"Advance." Roger Dorn said. "Put the Third Fleet into Pluto's Celestial Domain. No, the number of fleets will be reduced to half, and then the simulation will begin. ”

As his voice fell, the complex tactical star map began to operate spontaneously. The light shone brightly, green dots and red dots collided with each other, and the sound of the explosion was fleeting. But there is no sound in a vacuum, and this small mistake adds a bit of absurdity to the simulation.

It was a deliberate mistake by Dorne, and occasionally, he would be so immersed in such a tactical simulation that he needed something to remind himself of what was true.

In fact, anyone who indulges in long, solitary work should need a reminder that solitude is wise, but solitude is the enemy.

Is the boulder lonely?

No one knows the answer, his eyes under his short gray hair are always ruthless, who can find the answer they want from a pair of polished smooth stones?

For example, at this time, he watched the simulated enemy swallow Pluto's fleet without a single soldier, but he remained indifferent, and then began to continue issuing orders.

"Restore the fleet number, put the Third Fleet on the edge of Pluto's space, and start the simulation again."

The tactical star map immediately did so, and half a minute, with the sound of another explosion, the red color that represented the failure of the simulation appeared on the star map again.

The reflection of light flickered on his face until Dorne reached out himself. Without saying a word, he turned off the star map and returned to his desk to get to work for the day.

Terra has a massive bureaucracy that, while bloated, is by no means incompetent. It takes 10 officials to approve a document to take effect, and this system is inefficient, but if it is numerous, it works just as smoothly.

As long as they ignore the excessive number of departments, they may even be entitled to be called 'efficient', which is ironic and helpless.

This bureaucratic system has been the result of the efforts of countless capable people with lofty ideals, and the current means of communication of the empire are not enough to establish a truly efficient bureaucratic system, so it can only choose this deliberate backwardness.

Dorn spent two hours working on the papers, the stove burning steadily behind him, the wind still howling outside the window.

Eleven days have passed since Fogham's return to Terra, and the return of the phoenix seems to be some kind of omen, completely opening the climate button of Terra's 'winter', and the blizzard has begun to fall in many places around the world, extremely relentless.

Even though many regions have their own climate systems, they are still affected by snowstorms. After all, snow is snowfall, and it doesn't necessarily fall, but this squall is a global disaster.

When the two of them are combined, the result is an unstoppable and dangerous combination.

With all sectors of society expressing their opinions on the matter, the Mechanics believe that this can be changed by technological means, and the pilgrims choose to prostrate their heads with reverence in the hope that the gods will change their minds

Dorn was ironic about this.

He sighed and ended his paperwork for the day. One was because the work was done, and the other was because he heard hurried footsteps in the corridor outside, and some people kept dissuading him.

"Lord Magnus, my lord is still working, you can't just break in"

"Damn it, Al, I want to see him!" Magnus replied in a low voice in the hallway. "I have something important to report to him, stop stopping me, go back and do your own thing!"

Dorne stood up, walked over to the door, and pushed it open. He looked up at the crimson brother and began to speak to his temporary butler, Al.

"Go and rest, Al. Magnus is not a man of purpose. ”

At least not yet. He thought.

The butler bowed respectfully but worriedly, and turned to leave.

The rest of the story was a matter of course, as Dorne led Magnus into his study, closed the door, and poured another cup of tea from Maculag before asking him what he meant.

"It's a matter of urgency, brother." The Crimson King replied solemnly.

He was dressed in a white robe, but his face was nondescript with a pair of strange sunglasses. He didn't wear the iconic headdress of yesteryear, and his outfit was more modest than before.

"What's the matter?" Dorn asked briefly.

He had a cup of tea in his hand, but he didn't drink it. Ten fingers overlapped, hands resting securely on the table. Magnus was holding the original-sized teacup in both hands, looking very solemn.

"About my legion." He replied. "I don't think you have forgotten the little privilege my father gave me to make a routine call once a week. With the help of the Psykers of the Astral Court, I was able to cross the sea of stars to communicate with my legion. This has been going well until today. ”

"If something really goes wrong, the psionics of the Astral Court should be able to sense the problem directly and report it to Machado." Dorne calmly pointed out the error in his words.

"They're not just your helpers, they're the ones who help you communicate. They're still your caretakers to a certain extent, Magnus. Any disturbances are reported directly to Macado and then to his father. ”

The Crimson King had a wry smile on his face, and if he had been in the past, he would have been furious at Dorne's words. After all, it sounds like humiliation.

