Emperor's Bane

Chapter 893 The beauty hidden in the golden house
To this day, Perturabo can still remember the joke Conrad told him.

His Night Haunter brother is really interesting.

He looks vulgar, but his witty remarks contain unique insights and wisdom. His clothes and hair are always combed spotlessly, but he doesn't mind getting his fingers dirty when necessary.

And most importantly, although Conrad was just a rogue with no ambition and lived in ignorance, after several in-depth conversations, the Lord of Steel could clearly feel the open-mindedness and detachment in his brother's heart: a noble character that was truly enviable.

Morgan had educated him well.

Even someone as picky as Perturabo had to admit that Conrad was a great person to communicate with.

Although they had not met often, after all, the Lord of Iron had been obsessed with the blood and sieges in the Great Crusade so far, and Midnight Haunter's attention to the galaxy was far less than that to his hometown: short-sightedness might be the only shortcoming of this outstanding Lord of the Eighth Legion that was worthy of praise from outsiders.

But even so, the rare meetings between the two brothers left a deep impression on the Primarch.

Especially the time before Ullanor: the fleets of the Iron Warriors and the Night Lords met unexpectedly in a remote galaxy. After joining forces to destroy the alien civilization that was really unlucky, the primarchs of the two legions also met on the battlefield where the smoke of gunpowder had not yet cleared.

Because they were not familiar with each other, the two brothers did not have many common topics, but there were some: for example, a Lord of Avalon who had a profound impact on both of their lives.

It was during this conversation that Conrad put forward what seemed to Perturabo to be a novel idea.

------

"You mean to say that Morgan's anger is different from the anger of the rest of us?"

When he said this, the Lord of Steel's tone was unusually uncertain.

He really had never thought about it.

"of course."

Midnight Haunter nodded easily.

"After all, there is still a very obvious gap between Morgan and the rest of us: isn't it?"

Perturabo's brows arched in mockery.

"gender?"

"if not?"

"I don't think gender affects a Primarch."

“But there are behavioral gaps: You have to acknowledge that this is a serious biological issue.”

“I think it’s more like behavioral psychology: Why do you think it’s a biological problem?”

“Because I haven’t studied behavioral physiology.”

Conrad stroked his chin with pride.

"But I'm sure I'll get an A in behavioral physiology."

"why?"

"Because I'm still alive today: that's the proof."

"Of course, this is not mainly my fault: the real thanks goes to Morgan's good temper."

"And those who made Morgan's temper better."

Conrad muttered quietly.

"Okay, let's not talk about that: where were we just now?"

"Male rage and female rage: though I still don't understand what this has to do with the Primarch."

"Of course, my dear Perturabo."

Conrad's smile was so bright, so bright that even the Lord of Steel was a little uncomfortable: he clearly remembered that Nostramo was a very dark world.

"Because, in many cases, we Primarchs actually have a lot in common with mortals."

Perturabo immediately frowned in dissatisfaction.

"Give me an example?"

"You can think of it that way."

Midnight Haunter opened his arms dramatically.

“Suppose you were a child”

"I'm not a child, Conrad."

"Suppose! Suppose, understand? And we are all children before the Emperor, aren't we?"

"……continue."

"So, now you're a child, a teenager, who grew up in a normal family: that means your values ​​are not distorted, and you don't hate your parents, maybe you're a little annoyed with them, but you know they love you, just like any normal child knows."

"Humph……"

Perturabo snorted but said nothing.

"And now, you are quarreling with them, maybe because you did something wrong: whether it is really wrong or wrong in their eyes, anyway, now they are unwilling to talk to you, and lock you out of their room, waiting for you to take the initiative to admit your mistake."

"Me! Take the initiative to admit my mistake?"

"After all, there are very few parents who are willing to admit their mistakes to their children. Have you ever encountered this?"

"……go on."

The truth always prevailed on Perturabo.

"Now, imagine you are the child who wants to admit his or her mistake or talk to his or her parents again: you stand in front of their closed door, with your head lowered. What emotions would you feel at this time?

"nervous."

Although he seemed to disagree, Perturabo still accurately gave the correct answer.

"That's right: nervous."

"So, here's the problem."

Conrad grinned and moved closer.

"Please think about it carefully again."

“What makes you nervous when it’s your father in the room?”

"Father's...reprimand?"

"So, what if it's the mother?"

"A mother's scolding sounds just as terrible as a father's scolding, but a mother's scolding is not the most terrible thing."

"There's something else, right?"

"Like... tears?"

