Chapter 249 Good Conduct
Morse cut off his prying eyes on Comoros and frowned in a rare way. Even though it was a small movement, Perturabo still noticed his unusual behavior.
"Any questions?" asked Perturabo. His mechanical body fit surprisingly well with the scene on Cordolis' surface.
Behind the Iron Giant, endless pipelines are hidden under the surface of the broken black crystal, winding into the distance. In the mist composed of sulfur-smelling steam, you can often see huge broken gears, collapsed iron thorn forests, and gray fragments of poorly maintained spiritual bones.
Ignore the bouncing red, yellow and blue flower shadows in the steel fragments, Cordolis is just like a gray and black monochromatic image of a picture, depicting the last abominable aspect of the ruined empire left to the world.
"Your brother, Konrad Curze..." Morse considered his words, and at the same time used the extended gap in words to slightly arouse Perturabo's curiosity. "He is preparing a... surprising gift."
"A gift?" Perturabo repeated, as some nanomachines silently ran past on the horizon. "To whom, Commorragh?"
Unfortunately, he couldn't help but imagine how Commorragh had been made by Konrad Curze using a Primarch and a Haemonculi. Destroyed in a thousand ways.
"Whether it is Comoros or himself, his creation is an excellent gift. But I personally think that there is only one person he really wants to dedicate the gift to."
Morse put a strange smile on his face and continued to move forward. The fires burning in the pits of Cordolis cast a red-gold color on his face.
"Emperor?" Perturabo thought for a moment and came up with the answer.
Morse shrugged: "Yes, and I decided to let you guess for yourself first, what exactly Konrad Curze did. As far as theory is concerned, his fantasy royal court did have a great impact on the Empire. ...At least it’s considered harmless?”
The big robot shook his head in confusion. After two seconds, knowing full well that he probably couldn't keep up with Curze's train of thought, Perturabo gave up on the futile widespread speculation.
Ahead, the harlequin trouper's leather boots left small flowing pits in the broken crystals on the ground. He waved his short knife and cut through the iron bushes along the way - a large number of Cordolis's micro-nano After the organic matter died, the machinery gradually replaced the surface of the earth into an inorganic state, turning Cordoris into a ghostly dead planet, sleeping lifelessly in the depths of the Webway.
The troupe leader pinched the bone-white nose on his mask in disgust: "Two respected guests, honorary actors, temporary one-man show and Val's incarnation, can't you smell the turbid air here? Oh, these sinister smiles of misfortune, these giggling whispers and hints of vision, these haunting demonic breaths and soul-sucking thirsts? The pollution that penetrates deep into the heart of the world, the twisting omens clawing at the roiling sky!"
"What do you feel, Star God fragment?" Morse patted Perturabo, "I am just an innocent piece of ancient secret words."
"Oh..." Petula After realizing it, the postdoc deduced based on the words of the Huayi Lingzu: "Is there an echo left by the hungry and thirsty woman here?"
The troupe leader huddled in frustration, sat on the ground, and scratched A multi-colored flower spike adorns the top of his head.
"The pollution is very serious, too serious, the full stop falls on the paper..." He muttered, grabbing the rope of the Dreamstone amulet in his hand and swinging it in a circle, "Val's tomb, Val's moon. If you retreat now... you have already obtained the map of Purgatory, and there are roads, thousands of interactive roads... You have already obtained it, right in Cordoris..."
"How far is it, Avatar? ?" Morse shouted.
Avatar stood up, kicked away a clump of iron thorns, then took out a handkerchief from nowhere, squatted on the ground, and pretended to wipe half of the stone tablet exposed in the broken black crystal.
"Right here," the Eldar said sadly. When he looked up again, the mask of laughter was replaced by a mask of sadness at some point. "Right here, the temple of the Craftsman God, the dilapidated shrine, the proof of decline."
Perturabo estimated the landforms near half of the stone tablet, and the moving numbers flowed at high speed in his mind.
He raised his right hand, and after a brief warm-up of the energy cannon, he accurately shot several nodes on the black crystal ground. The troupe leader immediately jumped away. The moment he landed, the first layer of crystal quickly collapsed, revealing a new layer of surface that resembled some kind of stone.
"Hmm..." The Eldar snorted softly.
Perturabo circled a third of the way around the hole to find a second suitable angle. He carefully adjusted the energy output, and a green laser slowly cut through the stone surface, cutting off the unknown ancient material surface.
