Chapter 167 The blood debt must be paid
“It’s the Eldar, no doubt.”
Morse said firmly, without even looking up from the papers on the table.
After translating the Holy Code, the Emperor solemnly and solemnly carried his nearly 5,000-page webway construction plan into Morse's office room on Terra, his deep eyes filled with concern. The trust he entrusted with great responsibilities.
Morse refused to fall for this old trick, so he changed his mind and started to compile a comparative dictionary of Gothic and Greenskin with ready-made materials, and planned to let Magnu, who had always been a good teacher, Si was responsible for teaching Gothic to "an alien race that is rich in potential intelligence and loyal will, but suffers from language barriers and is unable to serve humans."
"Eldar." Perturabo chewed the word. Although he had not yet met any Eldar, the harm this branch of the race had caused to his brother had already made him have a pre-set dislike for the Eldar.
“What is their intention in writing such convoluted and complicated words?”
“Oh, in fact, if you deal with them more, you will find that these people with pointed ears The slender creatures have been surprisingly straightforward. I even concluded that their actions are not guided by prophecies - because the visionaries who interpret prophecies themselves can often only try to describe the inspired future through vague words, and prophecies are destined to be difficult to predict. Discernment, this is a matter of prophecy itself.”
Morse’s holographic image turned the charcoal in his hand and leaned back on the wicker chair behind him. He was exactly what Perturabo said, an old man who pursues retro writing and abandons the efficiency of data pads.
“The refrain ‘Xigaole’ at the beginning, according to their language habits, should be the Eldar God they believe in and follow. My understanding of the Eldar culture is not deep enough to report the role of this god in them Its complete positioning in the mythological system, but its current ability to send messengers can only prove that it is powerful or mysterious enough to help it survive the birth of the goddess of thirst, and its relatively active attitude in participating in world affairs.”
"As for the next few sentences, I don't think it is necessary to explain them in detail. The 'Secret Capital' among them, although I don't know the structure of the Ancient Eldar Empire clearly, the green skins dug it out of the webway recently. It seems that it may refer to an important city or large port of the Eldar in the Webway. The term "Midnight Gospel" is a bit subtle here, so let's put aside the words "blood relatives" and "demigods" for the time being. Even a mortal child who is just a few years old can understand. "Do you need me to explain?"
Morse crossed his fingers and laughed, without giving Perturabo a chance to refute. He knew very well that if he paused for just one more second, Perturabo would immediately get up and fight back.
"And, this is undoubtedly a show of goodwill. But whether there is another price behind the show of goodwill, I can't predict. Humans and Eldar have their own positions, and it is inappropriate to make any self-interested move for their respective races. It’s difficult to understand. The key lies in whether the core interests of the two parties conflict - but who knows what core interests the remaining survivors can pursue after the Eldar Empire collapses at its own fault? "
Perturabo poses? In a pose similar to Morse, fingers interlaced on crossed legs. "So your advice is to wait?"
"My advice is to pretend unethically that they didn't make this gift until we are sure that there is an alignment of our core interests." Moore Si said, "Does this answer your question enough, Lord of Iron?"
"It sounds like you're implying that you're busy," Perturabo said.
"What?" Morse raised his eyebrows, "I thought I was making it clear."
"So when will you finish your work?"
"Starting from now on. Until the Human Empire rules the galaxy, I will announce at some point that I am done."
"Okay," said Perturabo, "when will you return to the Iron Blood."
"So that's what you really wanted to ask," Morse smiled. "I thought I hadn't been gone long?"
"Dorne told me that a Nucerian said that there are It is a custom. If a companion does not return to camp before sunset, he is usually considered dead." Perturabo tensed every line of his face.
Morse shook his head: "Is this Nucerian a gladiator?"
"Donne was reading the basics of material science to children and young gladiators who couldn't sleep yesterday. Hypnosis." Perturabo responded in disguise.
