Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Perturabo was Morse's first apprentice.

Morse had never thought of accepting an apprentice before, because he had not yet abandoned his identity as a seeker on his personal path; Perturabo was the only exception, and it was the first time that Morse experienced the troubles of being a teacher. at.

He was not worried about whether he had become a qualified teacher. Obviously, regardless of whether he was qualified or not, Perturabo would not leave, especially before getting his sincere concern.

This was somewhat difficult, in fact, it was even Morse's own minor obsession.

To arouse enough emotions to brew a true love for a bastard boy is not a subject suitable for him.

The sun had been hanging for a long time, and a large flock of white birds slowly flew through the air, cutting a low shadow over the heads of the crowd.

Morse stood in the crowd, wearing an ordinary dark blue robe over his black cloth in order to blend in with the crowd and observe his apprentice from another perspective.

He raised his head, without using his psychic powers or doing anything unnecessary. He just let his sight pass through the gaps in the crowd of countless people who were shaved, sweating, or wrapped in cloth, or whose hair hung down to their shoulders. , some wearing gold and silver crowns, or carrying foreign bird feathers on their heads, to see the two opposite figures on the high platform in the distance.

There were a lot of people on the high platform. In addition to Andos, who was sitting relaxedly on the cushions, and Perturabo, who had a straight back and could not see his face on the other side, the remaining people in the tyrant's family were also present, including his children and attendants. On either side of the king.

There are also some familiar faces, courtiers, soldiers, craftsmen, and foreign guests. They are all the people who appeared before the tyrant in Perturabo except the priests; there are also a few unfamiliar faces because of the distance. Also unable to see the faces, one can only see the innocuous figure of the middle-aged man, the reflective head with hair loss on top, and a few words exchanged between them from time to time.

The wide-winged white bird in the sky circled back again. Morse brushed away the distracting thoughts of plucking a few snow-white bird feathers and watched these natural creatures leave.

"There are a lot of eagles today." Someone on the side sighed, "Is it the great mind of God Isis?"

Morse stood idly with his arms folded across his chest. Hearing this, he turned his head to look at the man - because the crowd was surging, the man was squeezing him.

"Is that a good sign?" he asked, using a tone that averaged out all aspects of the local accent, which brought a friendly smile to the man's face.

"Isis loves everyone. She protects craftsmen and sinners, as well as the undead, young children, girls and nobles."

"Sounds good." Morse said noncommittally. "Do white vultures come to Lokos often?"

"When the goddess Isis casts her gaze, they come. Alas, the fortress of Lokos protects us, so the goddess's white eagle often comes here. She loves the peaceful place." The man smiled on his chest He made a bird gesture. As for other birds, those big, carnivorous, ruthless birds often hover over the heads of other city-states. "

Morse's eyes swept over the lively guy. "Are you a local?" he asked.

"My mother came from a city-state far away. But I grew up here and am also a local - so I was surprised to hear that someone was going to challenge Prince Andros today, but then everyone said it was Perturabo When the adults come, I become very excited and can’t help but leave my work and come to watch.”

The man grinned sheepishly and shook the handbag in his hand.

Morse changed to a more relaxed stance, no longer paying attention to the opponent's strong body and normal distribution of calluses.

"Oh." He said coldly. "good."

In this short period of time, he got to know this stranger, found a way to describe him, and understood his occupation, origin, status, and abilities; these things made him lose sight of the stranger's character and more details. interests, such as the person’s name, family, and more personal details.

As for the knowledge about strangers and these boring thoughts, they slipped out of his heart gently with his acquiescence, like some shining flowing water, leaving smoothly and unreservedly, without even any The remnants of boredom.

And every time Morse clearly heard the disappearance of this kind of spiritual emotion, he would spend a thousandth of a second to test whether he was uneasy because of his rigid emotions, just like a patient observing himself from the perspective of a doctor. disease.

Then he would spend another thousandth of a second remarking on the small amount of old-fashioned self-love still retained in his ridiculous brain.

The stranger poked his head beside him, "Have you also heard about their competition? Who do you think will win? Of course I hope our prince wins, but rumors say Lord Perturabo is also a very good person. , Besides, it is rumored that he is the favored child of the gods, so I..." He lowered his voice for fear that other Lokos people would hear, "I hope Lord Perturabo wins."

Morse asked with some interest: "Is Perturabo a good guy according to the rumors?"

"Everyone says he is a real genius, even though he is very far away from us. And if a genius wants to be Lokos's friend, he must be a good person." The stranger looked at Morse and said.

"People often say that every time Lord Perturabo seems to be angry, he will hold back his anger for some reason; he can't be oppressed by others instead of suppressing his anger spontaneously, right? Then his character It must be noble.”

Morse turned his head and stared at the stranger until the stranger sheepishly wiped the sun-drenched sweat from his brow with his free hand.

"Am I wrong?" said the stranger.

"Who knows."

The stranger was confused. He looked up at the big sun above his head, then at the competition that was about to start on the stage. He wiped his sweat again, took out a sealed clay pot from the cloth bag in his hand, and opened it. , was about to drink it, but suddenly thought of something, and handed it to Morse again.

"The weather is too hot. In addition to water, I should also wear a straw hat to block the sun... I won't talk anymore, do you want to drink some water?"

Morse burst out laughing, not with any disguised joy, but with a spontaneous impulse.

It's like seeing a new and happy thing suddenly pop up among all the things arranged one by one in the world. A colorful thing pops out from all the same gray clothes, and a green flower pops out from all the yellow leaves. The pale bouquet of young leaves mixed with a bright red wild flower is refreshingly soothing.

This flashing and jumping joy was caught by Morse, and then expressed in the form of laughter.

He took the clay pot and took a sip. The cool water is especially soothing on a hot day.

Morse returned the clay pot, and the stranger wiped the mouth of the pot, drank the water, and then said in surprise: "I feel much cooler all over."

"Of course."

Suddenly, the surrounding crowd began to move again, like a group of geese or chickens with stones behind them, pushing and shoving forward in a chaotic manner.

Morse called to the stranger coolly: "It's about to begin."

The stranger's cheek twitched, and some small wrinkles formed wrinkled waves on his face. He carried the clay pot and followed Morse forward.

His hand wiped the top of the jar again.

What kind of divine choice is it that can produce more chapters over a long period of time...