I'm not human, I'm far better than that.

- Perturabo

——————

The Genotype of the Fourth Legion is actually a talkative man when conditions permit, but he himself would never admit it.

Perturabo's mind is like a seemingly dead and active volcano: it is made up of numbers, angles, statistics, and percentages, combined with angry magma, and then blocked by arrogance, forbearance, and a nature of beauty to achieve a shaky and precarious balance.

This mountain of the mind may seem steady and unshakable, but in reality, it only takes a few rocks to gently pry in the right place, and the oppressive inner will unstoppably burst out, forming a torrent of destruction that destroys everything.

But again, opening this volcano does not mean that everything is all right, because the lava of passion will eventually cool, and then the thoughts of the Iron Lord will be hidden back into the dead silence of the volcano, as if nothing had ever happened.

Therefore, the opportunity is short-lived, like an eagle skimming the sky, fleeting.

——————

Hunters only have one chance.

Go shoot down the flying eagle.

——————

Morgan lowered her eyebrows, her fingers delicately flipping open the package around her waist, and from it she pulled out a miniature silver flask, which contained the best wine she had brewed herself, using the finest grains and fruits.

Morgan was not fond of winemaking, and because of the ruthless supreme who created her, it was almost impossible for this silver-haired, vicious woman to know the feeling of joy in any action.

She forced herself to devote herself to this path and became a true brew master for one thing:

Personality.

When Magnus's sons saw the wines made by the silver-haired lady and marveled at its sweetness, they naturally had more steadiness and patience in their minds: these qualities were necessary to make a good wine.

In the same way, when they see how beautifully Morgan has done the countless jobs he has done, they naturally think that he is a capable, experienced, and trustworthy figure.

From work to life, from battle to rest, the Thousand Sons witnessed her achievements, and constantly drew their own conclusions in their minds, they discussed and promoted their opinions about this mortal man to each other, and in the end, even a Thousand Sons who had never met Morgan would sketch a figure of impeccable ability, quality, morality, and ethics in the face of the descriptions of their peers and countless realities.

Therefore, when Magnus asks his sons, he will naturally get an excellent option that cannot be refused, and even Magnus will not suspect anything when Ahriman, Atava, and Wuqianzi have all created the same image because of what they have seen or heard.

Although he had never met Morgan, when he drank Morgan's fine wine, when he saw Morgan's work, and when he heard the affirmation of Morgan by his henchmen, the image of Morgan was already fixed in his mind, and she was the best candidate for the Legion's senior advisor.

——————

Of course.

Magnus is Magnus.

Peturabo is Peturabo.

Although they are both primordials, their personalities and essences may be very different.

At the very least, Peturabo wouldn't trust anyone until he saw it with his own eyes, and it was useless for his heirs to boast about it, after all, he looked down on his heirs as well.

But he is not without his flaws, and the biggest flaw of this Iron Lord is his strengths:

Talented.

——————

【Talia Cloning ......】

Holding her flask, Morgan whispered the name, which belonged to the fine workmanship in front of her, to the great fantasy that still existed in Perturabo's mind and drawings.

With Morgan's voice, Perturabo's gaze also shifted to his unfinished work, and when the mellow aroma of wine began to linger in the secret room, the Iron Lord felt a little ashamed: he was showing an unfinished work to outsiders, how was that different from putting a failed product on public display?

【…… Why......]

Perturabo's superhuman perception caught this soft sigh, and he saw that the silver-haired mortal couldn't help but pull the gears of the model, sighing and sighing.

The genoplasm narrowed his eyes.

His mind and reason soon helped him deduce an interesting fact: this mortal advisor from the Legion of a Thousand Sons, despite his calm personality and excellent abilities, was not a perfect person.

For example, now, when she is immersed in her own thoughts, she can't help but express her true feelings in her heart.

Thinking of her presumptuous remarks, Perturabo confirmed it all the more as he looked at Morgan's cyan pupils, which were full of thought-soaked floating.

"What's wrong?"

Why do we need walls? 】

Faced with the question of the genetic prototype, the mortal in front of her didn't even think about it, and directly spit out her own question, and after blurting out this sentence, her pupils regained their clarity in hindsight.

