"And then?!"

Gasping for breath, Peturabo asked. At this moment, he can be called hideous: "Isn't it still like this in the end?" I shook hands with you, and you don't have to respect me. Say whatever you want, and then—"

He stopped, and swallowed the second half of his unfinished words into his stomach. And it's not because of what Carlil Lohals has done again. No, maybe he's done something, but the way he's done it is completely incomprehensible to Peturabo.

No one can understand why the world can be changed in half a second, no one can understand why an iron-gray simple hospital room can be transformed into a dark and dull world in half a sentence.

It was extremely cold, the wind howled, and the air was filled with the foul smell of the ashes of the burned corpses, similar to the smell of ashes, but different.

Karil Lohals still stood across from him, tall and ominous, his cloak dancing violently in the wind.

His image changed again, and his pale face was gone, replaced by the skeletal face. The swarthy eyes were now staring at Perturabo, not saying a word.

"—what did you do?" Perturabo asked, incomprehensibly. "What is this? Some new holographic projection technology that you set in place before I woke up? ”

He instinctively refused to believe anything beyond his knowledge.

"I'm a psyker, and that's one of some things I can do with psionics."

"You're lying!" Perturabo retorted vehemently. "I also have think tanks in my legion, and I've studied their powers, and no psyker can do that!"

"That only means that you haven't researched enough, Machado can."

"Machado?"

"Yes." Skeleton said. "Machado, that old and useless Machado that you despise."

Perturabo was stunned by this, and the cold wind blew by, and the residual temperature on his hospital gown began to lose temperature rapidly because of them. He thought his skin should be able to withstand the cold, but he was wrong.

He felt a terrible chill.

"Machado is a very powerful psyker, I'm surprised you didn't know about it. Furthermore, do you really think that your father would put an untalented person in that position? ”

"I" Perturabo tried to speak and retort, but his voice was faint from the howling wind. This made him very angry.

Then, Karil interrupted him again, not giving him a chance to say anything.

This is the second time.

"Speak louder." The skeleton said coldly.

"Don't act like you're a kid about to cry, you're a genetic proto, Perturabo. This doesn't mean that you have to be a saint or some kind of moral model in your conduct, but you should have a minimum sense of responsibility. People who have the courage to take responsibility don't talk like that. ”

"You're accusing me of weakness?" Perturabo asked incredulously.

He was so shocked, so shocked that he even forgot that he should be angry. He shouldn't have said it softly, he should have been more angry, more excited.

"Accuse you?"

The skeleton shook its head.

"No, I'm just stating a fact. The voice you just used doesn't actually sound much to do with weakness, it just doesn't quite match your identity as an Primordial. It is reasonable for it to appear in a child or adolescent, after all, they are also sensitive and vulnerable. ”

Peturabo's mouth was wide open, he wanted to say something, but he couldn't say anything - his face was trembling and flushing, and the intensity of his emotions made him lose his voice briefly.

And Carlil continues.

"Stop acting so shocked." He spoke in a slight, one might even call it bored.

"If it weren't for Sergeant Eltros's insistence on asking for this, I wouldn't have even bothered to talk to you. You're a piece of rusted steel, Peturabo, and I don't know where this rust comes from, but it's not my responsibility to remove them. ”

The skeleton shook its head, and its cloak was raised, and darkness deeper than the night emerged. The burning smell intensified, even to the point where Peturabo instinctively wanted to cough.

He clenched his fists, trying to find a little pain in his broken fingers to save a little bit of sanity. He succeeded, but he failed—he did feel pain, but it didn't come from his hands, it came from something that emerged from the darkness.

No, not a thing.

It's a person.

A man who has long since died.

"You" Perturabo held out his right hand as if he had fallen into an abyss, trying to grasp the shadow so he could see his face. However, just as his hand was about to touch the other's shoulder, he stopped moving.

Perturabo froze in place, embarrassed as a stone statue. But the shadow didn't make him wait long, it spoke in flames, and its voice was hoarse, as if it had long been destroyed.

"Primordial." It greets.

"Eltros?" Perturabo asked cautiously. "Why are you here?"

There was no reason, no reason - at a glance, he was sure of one thing. The shadow was indeed Eltros, indeed a member of his legion, an officer he had trusted.

"Because of some reasons I can't tell you."

"Do you mean you're going to hide the truth from me?" Perturabo asked again, his anger that had gone away at this moment returned.

Although they were slow to climb and were never really out of his mind due to the freezing temperatures around them, he was angry.

"Not concealment, the original, but protection." Sergeant Eltros replied in the serene tone characteristic of the dead.

"Protection?"

Peturabo almost burst out laughing: "You protect me? Look at me, Eltros, can you see the difference between us? I am one of the sons of the emperor of all mankind, and I am far superior to you, so why should you protect me? ”

"I don't deny the fact that you are much stronger than I am. However, you still need to be protected. The sergeant calmly replied.

