Perturabo stared silently at the huge amphitheater in front of him, his expression cold, as always.

It was originally designed by him, and was originally conceived as an arena. But the Emperor apparently had other ideas for the hollowed-out volcano, so the Lord of Humanity took over and made some other changes.

Perturabo was curious about why he did this, but unfortunately he didn't bother to dig into the reason anymore.

It wasn't because of some ridiculous 'unfathomable doctrine of divine will', but it suddenly dawned on Perturabo that there was no point in doing so—if the emperor had a request or suggestion for him, he would have spoken.

Rather than trying to dig out some inconsequential details from every word of the Lord of Mankind, it is better to do something truly meaningful.

"Abo?" A voice came from his side, interrupting his oceanic thoughts.

It was Carlyphon, the tyrant of Olympia, his sister. Perturabo bowed his head in silence and saw a worried face.

"What's the matter?"

He spoke flatly, as if they were not in a crowded amphitheater, but somewhere in the suburbs of Olympia. Those who are making a voice are not the most noble people in the entire empire, but just birds or cicadas.

"Why didn't your brothers come to you?" The tyrant clenched her staff in worry. "We've arrived eleven minutes ago."

yes, why?

Perturabo looked up to the left of the box they were in, he hadn't closed the door, as did the door of the other box not far from him.

At a glance, he could see Horus Lupekar and the Chagatai Khan in a serious conversation, and Riemann Ruth was standing by the railing with a glass of wine, not even drinking, but shaking it.

St. Giles sat with Foggrim on two armchairs, an expression worthy of the painter's record, he only saw these people, but he knew that the others were there.

Except for Loja and Magnus. The Great Speaker, who had become more distant and silent in recent years, stayed with his heirs, and the Crimson King was once again late, for reasons that were not new or interesting.

Perturabo's eyes narrowed, and the palm of his right hand clenched instinctively. Only after this did he reply to Callion's words.

"Don't think too much, the only tyrant of Olympia. They don't come to me just because you're there. ”

He slowed his tone as much as he could, so that his voice didn't sound so stiff. He did his best to do it, but to little avail, and his voice still sounded low and cold, like two pieces of steel colliding against each other in a furnace.

Califon heard his efforts, looked at him in surprise for a moment, and then laughed.

"So, I prevented you from reuniting? I'm sorry, Abo. ”

“.”

Perturabo shook his head slowly, looking serious, "I don't like the joke, Califon - but it doesn't matter, I'm leaving for a while now, I have to talk to them about something." ”

"Go, brother." The female tyrant whispered.

Her tone was rather intriguing, as if she were a genetic protogen, and Perturabo was the old mortal who had only left Olympia once in his life.

Perturabo nodded at her and gestured to Fricks, who was in charge of the guard, and the breaker tapped his breastplate solemnly and swore in silence.

Half a minute later, he appeared in the box.

The Primordials seemed unsurprised by his arrival, greeting each other with nods or smiles from those who were talking to each other, others in a more nonchalant manner.

It's just that Peturabo never expected that the first person to talk to him face-to-face would be Roger Dorn.

"I've heard what you're doing at Olympia." Dorne spoke slowly. "I have to say, I am amazed by your kindness, Perturabo."

"Kindness?" The Iron Lord smiled coldly. "Are you trying to insult me, Dorne?"

- If time could be reversed, perhaps Petura would give another answer to this sentence. But time could not be reversed, and he could not prevent himself from blurting out this almost provocative remark to Roger Dorn.

He thought he could be calm about everything now, but he was wrong, and he didn't even know why.

He just couldn't stay calm in front of Roger Dorn.

"I don't mean that." Dorn frowned, apologized earnestly, and tried to keep the conversation going again. "I apologize if my words make you uncomfortable, brother. But what you've done on Olympia—"

"—don't mention it, Roger Dorn." Perturabo squeezed a few words out between his teeth, and his tone was as cold as if someone was cutting flesh with a knife.