"Okay, okay." Morse yawned, threw the charcoal, the golden runes flew to the tip of the pen, and the charcoal automatically slid on the surface of the paper. "This can really make people sleepy. Anyway, when the War Dogs return to Terra next time, I will throw a body on the ship and ride with their Queen of Glory to Nuceria - what is the name of that ship? ? "Perseverance and Determination"
"Do I need to remind you that Angron said he did not want to join the Great Crusade?"
"Do I need to remind you that you are performing in front of me what is called caring and disturbing people?" Morse snorted. With a cry, "That's a Primarch, my Iron Lord. That's your brother, your brother who will set off a wave of rebellion and freedom throughout Nuceria. I can bet you that by the time he brings all of Nuceria to justice, With all the high-ranking riders in Kyria hanging on the gallows, he will definitely set his sights on the entire galaxy."
He changed his sitting posture slightly and put his thumb on his chin.
“But you may need to encourage him.” He said, “Instead of encouraging him to join the Great Crusade, it is not difficult for him to be tempted by this great undertaking of the Emperor, not to mention that he must be because of the Gladiator’s revenge plan. The mood is high. You have to encourage him to become tougher and more aggressive."
"He was committing suicide when we arrived at the arena," Perturabo emphasized. "How tough can he be?"
"Come, think about this again: a person drags the problem to the point where it can't be delayed, and maintains the compromise to the point where it can't be compromised, so he has to use the most violent means to make up for the lack of courage in the early stage. Tell me now, Is he tough or weak?" Morse's comments left no trace of emotion, which made Perturabo's heart shrink under his sharp comments.
“Isn’t this just proof of the gentleness and softness of his nature, and the firmness that is not bound by too much kindness in the end? You can’t blame him for the suffering that the wrong environment has inflicted on him...”
Perturabo tried to defend his brother, but under the typically cold eyes of Morse, he gradually lost more and more power to defend himself.
He sensed the weakness in his rebuttal words, because he was lowering his requirements for a person through the filter of suffering, and his personal emotions interfered with his rational judgment.
Perturabo exhaled and shook his head slowly.
"Maybe you are right. But my sensibility tells me that I cannot say that he is weak in front of him."
"Why?" Morse asked. "You suddenly decided to succumb to your emotions?"
"Because I love my brother." He confessed. "I love every brother I have met so far. In them, I feel a soul that is very close to and yet different from mine."
"Sometimes I think about why I want to join the Great Crusade. Do you really yearn for the dream described by the emperor enough, and do you really have enough concern for human citizens outside of Lokos?"
"My answer is yes, but at the same time, I found that, I also found another equally important reason." "I look forward to meeting more of the Emperor's children," he said. "Before we met, they were just another child of the Emperor. But after we met, we were brothers. .”
Morse's sharp eyes quietly softened, and Perturabo had already discovered that Morse, like himself, could not resist the frank words of those he cared about. Their hearts will be drawn closer - coincidentally, the two of them add up to exactly two hearts.
Only in front of Morse could Perturabo speak so bluntly. He knew that Morse would never ignore his sincere words. It was the positive feedback that Morse would always generously give, which gradually transformed into the courage and motivation for his self-expression.
“If you love your brother,” said Morse, in the end, “treat him as your trusted growing blood relative, not as a fragile, broken slave in need of every care. "
"You are always so extreme," said Perturabo, "but not everyone is me. Anyway, I will find the balance."
Morse nodded, and the hologram began to fade. "I look forward to meeting you, Perturabo."
——
Angron seemed to have grown taller again.
Yochuka thought, running over to join the other gladiators in hugging their big relative. When he found that his bandaged hand could still only hold one of Angron's legs, he felt that he must have grown taller with Angron - or that everyone had grown taller with Angron. tall.
Because the world has become shorter. The low caves could no longer accommodate them, nor could the low red sand pits. No one wants to go back, just like mentioning these blood-stained places will painfully shrink your size to its original size.