But now it's different, since Nikea — no, since the loss of sight and psionic powers, Magnus has finally been at peace.

It's a pretty weird thing, but it's just the way it is. He lost two treasures, but gained more.

For example, his 'curse', the insatiable thirst for knowledge.

Magnus is still one of the most knowledgeable scholars in the galaxy, and his intellectual curiosity is still strong, but he can even go days without reading a book and focus on relearning psionic abilities.

At the same time, he expressed a great degree of tolerance for Machado's undisguised surveillance. He allowed the psychionics of the Court of Astral Whispers to approach him, spy on him, and even chat with them occasionally.

"You're right, it's a regulatory measure for me — one of them, to be precise." Magnus sighed. "But here's the problem, they didn't come today."

Dorne raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Magnus could not see, but he gained a new way of seeing the world. He was also keenly aware of the expression on Dorne's face, and the wry smile that still lingered on his face returned.

"At first, I wondered if I had been deprived of this small privilege. If this was really my father's order, I would have understood," he whispered. "But I sent an inquiry to the Star Court through the teleport, and they wrote back to tell me that tomorrow is today."

Dorne was silent for a moment, then came up with a conjecture: "The date is wrong? ”

"Yes." Magnus nodded. "They think tomorrow is the scheduled call time – but is that possible, Rogge? I mean, a whole court of stars."

"Rest easy." Dorn said. He stood up, walked over to a contemplative in the study, and began to use telecommunications.

The headquarters of the Star Whispering Court is somewhere in the Imperial Palace, a deserted and uninhabited area in the Himalayas. They were allowed to establish a secret area here, ostensibly an abandoned relic of a dark tower, but the real secret lies underground.

Psykers are studying their craft underground and contributing to the Human Empire. Of course, being allowed to learn and use this knowledge within such an openly anti-psionic empire certainly comes at a price.

Psykers don't see the slightest bit of sunlight on weekdays, and they are not allowed to gather to talk, so they are to keep quiet at all times. If that's acceptable to you, then take a look at their 'protectors', a special army called the Black Sentinels.

They are a trained professional anti-psionic army, a jailer and executioner of the psionics. The Emperor made no secret of this, and strangely enough, there was no one within the psykers to give an opinion.

After a few minutes, Dorn's question was quickly answered, and it was an exact answer to Magnus's claim.

"Tomorrow is the scheduled time." Boulder frowned and repeated the phrase.

Magnus was already standing behind him at some point, teacup in both hands, and his expression was very worried.

"Now you see it, brother." The Crimson King shook his head. "What they say - IMHO, in subspace. No, psionics"

He began to sigh repeatedly.

"I shouldn't have said that, Rog, but I now understand why my father was so resistant to subspace and psionics."

Dorne glanced at him, and as he continued to send letters to inquire about the Star Court, he said, "It seems that your psionic study path has brought you a lot of things that I don't understand. ”

Magnus nodded heavily.

A few minutes later, the Star Court sent another reply, this one much longer than the last.

The person in charge, who could not be named, recounted the date in a sincere tone, and enclosed a record of every psionic communication Magnus conducted between 31 and 31 under the supervision of the Star Court.

Dorn frowned and began to look through it, his conclusions not revealing the mystery, but rather making the whole thing seem more confusing.

Because there is nothing wrong with the Star Whispering Court, every record is recorded in detail and conclusively, completely transparent, and traceable. Judging from Magnus's last communication, his next 'release' is indeed tomorrow.

However, a primordial remembers the wrong time? Is this possible?

"How's it going? Brothers? So asked the man who could not see.

"The Star Court enclosed a record of each of your calls." Dorn said. "The data is correct, therefore, their words are correct. Tomorrow is the scheduled call time. ”

Magnus was silent for a while, and suddenly took off his sunglasses, revealing his completely pale eyes. He couldn't see, but he used it to stare at Roger Dorne.

"Is that true?"

"Unless there is an error in the data of the Star Court." Dorn remained calm and said. "But you know, they're going to give everything to Machado at the end of every call. Only with the nod of the palm printmaker can this data be archived and saved. ”

Magnus pursed his lips, "So? ”

"In my opinion, there are only two possibilities right now. One is that they did have problems with the preservation of the data, but they modified the data to try to cover up the evidence. It is not difficult to confirm this, and I will send the letter to Machado, who will know the authenticity with just one glance. ”

"So, what about the second one?"

