Chapter 159 Goodbye Inwit
Sometimes, after an oath-taking ceremony to welcome new recruits, Rogal Dorn would feel tired.
This is not a direct effect of the repetitive nature of the ritual. In the vast black hall, each warrior will entrust his sincere oath to the Father of Genes during the process of swearing an oath. They will truly pledge every drop of their souls and beliefs in their flesh and blood to Rogge Doug in the temple. En's own will.
Dorn silently welcomed the touch of their souls. When every warrior of the Imperial Fists was reborn in the temple, Rogal Dorn was reborn into the world with them, like a stone in faith. Carve yourself through refinement. He treasures these precious moments, even if these very similar moments will be repeated thousands of times.
So Rogal Dorn still didn't know why he was tired.
He lowered his head and placed the blanket on the bed on his legs, covering the cold golden armor. The fur, sewn with Invette's skill, brought warmth to his legs.
The next moment he realized it was purely psychological. Donn ignored the prompts his mind gave him and closed his eyes briefly, looking for a few hours of rest in the rare spiritual comfort.
No dreams. He woke up to find that he was still sitting up, his muscles aching from the completely wrong sleeping position, which, of course, was nothing to mention for a Primarch. Years of ruling in Inwett had taught Dorn that even if he never rested, the only physical consequence would be to further the development of the infinite potential contained within the body forged by the Emperor.
He now returns to the bedroom regularly to gain tranquility in his sleep, simply because he is sure that this is a daily schedule that can maintain individual mental stability at the lowest cost and cannot be ignored.
Roger Dorn put down the blanket and felt his fingers retaining it for a brief moment. The golden skull given to him by Perturabo looked at him silently on the table.
Dorn then left the bedroom and found his brother in the Phalanx's workshop, which had been long occupied and completely renovated by Perturabo.
Perturabo, the only brother he really knew now and whom he respected very much, showed up at the workshop early as usual, or maybe he didn't leave all night.
Ever since he got inspiration from the bionic data line of the Genna people, the seemingly endless vitality immediately burst out from his body so decisively, pouring endlessly into every time Perturabo raised his hand and raised his hand. In the blink of an eye. If Rogal Dorn counteracted fatigue with determination, then there was simply no trace of this state on Perturabo.
"Dorn." Perturabo could detect his arrival without looking back. Perhaps this had something to do with the camera pointed at the door of the workshop. "Good afternoon... no, good morning."
"Rogal Dorn." came the voice from a data pad that Perturabo had thrown into the corner, and Dorn knew it was Morse. , Perturabo's mentor, now on Terra. "You see, I just said that black data cables are not as beautiful as silver, and he threw me aside."
"Good morning, Perturabo, Morse." Dorn said to the two people, picked up the data tablet, and nodded to the image inside.
He saw Morse wearing the original black robe, holding a thick gold-rimmed book in his hand. The text on the cover was half blocked due to the camera angle, and only half a line could be seen. "...Leather Codex (Codex:O...)".
"If you have nothing to do," Perturabo stared at the data scrolling on the screen, stretched out his hand to fumble for a while, and picked out a slender data cable connected to the back of his head, "help me connect it to the table at the back. The interface marked in red on the console breadboard. It’s not convenient for me to move.”
Donn bypassed Perturabo’s large number of data lines connected to various interfaces in the room and took the thin line. , pick it up for Perturabo. His brother trembled at the moment of connection: "No, unplug it!"
Donne quickly followed suit. Perturabo breathed out, brought up the motherboard, and began to check for program errors. At the same time, he explained to Dorn smoothly: "There must be something wrong with the magnification."
"I told you a long time ago," Morse said, "You can't increase the output signal to such a magnification. Just look at the base current of Y."
"Go ahead and translate your scriptures, Morse." Perturabo said, "I have already written the first edition of the Gothic Bible. Why is your translation taking so long?"
"Why do you want me to translate it faster? Not concise?" snorted Morse. "Do you know what a horrible job it would be to get them to understand clause nesting, and I'd probably have to write two translations, given where that road might end up? , have the creatures living in the road noticed it? "
"What lives there?" asked Perturabo.
"I don't know, I don't want to translate their damn language - in short, Rogal Dorn, you seem to be in a bad state of mind." Dorn, who was suddenly named, immediately reflected on his state. , from the large mirror in the workshop, he saw a Primarch who was no different from the usual serious and cold Rogal Dorn, and he was a little confused.
"I'm not mentally ill," Donne said.
"Oh, you do." The data pen in Perturabo's hand hit the data pad hard, testing the upper limit of pressure that these fragile artificial creations can withstand, "Even for you, You're too quiet today. What's the matter with you?"
"...It's nothing," Donn replied.
"Look." Perturabo typed the new variables into the data pad, and the cogitator began to hum, and soon gave him a "Build Successfully" sign. He breathed a sigh of relief and then said: "This is not like you."
The Lord of Iron carefully removed the data cables one by one from the mechanical port that was connected like a spider web, turned the swivel chair, and looked at Rogal Dorn carefully. "I should have told you that I am a person who is very sensitive to emotions. The fact that you came to me today means that you are looking for help."
"Or a more effective relaxation." Morse said, "Recalling a beautiful past that only occupies a small and distant fragment of your life with an ineffable inorganic object is essentially a kind of unconscious self-torture."
"You are The worst person here to say that, Morse." Perturabo placed Morse's data pad face down on the table. "What's bothering you, Dorn?"
< br>Donne thought calmly for a while, sorting out his thoughts. This started to make him feel relaxed. He knew that under the suspended orbit of the Phalanx, a large number of independent Gennar people were being executed. The smell of gunpowder smoke rushed into his nasal cavity, strange and familiar.
He finally reacted.
"I'm thinking about Inwit." Dorn said, "I have stayed on my home planet for thirty years, and I am used to the smell of ice and snow."
"And your skin is now burning with the heat of war. "Perturabo's expression was as calm as ever, "When we set off to leave, you didn't say goodbye to Invite."
"I know how fast Invite is developing. Don't worry about Invite. "Donn said, "I canceled the farewell ceremony. It was a waste of Invite's limited resources." "It makes sense." Perturabo nodded. , took a look at the data cable, took out one and connected it to the desktop interface. The metal plate covering the portholes in the workshop was automatically removed, and the deep universe was revealed before Rogal Dorn's eyes.
“This is the direction we are heading,” Dorn said.
Outside of Ultramar, the auspices had detected a separate planet inhabited by humans, and the two Primarchs decided to make it a priority to include it in the Empire's territory. Now through the porthole, Dorn could already see the outline of the crimson planet.
"Yes, I haven't finished connecting yet." Perturabo said, connecting another data cable. The holographic projection quickly covered the porthole, and a simulated galaxy appeared before Rogal Dorn's eyes. The glistening bright spots of ice and snow were reflected in the pale irises of the Primarch.
"Although it is a little late, you can still say goodbye now," Perturabo said, "This is the meaning of the ceremony."
Rogal Dorn looked down at him Brother, he felt the warm air of his breath brushing his upper lip. He closed his eyes for a moment, which was almost the same as blinking due to the short time.
Then he looked at the projected planet, as if an icy wind was caressing his forehead.
He said: "Goodbye, Inwit."
(End of Chapter)