Author: Tide of Crows

Now, let's go back in time a little.

——————

While Ahriman and Phrix discussed the philosophy of mercy, murder, and death in the corridors of the battleship, their respective genetic fathers were discussing similar topics in the command room.

"This is not the first time I have carried out a massacre, Magnus, my brother, and I admit to you that when I was a general in Olympia I did the same thing as I do now, more than once."

"But at that time, I could at least convince myself that they were enemies stained with blood, die-hards who refused to surrender, and a group of people who did not need my pity or any commitment."

"But it's different now. My brother Magnus...it's really different now."

The shadow of the Lord of Steel was elongated by the light reflected from the huge floor-to-ceiling portholes. It was very long, extending all the way to the end of the room. On both sides of him, more than a dozen crew members and communications officers received the entire fleet's information.

Continuous signals and reports inform the progress of cleaning.

But Perturabo wasn't listening at all. He just stared almost stubbornly at the silent flash of the field of view: it was the fleet of the Iron Warriors and the Thousand Sons firing, and they smashed deadly shells into unsuspecting civilian ships.

, in order to more efficiently cleanse the cursed Dawn Star people, this wasteful behavior of ships was tacitly approved.

In a more distant place, the Dawn Star was burning. The sharp edge of the cyclone torpedo roared impatiently as soon as the order was given. This terrible star-destroying weapon did not lose its reputation at all, and the monstrous flames burned it.

Everything in this poor world, from the atmosphere to the mountains and rivers, from life to the soul, is swallowed up by a red net, and finally rolls up the curtain of death across the world, killing the Dawn Star itself at a speed visible to the naked eye. This

The grand funeral ceremony can be clearly observed even in the void.

Until the blood-red snare finally disappeared at the two poles of the dead world, the empire lost a once prosperous world to live in.

Perturabo lowered his head and, as the only guest at the funeral, offered his last condolences. Then, he turned his head and looked at his brother.

As the second tallest figure among the primarchs, Magnus's expression was clearly observed by his brothers: Lord Prospero also had sadness on his face, but not much, more like a man who wanted to express

A template set out with respect and attention.

"Doesn't what we're seeing even give you food for thought, Magnus?"

The Primarch of the Thousand Sons glanced at his brother. He was a little unsure which line Perturabo's mind was connecting to now: a general? A scholar? A rage? Or a sentimental artist?

It looks like the latter.

"Calm down, brother."

Magnus patted Perturabo on the shoulder.

"You and I both grew up in death. In the world of Olympia, you were involved in countless wars, and in Prospero, I led my people to exterminate the endless Devouring Bees. That kind of

Creatures are ten thousand times more powerful and cunning than the most difficult beasts in your mind. I have seen my soldiers die in battle, their brains and spirits being devoured and drained alive. Believe me, for a psychic

There is no more terrible way to die than this."

Lord Prospero laid both hands on his brother's shoulders, until his consciousness told him that Perturabo's spirit had stabilized again.

The Primarch was somewhat uncertain. His brother had long been a battle-experienced general, and had even committed the evil act of executing his own heirs with his own hands. How could he feel real pain due to the death of a mortal?

Unless... it was not mortal death that his brother despised, but failure: Perturabo's failure.

Perturabo arrived, Perturabo swore an oath, Perturabo worked hard, and Perturabo failed. This result was unacceptable to him. In the end, it was mixed with grand killing and turned into a kind of desire for death.

emotion.

Really Olympian thinking, isn't it?

Of course, Magnus would not express this conclusion.

——————

After just one deep breath, Perturabo calmed down again. Perhaps in order to forget the sentimentality just now, he became even colder.

They talked again, and the topic gradually broke away from the previous tragedy. Of course, these two like-minded Primarchs had endless topics to talk about. When Magnus ordered Morgan to come, his conversation with his brother had changed.

It became a kind of reminiscence, reminiscing about the time they spent together on Holy Terra seeking knowledge.

"Antikythera, do you remember it now, Magnus?"

Perturabo's voice made Magnus's one eye light up involuntarily, and he remembered the time when he and Perturabo studied side by side: together, the two primarchs were just like ordinary students in the ancient ruins of Terra.

Digging in search of lost wisdom.

"Of course, brother, of course I remember him, a dead naturalist whose remains are among the most precious finds that you and I have ever found."

Perturabo laughed after receiving the answer. He turned around and walked towards the deeper room. When he stepped out, he was holding a strange object in his hand.

The Lord of Steel placed it on the table and allowed Magnus to observe it carefully.

Lord Prospero was staring at this extremely complex instrument. The curved metal device, winding device and adjustable lens made him feel more and more familiar, and when he really thought about what it was,

At that moment, the Primarch took an incredibly deep breath.

"Antikythera...yes...Antikythera..."

"Oh my god...Perturabo...you, you succeeded?!"

"It's just an imitation, Magnus. I admit that if it is developed independently, it will take many years. But if it is just a copy of the predecessor's work, if it is just standing on the shoulders of giants and touching the sky, then it will take a few years.

It’s really enough.”

"No! Now is not the time to say this, my brother, no offense, but...can it be enabled?"

Perturabo shook his head.

"I'm not sure, I haven't really opened it, and Magnus, you just gave me a drawing and asked me to copy it, but you never explained its original design intention in detail, nor did you tell me

What exactly does it do and how does it work?"

"But you made it, Perturabo."

Lord Prospero nodded in wonder, then he looked at his brother and smiled.

"So what do you think it does?"

Perturabo thought for a moment.

"I believe it's some sort of navigational instrument, like the sextant used by sailors decades ago, but operating on a much larger scale. What kind of oceans would you be sailing in that would require this?

device of?"

Magnus turned his head and continued to stare at this extremely delicate instrument.

"The vast ocean."

"The vast ocean..."

Behind him, Perturabo's voice became uneasy.

"I take it...you mean the warp?"

"Yes, that's right there."

Lord Prospero is obsessed with the creation in front of him, which carries part of his dream.

"You can't imagine how wonderful it is, Perturabo. If the late naturalist hadn't recorded the mistake, then this magical little thing could even complete navigation in the subspace. By then..."

Magnus raised his head and looked around carefully.

"At that time, ships will no longer even need a pilot to determine and find their own direction in subspace. Even a group of mortals can use it to move forward steadily in the fog of subspace."

"Magnus...you should still remember what our father once said about the vast ocean. He didn't want us to go too deep into it, let alone these mortals. Going deeper means danger. You still

Remember?"

Perturabo sighed, walked in the room, rummaged behind Magnus, and finally lifted a heavy object, but Magnus was so focused that he didn't notice it at all.

"I know, bro, but it doesn't matter."

"No."

"There are relationships."

Perturabo's heavy footsteps vibrated on the ground, and he rushed in front of Magnus, dragging a hard metal object: a war hammer.

Just before the Thousand Sons' Primarch could react in any way, the Iron Lord's arm turned, and the war hammer made a hunting sound in the air in front of him, and finally fell suddenly.

The next moment, with a crisp cracking sound, that exquisite creation with infinite future had turned into cracked metal and broken lenses again. They fell to the ground together with the smashed table wreckage, making a sound of steel.

The sound of rain.

Magnus' expression froze.

"No...no, no, my brother, what are you doing!"

"Do what needs to be done, Magnus."

——————

Then, there was the scene that Morgan saw when he walked in.

——————

The Primarchs were roaring at each other, accusing each other in elegant terms and fiery tones as they could.

In Magnus's anger, Perturabo became a thug, a destructor, and a hopeless Spartan. He rebuked his blood brother and scolded him for not caring about wisdom and wisdom.

The crystallization of hard work.
To be continued...