Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Miltiades stopped outside the woodland.

As the lieutenant of the 97th Great Company of Lokos, there are only a few people who can make him stop his platinum heavy boots, hold on to the middle of the spear, mobilize all his energy, and repeatedly think about whether his words and deeds can defend the tyrant's glory. few.

When he walked through the market of the city-state and enjoyed the gaze of farmers in the fields of the kingdom, he did not deny that the vigorous pride in his heart spread to his limbs.

But today, his pride was infinitely reduced.

Like ordinary habitable places on the planet Olympia, the woods under this cliff are primitive and dense. Leaves and branches rubbed against each other, unknown birds whispered in the guard's ears, and the smell of earth and vegetation quietly penetrated through the gaps in his armor. Nature was always trying to tell strange stories in languages ​​they did not understand, and Miltiades enjoyed these hidden experiences.

However, his worries are gradually gathering as the guards explore further.

For the Lokos area, there are too few living animals here; animal hoofprints and traces of survival decrease layer by layer from the periphery to the interior of the forest, and the birdsong becomes more and more distant, like an invisible dam or rift. Barring other spiritual beings, only the trees themselves, which were unable to pull out their roots and fled on their own, were left, as well as the Guard members who were stupidly and boldly going deep into this inaccessible place.

The air became thicker, and Miltiades preferred to believe that this was an illusion.

Through the gap between the long and narrow dark green short leaves above the head, in the blue sky, the vertical wisp of gray-black smoke became apparent again.

These days, following the orders of the tyrant Damex, they went down to the rarely visited dense forest at the bottom of the cliff, following possible traces of people's life in the wild, looking for their target.

Miltiades lowered his head slightly, hoping that the shadow of his helmet would block the expression of his eyes. He waved forward, and the Lokos Guard moved on.

The fragile carapace of the thorny dwarf ferns and nameless insects in the forest were succumbing to their hard iron boots, which made Miltiades feel better psychologically.

With his newfound courage, he ignored the slender cutting marks that began to appear on the surrounding tree trunks, which could only be caused by extremely sharp blades swiping at high speed, and the charred dead branches that could not be recovered after being burned by the sourceless flames, and tried his best Turn a blind eye to the mutilated animal bones being devoured by natural decomposition.

"No problem," Miltiades said to himself, "a god-given boy who can kill Epidaeae can do it all."

He began to control his breathing, knowing that if he didn't, he would collapse into a disgraceful faint due to the excessive breathing rate.

He turned back and asked the soldiers beside him in a low voice: "How far are we?"

"I don't know, sir." The soldier replied honestly. Suddenly, his eyes widened and his mouth grew wide like a new attendant. "Look! Sir!"

Miltiades turned sharply forward.

The woods were separating on both sides.

The intertwined branches in the sky no longer overlap, and the light gray sky pours out from the holes in the leaves. Whether they were curved and tangled vines or straight and strong forest trees, they all slid open on both sides of his body.

In the huge roar that was heavier than thunder, the land twisted and undulated like waves, the rocks settled and moved, and the dry and hardened soil on the surface was stretched, broken, and peeled off by the moist brown-black soil rising from the ground. A black road, guarded by trees, grew in front of the Guards.

Then, belatedly, fine ice crystals arrived, spreading from the tip of every leaf and the tip of every broken root to everything in Miltiades' eyes.

The bright blue was like fine particles, filling in all the unevenness and imperfections of the entire world in front of him, and finally formed a pure, brilliant, and gorgeous icy scene.

Even the highest snow-capped mountains in Olympia do not have such a clean area.

If this is the work of human beings, Miltiades can foresee that from now on in his life, he will never encounter a case where living craftsmen are better than divine nature.

————

Morse withdrew the shining light from his fingertips and sarcastically shouted into the forest, "Your footsteps are as slow as those of molluscs that rely on their soft bodies to crawl on the mucus they secrete." He let the wind carry these words. to the ears of the Lokos Guards.

Perturabo had almost finished grilling the fish, but the group of professional soldiers hadn't arrived yet.

What are they dawdling about in the forest? Who tramples fewer leaves than anyone else?

Someone poked his arm, and Morse accepted two skewers of grilled fish that exceeded his expectations. Before he could take his first bite, Perturabo interrupted.

"Do I need to avoid your conversation?" he said.

"Our conversation?"

"Your conversation with those Lokos."

Morse tore the fish apart with his teeth. At this moment, he suspected that Perturabo was studying the seasoning ratio on his own, otherwise he would not be able to explain the birth history of this salty, bitter, and sweet dry thing.

He chewed the thing in his mouth and said vaguely: "Why should I talk to them? These people are here to make trouble. Of course you should talk to them."

He took another bite. Eating this weird-tasting thing once in a while can help expand your physical and mental boundaries and love life again. "I'll leave a place for you after I finish the fish."

"Can't you be there?" Perturabo's voice was calm, and his fingers were slightly curled.

"What am I doing here? Playing epic music on a leaf flute for Lokos' first meeting with Perturabo?"

"I'll go with them."

Morse narrowed his eyes. What was Perturabo thinking?

He waved to Perturabo, and when the boy came, he patted his shoulder affectionately and said in a very insincere tone: "Goodbye, Perturabo. I wish you a bright future."

Perturabo stared at him, the black pupils in his ice-like eyes dilated. His chest heaved violently a few times before he reluctantly said, "I don't want it."

"Don't tell me that you fell in love with sleeping in the grass here." Morse's tone suddenly became cold. "If you don't want to leave, just refuse it yourself."

"I can't." The boy spoke quickly, his lips barely keeping up with his voice. "you go."

Morse pulled back, his patience gone like his smile. "Who do you think I am to you? Why should I speak for you?"

"Then who am I to you!" Perturabo snatched another skewer of grilled fish from Morse's hand and threw it away viciously. "A stranger? A lodger? A tool?"

"You have a clear sense of yourself."

"Damn it! So you want to throw me away, you wish I was taken away by the Lokos! What will this get you? Will the Lokos give you a reward?"

Morse pondered for a few seconds. It is said that if the food is picked up within three seconds of falling to the ground, it will not be dirty, so he let the grilled fish fly into the air and condensed the light to perform a simple burning sterilization on it.

The grilled fish flew back to his hand, and he pointed it at the trembling Perturabo.

"Take it," Morse said.

The metal pole that pierced the grilled fish seemed to pierce Perturabo's anger, and the boy's momentum relaxed like a balloon with a hole in it.

He slowly stretched out his hand at a loss, and suddenly accelerated when he was about to get the grilled fish. Perturabo was still in a daze until Morse let go smoothly and handed him the grilled fish.

"Sit down," Morse said.

The boy sat on the floor.

"Take a deep breath?"

Perturabo did as he was told.

Morse shrugged and continued eating his fish. The fish was almost finished, but the parts inside that weren't thoroughly marinated in the weird seasoning were still fresh and tender.

He settled the food and clapped his hands. "You are afraid, Perturabo."

"I……"

"No? No, you're afraid of meeting the Lokos. Do you know why?"

Perturabo lowered his head, and the trembling of his body was clearly reflected in his swaying hair. He let the awkward silence drag on for a long moment, until every second he wasted brought the Lokos a step closer.

"They're not looking for me," the boy whispered. "They're looking for an all-around prodigy, a heroic figure who will achieve great things."

Mors stared at him, thoughtfully: "And you are already a mortal, Perturabo."