Chapter 200: Macragge's Travels (End)
+That's why I think you're becoming dull from overwork, Malcador. +
+The lifestyle of the Imperial Chancellor... is determined by the work the Emperor brings to..., the craftsmen. +The Prime Minister's voice came intermittently. Even though the two people on the call were both peak psychic users that humans could reach, the conversation across half the galaxy was still quite challenging.
They are not emperors. They can follow the spiritual channel built by Morse and directly throw out a clone that is almost like a normal person countless light years away, and have a harmonious intimacy with his heirs. Dialogue - Mors has begun to think about how to call the Lord of Mankind to Macragge, and use his victorious glory to completely hook Robert Guilliman's heart to the huge warship of the Human Empire.
+Oh, maybe this sounds rude, but the adjective 'boring' applies to you, not your life. +Morse corrected Malcador, +I just told you in detail how Perturabo successfully integrated an entire star cluster into his Olympian political system, but you didn't even say a word of praise. . +
Malcador let out a deep sigh.
+The Ministry of Finance has sent more than ten... briefings on tax... How should I praise you...? +
Morse shook his head slightly, making his behavior look like a small gesture that ordinary passers-by would do on the street, rather than a seriously ill patient talking to himself about mental illness.
+I will tell Perturabo about the taxation, Prime Minister. +
He walked away from the door of Macragge's public bathroom.
During his half-minute pause, he had regretfully realized that he probably shouldn't have committed the crime of laziness when fabricating his body, so that he couldn't enter the bathroom now.
Within thirty meters from the bathroom, Morse found a tavern and looked at the boiling broth in the open-air stove and the figs, sausages, cheeses, and vegetables carefully painted by the owner on the simple walls. Waiting for the decoration group, we decided to have a long-lost late night snack here. He happened to not need a high-end venue with an elegant fountain and a small garden.
Low tables and chairs are arranged outside the bar. Sitting here, you can see how the deep night sharpens the edges of the laurel crown branches and leaves surrounding the forehead of the golden statue outside the Senate. The bright yellow lights shining in the windows of a large public place flickered so steadily behind the large residential area.
Morse asked for wine, stew, and porridge in the local language and even an accent that blended well with the citizens of Macragge.
His style of clothing was similar to Macragge culture. The shop owner had no doubt that he came from the depths of the galaxy. He only regarded him as a strange local citizen and asked him if he wanted to come indoors, like Eat while reclining on a bench as you would at home. Morse rebuffed him with a smile.
+What's your midnight snack today, Prime Minister? + Morse asked.
+It was lunch time in Terra. +
+What is your lunch today? +
+I haven't had time for breakfast yet, Artisan. +Makado replied. +The Legal Department is putting more procedural issues above the problem itself. According to the 170th set of interim rules revised this year, more than one-tenth of our fiscal year report submission procedures themselves do not comply with the process specifications. Legal Affairs The ministry proposed that this part of the report should be returned in full, and the relevant officials should be removed from their posts or left pending review. +
+Oh, then you go to work. + Morse stirred his oatmeal with a spoon. The smell of cereals was close to him, and the temperature climbed into his palms wrapped in black cloth along with the rising heat. He suddenly missed the memory of his skin becoming warm and moist after touching the warm pottery bowl, although these details in life had long since left him.
But when he thought that Malcador hadn't had breakfast, these sentiments immediately disappeared.
Different from the silence of Olympia where only the wind blows through the trees outside the city at night, and different from the streets of Inwit that are completely filled with fierce cold winds, the nights of Macragge have become what it is now prosperous The development status is particularly intuitive evidence.
Local merchants from both Macragge and beyond gathered in the city for a night of celebration before spices, silks, produce, and many other precious commodities were traded in the next day's markets. Small banquet.
After leaving the space port, travelers brought by short-distance navigation technology also came to the long streets of the city in search of food, clothing, shelter, and nighttime entertainment.
In restaurants, after people drank until they were tipsy amid the aroma of beans and meat dishes, they unsurprisingly enjoyed the worldly pleasure of discussing philosophy and politics.
