The Emperor, the Sigillite Malcador, the Captain-General of the Custodes Constantin Valdor, and the Fabricator-General of Mars entered the Golden Palace in silence.
After acknowledging the salutes, the Emperor's gaze swept over the Primarchs, settling on Constantin.
Constantin understood. He half-turned, gripping the Apollonian Spear, and spoke.
"After Hannibal and the Faceless returned to their homeworld, they continued to secretly raise xenos."
"They released Ork herds in the Lecter mountains. They grazed Exodites in the desolate forests..."
"They allowed the xenos to attack outsiders. Among the victims were a Magos of the Mechanicum, fifteen Tech-Priests, and over a hundred acolytes."
The Fabricator-General's mechandrites crackled. His vox-synthesizer produced a harsh sound.
"Hannibal has committed blasphemy against the Omnissiah's faithful. He must die to atone."
Horus frowned. He had wanted to plead for Hannibal, but now could not.
He had to consider the Mechanicum's stance. Incurring their hatred would be unwise.
"Hannibal will be punished." The Emperor's gaze swept over the Primarchs. "He and his Legion will be judged."
"All who have crossed the line will be punished."
Sanguinius flinched slightly.
He felt a chill. A thought arose: the Emperor's concerns went far beyond his sons' personal needs.
As Sanguinius trembled, the Emperor's gaze swept over the silent Primarchs.
Fulgrim, Magnus, and Perturabo saw the tragedy of a father killing his son.
Konrad Curze's arms folded like a vulture's wings. His pale face was sorrowful.
Jaghatai's lean form slid backward like a warhawk. He drew back from the table, his psychic projection pressing against the rune-carved throne.
Mortarion's expression darkened. He silently slid deeper into his robe.
Guilliman, saddened, instinctively wondered if there was any political room for maneuver.
His mind reached a conclusion in a second: Whether to preserve the glorious image of the Great Crusade's commander, or to satisfy the Mechanicum, one of the Imperium's two heads, there was none.
Ferrus Manus and Rogal Dorn were calm. But Ferrus's silver-coin eyes flickered. Dorn's yellow-painted gauntlet, with its silver and red knuckles, trembled almost imperceptibly.
Lion El'Jonson's expression was blank, but Luther's image involuntarily crossed his mind.
The temperature in the Golden Palace dropped. The psychic projections took on a chill.
Nareth's body trembled slightly. He thought silently.
The original 11th Primarch would return to the Imperium in 927. Then, in 965, during a Space Wolves operation, he would be expunged from the records.
Just thirty-eight years.
'If I had not been chosen by the Kingdom of Disorder, even if I had wanted to change my fate, I might have been powerless.'
'Heightened perception also means being more susceptible to corruption.'
He clenched his fist. He longed for power. He wanted to control his own destiny.
The "Mentor of Disorder's" ambition blazed. His psychic projection flickered, then solidified.
The flicker drew the attention of the other Primarchs, some more, some less, caught in their own grief. They looked at him.
The Emperor's gaze fell on him as well. Seeing his projection solid again, he asked.
"My Pegasus, will you, in my stead, carry out the punishment, and execute the criminal Hannibal?"
The Primarchs looked at Nareth. They knew their father would give Hannibal no chance.
Omegon recalled intelligence reports. His Legion, passing through Nareth's territories, stopping at ports like Cypra Mundi, had seen hundreds of white-haired, withered Shadows of Orders.
He and Alpharius had been incredulous when they first saw the reports.
They had learned for the first time that Astartes could grow old and weak.
There really were xenos that could distort time.
Combined with Perturabo's words, they began to believe that Shadows of Order had suffered heavy losses.
But even with over a hundred thousand dead, Shadows of Order was still twice the size of the Faceless.
This was the Alpha Legion's assessment, relying on their powerful intelligence network, knowing that Hannibal had gained great power from consuming xenos, yet still could not match Nareth, who had defeated Manus and Russ.
"My Lord, I once commanded the Faceless. After Hannibal's return to the Imperium, I was tasked with teaching him to adapt to his duties."
"I do not wish to accept this task."
Nareth did not want to be the good elder brother like Horus, nor did he want to be an executioner.
He knew how Russ and the Space Wolves were perceived throughout the Imperium after wielding the blade.
The Space Wolves' sinister image as executioners replaced their former image as barbaric but noble conquerors.
No one in the Imperium believed the propaganda machine's image of Leman Russ as a wise warrior king. He was seen as a bloodstained tyrant on the Emperor's leash.
Even his few brothers, like Guilliman, saw him as a cold executioner.
Considering the Great Crusade had over ninety years left, he would have to interact with other Primarchs. And he thought of his image after the Heresy.
He could not be the executioner. Unless, during the Heresy, he executed traitor Primarchs.
'Emperor, I won't be an executioner.'
'But I will certainly take them.'
"My Lord, not all of the Faceless have committed the crimes of raising xenos and allowing them to prey on humans."
"I am willing to teach them to return to the right path, to continue serving the Great Crusade."
The Emperor's expression was somber. Nareth had refused his command for the first time.
He thought of the insight he had given Nareth, his mental powers, and that he had not yet returned the Dionysian Spear to him.
"Good. You will take command of the Faceless."
"You will review them one by one. Make them forget the past completely. Make them Shadows of Orders."
"The Custodians will assist you."
"As you command." Nareth understood the implication. The Emperor wanted him to wipe the Faceless's memories.
'Hmm, the Emperor trusts neither Horus nor Fulgrim, despite their filial devotion. He wiped their memories after the Morro expedition.'
'When he gave the 2nd Legion to Guilliman, he must have wiped their memories, integrating them completely into the Ultramarines. The Mortifactors Chapter, founded by Sasebo Tezuka, with its culture of collecting skulls and consuming corpses, is clearly different from other Chapters. It was likely founded on the bones of the 2nd Legion.'
'Now, he is giving this task to me. Hmm, even with the Custodians making the Faceless open their minds, only I or Magnus could do it for him. I must say, the Emperor knows how to make things easy for himself.'
As he thought, the Emperor looked at Leman Russ.
"Russ, you will go to Lecter. In my stead, carry out the punishment on Hannibal."
Russ's ice-blue eyes flickered. Then he bared his sharp teeth.
"The Wolves will carry out Your command."
As the war council ended, the Emperor and the other three were the first to leave. One by one, the psychic projections faded in silence.
Nareth looked at Russ, who had deliberately shown a fierce smile. He spoke.
"Russ, wait a moment."
.....
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