Chapter 275 Civilization
“Perhaps I should really tell you some useful thoughts or ideas at that time, so that you wouldn’t have to spend so long preparing for a game. It’s hard to see the use. "...Olympia Games, but make something else,"
Morse said, holding an apple, or something that looked like an apple enough, and tossing it up and down. .
He was not sure from which gene bank the Emperor or the Adeptus Mechanicus dug out the genetic spiral of the apple tree, but when he saw that the palace was decorated with gold wire fences and precious fine white stones, under a tree The only thing Morse did was to mark it in High Gothic under the carefully cultivated and carefully maintained apple tree, with gorgeous, serious and fine carvings, as "Maleus Mill, from the old old land." One thing is to use psychic backhand to pull three ancient Terra apples that are too precious to be measured from the tree, one for himself and two for the two Perturabo.
In order to prevent food residue from falling out between the metal bones of the jaw and neck, the mechanical Perturabo gave its piece to the intact Perturabo. The latter looked around, looking for anything other than Morse's clothes that could be used to wipe away the dust and rain stains on the apple's surface.
"I am not idle, Morse," answered Perturabo. "Think of it as my sideshow after work. At least on the harmless subject of tracing the culture of Ancient Terra, Magnus can be called a lovable teammate."
< br>"Yes, your serious achievements will never be finished even in One Thousand and One Nights. I don't mind if you record your story in a picture album or an audio album, and I will listen to it every night to kill time." ."
"Do you really need it?"
"No, thank you. I prefer reading to listening."
"I would rather do my job. Print the log for you... Can you help me clean these fruits? I really don’t know how to do it.”
A handful of clear water suddenly gathered from the air, rushing over the surface of the apple with high pressure, sweeping away the dust.
Petura thanked him and took a bite. He couldn't help but put down the fruit and began to reflect on why the Primarch had such rich and detailed senses.
“There is really little water here,” Morse said smoothly. “Why would someone steal the water?”
“There are many strange things about the old night. This may be Mag Why is Nusi more willing to immerse himself in the ancient times that are much older than the old night?" Perturabo replied, "For my idea of the Games, and also for his personal interests, he has been very busy recently. I like to search for ancient memories of an era called ancient Greece in all the lost corners of the galaxy."
"Oh? How far have you reached in your research?"
"After confirming that that era seemed similar but different from his Macragge culture, Robert Guilliman also contributed a lot of information and documents for reference. We have been able to confirm that the founding of that ancient country called Rome , coincides with the end of Greece."
"Well...is there anything else? How was it established?"
"If it weren't for the power of the Supreme Heaven more than 30,000 years ago. It is beginning to appear, disguised as a beast that understands human speech, and comes to tamper with the direction of human civilization. Then it can only be a mythical narrative commonly seen in historical materials."
Perturabo hesitated. For this period of history, he and Magnus did not get a definite result.
“Robert firmly believes that historical data cannot be relied upon in everything. Therefore, there is no absolute credibility in the records of the founding of the city of Rome. Rumors such as werewolves nurturing important monarchs at the development points of human civilization, There is no unshakable credibility.”
Morse pondered for a moment, then tossed the apple up and down several times in his hand.
“You care about history.” He said. "And your attitude is really rigorous."
"This is related to another project of ours, Morse." Perturabo said, recalling that long-term project in recent years.
In the twenty years since Morse disappeared, Magnus had proposed more than one research topic closely related to human history, and one of them particularly aroused Perturabo's attention. attention.
"Tell me about it?" Morse asked, cleaning the apple in his hand and taking a bite. Objectively speaking, it tastes terrible.
Perturabo looked at Morse. In his light eyes, what was reflected at the same time were scenes about the future and deep thoughts looking back on tens of thousands of years of human history. Of course, the person who directly drove him to have his current thoughts would not be the second stranger.
“Drama.” said Perturabo, “you once said that you expected to demonstrate your abilities as a playwright at the Olympia Games.”
“Oh, why should you? "Remember those things," Morse's hand touched his forehead, covering half of his face, "I just stated casually, but you still remember it, which will only make me regret more, Perturabo." "
"Will you finish it?" asked Perturabo.
"Who would know!" Morse threw the apple high into the air, a precise function curve cut through the air, and the apple fell accurately and accurately into the palm of the intact Perturabo. Now he has three apples to look after.
"To be honest," Morse continued, "if you have to ask, I don't think it's that weird to express your opinions in front of multiple people, and more people. But you two ," he snorted, "Perturabo and Magnus always give me a sense of foreboding that what is going to happen next will definitely fall beyond my expectations."
"No, it's not necessary." The corners of Perturabo's mouth raised slightly in his stern face. Although it was just a subtle emotional change, it was still enough to change the profound impression the Lord of Iron gave to anyone. impression.
“One thing we realize is that deliberately created stories are always far from the splendor and twinkling stars that can be written in the real universe, and the probability of all strange events happening in reality , are far greater than what people tend to derive from the so-called logical reasoning. "
"So, before you could return, Magnus and I had actually finished writing the opening ceremony performance of the Olympia Games. "The script of the session." The mechanical Perturabo next to Perturabo cooperated with him and actively gave feedback. "That is," he gestured, "a script."
"Details," Morse answered, even though he already guessed what Perturabo wanted to mention.
"If we don't know where human civilization came from, then of course we won't have a firm belief in where human civilization is going," Perturabo said.
Even if he uses the word "we", in the sentence, he still regards himself as a different existence from human beings, neither taller nor shorter.
"So, during the time when you were away... we wrote some historical and civilized plays on our own after exploration and evaluation. If you are not willing to write an additional play - even if this is you What was said thirty years ago, we can still show many people the cultural transmission of the human race."
