"Excellent," Fulgrim replied with a smile. "In fact, Ferrus, simply superb!"
"Oh, really?"
Ferrus Manus tore himself away from his work and glanced at the Chemosian.
The latter's eyes shone with a violet light, and it was clear he was very pleased. The Gorgon shook his head in annoyance, not understanding how his mood could change so drastically within a single day.
"Of course, of course!" Fulgrim couldn't help but laugh. "I'd love to tell you how smart he is, but…"
He shrugged and rose with pleasure.
"…I'm sorry, I have to go prepare for the lesson, Ferrus."
"…I don't quite agree with you calling him smart," said Ferrus Manus, not looking up.
He was hunched over, working on something at his workbench. The initial forging was complete, and now the simplest part remained: engraving patterns on the blade and making a suitable hilt.
But he wasn't sure if this sword would please its future owner.
"How can you say that!"
Hearing his words, Fulgrim, who was about to leave, turned gracefully, and his silver hair swirled in the air as if in a dance.
A sly smile played on his lips – it was obvious he understood perfectly what Ferrus meant, but he wanted to steer the conversation in another direction.
"I just think you shouldn't call him that. A child is called smart, and Konrad Curze is clearly not a child," Ferrus replied slowly.
He didn't need to look up to guess Fulgrim's expression. To say he didn't care would be a lie, but Ferrus knew something else.
It was better not to let Fulgrim know what he was thinking right now. The past had proven this repeatedly.
"How is he not a child?"
"He's only a year and a half old, Ferrus," Fulgrim asked with exaggerated intonation, leaning on the workbench. "And what were you doing at a year and a half?"
"Killing giant beasts," Ferrus Manus answered in a level voice. "Many giant beasts."
"…I shouldn't have asked."
"You should have just left."
"Go prepare for Konrad's lesson," Ferrus said, looking up. "Or talk to Lorgar, ask him why he's been in his room for two days and hasn't come out. Anything is better than bothering me forging a sword."
"Lorgar? What's wrong with him?" Fulgrim frowned.
"He flew to Nostramo, right after Dorn."
Ferrus shook his head. That sentence was enough to explain a lot. What else could Lorgar Aurelian be doing on Nostramo?
Hearing this, Fulgrim couldn't help but sigh. When he spoke again, his voice became lower.
"…I absolutely don't understand why," said the Chemosian. "His arguments… there's not a drop of logic in them, and besides, his…"
"He was beaten badly."
"But I am amazed by the self-control of this Kariel Lohars," Ferrus continued calmly. "If someone spoke of my father or my Legion like that in my presence, I would smash them with my warhammer."
"My warhammer, which I gave to you," Fulgrim corrected him, laughing.
He repeated, laughing:
"My warhammer, which I gave to you. Don't forget that, Ferrus."
The giant with silver hands rarely sighed. He straightened up, moved the sword waiting for engraving aside, and, crossing his arms over his chest, shook his head seriously, looking at Fulgrim.
"If you keep reminding me of that so often, I might just change the name of 'Forge Breaker'."
"Huh? Oh… okay."
The corners of the Chemosian's lips drooped.
"After all, it's your weapon now, so if you want to change its name, I can't say anything."
Ferrus shook his head and said slowly:
"…And you know what I'll call it?"
"What?"
"'Fulgrim the Annoying Chatterbox'."
"And you call that a name for a weapon?!"
"And besides," Fulgrim exclaimed, "my name shouldn't be on a weapon! And where am I being talkative?!"
Ferrus remained silent, just shaking his head again, looking at him. This silent answer rendered the Chemosian speechless. He angrily raised a finger:
"So that's it, Ferrus! That's what you think of me!"
Ferrus Manus finally sighed.
He raised his head, and his gaze, passing Fulgrim, fell on the giant who had entered through the open doors. Then he nodded slightly and greeted him briefly:
"Dorn."
"Ferrus. And Fulgrim."
Rogal Dorn entered with an impassive face. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt again, all buttons fastened, and he looked as serious as ever.
"Ah, Rogal! Come, settle us!"
