Emperor's Bane

Chapter 838 One-Man Show

"Do you want to be a god?"

An unsettling sound echoed through the shadows clinging to the Primarch.

"Not thinking."

Perturabo did not turn around, his green eyes gleaming above his plow-shaped muzzle.

"I'm already doing that."

The Primarch's voice was like the sound of steel boots trampling on the ground, rolling over the silent room: from the piles of documents to the scattered instruments, from the ashes-covered awards to the bright and clean photo frames, from the desks covered with calculation formulas to the dripping life detectors on the walls.

It is still working, just as the Lord of Steel expected. The unpredictable detection light of the naked eye scans the neat and silent room again and again. The lonely red dot always reminds people of a fact.

In this cold iron tomb, only the Primarch radiates the heat of life.

“It’s a ridiculous goal.”

“It has no value worth completing.”

But the sound still exists, right behind the Primarch, so clear.

"value."

Perturabo whispered the word, and his pen paused for a moment: only a moment, and then continued to flow.

"It's been a long time since I used these words to measure my actions."

“We must keep pace with the times: the world belongs to those who are always willing to take a step forward.”

The Primarch seemed to be giving instructions patiently, but also seemed to be just talking to himself.

This time, no voice responded to him.

Perturabo was absorbed in his work; he always had much to do.

So, the Primarch adjusted the light on his desk first: he certainly had a better plan to replace this antique, if this lamp was not the first gift Kelly Fanny sent him after he left Olympia.

The same principle can be applied to the marble desk sent by Guilliman, the Great Vortex Star Map composed by Morgan, the sword given by Jonson as a thank-you gift for the Warmaster's election (although this Caliban weapon has a strong shadow of Avalon), and the adamantine ring that Konrad placed in his palm during his last visit.

From the Primarch's perspective, the practical value of these gifts was very limited: the star map that could display the real-time changes in the geographical situation of the Great Vortex might be a priceless treasure, but the remaining items only had sincerity.

So Perturabo chose to carry them all with him: although he didn't think he would need a sword, and always felt that the ring on his finger would look out of place when he was drawing a blueprint, he never intended to throw away these meaningless things.

Like this marble table.

After all, without him, these things would be meaningless in the land of Olympia.

It was as if the Forge General had written his sincerity in black and white: after hearing about his cruel deeds on Mars, Perturabo would no longer be impressed by him.

Kalpohar, taking advantage of the more than ten years when Holy Terra was too busy to take care of other things, and taking advantage of the chaos and disorder after Nikea, launched a large-scale purge on the land of Omnissiah that was no less severe than the infighting during the Age of Strife.

The center of the Mechanicus has never been controlled by such a powerful hand. Except for a few strong strongholds, all the bishops have to bow to the new king of Mars, and the furnaces and gears play for the general's orders.

As for Holy Terra: they could only be bitter spectators throughout the whole process.

The High Lords were overwhelmed with their own affairs, they had more important things to do, and without the Emperor's intervention, they had no authority to manage the other pole of the Double-Headed Eagle.

Perhaps, Terra has tried to make some efforts in recent days, but new news came from the north of the galaxy.

Horus is back.

He and three other Primarchs completed a massive campaign of conquest across the northern frontiers of the galaxy, and returned home with many crowns and victory: news of this event spread like a whirlwind throughout the galaxy and the Great Crusade.

The Wolf-Shepherd God not only brought back hundreds of new worlds, but also brought back the surrender of several powerful pocket empires. The precious cultural relics escorted back to Terra by Horus himself, which were said to record the history of the past ten thousand years, pushed the reputation of the Warmaster to a new peak.

When Horus completed the handover ceremony of the historical text with the high lords in the low-Earth orbit of Holy Terra, he looked more like the ruler of the human home planet and the entire galaxy than these powerful kings.

Even the most stubborn high lord had to admit this reality: the Wolf God was at the peak of his power at this time.

He expanded the territory, solved the most critical hidden danger in the northern part of the galaxy, and the operation of the Wolf Kingdom was already on the right track. There was no doubt that the largest kingdom among the Primarchs would exert due influence in the next few decades.

