In essence, war is a science, a very cruel science. And what human beings are best at is probably war, can this represent the nature of human beings to a certain extent?

Perturabo had pondered these questions many times, and he had an aversion to philosophy and a great interest in ambivalence.

On the one hand, he believes that philosophy does not contribute to the survival of mankind in the slightest. On the other hand, he thinks that philosophy is really valuable for him to pass the time.

Of course, he didn't confide in these thoughts as always, and that's his way of doing it - after all, steel doesn't speak for itself. Steel is only silently forged, tempered, and becomes armor, weapons, shields.

"Horus has sent a message." The Lord of the Fire Dragon said. "He'll be waiting near Istefan III."

"Did he mention Vogrim them?" Peturabo asked, bowing his head.

He was gently tapping a metal octahedron with a tool hammer. Its surface is silver, with fine patterns and the coat of arms of Olympia. Undoubtedly, this is also one of the works of Perturabo.

But, strangely, Vulcan didn't see what the eight-sided cube was for.

"Nope." Vulcan said. "That's exactly what I feared, and he didn't say a word."

Perturabo gave a dull nasal voice, which kind of gave some kind of answer. He turned the octahedron and continued to tap, and it finally had a reaction. The surface began to deform, and with the sound of the gears turning, it turned into a beautiful little car.

Vulcan looked at it with a little amazement and couldn't help asking, "How did you design it?" ”

"I don't know." Peturabo said. "Just doing it for fun"

He said this, but then he tapped the front hood of the car in front of Vulcan, and it deformed again, changing back to the octahedron form.

"There are sixteen ways to transform them." Said the Lord of Steel. "My intention was to make a children's educational toy, but it seemed too difficult to do. Not to mention children, even the scholars of Olympia have not been able to fully understand the law of this octahedral deformation. ”

"I'm disappointed, after all, it's just some simple math formulas. I was a little frustrated that the children couldn't understand it, and they couldn't understand it. ”

"Are you showing off?" The third person in the room asked quietly.

Unlike Perturabo and Vulcan, he was heavily armed, and his armor and respirators were even polished. The famous scythe called Silence sat quietly in his hand, and at his waist hung a brass-colored energy pistol called the lantern, which was one of the emperor's personal treasures.

"Sounds like that." Vulcan laughed. "But it shouldn't be our brothers, and we shouldn't need to look for superiority in ordinary people."

Peturabo snorted coldly and didn't say anything, which was considered a tacit acquiescence.

Motarian shook his head, the smell of spices getting stronger with his movements, "When will you be able to fix this?" ”

"What?"

"This."

"What?" Perturabo turned his head roughly, impatiently, still holding the hammer and octahedron in his hands.

"What the hell are you trying to say, Motarian? I ask you to finish the sentence in one breath, make it clear, and explain it clearly. And don't use your set of numerology to explain to me in a way that is in line with the truth of the empire. ”

Vulcan laughed pleasantly and silently from the sidelines, he already knew what was going to happen next.

"Numerology, it's a very scientific, very much in line with the truth of the Empire—" Motarian cocked up a finger with extreme seriousness. "Seven is the hidden truth of all things, and I can cite many examples to prove me right."

"Then you can lift it." Perturabo put down his hammer and octahedron and clasped his hands together with a sneer. "Come on, let's have a debate. At this juncture, you more serious guy. ”

"Your attitude makes me want to say nothing." Motarian said, with a palpable frustration in the eyes on the respirator. "Conrad actually said that you are a nice person, I really doubt that his evaluation of you has a filter of brotherhood."

The corners of Perturabo's eyes twitched, "You're—"

He took a deep breath.

"-Forget it." The Lord of Steel is back expressionless. "Stop gossiping and get down to business. What do you think about Horus? ”

"I don't believe he would do what you guessed, but Conrad's prediction does have a high degree of credibility, and although I can't understand his talent for the time being, his words are indeed in line with the derivation of numerology."

Motarian said, holding up a finger again in a very serious manner.

"I think we need to be cautious, there's too much doubt about this whole thing. Fortunately, we will soon be able to get close to Istefan III, and the truth should come out on its own. ”

"But, brother, what if this terrible inference of ours comes true?" Vulcan asked solemnly. "I think we have to be prepared with both hands, and I propose that the Combined Fleet immediately carry out a pre-battle mobilization and warm up the artillery positions. At the very least, be prepared for danger before it strikes. ”

Motarian didn't answer immediately, he frowned, looking thoughtful.