"It's your memory that's wrong." Dorn said. "And that's impossible for a primordial, Magnus. So, no matter what, I'm going to ask you to come with me to find the Palm Sealer. ”

The Crimson King nodded silently and put on the pair of sunglasses. He didn't object, but his expression was even more worried.

Dorne glanced at him and patted him on the shoulder comfortingly.

"Don't overthink it, maybe it's just a small error in the data. The contemplatives of the empire did not even have a specific classification of models, whether advanced or old. Until the results are truly clear, you can relax. Unjust, false and wrongful convictions due to outdated equipment are not uncommon in Terra. ”

"I thank you for your comfort, Rog, I am flattered, but" Magnus clenched his fists. "I'm afraid the situation in my legion can't be delayed any longer."

Dorne's hand that had reached for his cloak stopped in mid-air, and he looked back with a blank face and glanced at his brother.

The latter's implicit pleading expression eventually allowed him to continue the conversation logically, and when he threw out a question, Magnus responded instantly, like a drowning man grasping at a life-saving straw.

"What's the situation?"

"My legion is dying!" Magnus said hoarsely. "Azek Ahriman reported this to me in my last newsletter. Machado also knows that you can go and ask him. We were supposed to be this week—"

"—don't rush." Dorne interrupted him. "Take your time, Magnus. Tell me, what happened to your legion? ”

"It's a curse, Rogge." Magnus replied heavily. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten my Legion's nameless origins in the early days of the Great Expedition, and we're late to join the Great Expedition, but there's a reason for that."

He paused, a flash of shame on his face.

"I have a problem with my genetic seed." He said. "Most of the reserves won't survive the transformation operation, and if they do, they'll get out of control in a battle that uses psionic powers. There will be a change in their flesh that they simply can't control, in other words."

He took a deep breath and forced himself to keep the conversation going.

This level of honesty was a miracle for Magnus, and Dorne could detect the simplicity of his heart beneath the restless exterior, which was why he was willing to pause and listen to Magnus's words.

"They're going to turn into monsters." The Crimson King said heavily. "Flesh loses its original form, and in just a few minutes, a legionnaire will turn into a monster under the influence of his own power, for which I went deep into subspace and found a solution, and I'm sure you've heard of it more or less."

He raised his hand to his fully closed eye.

"Magnus—" Dorn shook his head. We don't have much time for you to reflect on the past. You mean, your legion has erupted with that curse again? ”

"Yes."

"How serious?"

"Very serious." Magnus said bitterly. "Most of the legionnaires have not used their psionic powers since the meeting of Nikea, and the ban has been strictly observed, but the curse is still spreading."

"When Ahriman reported to me last week, more than half of the legionnaires had to be executed. To make matters worse, this curse has even spread over my hometown"

Prospero. The name flashed through Dorne's mind.

This is Magnus's home planet, located at the very edge of the Extreme Star Field, so close to the Sun Star Domain that countless scholars have debated whether to plan Prospero into the Sun Star Field in the map.

It is also one of the few psionic stars in the galaxy, and all its inhabitants possess a certain degree of psionic power and knowledge.

"Rogge?"

I'm thinking. Dorn replied with a frown. "Listen, Magnus, I don't mean to offend. If the curse does spread to your hometown, perhaps you need to consider whether your children are lying to you. ”

Magnus gritted his teeth and took several deep breaths before continuing.

"Yes, I considered that possibility. In the past, any flesh mutation was created through the use of psionic powers, and I have questioned Ahriman as to why this curse would have been resurrected from the dead and even spread on Prospero if they had not broken the ban. But he swore to me with his honor and his life that they really strictly followed the ban. ”

But that's just a family story, Magnus.

Looking at the Crimson King's face that almost wept, Dorne still didn't say the words. He shook his head and began to put on his cloak.

"I'll go find Macardo." He said. "And you, brother. If everything you say is true, you need to go directly to the father. ”

Magnus sighed heavily, but relaxed his shoulders as if relieved.

——

Some things often follow one another and don't give people the slightest respite.

For example, artillery bombardment is always round after round, and it will not stop until the enemy is completely dead. Another example is the confrontation between the two armies, and tactics and stratagems are closely linked.

For another example, in just half a month, two original bodies returned to Terra one after another.

For those in charge of the reception, the whole thing is honorable, but it's also exhausting. While the Iron Hand's vast fleet was still passing through Uranus' Gate of Elysium, the bureaucrats on Terra were notified.