Under the influence of some mysterious communication principles that are difficult to explain, the decisions of the leader of a certain political system can often be partially known to the people and trigger many extended discussions, not to mention Macragge's relaxed discussion atmosphere. It provides excellent soil for general discussions among citizens, and Robert Guilliman and Conor Guilliman simply announced the direction of reforms in the past month to win the support of the people.
Before he finished half of the bowl of porridge, Morse had already heard the soldiers at the table next to him who were on leave today discussing the two-thirds vote and the absolute majority of the new adjustment of the Senate. This kind of rules of procedure has led to various imaginative speculations, such as whether exactly one-third of the five hundred "nobles above" have different political views from Conor Guilliman, and the portrait is printed on Macura The disappearance of the consul Jialan on the other side of the coin during this reform clearly indicates the friction between the two parties.
“You must have guessed wrong this time, Manicino,” the craftsman heard one of the soldiers say. “My brother-in-law’s father happened to be guarding the Senate that day, and he saw with his own eyes the two consuls. The officers stood up and shook hands with each other."
"I can testify," laughed another soldier, leaning against the horseshoe sign at the door of the tavern with hot water in a clay cup, "my sister's friend's sister. "My husband knows a janitor of the Chamber."
"Come on, friends, I will go back and ask Gloria himself if he has shaken hands with Conor Guilliman." Manichino grinned, "I dare say they are not sailors on the same ship. I'll treat you to another twenty dinars of wine."
"You boy," a veteran hammered Manichino on the shoulder, "are you going to buy us drinks with the money you won from us?"
Morse listened for a while, eating cereal and stew. They were all conveyed by the curved-handled spoon and gradually disappeared into his mouth. He was not sure whether the delicious taste he simulated was really what these dishes should taste like, and how much of it was due to his unintentional beautification.
At this time, the topic of this group of soldiers has already turned to whether the civil war on the next planet came from the secret instigation of the Senate. It is ridiculous, but it also verifies that this period of reform in Macragge is It was so peaceful that this group of Macragge soldiers had time to run out of the military camp and eat barbecue and drink wine on the street.
He stood up holding the wine glass and walked to the table of the soldiers.
"Friends of Macragge," Morse said in an accent that was thick for Macragge - well, Nucerian, "I'm here. Travel. Listening to you talk like this, is Macragge's recent government unstable? My brother told me that he wants to come here and do trade with Macragge. I have not heard about the situation here. Is it still suitable for trade? ”
Several soldiers looked at each other and looked at the gold pattern on the edge of Morse's black robe.
"Do I look wrong?" Morse maintained his tone, pretending to be a little alert, "This is a place where we can discuss Macragge's Archons, right? They don't have their own Secret surveillance force?"
Manichino was the first to answer for Morse. "Of course not, friends from outside. Macragge welcomes merchants. The Archon's new policy has separate care for outsiders. It is posted on the notice board at the door. If you come to settle here, as long as you can prove your "Thank you, soldier." Morse bowed slightly like a real mortal and expressed his gratitude to the soldiers. "I will ask around again."
Morse drank the two sips of sweet wine left at the bottom of the glass, gently put the glass back on the table, turned and walked into the street. The bright lights of the night still fell on his black robe, and the hustle and bustle of the market had not yet returned to calm, so he could not be said to have entered the vast night.
+Are you still listening, Malcador? +he asked.
+ is not here. +The Prime Minister replied gently, his tone sounded like he had finally resolved the dispute with the Ministry of Justice, +Any questions, craftsman? +
+No more, Prime Minister. Good night. +
——
Steam evaporates slowly in the bathroom, blurring the exquisite murals and various ornate patterns inlaid with gold and silver on the walls. Gold and silver products of incalculable value and extremely exquisite animal bone carvings are placed on the obsidian square low tables around this small private bath, with some kind of deep glazed blue that has been genetically selected. The bouquets complement each other. The warm spring water has become a simpler enjoyment for the Primarch, who is not easily contaminated by dirt.