"I just..." Morse thought and shook his head slowly. The skin of the apple drew beautiful arcs layer by layer in his hands, and the skin was cut off in circles, revealing the tender and light yellow flesh. "Forget it, I won't ask you about the cast and crew and script arrangement. Just show it to me later. If you want."
Perturabo said, he had already finished the meal. apple, which strengthened his determination not to eat a second one.
"It is difficult to limit the cast and crew, because this project started at least ten years ago, and many mortals have changed their appearance in the past twenty years, and even some Astartes warriors have compared with their selves twenty years ago. ” “In addition, as for the information and figures left by history and civilization, it is even more difficult for us to verify whether it is correct or not. Therefore, we still need some help that is far beyond ordinary people.”
"In addition, during the arrangement of the script, I realized that neither Magnus nor I are good at words, which means..."
"Okay," Morse continued to speak consciously, and his thinking continued for a long time until the golden tower where the emperor was located was close to their sight range.
In that dazzling glorious world, Conrad Coze was sitting in the palace, talking with their guide.
"So," Morse asked, "you not only decided to hold a sports meeting, but also decided to involve more people or objects. For example, I, a person who can't help but add too much personal speculation and invalid words when writing a script. Bad creator."
"If you don't like it, I can cancel it," said Perturabo, waiting for the door of the golden palace to open before his eyes.
He does not think that Konrad Curze and the Emperor of Mankind will allow the two sides to discuss endless content for a long time. Therefore, Curze may appear from within the Golden Gate at any time. .
"There is another thing you have learned," said Morse, "and that is to retreat in order to advance."
Perturabo did not answer, and even expressed some reaction to this comment. satisfy. He bent down and patted Morse on the shoulder.
Morse glared at him and leaned against the doors on either side of the golden hall of the palace where they arrived: "I'm starting to think you're becoming too much to handle." He said, warming his tone with a smile. .
“But you are still here.” Perturabo hinted cryptically, “Listen to me saying meaningless words to you, talking about things that have not yet been completed, whether in Terra or Olympia. , or the Ironblood, in the Cheorwon - I will show you that although its design concept was derived from Rogal Dorn's Phalanx, I designed my own Olympia Space Fortress. "< br>
"Of course, of course." Morse said, "You are so proud of yourself... Well, I find that the question goes back to a fairly early stage, namely why you didn't ask to contract for the Palace of Terra Repair and maintain it, but leave it to Roger Dorn to complete."
His fingers traced the surrounding buildings, from the top shapes of those buildings that were exactly the same as Inwit, and those with Roger. ·The color scheme favored by Dorn clearly shows the presence of the Seventh Primarch.
"That is not my task." Perturabo replied in the most concise way, which made Morse's expression strangely relax.
"Have you finally begun to realize that you are not omnipotent?"
"At least I can't write a document proving the sacrifice of my descendants for the empire, nor can I identify how many incredible achievements they have completed..."
"Okay," Morse shook his head, "I understand, you think the process of building the Terra Palace is too cumbersome."
"It's just the proper division of labor."< br>
"You have the final say, Perturabo, you are the architect of the Emperor." Morse said, "As for writing the script for the opening ceremony of your Olympia Games, I think I I'm ready. If you don't dislike my nightmarish language, we can have a little discussion about the continuation of human civilization... and your specific arrangements for the Games."
"Do I dare to say that I dislike it?" Perturabo smiled. "It was for you, Morse. It was for the celebration of Olympia, for the continuation of culture, but ultimately, I designed it for your words. Although today, I think it is actually a tribute to civilization. "A kind of commemoration and emphasis."
"The Golden Throne..." Morse muttered, "When did you learn this trick from Fulgrim? That purple phoenix is very good." Some understanding of the use of language skills, I think."
"Fulgrim is still a man of emotions," said Perturabo. "He lives in the pursuit of perfection."
"Yes, you are the most rational one." Morse said, "Rational enough to resume a sports meeting for mortals that has been prepared for more than ten years. Then, I guess, next you Will you return to Olympia?"
"This is the original plan," Perturabo said, "I will naturally not object to any of my brothers coming to criticize my achievements through research on ancient culture. Games events, like discus throwing, I guess?"
Morse nodded, his expression calm; in short, he had an expression worthy of being printed on the back of a playing card.
"Yeah," Morse said, "but I mean throwing iron..."
He leaned back.
As the stone door Morse was leaning on suddenly opened, a small servitor appeared in front of them, holding some huge dinner plates on the platform in his hands.
When the first and second sets of tableware arrived, it seemed obvious that the father and his children in the hall had made a decision to share a meal together. But when the next set of giant knives and forks arrived, things were a little different.
"How many pairs of knives and forks are there now?" Perturabo whispered, calculating.
"It seems that this food requires more than two people to consume," a familiar voice came. Conrad Coates walked out of the hall with a cold evil smile on his lips.
Obviously, his negotiations with the Emperor achieved results that satisfied him.
"I am not hungry," said Perturabo.
"Whether you have it or not, don't talk about the Olympia Games," said Conrad, "just like I don't want to talk about 'justice' all the time anymore. Let's think about what's next. How to deal with these foods ”
He opened the cover of a dinner plate that was also transported by the servitor. Under the lid, the food had strange shapes and bright colors. It was an unusual gesture that quickly dealt a serious blow to Perturabo's psychological defense.
"This is..." Perturabo frowned in surprise.
“Ask Angron,” Conrad replied, “How could anyone think of teaching greenskins how to roast and jump and brew mushroom beer? Seriously, I really hope our father The look on my face when I swallowed this delicious meal was truly amazing.”
(End of this chapter)