Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 396 Bones
"Virtue cannot help people avoid misery. True virtue never pretends to be able to avoid suffering in the world. The more proudly he claims that he can be happy even in the midst of sin and bad things, then his virtue The more false it is." - "The Book of Lorgar".

The Astartes warriors, one of the pinnacle creations of the human Emperor's genetic engineering, hundreds of thousands, perhaps more than a million Space Marines - certainly more than that, Hatton calculated silently in his mind, watching the information in front of him. scrolled across the screen.

The Iron Warriors themselves, a legion of which they are proud, have nearly two hundred thousand Space Marines serving the Emperor. Even if the average number of other legions is only half of the Iron Warriors, they still have millions of two-and-a-half-meter Iron Brothers in the galaxy. campaign.

But there were more than just millions fighting for the Emperor, Haton thought. Tens of millions? Hundreds of millions? It may never be fully calculated.

From the Astropathic Choir, the Navigator family - are they really mortals, to the legion auxiliary army, and even some technicians and clerical staff, servants, craftsmen, the gardeners who pruned the nursery in Cheorwon and the people who deserve to be thanked ten thousand times The cooks... they were warriors of another kind, dedicated and dedicated, forming a shadowy substance behind the striding figures of the Astartes, following closely.

By the way, Hatton knew that many people felt that they were just small cogs or nails under the Emperor's command, making their own insignificant contributions to the plan of conquering the galaxy. He understood their loyalty and passion, as the food inside the Iron Warriors fleet was indeed better than on the surface of Terra.

Okay, he thought, flexing his neck and hearing a small clicking sound. He admitted that the fundamental reason why he praised others was just to boast, so that he could barely take a breath from his work, otherwise the large amount of text scrolling on the screen and the dark curves rolling below would almost make him dizzy.

The cool metallic smell in the air disappeared long after their work began, and the noisy hum filled every gap between machines. Lord Perturabo had not come to inspect the condition of the communications hall for several months. , the opportunity to do general cleaning was lost. There were so many cables on the ground that it was almost a natural trap.

Just next to Hatton, dozens of typists were busy working on their work, squirting ink on the surface of memo sheets scattered one after another. Supervisors stepped on anti-gravity modular boards to shuttle and float, skimming Passed by every clerk who stared intently at the office supplies they had on hand.

A high percentage of cogitators within the Iron Warriors fleet function automatically, and clerks don't have to actually put their hands on the round buttons of their typewriters, trying in vain to keep up with the speed at which the Space Marines speak, or use their brains to push the information through. The passwords are then processed in a more conventional manner and sent to the location they are supposed to go to.

"No," the team leader whispered, took a deep breath, slid the hand that had entered the biometric information on the touch screen next to Hatton's hand, and once again ordered the meditator to decode the secret command.

The next message was the brightest yellow, relayed from the terminal to his screen. Hatton read it quickly, at first scanning the ten lines at a glance, then he re-read the first word carefully, trying to find an emotion to relieve his surprise and confusion.

The death rate in this round of battles was higher than in previous battles in Randan. At the same time, some enemy ships have not transmitted new information for more than several hours. After simple reasoning, it can be seen that this probably means that there are no surviving fighters on board.

Hatton took one look and decided to pretend he hadn't seen it all. During his years of serving in the fleet, he had seen many images and words that were enough to insult the empire, but the death scenes of those Space Marines illuminated by a single source of light still shocked him. In his heart, those usually tall and glorious warriors huddled so fragilely inside gray-yellow ellipses, like butterflies dying in cocoons, and were not lucky enough to complete their second birth.

Hatton looked away from the voyage log and spacecraft inspection report in the upper right corner of the screen. The colors there were too colorful. The urgency of the situation and the source of the information affected the color depth and category of the information respectively.

"...Call the rescue boat," Hatton discerned these words, or they entered his mind automatically, "Squad 23...evacuate."