Seeing this scene, the corners of Perturabo's mouth couldn't help but raise slightly, but then he thought of Morgan's question, so the corners of his mouth were quickly straightened by him, and it was a little funny for a while.

"The walls are hard for you to accept?"

【…… When it is combined with theater...... It will be so. 】

In Peturabo's eyes, the mortal in front of him slowly raised his arm, took a sip of wine, and then calmed down and faced his question head-on.

With this answer, Perturabo also looked at his own work.

"Thalia Klon...... What I have prepared for the triumph on Holy Terra will be built directly opposite the abode of my Genetic Father, to record the story of the expedition, and of the galaxy and its heroes. ”

The protogenitor spoke, speaking slowly, his eyes lit up with a rare light about the future and ideals.

[But despite this...... Do you still hope it will play a role in a possible catastrophe? 】

Perturabo laughed.

"How did you come to such a conclusion?"

Because art without protection and defense is one of the most vulnerable things in the world. 】

“……”

Perturabo was silent, and under his gaze, Morgan was once again immersed in the artwork in front of her, and she was clearly caught up in some kind of memory.

[When art is created, it is destined to be golden years, and people do not need to worry about life and strife, because they have created great art and works, and fantasized about the possibilities of the future. 】

“……”

[But progress is too slow after all, the kingdom has fallen into stagnation, and the peace and prosperity of the past have become the capital of future generations, who let themselves fall into pleasure and depravity in the name of art, until the beacon fire of the barbarians came to the sky, the city-state collapsed, the palace was decadent, and only the remaining works were left for future generations to sigh. 】

“……”

Perturabo breathed heavily.

[Of course, perhaps there are many wise men among the barbarians, who have seen these works and lamented the glory and wisdom of the past, but have only been ridiculed by their kind, and the most savage victors are triumphant: if there is really greatness in these works, how can they be conquered by me?] 】

“…………”

They never understood the meaning of conquest, they took it for granted that only fire and sword could survive through the ages, they were stupid and rude, but they were able to succeed because their opponents were powerless to defend their art and wisdom. 】

“……”

"What kind of identity do you use to sigh about all this?"

Morgan heard Perturabo's voice, which was a real intermittent inquiry.

[This is a private matter, Your Excellency. 】

Damn, her pupils were awake again.

Perturabo felt a sense of loss, and in the calm and coherent narration he had just spoken, he felt like a narrator evaluating his days above Olympia.

Guns, steel, war, fire, watch glorious cities fall, thousand-year-old towers topple, and then launch your next assault with urge and false comfort......

——————

Fuck it.

——————

The genogen returned to his workbench, grimacing his face as he checked the progress of his work.

All the best.

This only made him even more annoyed.

He paced to the window again, carefully observing the Iron Warrior's work aboard the Steadfast Light, muttering to himself as the blue-blue electric light flowed down the bridge and sides, not satisfied with the progress of the work.

Where the sun didn't shine, the mortal remained silent, and Perturabo could occasionally hear her whispering a drink.

It was a moment before he heard a sigh.

[As a witness, Your Excellency.] 】

She replied.

Perturabo almost held back his steps.

He didn't seem to care about the question anymore, and the genetic's gaze lingered on the ship for a few more moments before slowly turning around and returning to the place of discussion with a leisurely pace.

After seeing Morgan's lowered eyebrows, he finally smiled with satisfaction.

"Witnesses?"

[Assistant, think tank, deputy marshal, chief of staff...... You can choose any one of them, Your Excellency. 】

[I'm from the southern part of the Maelstrom, and before I joined the fleet of the Thousand Sons Legion, I was a princess from my hometown, a guy known for her inhuman genius. 】

[My father valued me on the battlefield. 】

[He drove my wisdom, used the so-called family affection and responsibility as the reins, let me give him advice, fought successively, turned the legions and city-states into ashes, burned down the former palace, and erected a statue to praise his merits......]

Her voice grew slower and deeper, and Perturabo watched as her blue pupils gradually lost focus and agility, turning into confused memories of the past.

