls you? What do you do?"

[He asked me to immediately stop the work at hand and lead the team south to meet his expedition fleet in the Maelstrom area: He wanted to take me to the southernmost point of the Storm Star Territory, where a war that devastated mankind was taking place. The planet's civil war is closely watched by the Lord. 】

"...involving one of our brothers?"

Closing his eyes, frowning, and thinking, Perturabo only hesitated for less than a moment, then raised the corners of his mouth and confidently put forward his [hypothesis]: and then naturally enjoyed the praise from Morgan.

[Still as smart as ever, Perturabo. 】

The Lord of Avalon clapped slowly, with a smile on her lips. Her slightly raised tone made her words sound particularly sincere, and it also made Perturabo particularly happy: In her joy, the Lord of Steel even forgot that they were actually there. It was such a private occasion until the sound of steam coming from Morgan's feet woke him up.

[Well, it’s a bit noisy. 】

The Spider Queen frowned. She shook her two long legs and used the sharp point of her riding boots to knock the dark anvil under her butt. There was a banging sound and the sticky sound of the remaining liquid metal flowing again.

[Have you set up any automatic opening function for it? Perturabo. 】

When Morgan turned around and asked him with a smile, the Lord of Steel was in a trance for a while. Thinking of where they are now: At this moment, Perturabo and his most trusted blood relatives are at the deepest part of the bottom deck of the [Iron-Blooded]. There is a foundry built by him himself, which is almost perfectly restored. Carved into his private forge on his homeworld of Olympia, one of the few places in the galaxy that could grant him peace and quiet.

Very few people are allowed by Perturabo to enter this foundry. Except for a few of his most trusted war blacksmiths and heirs, even the blood brothers of the Lord of Steel have never entered or even known about it. This place: But just a few minutes ago, when the Lord of Olympia visited this place after a long absence, he discovered that his blood relatives had been waiting for him here for some time.

Perturabo was not angry, because it was he who told Morgan personally where the foundry was and made an appointment to meet here in advance: when he wanted to chat with his blood relative of Avalon, the Olympian almost I chose this private occasion out of instinct.

So, when he opened the door, he found Morgan sitting on his favorite ancient anvil, bending over, squinting, crossing his legs, and leaning on one side of his face with his arm on his knees. Like a napping rabbit, the Lord of Steel just smiled, ignoring the sparks caused by Morgan's riding boots rubbing against the anvil, and patiently explained to her.

"Of course, Morgan, I have set up mechanisms for every item in this foundry, as well as the foundry itself. Only my fingerprints can open them: when I push open the door, every item in the room Things will work at full strength.”

【Amazing. 】

Morgan smiled.

[What you said really makes me feel a little greedy, brother. I also want my throne room or those private spaces where treasures are stored to have this function: If one day you can be a guest on my Queen of Glory, maybe Can you give me some advice on my architect? 】

"It's a deal."

Perturabo responded lightly, and then his eyes focused worriedly on the slim blue and white skirt on Morgan and the almost bloodless calves exposed above the riding boots: They almost hugged the anvil beneath Morgan's seat, creating a stark contrast.

"Are you sure you want to sit here?"

Perturabo's voice was strained.

"I mean, I brought this anvil from Olympia, and it's been burning for at least a few centuries, and I've even given up on taking care of it: it might be a bit... to your clothes. …unfavorable."

[Afraid I’ll get it dirty? 】

Morgan squinted her eyes and licked the smile at the corner of her mouth. Then, while maintaining her sitting position, she rotated her waist and raised half of her buttocks, showing her blood relatives that she was not really sitting on it, but Sitting on a nearly imperceptible psychic membrane visible only to the Primarch.

"Brilliant manipulation."

The Lord of Steel nodded, admiring: In his impression, he had never seen a psyker use his invisible power so carefully and casually, maybe the Lord of Prospero could do it too. That's true, but given Magnus's character, he would definitely clean out the entire foundry in Perturabo on his own initiative first.

[It’s not perfect, it’s just habit and practice that makes perfect. 】

Morgan jumped down. This equipment was handy for Perturabo, but it was a bit too tall for her. She flashed in front of the Lord of Steel in the next moment, then pinched two fingers and lifted up the hem of her skirt. One corner was stretched out in front of the blood relative.

【check it out. 】

"...?"

The Lord of Steel was a little confused, but he still took off his gloves obediently. His rough fingertips grabbed the skirt of the Lord of Avalon, and just rubbed it cautiously. After thinking for a moment, the frowned eyebrows appeared. Then it suddenly exploded.

"Excellent materials, and..."

"Psychic...?"

