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Fhlorix ultimately did not follow. Ahriman regretted this. Deep down, he still quite approved of this Siegebreaker, even though he came from that coarse and mad Iron Warriors Legion. Fhlorix himself was indeed a good warrior.
Magnus's sons had grown accustomed to viewing comrades from other Legions with an arrogant demeanor. He certainly could do so, after all, these individuals were merely butchers who wrought slaughter and destruction on the battlefield. Their glory could only last until the end of this long crusade.
But the Thousand Sons were different. Magnus's sons pursued a grand endeavor capable of benefiting the entire human race beyond measure: on every world they visited, they diligently collected ancient texts and unique manuscripts, cherishing the boundless wisdom contained within, and exerting all their strength to seek and organize the remnants of the Golden Age.
On Prospero, a single ordinary library held treasures numbering in the hundreds of millions. The Thousand Sons believed these were the most magnificent treasures in the galaxy, and no one could harm these vessels of wisdom under their protection. Yet, they would still go to any lengths for new discoveries in the galaxy.
So, when he saw a set of never-before-seen books offered by Morgan, even Ahriman, arrogant as he was, couldn't help but feel genuine joy.
"Is this newly acquired?"
[A chief official of a village was once an excellent traveler. He possessed extraordinary knowledge in the history, geography, and ancient languages of this world, and was passionate about compiling his knowledge into books.]
"You should have invited him over, Morgan. A Stormbird can certainly carry one more person."
[He insisted on staying with his family and friends. That was a large family, with several hundred people. However, I can confirm he safely reached the camp. Hathor has already taken over the defenses there.]
"...The sorrow of mortals."
Ahriman shook his head, but he wasn't worried that this blanket statement would cause any psychological harm to his companion. Morgan always preferred silence; she rarely initiated conversation. Even though her reputation among the Legion and auxiliary forces was already quite prominent, few Thousand Sons truly understood this lady. Even Ahriman's impression of her was limited to a few conventional traits: taciturn, extraordinarily psychic, alluring in appearance, and extremely capable.
"You returned faster than I expected. I thought you would need at least three more days. How is the situation? Did you encounter any problems?"
[Overall, it went smoothly. However, the residents kept mentioning a sect called the Sons of C'tan. Some of them were even staunch believers, from individuals to the entire village acting collectively.]
"That's a cult... broadly speaking, yes. They worship a being called the Lord of the Storm. This is a dereliction of duty by the local governor. Dawnstar has been subjugated for so many years, yet he still failed to promote the Imperial Truth."
Ahriman spoke of the revered guardian with the utmost contempt. While conversing with Morgan, he reported the situation here to the Legion's master. The two's footsteps gradually receded with their brief exchanges. Behind them, the Iron Warriors had already organized a force of ten thousand to clear the remnants of the recent massacre. Wild shouts and deep sobs interwove in the air, echoing the magnificent city of Carena in the distance.
——————
Salimarus was a fortress worthy of praise. Although he inwardly held some disdain for the Lord of the Fourth Legion, Ahriman would not disingenuously denigrate the Primarch's architectural artistry. As the King of Olympia and the Primarch of the Iron Warriors, Perturabo indeed had his unique qualities.
"It is said that his first action upon arriving here was to personally lead his soldiers to repair this fortress... and it only took one night."
Looking at the 'temporary command post' before him, which was somewhat exaggeratedly large even by Astartes standards, Ahriman's voice carried an inexplicable tartness.
[It looks like a permanent fortress.]
"In fact, it's semi-permanent. According to Fhlorix, the Fourth Legion would only need a week, plus seven hundred soldiers' lives, to completely occupy this place. With sufficient covering fire, those two numbers could be halved."
Ahriman continued to converse fluently, almost showing off his knowledge of the various regulations for fortresses and strongholds in Astartes standards. Morgan was an excellent listener; she was quiet but not unresponsive, always asking interesting questions at just the right moment, keeping the conversation flowing.
In places the Thousand Sons Captain could not see, invisible light waves continuously flashed through Morgan's eyes, meticulously recording every word Ahriman spoke.
And as the conversation gradually shifted to the owner of this fortress, the atmosphere couldn't help but become subdued.
"If, and I mean if, we are unfortunately to meet the Primarch of the Fourth Legion later, Morgan, I hope you can remain silent, just as you have always been."
[I have heard of Perturabo's name. Does that name cause unease?]
"No... it's disgust."
"Primarchs are, of course, great figures worthy of obedience, but our father Magnus commands us with his wisdom and benevolence, while Perturabo is completely different. He relies on a ruthlessness that surpasses even steel."
"I have fought alongside the Iron Warriors, more than once, including the most brutal Battle of Indomitus. They are the most tenacious comrades, resilient yet inflexible. I still remember they lost twenty-nine thousand warriors in that barren world, but that did not break them."
"And then? Then... then Perturabo returned, on the world of Olympia, as the gene-father of the Fourth Legion... what happened next, ah?"