Of course he calmed down, what emotions can a dead man have?

"Reason." Peturabo said.

His tone sounded like he wished Eltros had died again.

"Because a child is always in need of protection." The sergeant kept his composure and did not fluctuate from Perturabo's performance.

"You call me a child?"

"A million children combined can't match you in wisdom and strength. However, in terms of willfulness and irritability, you are no different from children. And it's the kind of spoiled kid. ”

"Do you want to die, Eltros?" Perturabo asked in a very soft voice.

"I've already died once." The sergeant returned the salute. "And you can't make a dead person die again."

"I will remove your name from my legion forever!"

"I don't care." Eltros said. "Because I expected you to say this before I did this, that you are a wayward and lucky child."

"Most of these spoiled kids don't have playmates, but you do, and you're a bunch of kids who are stupid enough to trust you with all their hearts. You're in luck in that regard. ”

"You ——!" Perturabo angrily raised his right hand and tried to throw a punch, but he didn't do it. No one stopped him, it seemed that he was in control of himself.

Considering his previous performances, this is quite incredible. The original body gasped and said in the most embarrassed and angry voice of his life in the cold wind of histing, "-, Eltros, I will never see you again." ”

"If you can. I hope so too. Eltros said calmly. But it's not up to you. ”

"Get out of here, Carlil Lohals!" Perturabo turned his head and yelled.

"You are not qualified to command me." The skeleton replied coldly. "Also, don't yell when you speak, that will only show that you are incompetent."

"You are not qualified to command me." The skeleton replied coldly. "Also, don't yell when you speak, that will only show that you are incompetent."

"So you'll have to listen to me for now."

"You"

Perturabo took a deep breath, "Okay, then you can say it, Eltros. ”

His eyes were full of hatred, not a deep hatred, but a short-lived hatred that might disappear on its own as the years passed.

It is not usually found in adults, but is more common in adolescents who are sensitive and proud, who crave recognition but who think that others do not deserve to cheer for them.

To put it more plainly, it shouldn't be in a genotype.

"Would you like to hear it?"

"Say it! Before my patience is completely gone! ”

The deceased, Sergeant from the Iron Warriors, Eltros of Terra, spoke slowly.

What he was going to say next was enough to make him die many times, but he didn't care, he was dead—he died for his original body, and he had a clear conscience on that alone.

"Do you approve of us?"

"Of course I recognize those true Iron Warriors." Peturabo said dismissively. "But you—Eltroth, you're a traitor. You hooked up with outsiders to deal with me. ”

Eltros ignored the second half of Perturabo's remarks, and simply disagreed with the first half: "No, in your eyes we are just a bunch of unqualified tools. In your eyes, our only use is to follow the guidelines and strategies you have set for the war. ”

"Isn't that what my father asked of me?!" Perturabo retorted. "I am also one of his tools, and I am also asked by him to go to war!"

"But the Emperor never asked you to take on everything, such as fighting three reconquest battles in a row in sixteen months, and not even giving us any chance to recover."

"There isn't much time left for humanity in the Great Expedition!" Perturabo growled. "There are still so many worlds that have not yet been recovered, and have not yet been illuminated by the truth of the Empire, so why should we rest?!"

"You're not alone, you have many brothers."

"Hah!" Perturabo sneered. "Do you expect me to hand over this burden to someone like Roger Dorn or Robert Killiman?"

"Them." Eltros sighed softly. "Primordial, when have you ever heard Roger Dorn and Robert Kiriman ask their legions to hold their positions without leaving for a moment, even if they suffer seventy percent casualties?"

"Just because they're weak doesn't mean I'm okay, and it doesn't mean my legion can too!" Perturabo's brows furrowed, he was already engaged in the debate.

At this moment, his goal was not to make Eltros disappear, but to win over his dead heir in this argument.

"If you're going to be steel, you have to be resilient! I'm far better than my brothers, and so are you! Let's do what they can't do, didn't I tell you that, Eltros?! ”

"You said it." The deceased replied with a blank face. "You said that at the time of Eleven. Unfortunately, I didn't have the heart to listen at that time, and I had to throw a heavier punch, or my commander would have to endure torture for a while longer. ”

"Eleven Kills is a punishment for you!"

"For what punishment?"

"For your defeat!" Perturabo swung his arms as neatly as he swung a sword.