Robert Guilliman takes on the role of mentor in the bathhouse. Finding a reasonable opportunity to talk to his brothers who are older than him is not always possible, let alone one of his three brothers named Rogal Dorn.
The white-haired original body seems to never change his outspoken character like ice and stubborn stone. Robert admires his rationality very much, but sometimes, Robert also has to admit that he still has a different relationship with Pettu. Living with Labo is more conducive to stabilizing one's mental state at a relatively healthy level.
Guilliman stood up from the water, stepped onto the white stone steps, stepped on the carpet beside the bath and grabbed a towel to cover himself. He turned around and invited his brothers in the pool to follow him.
“We can go to the cooled room and rest for a while. After that we go to the heated pool, apply some essential oils and bathe again.”
"In Olympia, we also have some public bathrooms." Perturabo said, "But this is the first time in decades that I treat bathing so formally."
Robert shook his head : "We will discuss many things here, and the Senate will discuss in the bathroom which side's attendants will present the next day's proposal."
"People cannot fight in the bathroom, and the efficiency of hand-to-hand combat Always far less than a weapon," answered Perturabo, taking his towel and wrapping it around his waist. "Though we Primarchs, even with empty hands, are an irresistible threat to mortals."
"Exactly. Except for a few baths in childhood, I did not share a bath with others. We are in the bath. For me, today is also the first time we have taken a bath together in several years." Robert lifted his gold-leaf laurel crown with his fingers and pressed it between the wet hair.
"It seems that this is the first time for us to do this." Angron said, flicking the towel, and the snow-white soft cloth happened to be wrapped around the scarlet scar around his waist.
Robert waited for the white-haired original body, whose face was unusually rosy after soaking in the hot water, to come out of the bath. Suddenly, he worried for a moment whether the brother who claimed to be from the world of ice and snow would be dizzy from the long hot water bath. He immediately wiped away distracting thoughts and firmly let his reason help him choose to fully trust in the constitution of the Primarch.
Roger Dorn tied the towel just like his brothers, tightening it as carefully as if he were making a handicraft.
"Yes." he said.
Several original bodies were wrapped in warm air, sitting on the benches around the bath, slightly dissipating the heat from their bodies.
There were some prepared cooling fruits on the small dining table. Perturabo chose the plate of green grapes and felt the juice fall into his throat, silently moisturizing the base of his tongue and esophagus. He spat out the grape seeds and threw them into the empty saucer.
Guilliman said: "A long time ago, Macragge nobles threw bones or shells directly on the ground when they ate, waiting for their servants to clean them up afterward. This was a habit that was corrected and abolished before I landed here."< br>
“This is not an easy thing,” said Perturabo. “It is not serious enough to legislate and difficult to enforce.”
“When the consuls consciously reduced the number of banquets, After several times and taking the lead in sitting upright, we proved that the Macragge's stomach was not designed to eat while lying down, or to eat more food by repeatedly inducing vomiting."
"You do this. Be proud, Robert."
Robert Guilliman smiled modestly: "This is not only the nobility of the ruler, but also the inevitable result of the self-iteration of culture and historical development. Market reforms can only succeed when reforms are truly needed.”
"To see what people really need." Angron whispered, "to see their hearts."
Perturabo spoke while eating grapes. "Of course." He said, "You are very popular among the people, Robert. Many people hope that you will become the next consul."
Robert was not happy about this.
"I need to know if the Crusade will allow me to concurrently serve as Archon. If I am unable to fulfill my duties as Archon, then," he paused, "I will not serve as Archon of Macragge."
Perturabo's eyes glanced at the laurel wreath on Robert's head. He did not wear a green leaf crown today, a gold crown replaced it. The Iron Lord realized that this was identification for the Senate Council, unsure if it was some kind of final commemoration.
"Don't worry too early, Robert." Perturabo smiled, "Have a good rest tomorrow, and your army will be reviewed in front of you the day after tomorrow."
He put down the empty bag with only grape seeds left. Dish: "I want to know even more now, what does applying essential oil mean?"
(End of this chapter)