Chapter 66 Harvest Time

Compared to the narrow corridor, this laboratory-like space is more spacious, but also darker.

Fluorescent strips are embedded in the wall of the room about ten inches from the ground, illuminating the smooth obsidian floor and the wall with almost invisible gaps.

There are several scattered glass jars stored here urgently, with twitching young human body parts floating in the jars. A large number of cables are inserted from the neck along the spine to extract human stem cells and other human components needed by the Black Judge.

The next moment Perturabo saw the situation in the room clearly, artillery fire came from a remote angle. In order to avoid the ubiquitous glass tubes in the room, the new round of attacks could hardly pose an effective threat to them.

This made Perturabo feel particularly ridiculous. Could the madness of heretics make them stupid?

Without any communication, he and Horus rushed forward separately.

The huge claws of the shepherd wolf god easily smashed the glass jar, pulled out the half-dead people inside and put an end to them. The sticky life-support fluid and broken glass shards were scattered all over the ground, and the blood did not flow much.

When some sticky liquid splashed onto Horus' wolf skin during the process, the wolf god's expression remained unchanged, but his claws and hammers were swung with more force. The spikes on the hammer repeatedly cut deep cracks in the obsidian ground, almost as if to make the lifeless houses tremble.

"You don't want to recycle these biotechnologies, do you, my brother?"

"No, they're too stupid!" Perturabo replied.

Horus swung his hammer more vigorously.

Perturabo made way to the side, and more soldiers of the Fourth Legion poured into the room. A group of iron-gray power armor Astartes, who were about the height of the Primarch's chest, destroyed all the furnishings in the room efficiently like a torrent at Perturabo's signal. Cables were pulled out, walls were cracked, and hidden energy pipelines and machine gun ports were all cleared.

After the cleaning work was completed, the soldiers stood still and waited for orders, approached their Primarchs in an orderly manner, held their weapons, and waited for the next instruction from the young Primarch.

Horus smashed the last glass jar of his half of the house and nodded to Perturabo. The Legion continued to move forward.

They had penetrated deep into the key areas of the ship, with more static defense systems and fewer biochemical slaves that could damage experiments and life support facilities.

If it were another Primarch, such as Horus coming alone, they would probably only rely on the Astartes' own reaction quality and armor protection to force their way through these high-tech defenses from ancient times.

But Perturabo found that calculating all the doubts here was almost a natural and easy thing for him to do without thinking.

His superhuman wisdom accurately identified the layout patterns and weaknesses of the Black Judges in the midst of infinite complexity, and each attack accurately achieved the best effect that ammunition and swords could achieve.

The first moment he saw the image, Perturabo could construct a complete and detailed corresponding model, and in the second moment he calculated the hidden energy core hubs everywhere, and the third moment was the time to command the Legion to attack.

Unlike the mortals of Lokos before, these steel-clad warriors seemed to be an extension of his arms and mind, strictly executing his every order. In the process of commanding this legion that was interlocked and operated efficiently like a gear, Perturabo found an exhilarating experience that he had never experienced before.

"Like my hammer," Perturabo murmured in a low voice, his words hidden in his helmet, "war is also a forging."

War blacksmith. Such a word popped up in the corner of his busy brain.

After going deeper into the ship, the hum of the machinery became louder. In the last dark room, Horus stomped on the ground suddenly, like a gust of wind, and instantly caught a half-mechanical creature that was about to escape - Perturabo would never call them human.

The speed at which the wolf god smashed the mechanical shell and pulled these twisted creatures of the ancient times out of the life-sustaining liquid was almost synchronized with the speed at which the Fourth Legion cleared the battlefield with firepower and sharp blades. A large number of mechanical bodies that were almost integrated with flesh and blood were smashed to the ground.

Compared with the mechanical defenses and biochemical slaves outside, the bodies of these creatures were so fragile that they were vulnerable. They lived in a dim environment and rotted in rusty shells.

Perturabo pulled out a slippery creature that was twisted beyond all possibility of twisting from a mechanical shell with severed appendages that the Astartes had brought him, held it in his gauntlet and lifted it up, observing it twitching in pain after being separated from the life-sustaining fluid with indifference.

"Can you speak?" he asked.

The creature whimpered disappointingly. Perturabo threw it out, letting it be torn apart by countless bolts in the air. Every soldier of the Fourth Legion was eager to take another shot at the target sent by the Primarch.

Horus stepped on the debris and walked to Perturabo's side, and the surrounding Astartes made way for the tall Primarch. Perturabo asked them to collect data, clean up the battlefield, and count the secret supplies themselves, waiting for him to check and organize them later.

"It smells bad here," Horus said, the remaining momentum from the battle still lingering on him. He propped his hammer on the ground.

"I'm wearing a helmet." Perturabo replied. The air filtration system of this huge armor made by someone unknown was very good. He decided to take the armor away for research.

Horus smiled and looked proudly at the broken cables and broken energy weapons waiting to be analyzed. "I am impressed by your command style, brother."

"How do you lead your legion?"

"Oh, you're half a king and lord of an entire army, but I used to be a gang leader. Thanks to my father, he was willing to hand over an entire army to a punk he picked up from a small planet."

The Shepherd God paused: "But I still had hair at that time."

Perturabo was kicked out of his serious thinking state by Horus's last words.

"Horus, are your legions also this iron-gray color?" he asked.

"Well, they look whiter." Horus swallowed the adjective "pearl white", unable to forget the mysterious hint Mors had mentioned before. Maybe when he was truly mentally prepared, he would ask the Emperor.

"You should be able to paint them any color you like, too."

"Uniform color matching style?" Perturabo fell into thinking and began to formulate plans, imagining which color would be better for his iron shells.

At the same time, he couldn't help but imagine how to match the available weapons he saw along the way into the hands of the Astartes.

Alien weapons? No, that's called orthodox human technology from the dark ages.

“I’ll do concept drawings.”

After Perturabo decided to paint the picture with lust, he asked Mors to accompany him to choose. After all, the artistic level of the craftsman cannot be denied. Just think about the level of the last sculpture he decided to give to him...

Wait a minute, that sculpture—

Perturabo opened his eyes wide, and the divine temperament of the faceless sculpture immediately overlapped with that of a certain golden figure he had seen recently.

He took a breath, startled by a deep and indelible curiosity about who Morse really was.

Perturabo shook his head and decided to ask Morse about the statue when he went back.

Morse's recent abnormal emotional state seemed to hint at many secrets, and he might be able to dig some holes in Morse's ever-impeccable emotional shell just like breaking through the ship's defenses.