"…No," Rogal Dorn shook his head.
"What? I haven't even said what it's about yet!"
"I don't want to get involved in your quarrels," Rogal Dorn replied impassively.
"I won't do it anymore. You always quarrel over some nonsense, and if someone really tries to settle you, as you ask, you start defending each other. In short, I won't do it."
He shook his head and repeated with certainty:
"I won't do it, Fulgrim."
"…What's wrong with you?" Fulgrim asked in bewilderment.
However, neither the one he was addressing nor Ferrus Manus paid any attention to the Chemosian.
Dorn turned and looked at the blade lying behind Ferrus. His gaze carefully scanned the silver steel, after which he nodded.
"Good sword. Have you set up the disintegration field yet?"
"Yes."
"Then it only lacks decorations."
Dorn nodded, not hiding his satisfaction with the sword.
"Your skill is still as high as ever, Ferrus."
"Just a hobby in my spare time," Ferrus Manus replied evasively. "At least I'm nowhere near Vulkan."
"What he does cannot be called forging."
"His definition of forging simply defies my understanding of this craft," Dorn replied calmly.
A fleeting smile flickered across Ferrus's face. He agreed with Dorn. Indeed. Why should he deny the obvious?
Although their brother Vulkan was a skilled blacksmith, his mastery surpassed all. Ferrus thought that perhaps only their father could compete with Vulkan in this matter.
"So when, Ferrus, are you going to give this sword to our brother?" asked Rogal Dorn.
He stood before the workbench, standing at his full height. In this posture, he seemed not like someone interested in something intimate, but rather like an official interrogating a criminal.
"I haven't decided yet."
Ferrus shook his head, ignoring his brother's posture.
"In fact, I'm not even sure if I should give him the sword."
Rogal Dorn frowned sharply.
"You've almost finished this sword, why did you change your mind?"
"Because I don't know if he'll like it," Ferrus said. "Obviously, our brother is imitating his adoptive father…"
"…partner," Fulgrim interjected with a displeased look, but his displeasure was not directed at Konrad Curze's 'partner'.
He crossed his arms and snorted coldly:
"I can't believe you two ignored me for a whole five minutes."
Dorn glanced at him and immediately turned away.
"I agree with you, but if you don't ask him, how will you know if he likes it?"
"Because, obviously, he is imitating his adoptive father – or partner."
Ferrus frowned and repeated his words.
For a master like him, every work was a subject of meticulous criticism. Without such an attitude, he would not have reached his current heights in blacksmithing.
If he took up a sword, he considered the weight, height, and arm length of the future owner, as well as many other factors.
And although this power sword was not yet finished, it was already fitted according to the data obtained from Fulgrim.
Ferrus Manus desperately wanted to make a weapon that his new brother would like, but now he faced a more serious problem than the perfect weight and balance of the blade.
"Konrad Curze is clearly imitating Kariel Lohars."
Although Ferrus knew little about the latter, he could judge this from certain details.
And Kariel Lohars was definitely not a master swordsman.
That day, approaching Lorgar, every movement he made carried the imprint of wielding a short blade – swift, sharp, deadly. Just a few moves, and Lorgar was defeated.
Even after Lorgar fell, Kariel Lohars, as if by instinct, wanted to deliver a finishing blow to the throat. Ferrus saw this clearly and could not be mistaken.
"Ahem."
"In that case, let's ask him," Dorn suggested calmly. "Guesses can only lead to questionable conclusions, or even lead away from the truth."
"Ahem!"
"You're right," Ferrus Manus nodded and stepped away from the workbench. "Indeed, it's better to ask him directly than to guess."
"Ahem-ahem-ahem!"
"Do you have a sore throat, Fulgrim?" Rogal Dorn asked.
"…Everything hurts!"
Fulgrim roared and, turning, walked out. Behind him, Ferrus Manus slowly extended his right hand to Rogal Dorn.
A moment later, two hands slowly clasped in a handshake.
"An ancient custom," Dorn remarked calmly.
"Ancient, but effective," Ferrus replied just as calmly. "Let's go, Rogal."
***
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