"04513?" The team leader called his number again, but his hand could not continue to move, as if nothing could wake him up from stillness. Hatton was frozen, shocked by the information he understood, and a horrifying horror pierced his heart like bone spurs.

The team leader stepped over the mess on the ground and walked menacingly towards where he was.

"Third quadrant requesting light cruiser support," the typist beside him muttered to himself, calibrating an automatic recognition error for the voices sent back by Space Marines during the battle, and stuffed the printed note into the incoming In the hands of the servitor, "No, relay it to the Luna Wolf. This is not a message for us. Who sent it wrong..."

"What's going on?" he asked, an annoyed light flickering on his metal jaw. He bent down and looked at the machine screen in front of Hatton, reading the information he saw. Then, the team leader was just as frozen in front of the screen as he was, and his heartbeat was as uneasy as him.

But proofreading the printed manuscripts, entering the songs sung by the Astropaths into the computing system, immediately relaying the requirements and reports sent back to the command base by the Space Marines, stamping, stamping, and filing, and from time to time being interrupted by the mind next door. The palace dragged away a few staff members who seemed too idle and were not mechanically connected to the terminal to help them transmit various work texts, bring a cup of coffee or other drinks to the choir who were idle, and other series of tasks, then Obviously they have to be held responsible.

Soon, the meditator spit out the verified information again, the golden words were imprinted on the center of the screen, and the standard serif font commonly used within Iron Warriors was reflected in the retinas of the two people. It was almost a scar.

"No. 04513," his team leader sent a cold warning. Hatton immediately returned to work, knowing that this mistake would earn him a lengthy review document. He felt guilty about this and quickly moved the touch screen at hand to transfer the checked communication content to another target communication line.

"No..." the team leader said for the second time.

He retrieved copies of the information that he was supposed to be responsible for. The first was a bright yellow communication that needed to be sent to the War Blacksmith's desktop. The content of the automatic sorting given by the Thinker is the raw data of the intelligence obtained by a commando team. The team number is twenty-three. The main content transmitted includes various pictures they took.

He then processed a series of basic information. The density of communication climbed to a peak. More than eight hours had passed since the moment of gang jumping. Each team that was performing gang jumping missions successively sent back the key they had obtained. Information, or team-wide death information, the former is in the yellow series, and the latter is in black or gray.

He vaguely heard the typist beside him start talking to himself again. If he had extra energy now, he would definitely tease the typist about whether he slept through the induction training.

His fingers flexibly moved across the touch pad, and messages were redistributed one after another, dark yellow, light yellow, black, and the next message was black again. The black information means the death confirmation signal of a certain team sent by other teams, and the gray is the automatic feedback of the armor after verifying the signs of loss of life of the soldiers inside. The death toll was rising, the numbers dancing, creating a vague impression in Hatton's mind.

Hatton only felt that the scrolling text bar was attacking his brain like a rain curtain of another kind of ammunition, and his long-trained thinking seemed to be separated from his lagging subjective consciousness, completing every task quickly and accurately. .

He trembled and wanted to re-verify the content of that line of message again. The decoding error had not appeared in the communication center for a long time, but that was not absolute. They proudly call themselves unconscious cogs in the imperial machine to show their loyal humility, but his personal thoughts have become so conspicuous at this time.

Hatton squeezed the team leader's hand away, and his offense was not reprimanded. No. 04513 is completing his duties.

+++Newsletter Briefing 1353/IW/Rd+++
To: Vengeful Spirit Strategy Room, Unyielding Truth Strategy Room, Ironblood Command Room, Law of Faith Wandering Temple From: Rd Theater 5th Joint Operation 23rd Assault Team
In the core area of ​​the enemy ship, we dissected a section of the left ring finger bone from the alien's body, along with a small amount of muscle tissue that had not been eroded by acid. Judging by its size, the finger bone comes from a Primarch.

+++End of communication++
Lorgar sat on the steps beside the altar, staring at the black iron square box he held in his hand.

