Chapter 81: Strange Ceiling

The mist that shrouded Prospero's beings in the dim firelight reflected in the warp temporarily dimmed, and the evil god was forced to loosen its claws after the struggle and trauma, reluctantly loosening its hold on the place.

However, considering the characteristics of the Lord of Change, Morse still seems to be able to smell a conspiracy and planning from the seemingly calm waves of the vast ocean.

He no longer thought about it and directly let his composite spirit body respond to the echo of the other body.

In an instant, before any waves of shifting colors and twisted dimensions could capture him through his senses, he woke under an unfamiliar ceiling.

He looked at the ceiling formed by bright silver steel splicing, and allocated the sensing units to the parts of the body that should be skin as he thought, and a chill of cold iron immediately came from beneath his body.

Morse jumped down from the waking plane and found that it was an anvil of a size suitable for the original body whose display significance was far greater than its practical value. It was placed in Perturabo's office.

Perturabo himself was wearing a serious expression that was more unchanging than steel. He folded his hands on the table and waited for him to come over with a calm expression.

"Good morning." Morse took out a wicker chair out of thin air. After sitting down, he levitated the chair to a suitable height for the meeting with the original body and said, "Is this your temporary flagship?"

Perturabo immediately and accurately pulled out the document he wanted from the pile of paper bricks in his hand, flattened the triangular creases in the corners of the paper, and handed it to Morse.

At the same time, he spoke firmly and forcefully: "Yes, I will temporarily use a combat barge as a command ship. This is my future flagship drawing and current progress report in the early stages of construction. You can take a look."

"Don't be so gnashing your teeth when we're not engaged in some final battle, Perturabo." Morse flipped over the drawings, "I know you're nervous to see me. It's okay. I won't stuff you with a spoon." Stock pot. "

Perturabo's brows trembled. The original body maintained his seriousness meticulously. Except for a few muscles used to say "I already know", no part of the body changed from tense to relaxed.

This surprised Morse: Perturabo usually did not sit upright and solemnly in front of him.

Perturabo pulled out a black pen suitable for mortals from the pen holder on the table. After Morse took it, he skillfully made annotations on the side of the drawing marked with the name of the ship "Iron Blood".

"As your first design, this boat is obviously a bit over the top. Who collaborated with you?"

"The Adeptus Mechanicus," Perturabo said, flashing back to the red-robed cyborgs that almost made him fire his hand cannon. "They believe in the God of All Machines."

"It's understandable. In the midst of strife and darkness, God can take any form that can satisfy people's psychological needs. The design is good, but what about the windows on your ship?"

“The eyes can deceive us, and there are so many ways, both in war and non-war, that our sensory experience can seriously deviate from reality.”

Perturabo received the other's shared senses and found Magnus lying in the yellow sand again, holding his throat and retching. As a child, he was helplessly patting the red giant's arm.

When he receives information from another place, there will be a brief pause to process another set of senses that violates the common sense of the brain.

This sometimes causes him to mistakenly think that his own body is his extra body for two or three seconds, so that he almost says two wrong sentences or does strange things.

So Perturabo wouldn't do it at a critical moment.

"In comparison, I still believe that data and logic will be more reliable." He said, thinking about Magnus' disaster.

"Relatively speaking, yes," Morse said. "Although any further discussion of senses and things-in-themselves would lead our conversation into another fruitless argument."

He returned the annotated drawings to Perturabo: "Is there anything else you wish to show me? I think under normal circumstances, it is impossible for a general's desk to be filled with all the summaries of several days in chronological order. Summary Document."

Perturabo did not ask how Morse could read the contents of the folded papers on his desk.

The original body was silent for an insignificant period of time, then stood up from his seat and placed one hand on the back of the chair.

"You can sit here and read any of these documents." Perturabo placed his broad palm lightly on the top of the extremely high pile of documents and said, "I will answer any questions I can answer."

"You have nothing else to do, Lord of the Legion who is not too busy?" Morse asked probingly.

"I have enough free time today." Perturabo remained motionless, bound to accompany Morse in the office for a harmonious day trip to the battleship.

"Hmm..." Morse decisively swept the entire battle barge with his consciousness silently. His support for privacy protection has never been positive.

Within a second, countless conversations and instant thoughts between Astartes and mortals poured into his mind, and were quickly classified and analyzed.

Morse raised an eyebrow, understanding what was the first thing Perturabo's Iron Warriors learned from Olympia.

He stood up from the wicker chair and floated in the air, the hem of his black robe floating in the air.

"I came to see you here because I have something serious to do," Morse said. "I wish to contact the Lord of Mankind through normal communication in a clean place far away from Prospero. Whether it is about the condition of Magnus or the current situation of the Fifteenth Legion of Terra, I have many questions to ask Communicate directly with him.”

"I'm going to find the Astropath right now." Perturabo immediately picked up the ship's communicator, and Morse shook his finger at him.

"No hurry." The black-robed man pointed to the locked door of the office, and the door lock was silently unlocked in the flowing rune shadow. "There is no urgent crisis in Magnus. I decided to tour your territory first. You don't need to accompany me. You can do your own thing."

Perturabo's expression was serious. If there were other Astartes in the command level here, they would immediately find that their gene father had taken the attitude of thinking about tactical policies when dealing with battles.

"Today is a rest day." Perturabo said, "There are no collective training and group activities to visit. But if you want, I can take you to the stonemason club that is being formed in the legion."

"In addition to the actual exchange of carving techniques, talented and interested iron warriors will gather there to test the latest offensive and defensive theories and conduct sandbox battlefield simulations."

"My descendants organized this gathering on their own, although the original intention seems to be to avoid the legion being famous for its poor craftsmanship in my memorial."

At this point, Perturabo smiled, "But the current trend of the gathering is good, and perhaps I will select the first batch of war blacksmiths at the gathering."

"I can accompany you to find them." He quietly added emphasis to this sentence.

"Do you think your most trusted sons are all there?"

"Not really, but many have joined. For example, the first officers I met."

"Hmm..." Morse said, "It sounds like you really trust them. Let's listen to what your sons are talking about in private."

He pulled out a projection screen-like phantom in the air, which was a spacious room in the ship with many carving practice supplies and war sand tables.

At this time, there were three Iron Warriors standing there whispering to each other, one of whom was holding his helmet tightly, and one was wearing an obviously old shoulder armor on his left shoulder.

"Father said he was resting today, so we shouldn't disturb him." Nador said. "We will test this tactic ourselves."

"Does father really have a mentor who has already..." Defeis whispered, "I originally thought it was just a rumor caused by the limited vision of the Olympians."

"But our Lord Perturabo really seemed to want to talk to the air more than once." Nador was worried. "It's like he's in another very distant world."

"And the craftsman only showed up at the first meeting of our legion."

"Shut up," Hako said impatiently, "Don't be disrespectful to the Primarch."

"Do you firmly believe that it's a rumor?"

"Even if it's not, you can't discuss it in private." Hako said, "Does this affect him being our genetic father?"

"It shouldn't have much of an impact." Morse said.

The three turned their heads in horror, only to see a black-robed man appear behind them at some point, the shadow cast by the hood covering his face, floating silently behind them.

"Hello everyone." Morse greeted.

Thirty seconds later, Perturabo rushed into the room and glared at the nonsense steel bastard, "Where is he!"

Nador pointed outside the door.

"Go find an astropath for me," Perturabo said quickly, "Send him to my office."

As soon as the voice fell, Perturabo left again quickly.