"How many psychic marks did you add?"

[I can't remember either. ]

Morgan pulled the hem of her skirt out from Perturabo's fingers, and then stroked the string of words on her chest that symbolized the Dawnbreaker with some nostalgia: For her, this blue-white slim dress is a very memorable treasure, because as early as on Dawn Star, as early as when she first met Magnus and Perturabo, she wore this dress, and she has never changed it for so many years.

Of course, just like the Ship of Theseus in ancient mythology, the Primarch has been constantly mending and reprocessing this slim dress over the years. It is no longer the ordinary fabric it once was: there are hundreds of psychic marks on it alone, and even the firepower of the Titans can hardly damage it.

[Anyway, my habit is that whenever I have a flash of inspiration and come up with a new psychic mark template intentionally or unintentionally, I will just slap one on my long skirt. It will be very convenient to find it later: after so many years, there are at least 500 psychic marks with different functions on this dress, right? ]

Morgan licked his lips.

[If I remember correctly, the one I slapped recently is an imitation mark. Anyone who touches this dress can transform their image in the eyes of others into this person's appearance: that is to say, maybe I will become you, brother. ]

"I think that's a loss for your narrator."

Perturabo smiled. He did not think carefully about the dangerous meaning of this sentence like he did when facing others. Instead, he responded with a self-deprecating tone and did not forget to pat his rough face.

"After all, the narrators should like Morgan's appearance more than Perturabo."

[Yes, the narrators from Terra do pay much attention to appearance. Of course, in their words, they are looking for beauty in the legion. However, in my legion, there are no narrators worthy of my attention: their artistic level is completely inferior to my image director. ]

Morgan shook his head.

"You have an image director?"

[A respectable senior, and also a pleasing guy. ]

The Lord of Avalon blinked, skipped the topic, and changed the subject.

[Compared to those mortals, I care more about another thing, Perturabo: How did you know that our gene father found another lost blood brother just by my few descriptions? ]

"It's just simple logical reasoning."

When Morgan left, Perturabo came to the anvil and started it, then turned around and picked and chose on the exhibition wall on one side, selecting a few works that he thought were not very successful and put them in.

As he watched the molten iron slowly flow into the furnace, turning all materials into a blinding red slurry, the Lord of Steel raised his head and continued to answer the question. "After all, a mere planetary civil war cannot attract our Gene Father. He is the master of the Empire and the Great Crusade. Even a riot that swept across several star regions is not enough for him to go there."

"Then, this planet where the civil war is taking place must have its own unique value. It is either located in an important geographical location, or it is extremely valuable in itself, or it contains treasures that cannot be abandoned."

"And considering that you said that this planet is at the southern end of the Storm Segmentum, the first two speculations can basically be abandoned: because there are no important worlds there, and it is just a desolate place for the Empire."

"In other words, there is only one answer left: there must be a treasure on that planet that the Emperor cannot give up, and at this moment, among the countless treasures buried in the entire galaxy, what is more worthy of the Emperor's personal visit than a [Primarch who has not yet returned]?"

"And our brother returned a little too late."

Perturabo smiled confidently, and his finger tapped his temple.

"I have absolute confidence in this, Morgan: In my first year back in the human empire, I had already memorized the map of the entire galaxy, and remembered hundreds of thousands of important worlds and star regions, while the southern end of the Storm Segmentum was a blank area, which was never worth my worrying about. The only thing I need to remember is Barbarus, the home planet of our brother Mortarion's legion."

[I don't remember that place. ]

Morgan snorted.

[But you, my brother, can you remember so much information? Even I spent many years to completely engrave the entire Far Eastern Frontier area and its general information in my mind: and even now, it takes me some time to remember them all. ]

"I think there are two main reasons for this."

Perturabo's face was reddened by the swirling smoke and flowing liquid metal. When he raised his head, his face was like the ruthless demons in Terra's ancient legends who were responsible for guarding hell.

"First, Morgan, you really underestimate yourself, and your Far Eastern Frontier: your Far Eastern Frontier is a powerful country that is constantly expanding and changing. It is very difficult for any Primarch to completely copy it, because it is constantly changing every moment, just like any emerging country, full of vitality, changing with each passing day, and dazzling."

[Is that so...]

Morgan smiled weakly. Although she knew that the words of the Olympians were not malicious, she still instinctively avoided topics related to the Far Eastern Frontier: being low-key on this issue has become one of the philosophies of the Lord of Avalon, so she naturally picked up the shield named Guilliman.

[But Robert...]

"He is him, and you are you."