The closest rescue team to Team 23 came from the Word Bearers. Based on the information provided in the communication, he brought that team back to the fleet and cleaned their appearance according to the reference process provided by Perturabo. , let them get a rest. And the gains and discoveries they brought naturally arrived at the Wandering Temple.

He holds part of the bones of a departed brother in his hands, waiting for his other brothers to arrive as promised. The box was in his hands, silent, silent, and without a word. Even the bright golden light in the church could not illuminate it brightly enough.

It proclaimed something about the end, and Lorgar Aurelion could sense something within it on some metaphysical level.

Lorgar closed his eyes and felt the distant tranquility and dim call.

In the echoes of the Iron City, Perturabo's advice to him echoed in his mind day after day, questioning his past actions.

In deep repentance and guilt, he soon realized that the origin of his insistence on calling the Emperor God was rooted in his misunderstanding of the relationship between humans, angels and gods.

He often thought of himself as the leader, the spirit that was first connected to Him, leading those who followed to the same path of service as he and his brothers. He is above all things, so he thought it was disrespectful to call Him a man. No, his narrow vision and invisible vanity led him to make exegetical errors.

He once said: The seed of the woman will bruise the serpent's head. The subject of this sentence is not only directed to the Son of Man, but should be a broad reference to the descendants born of mortal women, that is, human beings. group.

He declared that humans would defeat the devil, not angels; the future world He spoke of was not left to the jurisdiction of angels. He Himself became flesh and blood. He made the Son of Man to be lower than the angels for a while, and gave him dominion over all the creation of his hands, placing all things in subjection to him. He does not save the angels, but the descendants of Abraham.

At this level, comparing humans to angels, that is, comparing humans to Astartes, humans have a higher status.

If an angel loses his way in serving people, his merits will be calculated based on the amount he has given to people.

Lorgar looked at the box in his hand and thought.

The realization made Lorgar Aurelion's heart sour, and he slowly regained his composure, telling himself to listen to the words He had warned him through the mouth of Perturabo. That He would counsel him was the source of His infinite kindness.

So, who are they to serve? Lorgar continued to think, placing his hand over his brother's reliquary. Should those who do not believe in Him also serve Him?

No, His children are not born of blood, not of human desire, but of Him. They are born of the Holy Spirit by faith and received into Him by faith. Therefore, the people they will serve are those who will believe in Him.

Thinking of this, a soft smile appeared on Luo Jia's face again. He believed that if the Lord of the Second Legion had passed away, he had died for a reasonable reason, to care for and lead mankind.

This is a respectable thing, a path worth emulating and admiring, and is not sad.

But his eyes were still getting moist. Inexplicably, Luojia's tears filled up when he opened the black iron box and saw the bloody finger bone. He hurriedly wiped it away.

At the entrance of the Wandering Temple, several footsteps sounded, accompanied by the loud voice of Horus Luperkar.

Lorgar stood up with the box in his arms and stood there to greet his brothers.

The Wolf God broke the pure tranquility in the church. He stepped forward, waved his arms, and excitedly debated something with Leon El'Jonson who was walking side by side with him.

Perturabo followed them, looking down at the dataslate he carried with him as he walked.

"I don't understand why you say that, Leon," Horus growled. "He's missing! His life or death is uncertain, and we all know that he is in a bad situation. Shouldn't we step up our march and get deeper into this alien place as soon as possible? Within the empire? Isn’t what we have to do now to find him, rescue him, or at least find his remaining remains?”

"The emperor's primary order to us is to exterminate Randan. For this reason, we have no reason to rush forward." The Lion King said, "The second legion is a secondary task, and judging from the current evidence, he is dead, so your There is no point in being eager, Horus."

"I completely disagree with your statement, Leon! He is our blood relative, one of our only brothers in the universe..."

"You have been so influenced by the new evidence," Leon replied impatiently, "that you have forgotten the Emperor's orders."

Horus stopped and said in disbelief: "Me?"

(End of this chapter)