The preparations began immediately, but the process was full of ups and downs. In just three days, six bureaucrats died suddenly on the job.

Had it not been for the fact that the time of death was not continuous, I am afraid that soon a new bureaucratic joke of 'one death in two days' would have begun to circulate among the workers.

But the real collapse of the bureaucracy happened today - because somehow, the huge fleet arrived near Terra a full forty-five hours ahead of schedule.

The Iron Hand Legion's flagship Iron Fright is running non-stop to Terra's low-earth orbit, across the sea from the Mountain Formation and the Imperial Dream anchored in the distance.

And then there's the moment — the officers of the Ministry of Military Affairs have moved their unproportionate bodies as soldiers as never before, and have begun to stride around the office.

In addition to straining the arms and depleting the life of the servants, they would also use it to beat each other, and more than one person had already used it to beat each other because of the quarrel.

Interestingly, despite the fact that both sides will suffer fractures and bleeding after the fight, they will stick to what they are doing before going to the doctor.

In this way, this huge and bloated department planned an extremely grand welcome ceremony in just seven and a half hours - although the return of the emperor's sons was required not to be ostentatious and not publicized, but this time it was all right?

Ferus Manus and his invincible steel fleet have finally visited Terra once again!

The recent harsh natural disasters and some rumors from the prodigious traders have made Terra a little turbulent at the moment, and at this juncture, publicizing the return of an original to calm the hearts of the people is nothing short of a political achievement.

However, just as the Slimeton Starport, where the Fist of Steel was moored and the boarding deck slowly opened, the high-ranking official standing in the crowd and the photographer he had specially hired noticed something unexpected.

There were only a group of Morlock Terminator veterans in majestic armor on that deck, and the Iron Hand himself. is not present at all.

After questioning, the officer received the answer from the mouth of the lord commander, Amadeus Ducaine.

The smiling stormrunner told him in his characteristic humorous tone that their original had gone straight to the palace through a shuttle thirty minutes earlier.

"But you can take a picture with me." Dukein laughed. "What do you think?"

It is natural to imagine how the officials reacted. Ferus Manus didn't care about this at all, and only single-mindedly ran with his guard Gabriel Santo to a hidden residence in the palace.

Iron Hand and his guards walked together, and the momentum was terrifying. More than one of the minions turned pale from witnessing them, and the two trembled.

Gabriel Santo was terrible enough, he was a company commander with an iron hand, he took the lead in every battle, and suffered great trauma from it. One of his eyes, half of his face, one arm, and both legs were replaced with machines.

The years of war naturally permeated him with a terrifying murderous aura, but compared to Ferus Manus beside him, he was actually amiable - and he was.

He would even draw his hand to make a worry-free gesture to the minions, but Iron Hand himself strode forward with a calm face. Finally, after walking through a garden, they arrived at their destination.

Ferus Manus raised his head and glanced at the purple-gold banner that had been raised, and his face was not only not better, but even more gloomy. Gabriel Santo looked at his original body and suddenly opened his mouth, his voice very low: "The original body."

"I understand." Ferrus raised his famous arm and stopped Santo from continuing with his right hand.

"I'm skeptical, sir." Santo sighed. "You've never been able to keep your sanity when it comes to matters related to Lord Foggrim."

"Like you and Ducain?" Ferrus retorted, but he did not get angry, and miraculously kept his senses.

"He and I are not close friends, my lord." Santo said. "The honorable lord commander regards me as a backward hairy boy, and even if I have become like this, he still does not want to let me go in his tongue. I thought he was an old stubborn. ”

"Wait for me here."

Ferrus looked at him and said. He inevitably felt a little more relaxed about the honesty of his company commander. It's good for this conversation he's going to have next.

Gabriel Santo has always been indispensable, able to complete all the tasks given to him by Ferrus, or to question Ferrus's decisions, or even to confront them face to face—a privilege that comes from his extraordinary ability.

There may be many people in the Legion who can observe the emotions of the Iron Hand in detail, but there are very few people like him who dare to point it out in time. Coupled with that excellent command ability, in Ferrus's mind, he is a perfect company commander.

"Once again, I'm going to oppose your decision." Santo told him about the original body at a glance. "I'm going to accompany you all the time, and we'll say it's okay when we're on the shuttle, Primordial."

Ferus let out a low roar impatiently, but he could have given a positive answer. They walked into the station, and were confronted by a familiar, but extremely unfamiliar, person.

