Iron Blood

Twelve Parliamentary Hall

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It was now a half-terra standard hour after Perturabo made an appearance on the bridge, and Huonso, who had been instructed to take the Imperial Navigator captive and brought the Iron Blood, and his companions had boarded the flagship of the Chaos Primordial.

In fact, they were hosting a dinner party in the halls of the Dodekatheon, the Ironblood's original purpose for serious war rehearsals and reviews.

Yes, dinner.

Dusty gold and silver lamps were hung from the ceiling, scrubbed, and lit, and the soft and bright light illuminated every corner of the hall, and the ingredients, furniture, tableware, and various decorations that had been unattended in the warehouse for a long time were removed from the signs, making the whole banquet appear to be a collection of delicacies, elegant and gorgeous.

Although everyone in attendance—oh not everyone, at least the owner of the Kalan-Gower Fortress, the new war blacksmith Honso had a thoughtful expression—a look of horror and confusion on their faces, "Have I been corrupted by Slaanesh to the point of hallucinating?"

The dishes and drinks were precious and delicious, but they still ate the food placed in front of them with restraint under the gaze of the Demon Primordial, not daring to eat too loudly, too quickly, or too slowly.

This made the atmosphere of the banquet a little awkward, but overall, the Iron Warriors controlled themselves as always, and since the original body wanted a dinner party, then it should have a dinner party appearance.

Dasadra held up a silver cup filled with fine wine with long-lost aristocratic etiquette, and the hastily smoothed reliefs on it also told the legend of the original body descending on Olympia.

He stole his fingertips as he observed the expression of the Father of Genes.

Although he was destined to be disappointed...... No, he was shocked to see the original body feasting on it.

It was over, he thought desperately and melancholy, that Ahalim was right, that there must be the vile hand of the Prince of Darkness.

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"I can't believe it." Peturabo's voice in psychic communication sounded like a physical gnashing of teeth, each word taking a piece of flesh from Lamizane, "You have disgraced 'me' in front of my children and mortals!" ”

"Where is the loss of face? Just because we sat down and had a cup of Reka coffee and now we're having a dinner party? ”

"You don't even understand what you're doing! Iron Power! And you! It's collapsing the order of steel! ”

Perturabo's deafening roar made Lamizane feel a little weak, but he didn't intend to be too submissive to the Iron King in this matter.

In addition, he wisely locked the exterior of the life-sustaining backpack in advance.

"I think it's right and necessary to get your captain and some of your heirs used to 'you' change as soon as possible."

Ramizane hiccuped with his hands over his mouth, and all the Iron Warriors noticed, but they all looked away with their lives.

He had just served a glass of chilled apple sparkling wine with a glass of garlic butter grilled Glocks steak again, although these materials could theoretically be considered a 10,000-year-old product, but after the sensors of the Armor of Genri analyzed that there was no problem with food safety, Lamizan ate it with peace of mind.

"I think it's the mortal soul that can't resist the desires of the world, and allows itself to indulge in weak and harmful pleasures, turning steel into a pile of rust." Peturabo said gloomily. He was clearly reminded of some bad memories.

"If eating a 10,000-year-old steak is considered an indulgence, this universe is too bad, really." Lamizan picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth, and at the same time responded to the stinky face in the psychic communication, "I've already thought about it, I'm a completely different person from you, how can I play you all the time?" Rather than show their feet in worse situations, I chose to get them used to me in the first place. ”

"So what do you want to do?!" Peturabo bit his tail fur angrily, his voice with obvious displeasure and irritation, "Could it be that you have to tell me that your plan is to run back with my heir and continue to work for that dry bone?" I tell you about Ramizane Kalosini! This is absolutely, undoubtedly, unmistakably impossible! ”

"Of course not, of course not." Lamizan immediately pressed the Iron Lord, who had already blown up his hair in anger, in the psychic communication with a negation, "I promise you that this will never happen. And don't be angry, I left you a big Glocks tenderloin and plain milk - so you can let me lie first...... Recruit the Hungsuo in front of you? ”

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"Well, you're the newcomer I've always heard of Balban's legacy."

"Perturabo", or rather, Lamizane, raised a goblet full of wine and asked as if unintentionally. His voice echoed faintly in the hall where pins could be heard.

Apparently this was the first time he had participated in such a "too normal" social event, and young Chaos Astarte looked slightly surprised, but he quickly learned to raise his glass in response, "Yes, Iron Lord, I am Honso. ”

A faint noise of mechanical breathing apparatus came from the side of the banquet table, and Hortarn, the stone forger, was a heavy gasp from his breathing mask, as a veteran who had followed the Primordial since the thirtieth millennium, he obviously thought that Honso's attitude towards the Iron Warrior Genetic Prototype was extremely disrespectful and unsafe.

But before he could speak, the "Iron Lord" raised his hand and stopped the old stonemason's round.

