Chapter 425: The Emperor's Descendants·Afterword
When the Chief Editor of the Tribunal of Remembrance, our legendary-or ghostly looming Lord Morse approached me and asked me to come and serve as the general of the Tribunal of Terra. When I was writing the postscript to the first set of stories released galactically, I felt like I had been hit in the head with Vulkan's giant hammer.
This posed a problem for me. I almost panicked and went back to my suite, praying that when I woke up the next day, the Lord would take back his order and the emperor would appear on my desk. A complete postscript given by the emperor, or I never woke up after a sleep.
Then I woke up, okay. I resignedly picked up my pen and thought about how to summarize our work over the past century. Much of that time was spent chasing the Primarch and the Legion, following their footsteps across the galaxy.
There was also some unfortunate duplication that we had to do over and over again, mainly because some of us broke off while chasing. For example, Royd Dahl, who has recently lost contact with the entire Colchis, Joao, who disappeared in Melchior a few years ago, and Cindy, who disappeared at the edge of the Holy Grail Expansion about fifty years ago...< br>
Their precious lives disappeared into the unknown depths of death. I feel sorry for them. If they could all be like Cindy and return the manuscript to Terra before disappearing, it might be more joyful.
Lord Morse once told us that you should make these real demigods come to life and make them real "human characters".
We were talking a lot in the coffee shop that day, after all, how can the Imperial people imagine what they don’t know? How is this possible?
Oleg, who was in charge of the wolves, slapped his chest and said "no problem" on the spot... Oh, maybe the space wolves are an exception.
These distant and extraordinary demigods led their unparalleled legions to conquer Hehe. The numbers brought by their wars were almost crazy, and hundreds of millions of lives were burned or saved in a few years. This is a storybook tale.
For me, my mission was accomplished fairly happily. The few of us who are responsible for the Ultramarines only need to stay in the Five Hundred World of Ultramar most of the time, enjoying the rare comfortable atmosphere in the local world, and recording those "Robert's stories" that everyone talks about. Eulanius said that this was the second best job he could think of, the first being returning to his home planet to farm.
We laughed, but the atmosphere of laughter quickly turned into an indelible classic conflict - because Fenrich said that the application form he filled out at the beginning was clearly to go to the Olympia Star Cluster, and so far he is still interested in it. Full of yearning.
So, we started arguing among ourselves: Which legion’s home planet is the most comfortable place in the Human Empire?
Is it Nuceria, the place with the best medical coverage in the galaxy on the red sand? The old infrastructure powerhouses Olympia and Macragge? Prospero, the small world with the hardest pass and the highest happiness index in the entire universe? Or is it Colchis who, although you can eat for free, needs to be able to recite sutras? It can’t be the original Caliban!
Finally, we dropped the topic with a smile and went to the pub to have our dinner together.
In order to write more realistically, I personally added a lot of Macragge dialect to the paragraphs I was responsible for, and provided corresponding annotations to ensure that readers can fully and accurately understand the culture of the Ultramarines. I found myself enjoying the process more and more and falling in love with these great people I got to know.
When I completed the part I was responsible for, I felt so lost. To this day, I often walk on the streets of Macragge in my sleep, and the colorful shadows of the market tarpaulins in the sun fall on me. In front of me, there are the shouts of the vendors, and the sounds of them fanning themselves with straw hats are intertwined into a natural tune, like the rolling of wheat or the waves caused by the water wheel in the stream.
In order to write this postscript, I read through the stories written by all of us again. This was a pleasant process. I saw that we all used a considerable degree of affection to describe our stories. See the legend.
I saw frost and snow blowing in the plains of Fenris, clean cold rain falling along the teeth of gargoyles in the drainage channels of Nostramo, steel in the light of Medusa The cold light reflected from below, the midday sand surface of Colchis shimmered around the fire, and the long wind of Chogoris blew through the long grassland...
The best aspects of the human empire are condensed On these wonderful planets, the planets deliver their stories to readers through our hands.
Well, I hope this is not our boast and that our readers enjoy these diverse stories equally.
But you must know that the reason why the Space Wolves chapter has no typos is obviously thanks to several of our proofreaders. Only the throne knows whether these people do it on purpose or not!
By the way, Lord Morse seems to be planning to promote his homemade war game with the simultaneous release of this set of books. "Let those little military strategists who like to talk about politics and history waste their energy on war games in their attics," said the Lord, "so that the self-proclaimed martyrs will not stir up trouble in the real war, or "Fucking shit."
We decided to wish him great success in his war game, what else could we say?
——Marsai Coronel, 001.M31, written in Terra——
Perturabo rubbed his temples and smoothed the nerve cables back.
On his seat, a servo robot arm automatically stretched out and fastened the lids of the paint cans on the table for him one by one, and identified the used pens - each A paintbrush made of natural animal hair, not the artificial hair that the upper-class nobles of the nest are qualified to use. Soak them in the pen holder and wait for cleaning later.
"You're here?" said Perturabo, "Any updates on the Empire's work arrangements?"
"Or to see what you've been up to lately," Morse replied, dragging He got out of his chair and sat down, "You have time to make models. It seems that Murder Star doesn't put much pressure on you."
"The situation is not bad. Compared with the battles the Iron Warriors have experienced, it is relatively easy to deal with the giant spiders, not to mention they have no air defense capabilities at all." The Iron Lord nodded slightly, seeming to emphasize the difficulty of their current battle. , "It's just that the airdrops and close combat of the Emperor's Children are indeed not conducive to fighting these monsters."
"Eidolon is going to be demoted by Fulgrim, and he caused the Emperor's Children to attack us Asking for help."
"What about you? The book you recently edited is finished?"
"There are still a few manuscripts left. The guy from Iron Hands made a mechanical modification mistake, and everything he writes now looks like an experimental data report. Finally... maybe I'll find someone to write a postscript. I don't want to write it myself. It's boring enough to write a preface. This project is over."
Morse yawned deliberately, "A big project of more than a hundred years."
"That's because your efficiency is too low." Perturabo shook his head mercilessly and put aside the vehicle on his desk that he was painting with a paintbrush.
"Is it too slow for more than a hundred years? Then you must not have a deep enough understanding of the empire's administrative system, great Iron Lord. Don't use the efficiency of the Olympia Star Cluster to substitute for our noble and unusual Imperial Interior Ministry..."
Perturabo ignored Morse's sarcasm and chose to go directly to the next topic: "If you are free, we-"
An orange A message suddenly popped up on the screen in front of him. The source of the signal was very unfamiliar and was not within the empire's identification system.
"It's the orbital warning beacon mentioned by the Emperor's Children," Perturabo muttered, and considering that Morse was here, he also projected the specific information on the screen.
"Decoding so fast?" Morse raised his eyebrows, "Have you updated the interpretation system?"
"No," Perturabo frowned, "This message is in Gothic, and the sender is ...Interex?”
(End of this chapter)