The slaves now have their feet on the ground, standing on a plane at the same height as the entire Desia. Everyone looked up and saw the sky. As long as they stretched out their hands that were free from chains, they could hold the clouds and stars in the sky.
So Yochuka only managed to get Ferguson who was willing to accompany him back to the cave and get the little man he drew with charcoal in the rags, and the rags were hidden in the rock crevices.
Angron held the door on his back and sat down with everyone else, forming a circle familiar to everyone, like a burning bonfire in the middle. His brass eyes remained firm, and the tenderness still rested on his face in the form of the tiniest smile, but another, brighter color lit him up.
Yochuka wasn't sure how to describe it better. He just felt that when he was comforted by Angron and fell asleep with a high fever, he would be able to survive the current long night safely. But now that Angron was here, he didn't even dare to think about what would happen tomorrow.
"I'm back, brothers and sisters." Angron said, "I'm back to you intact and alive. Onomamos has also woken up from the edge of death and is now accepting A complete healing. I'm here to tell you that we are all free."
He earned a wave of cheers, with a few fighters shedding tears of joy. For them, it was clear that there was neither painful whipping nor mourning for bereaved friends, but the tears were harder to control than ever.
"You may already know that my relatives found me. They selflessly rescued us from the red sand and imprisoned the dissolute nobles of Desia City. What makes me even happier is that I can see Even if I am not their brother, they will do the same thing - because they are engaged in an extremely great expedition to bring prosperity and freedom to the world that should be liberated."
An. Gronn's deep voice echoed in the splendid King's Palace, where the Tarke family has lived here for generations, raising slaves and hosting gladiators. Now these high-ranking knights were stripped off their fine clothes and their bodies were thrown into His Highness's dungeon. Perturabo and Rogal Dorn didn't ask for a penny for this, and they planned to pay even more.
If Nuceria is one day peaceful and prosperous...
That may indeed be the time for him to repay his brothers.
Angron looked around at the faces that were either excited or sad, and his mind was soaked in the ocean of emotions in the room. "My blood relatives promised that they will provide all support for Nuceria to change the sun and moon, and I am wondering if we can do something in this process."
"Come to the King's Palace. On the way, I first passed by the tomb of bones in the mountains, where I seemed to hear the wails of the ghosts of countless warriors who had been pursuing freedom for hundreds of years. The resentment accumulated in the sand belongs to the Nukerian gladiator's will for revenge."
"The high-level knight owes us his blood debt."
He. He stretched out his giant palm toward the circle of people, feeling the hot gladiator hearts approaching him. Even Yochuka, who was the most lively and cheerful when not sick, his voice became strong and calm enough.
Everyone has been looking forward to this moment for too long.
The blood debt must be paid, and the blood father and blood son will demand it until they take back everything they were born with.
“My brothers and sisters! If you support organizing the Liberation Front with me and relying on our own strength to completely free Nuceria from the control of the slave owners, you will entrust your hands to me. . ”
Without any hesitation, everyone immediately stretched out their hands, huddled together, squatted or stood, and quickly folded their palms into Angron’s open hands. Dozens of hands are stacked high, supporting each other and leaning against each other.
Angron covered the other hands with his other hand, gently wrapping the hands and even the hearts entrusted to him by his companions.
"Okay, my brothers and sisters." Angron said softly, "It's time for us to revolt. The first thing is to deal with the Tarke family in the dungeon deep under our feet. Tell me, What will we do with them?”
The discussion immediately exploded.
"Public trial! We want to put them on trial!"
"They don't deserve a public trial, I will kill them directly!"
"Hang them, let them die It must be ugly enough!”
“The fat in these people’s bodies will be burnt for a long time!”
"Skin them, just like these damn beasts did to my Ankana..."
"We can throw them into the arena," said a gray-haired one-eyed man The old gladiator roared hoarsely, his tattered throat destroyed by a bloody gladiatorial fight many years ago, "These slave owners, they...ahem...should also understand in the red sand what it is to be chained and fight the pain!"
(End of this chapter)