Chapter 42 Deserter

"Is anyone injured?" Perturabo gloomily glanced at the soldier who reported to him. Before the other's legs began to tremble, he moved his eyes away and cast his anger on his machine that had jammed again. He decided to relieve his depression by repairing its broken structure with the sole of his shoe later.

"Bring the report, you can go." He said sullenly. "Send the injured back to Lokos. I don't need the injured to fight yet."

After the soldier left, he quickly kicked the machine to let it continue to swallow paper tape, then sat back in his steel chair and read the incident report on the small-scale accidental injuries caused by the loss of control of the new laser gun conversion device.

He hoped that this was an unexpected flaw in the assembly line, rather than a huge mistake in a certain link of the overall industrial process, so that he could say it was not his fault in the future - well, Perturabo couldn't fool himself.

"Another mistake of mine." He muttered to himself, patted the machine that began to jam, and began to reverse the possible mistakes in his design from the phenomenon described in the report.

In any case, the army's similar laser pistols need to be completely removed and overhauled to prevent more accidents. Since this happened to him, it is his responsibility.

He pulled a few blank manuscripts to his side, the pen was suspended in the air, paused for a while, put down the pen, covered his face with both hands, and immersed himself in a purer thinking process.

Then, after exhaling, he held the pen tightly and started to calculate again from the beginning.

Not long after, the beeping call sounded.

Perturabo was quite obsessed with the internal space of the entire chariot to himself, so at this moment he had to answer other people's communications in person, instead of assigning a guard and telling him "You go and tell the other side that I'm busy and I'm not here."

"What?" He was doing two things at the same time, preparing to replace the draft paper that had been cleaned up by the formulas, and responded impatiently, "Which artillery exploded again?"

"At least not yet." Kaliphon's voice sounded, "Probably not in the future?"

The pen in Perturabo's hand moved slowly on the surface of the paper.

He immediately replaced the unused draft paper and slapped the new paper on the center of the table, controlling and repenting his emotions.

Recalling the bad words that Morse had said last time that he was more likely to soar into the sky due to heat and expansion than Locus's hot air balloon, Perturabo suddenly felt that there was nothing worth getting angry about.

"What's the matter, Kaliphon?"

"Come to ask you how you are, Abo." Kaliphon said softly, and the sound of paper flipping came from her side. She must be busy as well. "I believe that the accident was not your fault."

"You believe in me, and you can change reality?" Perturabo complained slightly, and carried the deduction of the formula to the next link. If he could not find any loopholes, he felt it was necessary to re-verify the theoretical formula he had summarized earlier.

This was actually a pleasant process for him. He did not need to think about any twists and turns outside the disk. Numbers and axioms always showed an amazing precision and frankness. They neither mocked him, nor deceived him, nor worshipped him. Knowledge was knowledge.

Kaliphon said quietly: "Not really. Those injured included Harkon."

"Such a coincidence... No, that deserter!" Perturabo reacted all of a sudden, anger rushing to his head.

His calculations were twice as fast, his brain was nested and spinning like gears, and countless numbers and letters were accurately and quickly placed on the draft paper like printing. Perturabo consumed his anger in this way.

Gun energy out of control? How could he say such a thing! It was obvious that he didn't want to participate in the battle, so he found a way to lie down in the back and sleep in advance.

Kaliphon continued: "I know my brother. He is probably worried that you will kill him, so he tried to escape in advance."

She sighed, with more guilt in her tone: "I sincerely apologize for him, Lord of the Legion."

"Are you also worried that I will take the opportunity to kill him? Am I so scary and narrow-minded?"

Perturabo's pen tip scratched the paper and broke on the steel table.

He searched for a new pen, though he knew he had stored his spare writing tools in another drawer.

"No," said Cariphon, "I just admitted that my brother was a deserter."

This made Perturabo quiet down.

He let go of his cabinet, slapped the machine that was always stuck, and then opened the top. The wind took away his irritation.

The young man sat down in Morse's posture, with one leg over the other.

He didn't like it, on the contrary, he would use this awkward sense of disharmony to remind himself to reflect from the inside out.

There was a soft rustling sound mixed in Cariphon's voice, perhaps the brush of a sleeve on the table, or perhaps the error of the current itself. These trivial movements were not annoying, but became a footnote to Cariphon's own temperament.

"Are you wondering why, Abo?" she said.

"I just want him to fight with ordinary soldiers, and I don't want to hurt him. Our technology is so advanced." Perturabo said.

"But he is jealous of you. From the first time he saw you, he has been comparing you with him secretly." Kalifeng said calmly, as if she was not describing a brother, but just a separate individual stripped of private social relationships.

"When you first met your father, he was actually beside him, but you didn't even look at him once." At this point, Kaliphon smiled, "This is what Harkon told me himself."

"The longer you stay in Lokos, the brighter your brilliance will be. Before you reach adulthood, you have already accomplished what ten Harkons could not accomplish. My father would occasionally say that if his eldest son had your talent, he would have let him succeed to the throne long ago, instead of torturing him with power and government affairs at such an old age."

"As time goes by, you have left more and more traces in Lokos. Your endless talents have changed the entire country, which has gradually caused my eldest brother to have another worry-does my father like you more than him."

"Me?"

"He is afraid that my father will let you succeed to the throne. After all, in reality rather than symbolically. In a sense, Lokos is already your country. "

Perturabo was silent for a moment, "He is right."

This time it was Kaliphon who was surprised: "Do you want to be a tyrant?"

"I don't want him to succeed to the throne. His behavior has ruined people's goodwill; even if he returns to my army in a few days, I will drive him away."

He continued: "If possible, I hope you wear an iron crown."

Kaliphon immediately laughed: "There is Andos queuing under the throne in front of me."

"Andos can't do that. He is too friendly and kind."

"His nature is so pure. I am afraid that for my brother, a beautiful enough butterfly is more valuable than a thousand iron crowns."

Thinking of the overly simple and simple craftsman, the two laughed together. Compared with Harkon, Andos is really lovable and reassuring.

Perturabo stood up and took a few sheets of paper from the top of the storage rack: "I wrote a declaration of war speech, help me listen to it?"

Kaliphon readily agreed and teased: "How many drafts did you write for your speech at the naming ceremony?"

Perturabo was unmoved and looked into the distance: "You can guess."

The end of the mountains and dangerous roads was out of sight, but Perturabo's calculations told him that Caldis's fortress was approaching.

I strongly recommend a family-friendly reunion, the Empire wins big, and the original style of rationalization HE hammer "False God and the Evil Son", you must go and read it ()