"He selected a tenth of his Legion's warriors, that is, 3500 men, and then demanded that they be beaten to death by their own comrades, from the highest-ranking officers to the lowliest warriors—none were spared... I knew several excellent Iron Warriors. They were indeed coarse and warlike, but they shouldn't have died like that."
"Died at the hands of a fastidious... madman."
The final self-muttering was so low that even an Astartes could barely hear it. And Ahriman's only listener seemed utterly indifferent. She merely scrutinized the fortress before her, recording its appearance.
[But even so, he still led his Legion to this world. Perhaps he has changed.]
"Who knows? How can we fathom the mind of any Primarch?"
Ahriman raised his head again. He caressed the spines of the books, which began to improve his mood.
"Perhaps he has become a saint among the stars."
[Or perhaps it is merely basic obedience to orders.]
She always knew what he was thinking. Ahriman chuckled. He was glad he chose to befriend Morgan. Although he couldn't always view mortals as equals, that didn't mean he disliked forming friendships with truly exceptional individuals.
"Come, my Lady."
"I will take you to audience with my gene-father. He is one of the wisest sages in this galaxy. You should have met him long ago."
[...Indeed.]
[I should have met him long ago.]
"It seems you have also heard of Magnus's great name for a long time?"
[More than that. I joined the Thousand Sons Legion's fleet precisely because of him.]
Ahriman's laughter grew coarser. He wondered why he had never noticed Morgan's skill at flattery before.
——————
Even among the demigod-like sons of the Emperor, Magnus was exceptionally tall. His physique might have been second only to Vulkan, the Primarch of the Eighteenth Legion. Anyone who saw this Primarch would instinctively feel astonished: such a magnificent and imposing giant, yet he did not rule through strength and might, but was renowned for his exquisite and complex psychic abilities and wisdom.
Just like his epithet, 'The Crimson King', Magnus was a red-skinned giant. He wore no armor, but a red and white robe, the most obvious decoration on which was the symbol of the Thousand Sons Legion: a circular ring extending tentacles in all directions, like a black-hearted sun. But what was most captivating were Magnus's eyes. The Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion had only one pupil shimmering with purple light, while the other was as empty as a black hole.
The Primarch was not alone. Standing beside him were two of his sons, also senior advisors in the Legion: Ahtawallpa and Phosis T'ka. These two excellent Astartes now stood like schoolchildren at the Primarch's left and right. The former offered Morgan a smile of friendship, while the latter chose to turn his face away, not even bothering to look at her.
"Long time no see, Lady Morgan. Many of my sons have spoken to me of your abilities and wisdom."
Magnus's voice contained an undeniable confidence and arrogance. He bent his body slightly, expressing his courtesy to this most excellent mortal aide.
"Ahriman has already told me everything that happened in the evacuation zone. Hathor's report also appeared on my data slate early. Fortunately, you clearly did not betray your psychic talent. I must admit, for a... mortal, this is very rare."
When he spoke the word [mortal], the Primarch's tone paused noticeably. He frowned slightly, feeling a sense of surprise. This Lady Morgan gave him a feeling different from other mortals; some of her aura was more like himself and his brothers. However, this thought was quickly erased by the Primarch himself. Magnus didn't believe he would fail to recognize a blood relative, and besides, he should only have brothers, as Father had not mentioned anything else.
Thinking of this, he straightened his body again, and smiled under the gaze of his three sons.
"Given your consistent excellent performance, Morgan, the title of Senior Advisor to the Legion is your deserved reward—but not now. As you can see, we have more urgent matters to attend to, but I assure you, your title will be confirmed at a more solemn and grand occasion."
"However, before that, you can indeed accept the responsibilities and rights of a Senior Advisor. All your actions and plans can be directly reported to me, and most importantly, you can be my follower and explore the boundless mysteries of the Warp with me."
"Believe me, when you witness the endless unknown seas before your own eyes, you will realize that all worldly honors are trivial."
The Primarch's voice was filled with alluring prospects, charm, and a glimpse of the future. Both Ahriman and the Primarch's two advisors were immersed in this voice. Clearly, they had explored the unknown, mysterious void more than once. But unfortunately, none of this truly attracted the [mortal] before him.
[I was forced to witness the tides of the Warp, Lord Magnus. From my personal perception, it is extremely dangerous for me.]
This successfully made Magnus laugh. "Perhaps for you, yes." Magnus patted her shoulder.
"But now, you need not worry. In matters concerning Warp exploration, I am the undisputed master. I have ventured into that place many times, observing and recording everything I saw, and even communicating and interacting with the entities within. Believe me, most areas of the Warp are just harmless currents, and some of the ancient beings there also harbor benevolent intentions."
"Everything is within my grasp. There is nothing that knowledge and wisdom cannot solve."
Magnus's arrogant voice echoed in their ears. The Primarch, immersed in memories, completely ignored the mortal's expression. After a moment, the Primarch finally turned around and clapped his hands, as if he had just remembered what he was supposed to do.
"That's enough, everyone. We have spent enough time chatting and meeting."
"Now, let us enter this fortress and transition to work. I'm sure my brother is already impatient."