He brought glory: In the process of conquest, the Warmaster proved that he was not a warmongerer obsessed with fame and fortune, and that he could also accept compromise and peace. As a result, more and more powerful people who rose up in the tide of the Great Crusade and hoped to pass on their family wealth began to turn their attention to the Warmaster.

But more importantly, the Wolf-God gradually won over the hearts of the other Primarchs: the open confrontation on Ullanor was once thought to have permanently shaken Horus' rule, but the Warmaster won over each of his brothers at an astonishing speed and forgot the past unpleasantness.

He calmed Morgan down, and after the expedition ended, the Spider Queen was full of praise for the Warmaster, and his Dawnbreaker Legion, which had long been accustomed to following the pace of the Primarch, also had a good attitude towards the Luna Wolves.

He also dealt with those who seemed more difficult to deal with: the Lion King and several other Primarchs jointly sent a letter to the Warmaster, inviting him to express his personal views on the overall strategy of the Great Crusade. This was something that had never happened before and was also seen as a precursor to the Lion King taking the initiative to ease relations.

As for the rest, such as Perturabo, who also opposed Horus, some minor policy tilts and friendly indifference could buy their friendship: at least, the Lord of Steel was happy with such an exchange.

He didn't care about the game of thrones that the Warmaster or the Fabricator General were playing, he just wanted them to help him solve his problems, and the Primarch didn't mind being their temporary ally.

Although this did not make him have more respect for these people in his heart.

"Power... glory... status... ha!"

Perturabo sneered and put the final touches on the envelope.

He took a cursory glance: this was a reply letter to the Fabricator-General, one that Perturabo would never read out himself, filled with amazing courtesy and covert flattery, enough to make Kalbohar believe that he had firmly grasped the heart of a Primarch.

That's what he thought: endless victories brought endless arrogance to the Casting General.

And Perturabo has been watching coldly.

He was just curious, whether this arrogance would bring a more beautiful victory, or would become food for the next successor: perhaps through this simple observation, he could understand what the difference was between the other extreme of the majestic Double-Headed Eagle and the most ordinary war blacksmith under his command?
He looks forward to the day when he gets the answer.

But before that: Perturabo didn't mind saying a few nice things against his will.

Anyway, every word of flattery can bring more information and intelligence: the ships from Mars always bring more surprises to the Primarch, and there seems to be endless wealth buried under the red land.

He was almost impressed.

"Ah……"

Perturabo smiled again: the curve of his mouth was sharper than a sword.

Then he rolled the written letter aside and piled it together with the flattery of the Forging General: it was a towering mountain of countless documents.

The Primarch looked at it and was silent for a moment.

He seemed to be hesitating about what to do next: should he continue to deal with the mundane affairs in the legion and the country that had no challenges at all, pick up some interrupted scientific research projects, or continue to think about his dreams to determine what exactly he should do in his first step?
This is indeed a problem.

The Lord of Steel stood in absolute silence for almost a minute.

Then, he clenched his right hand into a fist and pressed it tightly against the table: Although he did not press any buttons or speak any commands, a shadow somewhere in the room seemed to have begun to operate along with the will of the Lord of Steel.

The Primarch waited: until the wind-light steps paused.

"You think this isn't a good idea?"

Perturabo did not turn his head, but stared straight ahead at the ever-changing star map.

"I just don't see why it's worth investing more energy in you, or in any of us, to be the enemy of reason and logic in order to be a being that can't be verified or seen with one's own eyes."

The voice was still calm, with a natural aura of confidence, like both a boy and a man, but more like a senior official who was used to holding power: if you ignore the lingering immaturity in it.

"Great idea."

Perturabo smiled, a real smile this time, and nodded, rubbing his thumb over the gold ring on his index finger.

“You think God doesn’t exist?”

"There's no way to prove their existence: Has anyone actually seen them?"

"what……"

The Lord of Steel chuckled, his voice sounded gentle, like a father with ill intentions facing his son.

"Then tell me: If God does not exist, where does such a special you come from?"

"..."

The voice paused.

Then, there was the sound of the throat tightening and swallowing saliva unconsciously.
"I do not know."

He simply admitted it.

"But I want to know."

Perturabo snorted softly, then turned around slowly.

"I want, too."

The Primarch looked at him, at the creation that could communicate with him on an equal footing.

