Frix had no idea that the war would end in such a situation, that the day after the Midnight Blades attacked the fortress on Cordipo, they surrendered unconditionally.

This puzzled the Iron Warriors, who could not understand why this group of men who relied on the fortress and could even fight them back and forth would surrender directly under the attack of only 6,000 men.

The discussion was particularly intense among the senior officers, and in fact, the results of the discussion were born. And not so long ago, it was proposed by Barabas Dantiok.

"Because the only thing the Kordibo can rely on is the fortress." Dantiok said to his colleagues, his face grim.

"They have nothing else to protect themselves, so they surrender immediately when they face the Midnight Blade that has infiltrated the fortress and dealt them a substantial life-and-death blow. Most people are like that, far from having an iron will to transcend the weakness of fear. ”

He said this with a strong confidence in his eyes, as if he didn't think he was one of the losers. That confidence stems from his urge to take the Nightblades' tactics for himself, as well as the vigor that comes with being young.

However, Fricks didn't really think that his impulse would become a reality. Peturabo is known to be a very stubborn proto.

There's no way he's going to use the tactics of the other legions for his own - Frix can even guess how his primitives will react to this.

Doesn't misappropriation mean I'm learning from them? Only the weak learn from the strong, and there is no strong to learn from the weak.

He would have rebuked Dantioc with fierce words, and if the scene intensified, it was not impossible to lower his rank or send him to the expeditionary fleet to stay away from the large forces of the legion.

Thinking of this, Frix couldn't help but purse his lips. He pondered, making his way from the training ground to his room, even though he was still wearing the heavy armor he had used for training.

He had just had a fight with two of the most dangerous fighters, and Flicks would normally touch their emergency stop buttons with his sword or other weapon, three of them, all of them at the point. But this time, he dismantled them all.

The surge of emotions caused him to violate his creed to some extent and act irrationally. This sense of frustration mixed with the suffocation of heavy thinking made him even walk into his room with a strong sense of trance.

Because of this, he didn't notice the figure standing in front of his workbench.

Frix casually tossed his training helmet aside and turned on the light. He's an old-school guy who prefers to trigger it manually himself rather than an automated sensor-based light bar.

The pale light lit up, illuminating the iron-gray, cage-like room, revealing everything inside, including the man at the workbench with his back to him.

Fricks was taken aback.

"Primordial ——!"

"You don't have to scream that loud." Perturabo replied harshly, still with his back to him. "What's going on with this computational model of yours, Frix? Why can't I see a little bit of what you're good at? There are even cables exposed in the corners. ”

He turned, holding a model that was somewhat small for the original. It is encased in a blue-gray exterior, with a monitor flashing in the center.

It was an idea of Fricks that could be used to calculate the amount of shells that might be consumed under existing conditions before the start of each war. And it is now just as Perturabo said, the corners are not completely wrapped, and the craftsmanship is very crude.

This is not at all the level that Fricks should be.

The commander of the Iron Warrior's company bowed his head in shame: "I was a little absent-minded when I did it last night. Sorry, Original. ”

“.”

"Primordial?" Frix asked, looking down. He didn't dare to look up, not out of fear, but simply because he didn't want to see Perturabo's disappointed eyes. To his surprise, his original body was silent for a long time at this call before speaking again.

"You don't have to apologize to me." Peturabo said bluntly. "Anyway, this creation is your idea, and it belongs to you alone. So whether you're going to finish it beautifully or just fool around, it's up to you. ”

Frix looked up in surprise, only to find that his prototype was looking at the computational model. His fingers were still bandaged, and the palm of his left hand was still scorched, oozing blood.

Naturally, Fricks was uncomfortable with the tragic situation, but Perturabo didn't seem to be impressed. He spun the model with his bandaged fingers, his finger bones rattling constantly. Half a minute later, he looked up.

"It has to be a little more rounded to fit the human hand." Steel spoke coldly. "It doesn't matter if you're only going to give it to the officers, but I'd like you to improve it and make it more in the hands of mortals."