Perturabo replied very quickly, and the Iron Lord remained expressionless: "I have no opinion, if he wants a war, then we will give him a war." But if it was all just a misunderstanding, I would apologize to him. ”

"I hope so," Vulcan sighed, and then looked at Motarion. "What about you? Have you decided, brother? ”

"The minority obeys the majority." So said the Lord of Death. "You have a point, Vulcan. I also agree. ”

Minutes later, they jointly issued an order, which quickly spread throughout the vast combined fleet. Combat barges, cruisers, destroyers and even those on the shuttle received this order with unmistakable co-signature by three primitives.

A tense atmosphere began to spread within the fleet, except for one ship.

It is the only exception.

It was called the Terminator, the template for the Marauder-class battleship, and was completed in the Moon's fabrication plant. Once known as the Twilight Striker, it is now the Terminal, the flagship of Death Guard Commander Karath Typhon.

Powerful firepower, numerous decks, all specially designed to accommodate assault boats that are several times more numerous than ordinary ships. It has distinguished itself within the Death Guard, and shines as brightly as Callas Typhon's name

But soon it won't.

——

Azerkell Abaddon dragged himself back to the royal court.

He had just gone to inspect the repairs on the first twenty floors of the Vengeful Spirit, and it was still being repaired quickly despite the lack of crew and thralls.

Most of them were blasted or other. The damage to things is now restored to its former state, and this is not the work of the technical soldiers, in fact, the Spirit of Vengeance is healing itself.

Abaddon didn't know what to think of it, and he gave himself many explanations, none of which really convinced him. So he forced himself to forget for a moment and returned to the royal court of Lupecar.

The wolf god sat on his throne, the wolf's fur twitching slightly over his shoulders, and the scarlet eyes on his black armor stared at Abaddon as if they were self-conscious.

This is something that has never happened before. Abaddon lowered his head, also forgetting about it for a moment, and spoke slowly.

"Primordial." He kept his voice calm and said. "We're ready to fight again, and the repair of the Vengeful Spirit has been preliminarily completed."

In response, his genetic father gave him an intriguing smile.

"No, it's not enough." He said.

"Your Excellency?"

"Actually, it's not enough, Ezekell. We need manpower to preheat the artillery and reload the ammunition. These chores need to be done by mortals. The man on the throne said with a smile. Astarte can't be allowed to do these chores, right? ”

"But we don't have any servants left."

Neither did the crew. Abaddon said in his heart. I don't even know how the Vengeful Spirit will sail and turn if war does go to war.

"Don't worry." The wolf god chuckled. "I've got my own way, by the way, Azerkel, did you see Loken, Tariq, and Eichmand? Why didn't I see them coming to me? ”

Abaddon was silent, he didn't understand for a moment what his primordial was asking for—could it be that he was joking with him?

A sense of absurdity arose, prompting him to involuntarily raise his head and glance at the wolf herding god. The latter's flaming pupils stared at him, causing both of his hearts to stop beating for a moment.

".Primordial?" Abaddon hesitated. "Have you forgotten? They. Left. ”

"Oh." The wolf god nodded thoughtfully. "I forgot, I'm sorry, Wu'er. I almost forgot that they were already betrayers. ”

He burst out laughing.

"It's funny that my own son betrayed me and took my crew and servants with him. How? Can't they find anyone else to sail the boat? ”

Took away the crew and servants? They are not.

Abaddon confronted the eyes of the dead who had been lifted up, and the terrible appearance of them moving with the wind in the cold, rancid wind. A retort came to his lips, but he swallowed it himself. The wolf god looked at him with satisfaction, and some kind of murderous opportunity quietly passed away.

"Remove them." He waved his right hand indifferently. "Find out how many of them betrayed me, and remove them all. One day, they will return my blood to me. As for now, Ezekel you can leave. ”

"Yes, Proto."

With his head bowed, Abaddon fled away from Lupecar's court, cold and gone.

Updated.

The plot will start tomorrow.

(End of chapter)