He was a boy, a boy who was smart enough yet strong enough, with strong muscles on his limbs and all the knowledge in the world between his deep facial features: if you look closely, you can see traces of climbing on his knees and wrists.

He is Perturabo.

A younger Perturabo, pieced together with machines and gears according to all the memories and logic in the Lord of Steel's mind, and fixed at a certain moment in the past: when the Primarch communicated with him, he could directly listen to what his past self said.

"You don't know either?"

The boy Perturabo was a little frustrated.

"At least I'm not sure of the answer yet."

The Primarch looked towards another shadow.

“This is the first problem I have ever had that I cannot solve.”

"Who am I? Where did I come from? Was it God or someone else who created me?"

"..."

The boy frowned.

“But I have no impression: this is the first time I’ve heard this question.”

"of course."

The primarch nodded.

"After all, your memory and impression were left after I climbed the cliff and before I entered Rocks' palace. This was the first trace of fate that was left in my mind, and that's why I created you."

I want to hear what my original self, uninfluenced by the outside world, would say about the problems I face. "

“Does this make you feel helped?”

The boy's question silenced the Primarch.

"Do not."

He shook his head.

“I just want to see how far away I am from the past.”

"So, I created you and left you before every moment that I believed could change my life."

"Understandable."

The boy nodded.

But soon, with a hint of displeasure, he pointed to another shadow in the room.

"But with all due respect: do you think he also represents the moment that changed your life?"

The Primarch followed his gaze, but there seemed to be only a vague shadow there.

But if you look more closely, you can catch a glimpse of an amazing behemoth in the shadows: it is a giant armed to the teeth, he is cold and ruthless, looking down at the surroundings indifferently, his whole body filled with the breath of war and killing.

No one would doubt that when such a giant walks in the galaxy, he is destined to be responsible for countless deaths and blood.

"You don't like him?"

Perturabo did not look surprised.

"His breath."

The boy frowned.

"It was killing and death: he decided to let pointless blood flow."

“Smart take.”

The Primarch smiled with satisfaction.

"Yes, because it was staying at another important time in my life. I had just left what I thought was the world and stepped into a broader and more difficult stage. The first impression this stage gave me was loss and failure: because of my legion."

"..." The boy seemed to have thought of something.

"So... you decided to kill them?"

"This was the first order I issued after meeting with the Iron Warriors."

When he said this, there was a touch in Perturabo's voice that even he himself was not aware of.

"But at this time."

Suddenly, the Primarch changed the subject and pointed to the heavily armed giant in the shadows.

"I have not spoken yet: I have only just completed an observation which has greatly disappointed me."

The boy narrowed his eyes.

"So, can I assume that you regret the following order?"

"Do not."

The giant retorted without hesitation.

"Never." / "Maybe."

Completely opposite words were spoken by two almost identical mouths.

Then, ignoring the stunned silence of the boy and the giant, Perturabo turned and poured himself a glass of wine, a glass of wine brought from Baal: bitter and hard to swallow.

Perturabo basically doesn't drink, and he certainly wouldn't drink this kind of wine. He just likes to pour a glass while working and use the slightly bitter taste to regulate his mood.

"I just realized..."

The Primarch paused for a moment, quietly swaying the wine in the glass.

"After I issued that order, it seemed like I had lost an opportunity forever."

"A chance for me to rule the Legion like Sanguinius or Morgan."

"It is gone from me forever: blood and efficiency have completely killed its existence."

"..."

The Primarch was silent.

“That was the first time in my life that I lost some possibility of a future.”

“It’s like a towering tree that was originally lush and green. On that day, I cut off one of its branches with my own hands. Although the remaining branches are still lush and green, the wound left behind will never heal: at least that’s what I thought before.”

"It will never be complete either."

"Is this... depressing?"

The boy glanced at the giant: it seemed that he would never speak.

"Should I say... regret? Or joy?"

Perturabo put down his glass.

"After all, it really made me care, and it did bring me a new research direction."

"what is that?"

The boy felt curious, and he faced his future self as if he were a teacher.

“People always say: What has happened can never be changed.”

"But I don't think so."

The Primarch's fingers gently stroked the neatly arranged scrolls on the table.