"Say something else, or just let me go, and let yourself go. This is not a good occasion to show brotherhood, and we all know what we are here for today. ”

Dorne looked at him in silence for a moment, nodded, and left. Conrad Coetze's voice came from the side of the large outboard observation deck a few seconds later, with the carelessness he usually carried.

"What a pleasure to listen to you two talk, brother." He chuckled.

The Iron Lord frowned and walked over. He glanced at the Lord of the Night, who was testing the durability of the railing with his back, and reached out to pull him up, swift and powerful.

"Can't you be serious, Conrad?" He said with a frown. "I can't believe that no one has stopped you from making such an imageless gesture."

Actually, there was, but he gave up. Also, I'm going to be scary when I'm serious," Coetzes chuckled softly. "So I don't usually keep a straight face, don't you think it's better?"

"I don't think so."

"Then you really don't have any sense of humor." Cozi smacked his lips and patted Peturabo on the shoulder in disgust, not much force, but rather sarcastic.

Vulcan, who was standing not far away, widened his eyes, and he instinctively felt that Perturabo would lash out next, but the Lord of Olympia did not do that.

He just sneered and grabbed the wrist of Koz's hand and threw it off his shoulder.

"No sense of humor is better than a quirky sense of humor." Perturabo mimicked Koz's tone and spoke softly, too. "What about Carlil Lohals?"

"Why are you asking this?" Coetze yawned listlessly, a visibly sleepy look on his face, but Perturabo didn't eat him.

"How could he not be present on such an occasion?" He frowned. "Or is he on top?"

"What's on it?" Coetzes shrugged knowingly, and deliberately lengthened his tone. It wasn't until Peturabo finally showed that he laughed happily and gave an answer.

"No, he's not in that glittering golden box. Our eyes of Nostramo can't stand such a golden place. ”

"You mean, he's not going to attend this meeting?"

"Hey, brother, why do you care so much?" Coates leaned in close to him, grabbed Perturabo by the neck, and asked in an emotionless tone that was almost whispering.

His hands were unwarm, like a corpse that had been dead for a long time. The exhaled air was like a night breeze blowing through the purpose, with a cold and dead silence.

Perturabo felt a pang of discomfort, but he held back. After a few seconds, the Lord of the Night let go of him and smiled again, as if it were business as usual.

"Alright, Abo—" He winked at Perturabo. I know you're curious, but I can't tell you the specifics. It's a secret, you know? It's like your attitude towards your sister, it's a secret. ”

The Lord of Steel snorted coldly and walked away.

Coates looked at his back, and judging from his steps, he wasn't really angry, so he simply put his mind at ease. He narrowed his eyes and leaned back again, leaning against the railing.

In the darkness beside the observation deck, another pale man was staring at him.

"Corus Koraks." Coetze spoke slowly, calling out his name in an aria-like tone. "Why do you like to run to someone without saying a word every time?"

"Every time?"

The Lord of the Saving Stars walked slowly to his side, took out a bag of sand eel jerky from his bosom and handed it over. He shook his head, not quite agreeing with Coetze's claim.

"Not every time, I don't approach them in this way to other people, it scares them."

"What? Won't I be scared? Coates glared at him, took a stick of jerky from the bag, and swallowed it in one gulp.

"You can at least know that I'm in the shadows," Coraks said slowly. "And others don't know and won't prepare in advance."

"Am I honored then?"

"If you're going to be honored about it, so will I." Corakes made a rare joke, but he didn't give Coz time to laugh. As soon as the conversation changed, the Lord of the Saving Stars turned the topic into seriousness. "How long will the meeting start?"

"It's coming." Coetzes squinted his eyes. He saw St. Giles and Fogham get up from their chairs, and he knew what they were going to do, so he quickly gave an answer. "Ten minutes, brother. Then we can hear Magnus and his tirade. ”

"Is he really going to go on and on as long as you say?"

"Probably." Coetzes shrugged noncommittally. "After all, he hadn't realized what exactly this meeting meant, and if he did, he wouldn't be the last to come."

Coraks nodded thoughtfully, and instead of asking about Carlil, he silently straightened his arm and handed over the bag of dried sand eel again.

Yes, yards.

(End of chapter)