His gaze swept over the Hung Suo, and in an instant, a dozen or so electronic eyes and sensors that were external or hidden in the Armor of the Source Reason spontaneously worked, listing the meticulous details for his reference.

The half-breed had slightly sickly, rough, gray pale skin, and the marks of gunshot wounds showed that the bullets had hit him more than once, and the lingering resentment and reflection left him with deep wrinkles.

Hongso's left eye was covered by a mechanical device, his right arm was replaced by a silver-black bionic prosthetic, his heavy steel power armor was hung with iron chains that could not wipe away the mottled blood, and his scarred shoulder armor with a dull gray sheen had no decoration except for the torn yellow and black striped paintwork, only the repaired scars that marked the countless battles his master had experienced.

His physique and height clearly show everyone the temperament and appearance of the Fist of the Empire gene, which makes him easily recognizable among the Iron Warriors, and an easy target for malicious intent.

While he was looking at the half-breed Astarte, Hunsso was also boldly observing "Perturabo" in front of him with the rest of his eyes.

For some reason, from the breath of the Iron King, who held the recast furnace breaker in his hand, and was wrapped in the thick silver and iron armor like a sarcophagus, in addition to the coldness, majesty, and precision that conformed to the rumors, Hong Suo was keenly aware of a strange disobedience, like, he didn't know how to describe it, but it didn't disgust him.

He didn't know what it was, but as Astarte, a "bastard" who was born in Bayer's lab by chance, at this moment, this unexpected banquet and a distant premonition made Hongso's heart move.

He lowered his eyes respectfully and listened to the Iron Lord's speech.

"I've heard what you've been doing lately, and I think I need to add a pharmacist to my flagship."

In the eyes of Huonso, who also gradually began to become shocked, starting with this sentence, the rest of the content did not waste much of Lamizann's words, and he succinctly and clearly demanded that Huonso temporarily hand over Karan Goyle to his lieutenant management, while the half-breed himself was to serve on the Iron Blood, and he would be given the position of personal apothecary of the original and go on a small expedition with the Iron Lord.

Although the other Iron Warriors immediately took it as a commanding commission, and, apparently, they managed to suppress the fire of jealousy burning in their chests. But by the time the servant began to serve dessert on the banquet table, Honso had already thought about it and gave the Iron Lord an affirmative answer.

"I will do it for you, Lord of Iron." He stood up and made a respectful salute.

Perturabo, who sat in the first place, let out a snort, and an invisible shiver swept over the banquet once more.

"You are very bold indeed, unlike the rest of my children...... Although the genetic seeds of Surrakar have unfortunately fallen into the hands of Fabius Baier, you will hopefully pass on his talents in potions. ”

After reading the relevant information from Perturabo in a quarter of a millisecond, Ramizane said carefully.

"Suraka? Who's that? ”

"Pharmacist. He was the old Venerable of the temple hall and had been dead for thousands of years. ”

"I haven't heard of him."

"Enough of the ghosts of the old days," the primordial gaze turned to the bold young heir, "we need to do something new to deal with this increasingly complex universe." ”

"Your will, Lord."

In the psychic communication, Peturabo, who had been watching coldly for a long time, snorted lightly, "It's indeed an interesting little thing, but his attitude, sneer, I can't see the slightest bit of awe in him, although theoretically he has most of the seeds in his body, but seeing that his perfunctory attitude doesn't really regard you and me as his original body or father." He commented, "The work of that disgusting hunchback is not flattering." ”

"Uh, you know the word perfunctory...... I mean, we'd better let him feel the fatherly love I have for him sooner rather than later, lest he suddenly feel Roger Dorn one day. ”

"Hmph. He dared. ”

"It's hard to say."

"You're ......!"

Ramizane shrugged his shoulders and asked the servant to pour wine for everyone, and toasted each other with Honso, who had never seen with his own eyes what Perturabo had been ten thousand years ago.

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Soltarn W. Brown felt that what was happening was like a contemptible poisonous fog in a deep dream, and from the moment he entered the hall, he had been trying to digest the entire banquet he had seen and the shocking changes in his Father of Genes, and even felt that he had been subjected to a great plot against the Iron Warriors, most likely from the Crystal Labyrinth or the Son of a Fallen Emperor.

As it had been 10,000 years ago, not the first time that the Father of His Genes had been coveted by the power of Heaven and the shameful betrayer, the abominable Third Legion and Forgrim had deceived everyone by the will of the Prince of Darkness, and ultimately led to the outcome of Perturabo's ascension.

So this time, what? And who? Which companion should he trust?

The Stonesmith slowly adjusted his overly shocked thoughts under the respirator.

Then he saw his original body raise his glass, announcing the second and third things as if nothing had happened.

The old stonemason's pupils dilated with uncontrollable astonishment and horror.