“I often wonder if I can rewrite things that have already happened, because their existence always makes me uneasy and is not good for my efficiency and logic: No, this is not a topic about time.”

"Every choice I made, I could make again without regret, but I do want to know what fate would have been if I had chosen another path at every decision: I want to get the answer through calculation and hard work."

"return to the past?"

“No: it’s about building the future.”

Perturabo held up a finger.

“Every mistake can be corrected, and every regret is no exception: as long as I can find enough ways and means.”

The boy tilted his head, he still seemed unable to understand the logic.

"what do you mean……"

"It's very simple."

The giant spoke.

“As long as we can understand the logic and operating rules of each event, then, even if we cannot return to the future, we can make up for it after it happens: find the best way to remedy it through logic and calculation, and perfectly eliminate the mistakes.”

"Going one step further: simply by applying logic and rules, we can perfectly deduce every choice we made and every possibility that would result. This will prevent us from making mistakes in the future and make our past mistakes seem insignificant."

After saying this, the giant who had not yet issued the eleven-draw kill order looked at the deity.

"And being able to do all this is no different from being omniscient and omnipotent."

"Is this what you mean by... becoming a god?"

“Master all the logic and rules, and you will never make any mistakes again, and you will never miss any choice again.”

“It’s just one of those pursuits.”

The Primarch remained scornful of his mystery.

"My ultimate goal is much more ambitious: but your summary is indeed correct."

He raised his glass.

"I want to go and see if there is a universe outside the Milky Way that encompasses all logic and rules, a third world that is equivalent to the subspace, a world created by reason and possibility."

"It's... incredible."

The boy's eyes widened: but he didn't think this dream was ridiculous.

"Can you prove its existence?"

"A very simple example."

The Primarch held up a finger.

"Do you think that human or alien technology can change the laws of the subspace?"

"I've never heard of it."

"Me too: But human or alien technology can change the laws of the real universe."

The Primarch spread his hands.

"They can invent a gun with a 120% hit rate, they can develop a bullet that hits the target before it leaves the chamber, and they can even usurp the will of life and extend the limits of natural evolution again and again: all of these touch upon the most basic laws of the real universe."

"And if the real universe is really an existence equivalent to the subspace, then why is it so weak: the so-called technology cannot shake the rules of the subspace, but it can also rewrite the real universe at will."

"..."

"unless……"

In the silence of his audience, Perturabo fantasized about his answer.

"Unless there is a true rule universe outside of this, which is equivalent to the subspace, and the rules of the real universe are just its projection: just like technology cannot change the rules of the subspace, but it can change the impact of the subspace on the real universe."

"Everything we see is just a projection of the logical universe."

"In this way, many problems can be explained, right?"

"..."

"You want to find this universe?"

"Yes."

The primarch nodded.

“This is an ideal: it may take me thousands or tens of thousands of years.”

"But: In any case, endless life is always looking for some valuable or worthless goals."

This statement made the boy frown.

"Are you sure it exists?"

"I can not."

The primarch shook his head.

"In essence, what I just said was nothing more than a delusion."

"So, if you can't find it..."

"Then I will create one myself."

Perturabo smiled his smile: a smile that could be described as innocent, or crazy.

"I will lay the foundation, build the basis with calculation and logic, and create a world that exists entirely in the virtual world, a world that does not exist but can be logically self-consistent."

Then I will capture every rule, and I will input all the logic into this space until it can run completely on its own computationally, until it will not make any mistakes anymore.”

"Until it becomes a universe, a universe completely free from the influence of the warp, and operated by infinite calculations and laws."

"And I will sit in the center. As the founder and master of this new universe, I will ensure the safe operation of every law, make sure all logic is in its proper place, ensure the flow of data, and allow calculations to be correct."

“I will become a master of logic, rules, data, and calculations.”

"I will be the Omnissiah."

“A word that our fathers carried but did not want to carry.”

"I will..."

"Cold and heartless."

“Efficient and correct.”

"Omniscient and omnipotent."

“I will bring endless possibilities.”

He suddenly smiled and raised his glass to the boy and the giant as if jokingly.

"Believe me, when calculations are taken to the extreme, the other side of fantasy is nothing more than this."

"And by that time..."

The Primarch looked at the bright red in the cup.