Perturabo waved his hand indifferently without waiting for her to finish, and knocked the half-picked [Shield of Macragge] in Morgan's hand to the ground, rolling into the darkness and disappearing in the service area of ​​the Lord of Avalon: Guilliman is really getting less and less useful.

"Besides, the size of the Five Hundred Worlds may be twice that of the Far Eastern Frontier, but if we only talk about the influence within the Empire, Guilliman can't compare to you: your country is still a collective with a strong sense of existence even on Holy Terra."

[...]

What?

The Lord of Avalon frowned all of a sudden: she just felt like the unlucky Lord of Macragge, who accidentally slept one day and woke up to find that the entire human empire had collectively believed in Lorgar's religion, and by the way, his Ultramarines Legion and the Five Hundred Worlds were torn to pieces.

How Guilliman would feel in the face of all this, then Morgan is feeling the same way now: God has mercy on her, she has been diligently reducing the reputation of the Far Eastern Frontier within the human empire for decades, and then replacing it with her personal influence, just to achieve a delicate balance.

As a result, her Avalon is actually more famous than she thought?

[You mean... influential? ]

"At least, if compared with the Five Hundred Worlds, it is true."

Perturabo nodded.

"Terra obviously likes you more."

"About three years ago, I returned to Holy Terra for some reason, and I found that there were quite a few cargo ships from the Far Eastern Frontier at the port of Terra: the Avalon specialties piled in their cabins, if sold in Holy Terra, could generate a profit factor of several thousand percent, enough for these merchants to travel across most of the galaxy."

"At the same time, I can also hear discussions about Avalon and the Far Eastern Frontier from the mortal officials of Terra. Most of them are well-intentioned. There are even some Terra officials in charge of trade and diplomatic affairs who can speak fluent Gothic with an Avalon accent."

[There is no shortage of talented people everywhere...]

"However, there is one thing worth noting."

Perturabo touched his chin and began to look for his tools.

"I once observed out of curiosity, and then found that these arrogant Terrans actually can't really distinguish the subtle differences between Avalon, the Five Hundred Worlds, or even Nostramo and the Great Vortex. They often regard some planets and customs from the Five Hundred Worlds or the Great Vortex as those from Avalon, and give them the name of the Far Eastern Frontier."

"What's more, most people don't even bother to distinguish these areas, but uniformly call these areas [Eastern]: the eastern part of the galaxy conquered by the Empire, a wonderful area of ​​​​richness and barbarism."

[Eastern Empire? 】

"That's right."

Perturabo carefully fumbled out his slender casting mold and welding laser machine, turned around and took out several pieces of precious alloys, placed them in front of the blazing flames one by one, and conceived the blueprints to be used later in his mind.

His face was full of sarcasm.

"The arrogance of the Terrans, isn't it?"

"Just like the Romans living in Rome look at Constantinople."

[Your metaphor is not very beautiful. 】

"Just telling the truth."

The Lord of Steel smiled.

[Then, what about the second reason? ]

The Spider Queen continued to ask, and the Olympian was about to answer, but suddenly got stuck: Perturabo seemed to have thought of something, his body trembled slightly for a moment, and his expression flashed a moment of entanglement.

It was as if the so-called two reasons were just what he said at the moment, and the Lord of Steel himself did not want to say the second reason: at least not now.

This conclusion was a bit strange, but according to Morgan's knowledge of the person in front of her, and her careful observation at that moment, she was sure that this was the truth: So, the Lord of Avalon just smiled and did not show any interest in the so-called second reason. It was nothing more than Perturabo's self-praise of his excellent abilities in his heart.

Then, the Spider Queen's topic turned quietly, seamlessly connecting to a topic she had thought of before, a driving force for her to come to Perturabo: the moment she received the letter from the Emperor, Morgan had already conceived this plan in her mind.

[Forget it, brother.]

[Compared to these, I have a suggestion, do you want to listen to it?]

"Tell me about it."

The Lord of Steel stood still, coughed pretentiously, and stared at the fire in front of him.

Morgan just chuckled. She was no longer surprised by any of Perturabo's actions. On the contrary, she had absolute confidence that she could tear the Olympian defense line to pieces with the next sentence.

[Brother, my suggestion is: do you want to go to see the Emperor with me? ]

"!"

Perturabo's huge head turned around at once.

"...Did he summon me?"

[No, it's just my suggestion. ]

The light in his pupils dissipated, replaced by a heavy cough and hesitation forced out of the Lord of Steel's throat.

"But... I still have a mission..."

[If I can convince the Emperor on this matter, brother, will you go? ]

"...But this is against..."

[Will you go? ]

"..."

"Go."