[On the second day of the arrival of the Imperial fleet, he went from king to governor, and I remember that it happened to be my birthday, and he gave me a banquet, a grand banquet, and he sang for an hour in front of countless guests. 】

[He spoke, and spoke of ambition, of the strength of the empire, in order to induce all the visitors to swear allegiance to him, until at last he remembered me, and he announced to them that I would be his heir, and that I would be the one who would put an end to all disobedience for him. 】

So, on the day the empire's fleet set sail, I persuaded my elders who were watching the throne to recommend me to the empire's ships. 】

[I fled.] 】

"Why?"

[To escape. 】

"Escape from the throne?"

Perturabo induced with interest, and it was refreshing to watch his eyes let go of his composure, as if he were destroying a fortress step by step.

[That's not a throne, that's a curse.] 】

He could hear the mortal in front of him saying the word curse, her teeth biting at each other as if they could crush rocks.

"Cursed?"

He couldn't tell if he was inducing or recalling his past to empathize with this mortal.

Cursed ...... It was a curse, a curse on top of a cascade, the throne was a curse, wisdom was a curse, and even my birth might have been a curse in the first place. 】

[I know what a better future is, I know how we want to move forward, I know that compared with the so-called celebrations and bread, sacredness and tradition, we need to be more pragmatic, we need to endure more difficult, we need to invest limited resources in science and technology and people's livelihood, instead of shaping countless gods and statues, in exchange for a word of praise from courtiers or bishops. 】

[No...... It's not even just me...... Even they themselves know that they know how to make society a better place, but they just don't want to do it, they squander scarce resources, they fight uselessly, they worship false gods, they engrave their conservatism and selfishness on the heads of all peoples, and then proclaim that this is the most sacred and unshakable tradition. 】

Her voice became rapid, no longer the calmest and gentle, and Perturabo watched in silence, watching the liquor in her jug fall to the ground with the spread of her fingers—and she didn't notice it.

He stared into her eyes, waiting for the final words.

"So, you escaped."

[Yes, I fled.] 】

"Why?"

He watched as she closed her eyes and slowly spoke the deepest secrets of her heart.

Because no one understands. 】

[Because there is nowhere to play.] 】

[Because there is no compromise.] 】

【……】

[Because of resentment.] 】

[And loneliness.] 】

Perturabo was silent, breathing.

He didn't ask again, he didn't speak, his eyes fixed on Morgan, and after a long time, his breath disappeared into the most remote shadows of the chamber.

——————

Perturabo stood in front of his workbench, his last data finally sent out correctly in his sight.

Just then, the communication rang out, and Magnus's voice came from the other end.

"How's it going over there, Perturabo?"

"All the best, how about you?"

"I'm in a little trouble here, about the Governor...... Forget it, to make a long story short, Carrena may be attacked by surprise, so be prepared for the enemy to use air force and armor. ”

"Understood."

“…… That's right. ”

As if suddenly remembering something, Magnus suddenly realized that perhaps his brother was more suitable to be a referee than his heir.

"That senior advisor of mine, how capable is he."

Magnus waited for a moment until he heard Perturabo's laughter from the communication.

The emperor is above, and he rarely smiles so ...... Cheerful.

After laughing for a while, Perturabo gave his assessment in no uncertain terms.

"Powerful."

——————

Morgan closed his eyes and opened them.

Her pupils are clear, and she is a rational light that can see through the essence of phenomena.

Close it again, open it again.

Her pupils were blurred, and she was a real woman who looked back on her past and had no lies.

She picked up the flask and took the last sip, tossing away the lost part, and the rest was enough for her to take a sip as if it had been calculated in advance.

She smiled.

Even though the smile wasn't in joy, it still looked sweet.

——————

Genius itself is the greatest weakness.

Geniuses are confident, they rarely believe other people's evaluations, they are only confident in their own judgments.

Their superior talents shape their abilities and determine their arrogance, and when they decide something, they firmly believe in it, and never think that their judgment is wrong.

until the head breaks the blood flow.

——————

The silver-haired hunter seized the opportunity.

The eagle of steel has fallen.