"Are you trying to convince me to arrange another one-on-one meeting between you and our genetic protogens?"

"Exactly."

"You know how much that seems to me." Frix pursed his lips. "Is it scary?"

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Captain Frix." Carlil slowly lowered his head and withdrew his right hand. "But, like I said, we still have a war to go"

"What the hell are you trying to say?"

"I mean, I don't think we should spend our time waiting for your primordial to wake up and expect him to be mentally prepared to rejoin the war. Of course, I'm already hopeful, and based on what you know about Peturabo, what do you think the first thing he will do when he wakes up? ”

The Breaker's lips trembled.

He assumed in his mind with sorrow that there were many results that were born as a result of the operation of his transcendent mind and intellect, and that the final result was devastating to him.

He found that he had no way to refute Karil Lohals's insinuations and his 'hopeful' claims.

One of the things that Perturabo is most likely to do when he wakes up is definitely not to drop everything and start continuing his quest for Cordipo. Frix himself didn't know what his original would do, but he knew exactly what he wouldn't do.

Admittedly, it is not impossible to abandon everything and plunge into war again, but the probability is just that it is outrageous.

I see." Frix kept his head down, feeling extremely ashamed of his performance today.

He was on the verge of tears—he was a member of the Trident Council, and he should have made a suggestion and stopped his primordial, but he hadn't. He didn't even qualify for failure, because he didn't even try.

And, for Frix, he knew very well why he had foolishly and stubbornly asked Van Cleef, who was an outsider, to join him in making a proposal.

Because he was afraid.

He knew that his primordial might be angry at him, or punish him—Frix didn't care about that, he wasn't even afraid of death, but he was afraid of disappointing Perturabo.

And that's the main thing.

He didn't dare to go because he knew that the Petura Expo was disappointed in him. Petura will yell at him, and he will never be able to speak proudly of being a member of the Iron Warriors.

That's where Frix's shame grows.

"Company Commander Frix."

The City Breaker looked up a little dazedly, and a wave of anger rose in his heart for no reason - what are you still doing here? And why do you pronounce my name in a calm tone?

I've told you I understand, and Peturabo, who I'll let you into the ward, will punish me for it, but I'm not going to back down any longer, I've had enough of the shame I've endured today!

"Thank you." Carlil said mildly. "But you won't be punished in any way."

He looked away and looked at the surveillance footage. Lying on the bed and instruments, still unconscious, Perturabo closed his eyes tightly, and the room was empty except for him.

"What?" Frix asked, confused. "No, wait, what did you say?"

"Unless he's really hopeless." Carlil withdrew his gaze and smiled, the smile fleeting.

——

Perturabo was dreaming.

In the dream, he returned to Olympia. He was doing his favorite work in his study.

His study was an attic, and it was by no means comfortable. Throughout the year, there are also no days of pleasant temperatures. But Peturabo doesn't care about that, he will do his work here whether it's hot or cold.

He writes his dissertation here. Mathematics, Astronomy, Architecture, History.

You might even find a dozen essays on literature here. Here, too, he does urban planning, making whimsical machines and stunning designs.

He made them and then destroyed them.

Very few things survive and circulate from the study, and Perturabo is not shy about sharing knowledge, but he never does it again after a few attempts.

The wise men of Olympia were completely incomprehensible to his design, and even showed fear. Several people also advertised in the newspapers that his knowledge was 'cursed'.

Perturabo didn't have to think too much to understand what these people were thinking. It's just that they are worried that the position they have spent half their lives earning will be overturned because of a paper paper or blueprint

Reminiscing about the past was a strange thing for Pertulabo, who barely missed anything on Olympia except for Carlyphon.

However, if the useless criterion of nostalgia is relaxed, then he has actually thought of his inconsequential adoptive father a few times.

Perturabo was immersed in these memories, trying to ignore what he felt before he went into a coma. But his perception would not have brought him into a restful sleep so easily, as had been proven by countless nights in his past life.

At the slightest hint of wind and grass, Peturabo will wake up instantly, and this time is no exception.