"..."

Perturabo hesitated, then nodded.

"For most normal mortals, that does seem to be the case."

"You see, that's the problem: using gender differences to make a difference in the universality of things."

"When we cower in the presence of a close male caregiver, we are probably in awe of his majesty."

“This majesty is multifaceted.”

"A lot of times, even when these male caregivers are very old, you're still intimidated by them."

"I know."

Perturabo nodded.

“I’m afraid of the memory, admiration and shadow that the concept of my father has left in my heart.”

"Correct."

Conrad smiled.

"So, when we cower before equally intimate female nurturers."

"What are we afraid of?"

“I’m afraid of the guilt in my heart.”

“Maybe we are not the real party at fault, but under the complicated factors of emotions and past, we will still feel nervous because of the inexplicable guilt in our hearts: as if we really did something wrong, we dare not open the door to face it.”

"..."

"This is just the cowardice of mortals."

Although he had initially agreed with Conrad's point of view in his heart, Perturabo still insisted verbally.

"And we are the Primarchs: we are different."

"That's not necessarily true. Remember what I said: We have more in common with mortals than you think."

"Maybe you'll know later."

"..."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, bro."

Conrad laughed happily. "After all, you really do have a female caregiver with whom you have a close relationship."

"Believe me, one day in the future, you will feel the same way as I do: Perturabo."

"Then you will feel deeply..."

------

"Conrad is right."

When he stayed in front of the door for a full thirteen seconds longer than expected, the fearless Lord of Olympia was forced to admit it with a sigh.

He really loses to his crazy Nostramo brother on this one.

Everything was just as Conrad had said.

Although Perturabo knew that everything he did was just, and although he had imprisoned his adopted sister Kelly Fanny here only to avoid more misunderstandings: but when he really stood in front of the door that only required a slight push, the Primarch still felt rare hesitation.

If it were a few decades ago, he could have sent 100,000 Iron Warriors to purgatory without even blinking an eye.

Not now: now he needed to think for a moment.

But it took too long to think about it.

It was so long that the automatic programs in the surrounding walls had reached their temporary reaction time limit.

"grown ups."

On the originally flawless snow-white walls, bright red electronic veins emerged, as intricate as the blood vessels in the human body. Their fluent thinking logic and cold voices showed that the ones controlling these complex calculations were definitely not humans, but something even more terrifying.

"You have stayed longer than the time limit you originally planned. Do you have any problems that we can help you solve?"

"No need."

The Primarch spoke coldly, and the sound and the bright red veins on the wall disappeared in an instant.

Perturabo nodded: this was what he liked most about these new tools.

They don't say a word of nonsense, nor do they try to figure out his thoughts as they please, and their efficiency does indeed crush even the most efficient mortals in the galaxy: the power of the human mind lies in its imagination, and in its unknowable upper limits in the unknown realm, but in the known world, they are far inferior to their creations.

Perhaps, this is the reason why humans were counterattacked by their creations and nearly destroyed, but after a seemingly dead-end war, they were able to successfully destroy their powerful creations.

Such wisdom is indeed coveted.

The only pity is that the existence of these new tools actually touches the empire's red line.

The Primarch glanced at the shadow beside him.

Just like an iron man.

No, it should be said: Which one, AI or Iron Man, can make the Emperor more angry is a question.

But Perturabo didn't believe that his great gene father would not use these things in private, after all, they were so useful.

Not to mention anything else, even the mechanical priests who came from various forging worlds revealed sarcastically in their discussions with him how those seemingly loyal old scholars among the Omnissiah believers were playing with artificial intelligence in secret: In that case, why should he be innocent here?
He is the Primarch.

He can do more.

Using artificial intelligence for daily maintenance, using iron men as silent guards, and using his replicas and followers from various forging worlds to fill positions that require more complex thinking logic: just like this, on the perfect planet that Perturabo used to embark on the path to transcendence, there was no life on its vast surface.

This naturally eliminates the possibility of leaks.

No one knew what he was doing: not even the Custodes and Morgan's spies.

All they knew for sure was that Perturabo was exacting heavy taxes from his own territories, and had repeatedly delayed paying tithes to Terra.

As for the rest: no one will ever know.

No, that's not the case.

After all, Caliphate was still there: Perturabo dared not let his adopted sister get too far away from him.

This concern is two-sided.

On the one hand, he didn't believe that anyone could truly protect his adopted sister.

On the other hand: Maybe he shouldn't have given Kelly Fanny so much power back then.