"What a shame it is that you were called the Legion of Labor before I returned? In the eyes of the Empire, you are nothing but strict obedience and tenacity. You also did not change your tactics, resulting in many casualties that would have been unnecessary. ”

He sneered, and even gave an example, in order to strengthen the persuasiveness of his argument: "Take Incarati, what's so strange about that casting world? But you fought for a whole year, and you lost nearly 30,000 men! ”

"I don't deny that we were stubborn before you returned, and even used heavy artillery and heavy vehicles to attack and bombard them head-on against the Forge World. However, after you returned, the situation didn't seem to improve much. ”

The deceased's pale face finally changed a little, the corners of his mouth hooked, and what appeared afterwards was less like a smile and more like a miserable self-deprecation.

"We've been suffering heavy casualties, haven't we, Primordial? Except for the one against the planet near your hometown, we were quite successful, and the other battles were not at least a big victory. ”

"We have strictly followed every order you have issued, and if you keep us in our positions, we will not evacuate. If you ask us to storm an enemy trap, we won't hesitate to pounce. So it doesn't seem to be our problem. ”

"Now the Iron Warriors have only one commander, and that is you, and the rest of us are just tools to receive your orders. Do you have anything to say about this? ”

Perturabo was stunned, he should have refuted Eltros a long time ago, he should have refuted it when he said that the situation was not improving. However, Perturabo suddenly found himself unable to find a point to refute it.

How is he going to refute the facts? His cheeks are not thick enough to erase the facts and turn them into lies in his favor.

"It looks like you don't." Eltros nodded. "That is, after your return, we will still be a laughing stock in the eyes of others, we will still be a labor legion, we will still obey orders and be tenacious and useless for anything else, and who is to blame for this?"

"You—You"

"It should come down to you."

The sergeant came to a merciless conclusion, with his utmost reason, with his heart, which had stopped beating, but still harbored love and concern for the legion and for his brothers.

"You're a failed commander, and you're a failed primordial. Across the Empire, is there a legion that hasn't changed since their genetic prototype returned? Can you find it? ”

"St. Giles turned those ghouls into the elegant warriors they are today, Robert Killiman turned the bloodless destroyers into the Ultramarines they are today, and Roger Dorn gave the Imperial Fist everything he learned from Inwitt. What about you? ”

Perturabo's face turned pale.

"You're just letting us continue to be a laughing stock, and it's a very expensive laughing stock. We dig trenches, make fortresses, and be cannon fodder"

"We didn't get a replenishment of troops, and in sixteen months we fought three reconquest campaigns against three different planets. And you even said early on that you wouldn't be asking for an Imperial reward for us after the war, and you didn't want to see anyone boast about it. ”

"What are you thinking? Are you waiting for your father to come and praise you and your legion for their terrible sacrifices? ”

"You"

"Are you speechless?"

The sergeant finally burst out laughing, and after laughing, he sighed softly.

"Honestly, I despise you, Peturabo." He said with his head bowed. "You're just a child, you're immature and unstable, you just want everyone to look up to you, but you don't take the initiative to expose your talent, you just want them to dig it out themselves."

"But, to be honest, I actually despise myself more. If I had listened to my own inner voice before I died, and cooperated with the Nightblades in a feint attack, perhaps my soldiers would not have suffered as many casualties. You're an unqualified primordial, and I'm an unqualified Iron Warrior."

"But, anyway—" He looked up and smiled slightly. "—I still hope you will be converted, it's not too late, father."

The words fell, and he vanished. Perturabo froze in place, one, two, three seconds. As the fourth second was about to pass, he finally made a move. He lunged towards Carlil at breakneck speed, his broken fingers gripped the skeleton's shoulder.

He roared, "What about the others? What about the Eltroths? Get him back! Get him back! ”

"He's dead." The skeleton replied calmly. "And the dead can't 'come back,' accept it, Perturabo."

"Give him back to me——!" Peturabo roared. "I have something to say to him! He, he, I have to refute his self-righteousness, he misunderstood me, I am definitely not the kind of commander who will let his soldiers deliberately send them to death! ”

"Really?" The skeleton shook its head. "I don't care about it, and you don't need to prove it to anyone, Perturabo. The dead are gone, and you"

He raised his right hand and slapped it on Perturabo's shoulder. In an instant, the world was spinning, and the iron-gray ward returned, and Perturabo stared blankly at all this in front of him, his body trembling. Carlil ignored him, just turned and walked out of the room, leaving one last word.

"If you want to prove it, prove it, Sergeant Eltros can't see it anyway."

The door closed, and Carlil stood in front of it and waited quietly for a few seconds, before the sound of a heavy object falling to the ground was heard inside the door. He turned his head sideways, his eyes flashing with blue light, and through the wall he saw a figure on his knees, gasping for breath.

He nodded thoughtfully.

+ You are not wrong about Peturabo, Machado. +

+Oh? You've already beaten him? +

+Don't say it so badly.+

Carlil stepped forward and left the medical room.

This chapter is written 1k3 more, it's a little late, sorry. Updated.

(End of chapter)