He snapped open his eyes and saw a black and white skeleton. Compared with the previous black and white, it has changed a little. The armor seems to be alive and ever-changing.

And Perturabo doesn't care about that.

He coldly ripped off the needles and instruments from his body, and despite the pain in his fingers and ribs, he forced himself to stand up little by little, and he stood up straight.

He coldly ripped off the needles and instruments from his body, and despite the pain in his fingers and ribs, he forced himself to stand up little by little, and he stood up straight.

"What are you doing here?" Peturabo asked in disgust. "Come and laugh at me a second time?"

"I suggest you sit and talk." Carlil replied quietly, not expressing any emotional fluctuations in Peturabo's tone and his words.

"Why?"

"Sit down, Perturabo." Carlil said, raising his eyes. "I don't like to use violence to persecute people, but if I have no other choice, I will use anything worse than violence."

Perturabo sneered and raised his hands, his ten fingers wrapped in thick bandages and plates. Clearly, Carlil didn't just let his fingers bend. "You mean that?"

"Nope." Carlil said. "I can sing."

Perturabo's sneer turned to stunned for a moment, followed by a resurgence of anger and shame. They mingled together, distorting his countenance. He opened his mouth, his throat sounding, ready to erupt through the anger that had been prepared for a long time.

Carlil sighed softly.

"—shut up." He rubbed his brow and interrupted Perturabo before he could do so.

It was a novelty to him, but he was not happy about it. Peturabo was stunned again, but not because the words were interrupted, but because of a golden Aquila that had been thrown at him.

Despite the injury to his hand, Perturabo grabbed it before it fell to the ground, and after three seconds of looking at it, the Son of Olympia looked up with an ugly face.

"Why didn't you say it earlier?" He asked.

"Your tone should be a little more respectful." Carlil replied with a blank face. "I don't think the tone you're using right now is appropriate."

Perturabo clenched his right hand violently, the plate shattering in an instant, his finger bones still creaking. The golden eagle rested quietly in the palm of its hand, undeformed.

A few seconds later, Perturabo spoke again.

"Dear Carlil Lohals." He squeezed the words out between his teeth. "Is that enough?"

"Enough for you." Carlil nodded noncommittally. "If I were someone else, maybe I would have been more demanding. But, for you, I guess that's enough. ”

"Not enough!" Peturabo let out a low roar and threw the Aquila back, standing where he was, his chest rising and falling rapidly. A few seconds later, he put on a twisted smile.

The eyes widened and did not blink. The cheek was lifted upward, forcing the corners of his mouth to bend, and the action caused the wound at the corner of his mouth to crack again, and blood gushed out, but he himself did not care.

He smiled without any smile or kindness.

"Is that enough?!"

"You don't have to push yourself like that, Peturabo." Carlil's eyes narrowed. "I'm not here to humiliate you or make a fool of you. I'm here for the reconquest of Cordipo, believe it or not, that's my true purpose. ”

"yes, of course you can say that." Perturabo threw a sentence out of his throat. "After all, you've already humiliated me."

"You brought it on yourself." Carlil replied calmly. "And there's a limit to my patience, Perturabo."

He took a slow step forward, his right hand outstretched, and he was safely placed in the air. Fingers are straightened and slightly bent. Perturabo could see what the pose meant, and his cheeks twitched again.

"What do you mean by that?" He took a deep breath and asked in a voice so low that it seemed like steel.

"It's called a handshake." Carlil said. "But I don't want to shake your hand, I'm only going to do it with people I respect. I'm doing this because I have something to show you. I am a psyker, esteemed Perturabo. ”

"Don't call me with that prefix!"

"The great Perturabo."

"Enough!"

The Son of Olympia stepped forward with bared teeth, and grasped Karil's cold right hand, despite the injury to his fingers.

He used a lot of force, and if it were an ordinary thing, it might have begun to twist by now, but Carlil was calm as if nothing had happened, and even smiled.

As if some kind of purpose had been achieved.

There is one more chapter.

(End of chapter)