When the second layer of matter was peeled off, the troupe leader consciously tied the Dream Stone to his neck; a milky white halo covered the surface of his body, blocking out the increasingly dense subspace energy fluctuations.
Perturabo was puzzled to find that there was a whispering rustling sound in his ears, like electricity running on the surface of nerves. He carefully identified it and was surprised to confirm that it was the mechanism inside his auditory simulation device, which had suffered undue wear and tear.
"What exactly is here, Master?" Morse asked quietly before Perturabo continued his work.
"The answer to the riddle has been told a thousand times," the Avatar whispered, with low interest, "the pantheon appeared in the past."
Perturabo fired a third round of laser cannon. With a loud crash of gravel, the top floor of the underground tunnel collapsed, revealing a path leading into the dark and deep shadow depths. The Huayi Spirit Clan let out a shrill scream, covered his ears, and fell to the ground involuntarily.
Morse leaned down to observe the deep passage.
Even though Cordolis has been destroyed for many years, the lights deep in this temple still emit dim light, but one side of the light is still bright, and the other side is extremely dark, completely contrary to the laws of physics. Shadows swam abnormally in the depths of the passage, and the sound of sighing wind echoed through the passage like a tomb.
He ascended into another layer of colorful vision, observing the flowing ether fluctuations. From the depths of the surging emotions of bitter sentient beings, he tasted an ironic dark malice, mixed with obvious chaos. The scent of the gods... the tampering illusions left their afterimages in the vast ocean, while the familiar breath of bliss wandered in the abyss.
“In your myth, was Val finally captured by some evil god?” Morse asked.
"Oh, my friends, the myth ended a million years ago," the troupe leader said, having re-adapted to the harsh psychic environment, and his mask returned to its original weird smile. In fact, he recovered a little too quickly. "Except for the prophecies of doomsday, everything is shrouded behind the veil..."
He said frivolously, jumping into the passage first, waving cheerfully to them underground, his laughter clear and sincere, Echoing in the broken corridor, almost rivaling the twisted darkness.
"Come, dear friends! The furnace of soot and scrap iron is waiting to be conquered!"
"Okay, okay." Morse said, "It can't be better than The Night Ghost King's Court is even more terrifying."
"Wait a minute...Okay." Perturabo solved a bunch of useless codes that suddenly entered the command set, controlled his mechanical body, and followed Maul. Si fell heavily into the passage. "Morse, you have renewed my curiosity about what Conrad Coates did."
"Art." Morse replied casually, "unparalleled art brought about by the biotechnology of the Haemonculi."
The black-clothed craftsman raised his head. High in the sky above Cordolis, the Harlequin Troupe's airship was still suspended in the air. Inside the atmosphere, along with the huge subspace engine, were waiting for the three explorers to return with a full load, or for the collapse of the Cordolis world.
——
Conrad Coates leaned back in his seat, turning the quill in his hand, holding an open blank notebook with his other hand, his eyes Focus on a non-existent place in the void.
The hallucination didn't strangle him mercilessly, otherwise he wouldn't be so leisurely - he just repeated everything he thought he knew over and over again, and couldn't help imagining his consciousness so far. All the fleeting moments of disaster. Starting from Nostramo and ending in Tagusa, the soul hunter inherits the gift of prophecy, and the Prince of Crows disappears into the depths of the galaxy...
But does he really know all this?
When Perturabo personally compared him to Rogal Dorn in front of him, saying that he couldn't even compare to that damn stone, Konrad Curze's prediction ability The last trace of nostalgia and expectation was finally completely cut off.
If even the mutual hatred of these eternal enemies has turned into a barren echo in the torrent of world affairs, then other midnight stories have also reached the point of being sealed in the depths of the mind.
No matter what, this did not make the Blood Marquis feel too heavy in his heart: as he stepped through the mire of blood step by step in Comoros and embraced his current reputation and power, the prophecy always kept a close eye on him. It's just a mouthful of strong alcohol that's better than nothing.
Perhaps without the ability to continuously cause pain in his mind and body, he could have broken away from the control of the last Haemonculi earlier.
Lilia Ander knelt on one knee at the bottom of the steps, quietly waiting for any instructions from Conrad Coates.
The former female noble now covers her entire skinless face with a dark iron mask, symbolizing that her old identity has been abandoned in the new royal court.
Her hands were replaced by a pair of transplanted bright red metal gloves, and a series of grafts were buckled on her spine, with hooks, daggers and steel wires hanging from them, ready for the blood actors to use at any time.
