"How's he learning?"
"Very well." Fulgrim smiled. "Actually, Ferrus, he's doing extremely well!"
"Is that so?"
Ferrus Manus paused in his work to look up at the man from Chemos.
The latter's violet eyes were sparkling, clearly delighted. Gorgon shook his head helplessly, unable to understand how his brother's emotions could swing so wildly in a single day.
"Of course, of course!" Fulgrim finally burst out laughing. "I'd love to tell you just how clever he is, but—"
He shrugged and rose cheerfully to his feet. "—you'll have to excuse me. I need to go prepare his lesson, Ferrus."
"I have some objections to your use of the word 'clever' to describe him," Ferrus Manus said, head bowed.
He was bent over his workbench, occupied with a project. The preliminary forging was already done. The rest was simple: he only needed to engrave some patterns on the blade and make a suitable hilt.
But he wasn't sure whether the sword's owner would like it.
"How can you say that!"
At his words, Fulgrim, who had been about to leave, spun around gracefully. His silver hair swept through the air, and his posture was as graceful as a dancer's.
There was a hint of mischief on his face. He clearly knew that Ferrus hadn't meant it that way, but he was determined to steer the conversation in that direction.
"I just don't think you should describe him that way. 'Clever' is a word for children, and Konrad Curze clearly isn't a child," Ferrus replied slowly.
He didn't need to look up to guess the expression on Fulgrim's face. It wasn't that he didn't care, of course, but Ferrus knew something else, too.
He'd better not let Fulgrim know what he was thinking. The past had proved that many times over.
"How is he not?"
Fulgrim leaned against the workbench and asked dramatically, "He's only a year and a half old, Ferrus. What were you doing when you were a year and a half?"
"Killing beasts," Ferrus Manus answered flatly. "Lots of beasts."
"I really shouldn't have asked."
"You should've just left."
Ferrus looked up. "Go prepare Konrad's lesson, or find Lorgar and ask him why he's locked himself away in his room for the past couple of days. Either would be better than disturbing me while I'm forging a sword."
"Lorgar? What happened to him?" Fulgrim frowned.
"He went to Nostramo, right behind Dorn."
Ferrus shook his head. That alone explained a lot. What could Lorgar Aurelian possibly have gone to Nostramo for?
At that, Fulgrim sighed despite himself. When he spoke again, his voice had grown somber.
"I really don't understand why," the man from Chemos said. "Those arguments... They made no sense at all. Besides, he was—"
"Beaten badly."
Ferrus calmly finished his sentence. "But I'm surprised by Kael Lohars's self-control. If someone had spoken that way about my father or my Legion in front of me, I'd have smashed him with my Warhammer."
"I gave you that Warhammer," Fulgrim corrected him with a laugh.
Still laughing, he repeated, "I gave you that Warhammer—don't forget that, Ferrus."
"..."
The giant with silver arms let out a rare sigh. He straightened up and moved the sword that was waiting to be engraved aside. Then he crossed his arms and shook his head at Fulgrim with a solemn expression.
"If you keep bringing that up, I'll have to consider renaming Forgebreaker."
"Hm? Oh—fine."
The man from Chemos's mouth turned down slightly. "It's your weapon now, anyway, so if you want to rename it, I have no say in the matter."
Ferrus shook his head and spoke slowly. "Do you know what I'd call it?"
"What?"
"Fulgrim is a nagging pain in the neck."
"You call that a weapon's name?!"
Fulgrim shouted. "And—my name shouldn't be on a weapon! Besides, how am I a nag?"
Ferrus said nothing. He only looked at him and shook his head again. This silent response left the man from Chemos speechless. Irritably, he raised a finger. "Fine, Ferrus. So that's what you think of me!"
Ferrus Manus finally sighed.
He tilted his head back, looking past Fulgrim toward a giant who had just entered through the sliding door. Then he gave a slight nod and greeted him briefly.
"Dorn."
"Ferrus—and Fulgrim."
Rogal Dorn walked in expressionlessly. He had changed into another long-sleeved shirt, but all the buttons were still fastened. He was as stern as ever.
"Ah, Rogal! Come settle this for me!"
"No." Rogal Dorn shook his head.
"What? I haven't even told you what it's about!"
