"So, he really could read minds," Perturabo said slowly.
"Your focus is somewhat strange," Dorn followed at once. "Discussing this now hardly seems appropriate. Besides, did you really not notice the signs? He basically never hid it."
Perturabo glanced at him, for once maintaining calm and reason in a conversation with Dorn.
The Lord of Iron folded his arms and said slowly, "So that means he knew what all of us wanted, and ignored it."
"You farmed with him for that long, and that was the conclusion you reached?"
The bandaged Mortarion shook his head in disappointment. "I thought you would give a more insightful answer."
"Such as?" Perturabo looked over provocatively.
"Such as, he actually did it on purpose. He was simply forcing us. He knew there were problems with our personalities and our minds, so he planned to choose the most unreliable among us. Namely, us."
The eyes beneath Mortarion's hood were very calm. They could even be said to be calm to an extreme degree.
"...Do you truly think that, Mortarion?" Vulkan asked, his feelings complicated beyond words.
"No. I merely hoped he would say that, so I could refute him."
Mortarion answered calmly.
"Looking back, I have already realized that our father may be someone who dislikes making things clear, has a self-sacrificing complex, and suffers from extremely severe psychological illness, but he is by no means heartless. Don't rush to argue with me yet, Perturabo. You are only arguing for the sake of arguing. I can see it in your eyes. You have no intention of questioning him at all."
The Lord of Death turned to look at Rogal Dorn, who calmly looked back at him.
"...You merely wanted to anger Dorn," Mortarion said in a low voice. "Isn't that right? It seems farming was