It is worth mentioning that her face, which was peeled off by her own hands, is now hanging on the belt holding the apron around her waist. Lilia Ander nearly fainted with joy when Konrad Curze allowed her to keep her "blood flag."
In addition, Lilia Ander's remaining skin is now as dark as the night, and her hair has become as pale as the shadow of the moon. This is a side effect of sharing the blood of the Lord of the Royal Court.
When Curze adjusted his hematopoietic cells, he retained this little extra flaw, preparing to differentiate himself as a member of his royal court from other ordinary Dark Eldar in the future.
He spent several years using the skills he learned to secretly adjust the composition of his blood; Lilia Ander was not the first Eldar to try blood, but she was indeed the first to survive it. of.
In addition to the limited reversal of the world in the eyes of those who take blood, let them live in the depths of a beautiful illusion full of pure glory, feel the supreme glorious mission granted by the king, and devote themselves to using the sinful In addition to the enemy making blood flags, the physical fitness of these Eldar seems to also undergo undirected changes.
Sometimes they become more resilient, with increased recovery speed and strength, and sometimes their genetic spiral collapses entirely, dissolving into a pool of plasma with only the epidermis left.
In short, Conrad Coates will continue to study his own blood whenever he has free time.
"This is the first time I've seen you use a relic," Victor said, taking off his helmet and setting it aside. "It seems that you don't have any special obsession with the Talos engine. What does its skin color mean?"
"Keep it consistent with Mandela's color scheme." Kurtz replied, his tone making this sentence It didn't sound like a joke. The Blood Marquis put down the blank notebook and motioned for Lilia Ander to leave. "You're back from Caronde?"
"More airships, twice the price tag." Victor nodded, "The gears of the shipyard are already in motion."
He There was a subtle change in his tone: "Callonde asked whether the logo of these airships should be drawn as the heart-piercing blade of the Black Heart Cabal or the royal court logo of the Bloody Marquis."
"What do you think?" Cozz asked calmly, re-opening the notebook and starting to scribble on the paper.
"I told them that I will come back to urge you to design your own royal court logo as soon as possible." Victor smiled.
Curze responded with a short laugh, no hint of humor in his voice.
"So, these airships belong to me, right?" he asked.
"You deserve your fleet. The price you paid for our partnership is worth anything in return, Konrad."
Coze shook his head gently: "Opportunism, idealism, people misestimating their own importance; trickery, deceit, fire burning weak minions..." He grinned and looked at Victor At one glance, it was as if he could read his mind.
The Blood Marquis stuck the quill above his right ear, gently tore off a piece of pale paper from his notebook, and handed it to Victor.
"The logo you asked for," Konrad Cozzi smiled, "you make me happy, Victor."
Victor shrugged his shoulders, " I also sincerely hope that these external disturbances will not affect our close relationship."
"The clans," said Curze, "those true ancient families. , instead of these," his eyes glanced at the direction Lilia Ande left, "a small family that accumulates funds in a short period of time."
The Church of the Sun is declining very quickly. When Konrad Curze pursues the followers of the Church, he is most willing to send a casual boost behind the Church. There is no doubt that it is the upper class of Comoros who have accumulated a long history. of major families.
The church thinks that it can use the knowledge and technology they possess to scare the old nobles to their knees. No, the nobles don't care about their meager power at all. They only care about the challenges to their status.
"How about we release that star?" Cozz said softly, his voice indifferent, "Bang, smash the star above Ilmea into the upper layer of Comoros..."< br>
“Have you really joined the Cain Shrine?” Victor said sarcastically.
"Oh, I understand, this is too wasteful..." Coz's nails tapped on his seat. Suddenly, he clenched his fists, and the long nails pierced his palms, and blood dripped. It exudes a strange aroma. "We need a large, imminent threat, a force that can destroy Comoros, and equally, a force that can be killed by us..."
"You are pursuing legitimacy." Victor's expression became strange.
He thought he knew Curze well enough, but taking the opportunity to solve a major crisis to justify his right to rule Comoros was not like the bright path that the Bloody Marquis would choose. In contrast, directly using stars to smash through Comoros can even be called a choice that is more in line with Conrad's taste.
“Ah,” Cozz licked the blood from his palms and closed his eyes, “To maintain rule, we only need to maintain a moderate division, but we can’t stop here, we can’t...”
< br>After a few seconds, Victor said: "It seems that your relatives are of good character."
Conrad Coates leaned on the armrest of the seat and bowed and laughed: "Oh, forgive me for being Damn showmanship in front of them, Asdubar!”
(End of this chapter)