"I don't want to get involved in your arguments," Rogal Dorn said without expression.
"I won't do it again. You're always arguing over the most inexplicable things, and if someone actually tries to settle it the way you ask, the two of you start taking each other's side. In short, I won't do it."
He shook his head and repeated firmly, "I won't do it, Fulgrim."
"What's wrong with you?" Fulgrim asked incredulously.
But neither the person he'd asked nor Ferrus Manus paid the man from Chemos any attention.
Dorn turned and looked at the blade behind Ferrus. He carefully examined its silver surface, then nodded.
"Fine sword. You've installed a Displacer Field?"
"Yes."
"Then it only needs some decoration."
Dorn nodded, making no attempt to hide his approval of the sword. "Your skill is as superb as ever, Ferrus."
"It's just a hobby I pursue in my spare time," Ferrus Manus said noncommittally. "I'm nowhere near as good as Vulkan."
"What he does can't be called forging," Dorn replied calmly. "His definition of forging challenges everything I understand about it."
A fleeting smile crossed Ferrus's face. He agreed with Dorn. That was certainly true. Why deny it?
Their brother Vulkan was skilled at forging, but his craft had surpassed everyone else's. Ferrus suspected that only their father could claim to rival Vulkan in that regard.
"Then, Ferrus, when do you plan to give this sword to our brother?" Rogal Dorn asked.
He stood in front of the workbench, his back perfectly straight. His posture made him look less like he was asking about a thoughtful gift and more like an official interrogating a prisoner.
"I'm still undecided."
Ferrus shook his head, unbothered by his brother's posture. "Actually, I'm not even sure I should give him a sword anymore."
Rogal Dorn frowned sharply.
"You've nearly finished it. Why have you decided not to give it to him?"
"Because I don't know whether he'll like it," Ferrus said. "Our brother is clearly imitating his adoptive father—"
"—Partner," Fulgrim interjected, looking quite displeased, though not with Konrad Curze's "partner."
He crossed his arms and snorted. "I can't believe you two have ignored me for five whole minutes."
Dorn glanced at him, then turned back. "I agree with you. But if you don't ask him, how will you know whether he'll like it?"
"Because he's clearly imitating his adoptive father—or partner."
Ferrus frowned and repeated himself.
As a craftsman, he was meticulous about every piece he made. Without that attitude, he never would have reached his current level of skill at forging.
When making a sword, he considered its weight distribution, the wielder's height and arm length, and every other relevant factor.
Although the Power Sword wasn't finished, it had already been adjusted using the measurements he'd requested from Fulgrim.
Ferrus Manus wanted to make a weapon his new brother would love. But there was a more serious problem than whether the blade's weight and balance were perfect.
—Konrad Curze was clearly imitating Kael Lohars.
Though Ferrus didn't know much about the latter, he could tell from a few clues.
And Kael Lohars was definitely not someone skilled at wielding a blade.
Every move he'd made when he approached Lorgar that day had been marked by the unmistakable signs of close-quarters fighting: swift, fierce, lethal. In only a few exchanges, Lorgar had already been knocked to the ground.
Even after Lorgar fell, Kael Lohars had instinctively tried to follow up with a thrust to the throat. Ferrus had seen it clearly; there was no chance he'd mistaken it.
"Cough."
"Since that's the case, why don't we go ask him?" Dorn said calmly. "Guessing will only get us a vague answer, and it might be nowhere near the truth."
"Cough!"
"You're right." Ferrus Manus nodded and stepped away from the workbench. "Asking him directly whether he likes it is certainly better than speculating here."
"Cough, cough, cough!"
"Is your throat bothering you, Fulgrim?" Rogal Dorn asked.
"I feel awful all over!"
Fulgrim roared and strode out. Behind him, Ferrus Manus slowly extended his right hand toward Rogal Dorn.
A moment later, their hands clasped.
"An ancient custom," Dorn said calmly.
"Ancient, but effective," Ferrus replied with an equally calm nod. "Come on, Rogal."
I see plenty of readers asking when the book will be available for purchase. It'll be available on July 1; I'm still building up a stockpile of chapters.
Please vote, leave a comment, and, while I'm at it, does anyone have an ergonomic chair to recommend?
Before you continue