He was shirtless, holding two training sabers, and was training in the air. His trademark handsome face and warrior braids reveal who he really is.

Whether it's Ferrus Manus or Gabriel Santo, they all know who this man is.

"Ah, sir." Acudona returned his knife to its sheath and bowed slightly. "You arrived earlier than the letter from the Ministry of War gave you the time of arrival."

"Acudona." Ferus whispered to him.

"Yes, I'm here, sir."

"What's up with those scars of yours?"

Acudona raised his hands, looked at them, and smiled nonchalantly: "It's just a way to remember, don't care." ”

Gabriel Santo stood in silence, not saying a word.

"Memorial?" Ferrus immediately pressed into the question, and it was only before he realized what he had said. Anger flashed from his face, and Santo looked at his original body quietly and shook his head gently. Even if it was a slight amplitude, he believed his original body could sense it.

"Yes, commemoration." Cudona said.

He still looked at his hands, the hundreds of names densely carved into his arms brightening with his breath. This was by no means normal, but Ferus did not ask.

He simply walked up to Acudona solemnly and took a closer look at him. The Emperor's Son stood still, letting the Iron Hand scrutinize him—and after a few seconds, Ferus Manus raised his hands of destruction and placed them on Acudona's shoulder.

"This is a blood feud." He spoke slowly.

"Yes." Cudona said. "So we need to keep in mind - but you didn't come early to talk to me, did you?"

He smiled and turned to the side, pointing a path for the iron, "Please, sir." He's just waiting inside, but I need to warn you of one thing first. ”

Ferus Manus paused, his gaze sweeping over Acudona's eyes like electricity. It wasn't his intention, it was just an instinctive reaction. He was a natural conqueror and maintained this majesty at all times.

"What's the matter?" He asked.

"He's a little different from what he used to be, that's it, sir, be careful." Acudona whispered.

Ferus Manus responded with a nasal sound, and then strode forward, heading towards the interior of the training hall.

Gabriel Santo looked at the back of his original body, but did not follow, fulfilling his words of 'accompanying the whole process'. He looked at Acudona and shook his head slowly.

"What have you all been through?" He asked.

"Hell." Acudona replied with a nonchalant smile. "Hell for the real thing, my dear Gabriel."

Santo was answered, but Santo was not satisfied. He even fell into a deeper silence.

He and Acudona had known each other for a long time, and if you were to trace it upwards, their friendship could even go all the way back to the beginning of the Great Expedition. They knew each other very well, and now, Santo was a little unsure.

He saw through Acudona and even felt strange. This feeling irritated him, as if he were facing Ducain who publicly refuted his opinions at a tactical meeting.

After a while, he asked the question, "Is Solomon still alive?" ”

Acudona knew who he was talking about - Solomon Demeter, the sergeant of the Emperor's Son, who was the first person to befriend Santo.

"He died." Accudona raised his left hand and pointed a name on his wrist to Santo. "Two Horus dogs tore him apart, but he didn't make the two mongrels any better."

"I saw him disemboweling one of them, and the remaining one tried to kill him, but he held him. He gave — "

He flipped his wrist again and pointed to another name: "—Kaldu creates space for glorious righteousness." If it weren't for their sacrifices, the heavily guarded hangar would never have been taken so easily. ”

Gabriel Santo opened his mouth, but was speechless. He had a lot to say, but he couldn't spit out a single word. Acdonna glanced at him and burst out laughing.

"Alright, well, great Gabriel Santo." He smiled and shook his head. "Don't put on that look, it's almost there. By the way, do you want to make a bet? ”

"What bet?"

Acudona proudly threw him a boning saber.

"What do you say?" The chief swordsman leaped deftly and swung his blade across the smooth floor of the training hall. "There are just two armor-piercing servants in the armor room to change into training armor, how about we compete again?"

Gabriel Santo agreed to his invitation to fight, looking light-hearted. He turned and walked in the direction that Acudona had pointed him out with his knife.

He turned his back to him, and only at this time, his hidden anger finally appeared on his face. Coincidentally, when he turned around, the smile on Acudona's face disappeared instantly.

He swung his knife and warmed up, but his eyes glanced at the name in his hand and began to recite it forty million times. This number will keep increasing, and sooner or later it will become a number that will crush his nerves.

And Acudona doesn't care.

It's finally finished! Fifteen thousand successfully achieved! Let's have breakfast!

(End of chapter)