"You're going to distribute it to the auxiliaries?" Frix was even more shocked - Perturabo's appearance and way of speaking were still familiar to him, but for some reason, Frix felt a terribly unfamiliar.

"Why not?" Peturabo frowned and looked over.

Frix was silent for a moment, and finally gave an explanation: "We don't have many auxiliaries, Primordial. In fact, it can be called very little. There aren't many organizations within the Imperial Army that are willing to work with us for a long time, our style."

He paused for a moment, intending to describe the incident in a more euphemistic way, so as not to hurt his original heart. However, a grim smile appeared on Peturabo's face.

"It's going to cost them a lot of casualties." Peturabo said. "And call us corpse shredders behind your back, I know."

"You know?"

"I've always known that." Perturabo turned and put the computational model back on the table. I started rummaging through the blueprints around and picked up something like a wrench or a tool hammer.

Frix wanted to come to help, but Peturabo stopped him with just a side glance.

After a moment, the Primordial began to reach for the steel and pipes and cables that had been laid aside, and spoke in a deep voice during the process.

This is not the sound that Fricks is familiar with and belongs to 'Peturabo'. The company commander blinked blankly, not understanding what was going on, and had to passively listen to his primordial words.

"The other legions make fun of us as servitudes, the Imperial Fist thinks they have built fortresses that we can't take down, and others say we'll just use long hours and casualty numbers to pile up and win."

Frix took a soft, deep breath.

"They don't understand what the hell they're talking about, Primitive." The first company commander said. "They're all just—"

"—just describing the truth." Perturabo interrupted him mercilessly. "They were right, except for the second one. We are indeed a labor legion, we are indeed only able to spend a long time maneuvering under the enemy's city, and our casualty numbers are indeed very large. ”

“.”

Frix was silent.

He had thought many times about the image of his original body admitting his mistake, though that imagination had long since been lost to him as he got older. However, when it did become real, Frix suddenly realized that he was completely unable to adapt to it.

He couldn't understand it.

Why is it now, the Original? Why would you admit your mistake at this time.? No, no, why would you admit your mistake?

A company-long group of teeth began to grind against each other like razors. He remained silent, trying to find a plausible reason for his original transformation—a plausible justification other than Carlil Lohals' interference.

But he couldn't find it.

His thoughts began to rub against each other, knotted like a rope that had been soaked in water and deliberately knotted together. But it was at this point that Perturabo spoke again.

"This will change from today."

He turned his head, and there was already an extra computational model in his hand, which was not the work of Frix, nor was it a modification of his. It's a completely new computing model.

It has a rough surface and is not polished. The marks on the surface of the steel just stuck tenaciously on its square shell.

It also has a display, but instead of something like a formula or a keyboard, it's an incredibly large number.

Perturabo held it in his hand, rubbing his bandaged crooked fingers against its surface little by little, with gentle movements.

"What is this, Primordial?" Frix asked, staring intently at the number. He was so focused that he couldn't even notice the tremor in his voice.

"A simple computational model." Peturabo replied stiffly. "There is no increase in functionality, only a decrease in functionality."

"What's that number?"

"Them." Peturabo said. "Everyone."

Frix looked up, his expression distorted as if he had been hit head-on by a bomb, his emotions mixed together, trying to explode, but he was desperately controlled by himself.

Steel inside and out.

And steel does not possess any superfluous emotions.

Peturabo didn't comment on his performance, he lowered his head and continued to observe the model. He was focused, as if there was no one else in his world.

After a long time, Frix heard the last words of his primordial body tonight.

"I'll call it the Eltros number." He said majestically and coldly. "That's it, watch the time, Frix. Tomorrow we leave for Olympia to resupply. Don't lose your demeanor. ”

The door closed, and behind him, the Iron Warrior Frix began to melt.

This chapter is only 3k, and the reason is that I found that if I continue to write 3k, it will be released before 12 o'clock. I'll keep writing about the remaining 7k.

(End of chapter)