If his adopted sister had always been a noblewoman who lived a life of luxury in Olympia, she might not have had the courage to resist him, and things wouldn't have had to get to this point between them: after Kalifhani threatened to go to the Far East to seek reinforcements, the Lord of Olympia had to take the first step.

It was a shame, because time was one of the few things Perturabo wasn't born with.

After another long silence, the invincible Lord of Olympia simply sighed and chose to face his fate.

He pushed open the door.

The voice inside had been waiting for him for a long time.

------

Everything in the room was exactly the same as the Rocks Palace in Perturabo's memory.

Perhaps only on this issue could the brother and sister reach a rare consensus: when Perturabo decided to leave his adopted sister on the Genesis Star, he specially restored the palace of the Rocks city-state in proportion, and even restored the entire Rocks city of that year.

He paid great attention to details.

The mechanical servants who were responsible for serving Kelly Fanny and entertaining her were all descendants of the servants who had served the Primarch's siblings in the past. The Primarch specially sent people back to Olympia to capture these bloodlines that were directly related to them, transformed them into mechanical servants, and continued to serve his adopted sister.

Also captured by him was a one-to-one replica of the entire city of Rocks.

In this way, when Kelly Fanny was homesick, she would look out from the balcony and the virtual illusion would allow her to see a bustling childhood city: such an action was certainly not in line with the efficiency that the Primarch had always advocated, but Perturabo believed that he was qualified to be willful a few times.

Walking past the statues and gorgeous embroidered curtains that had amazed him as a child, the Lord of Steel remained silent for a moment in front of the portrait of his adoptive father. Finally, he saw the figure he was looking for near the balcony: when Kelly Fanny slowly turned around, the face that was exactly the same as in his memory made the Primarch instinctively admire her.

He admired the fact that he almost forced Kelly Fanny to go to Morgan for life-extending surgery, and rarely begged the Lord of Avalon to perform the surgery himself: he did the most correct thing.

A Carlefanie who will not be corrupted by time, is there anything greater than this?

"Kelly Fanny."

However, no matter how he felt in his heart, Perturabo's voice remained as ruthless as steel.

"My memory center tells me that you have been resisting reasonable treatment procedures recently?"

"Reasonable?"

Kelly Fanny turned around, and the face that was more realistic than in his memory made the Primarch stunned for a moment. When he reacted, his adopted sister was already sitting on the soft chair, pouring herself a glass of wine, and looking at the virtual illusion on the balcony, leaving only Perturabo's back hidden in the shadows.

"Because I think I'm fine, Perturabo."

"But the memory center shows..."

"Who do you think knows me better, me or those metal instruments you placed outside the gate?"

Kelly Fanny interrupted him, and although she did not even turn around, Perturabo could imagine the sneer on the corner of her adopted sister's mouth.

He had to admit that thinking about these things made his cold heart feel a rare bad mood.

"Besides, Perturabo: how dare you make judgments based on those things?"

"If your father knew about this, he would definitely be furious, right?"

"……ha!"

The Primarch chuckled.

"You are evidently ignorant of the powers and freedoms afforded to us Primarchs, sister."

“Don’t use ordinary people’s standards to measure us. We are qualified to do more and ask for more sacrifices.”

"Even if it crosses the red line that humans once crossed."

Kelly Fanny sighed softly.

"Even someone like me knows the reasons why humanity fell into the Age of Strife."

"You're actually interested in these?"

“A ruler may not be a historian, but he must have some knowledge of history: at least to avoid the mistakes of his predecessors.”

Kelly Fanny took a sip of her wine.

"And now, my dear Petrable, you are making the same mistake that mankind has made before."

"That's not like my smart little brother."

"……Um……"

The Lord of Steel frowned slightly, and there was an impatient snort from his thick nose.

He strode forward and sat down on the marble throne that had been specially reserved for him in the room. When Perturabo was still young, he had asked Caliphine with disgust why she placed such an unaesthetic object in her room.

But when he grew up, when he restored the room in his memory one to one, the Lord of Steel silently preserved this ugly creation.

When he was allowed to sit on it: this was almost the only function of this ugly creation. Perturabo was a little frustrated to see that Kelly Fani's eyes were still looking straight ahead.

Staring directly at those ever-changing virtual projections.

They are perfect and almost impossible to get bored of. Once upon a time, they were the masterpiece that made the Lord of Steel proud.

But now, he just wanted to smash them.

------

There should be another update later, but the time is uncertain.

No need to wait, just check it out tomorrow morning.

(End of this chapter)