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Ahriman did not like Perturabo. But this did not prevent him from praising the beauty of the art shaped by the Primarch. Listening to the son of Magnus remind him through mental communication, while also sensing his unstoppable, heartfelt admiration for the scene before him, a thought of amusement rose in Morgan's mind.
And such a scene was understandable. After all, Perturabo—regardless of his character—was indeed a master of architecture and art. The world knew of Rogal Dorn and his Imperial Fists as the creators of countless fortresses,
yet few knew that the Iron Warriors and their Primarch were actually more adept at this, only their talents rarely got a chance to be showcased.
Unlike its rugged and imposing exterior, the interior of the Salimarus Fortress had been transformed by Perturabo into a work of art filled with intricate and digital motifs. It was like an imperial palace from ancient legends: the walls were polished marble, adorned with black lamp stands, golden patterns, huge tapestries,
and scattered paintings, clean and orderly. And within the crevices of these decorations, Morgan could see hidden firing slits and concealed sentry posts, distributed at the corners of corridors and around the main hall, enough to turn the entire fortress into a silent graveyard in an instant.
The group steadily advanced under the Primarch's leadership. They soon passed through the initial front corridor and then through a secret chamber filled with contemplators and technical terms, where busy Mechanicus personnel worked, their electronic screens flickering with messages from all over the world.
Tens of thousands of messages were filtered and processed in the calculations of these Martian visitors, from ship loading to material resupply. The massive data would easily exhaust any human-staffed command staff. Even the Mechanicus elites could only ensure that these data did not contain overly severe errors. As for more precise calculations and decisions, they could only entrust them to a more mysterious and core room within the secret chamber.
Specifically, that room was a mezzanine, connected by a wide staircase. From the outside, it looked like a square processing workshop, emitting a mixed scent of precious metals and industrial lubricants. When they walked in, Perturabo himself was waiting there.
If every warrior of the Fourth Legion was like free-walking, fighting steel, then this Primarch of the Fourth Legion could be said to be the living embodiment of the word [Steel]. Every piece of armor, every chain link, and even every screw on Perturabo was forged by his own hands, making him look like a rock sculpture with a human face.
He was shorter than his brothers, but still a giant that Astartes looked up to, his chiseled, hard features assembling the complete exterior of a great monster hunter, a merciless, ever-victorious general, and a heaven-sent artistic master.
"You are too slow, Magnus. We have no time to spare for your delays now." Perturabo's voice echoed like thunder repeatedly in the chamber, and Magnus merely spread his hands apologetically, in return to his brother.
With great difficulty, the Primarch of the Fourth Legion embraced his brother. The drafting instrument he tightly held was thus revealed to the eyes of several high-ranking Thousand Sons officers.
They could see it covered with countless data points: load rates, travel times, cargo capacity, fuel reserves, convoy rotation, population inflow, food and water supply, airdrop arrangements, and hundreds of variables used in the evacuation equations.
"Those numbers..." Ahtawallpa, known for his ruthless calculation ability, quietly sighed to his brother. "They are too many... they make my head swim... they overwhelm me like a tide."
Ahriman and Phosis did not respond, but their equally grave expressions were the best answer. All three did not notice the normally composed Morgan, who was at this moment concentrating on the numbers. In almost a single breath, Morgan blinked and shifted her attention elsewhere.
"My advisors, you can also call them my triumvirate." After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Perturabo pointed to the only two Iron Warriors behind him. "This is Haca, the other is Barban-Falk. As for Fhlorix, he is outside in command."
"Ahriman, my right hand, Company Captain of the Legion's First Company."
"Ahtawallpa and Phosis, my senior Librarians."
"[Librarians]? I thought you had decided to abandon that project, Magnus. Our father and some of our brothers might not like this."
"At least Sanguinius supports me. In this matter, he is truly a clever man."
"Then I can only hope you will be careful enough... Hmm?" Perturabo seemed about to say something more regarding psychic matters, but his gaze was quickly drawn to the only mortal present.
"This mortal, my brother Magnus, what role does she play in your Legion?"
"This is Morgan, Lady Morgan, my Legion's Senior Advisor, and also a candidate for the Librarius."
No sooner had Magnus's voice fallen than the silver-haired female official sensed Phosis's gaze, which was a mixture of astonishment and hostility.
"A mortal?"
"A clever, diligent, and capable mortal. You know, Perturabo, I do not refuse any capable sage."
"I hope she is truly as you say."
The Lord of Iron waved, signaling his subordinates to continue their previous work. He then went to the western edge of the secret chamber, pressed a switch, and a huge window appeared from behind its concealment. Through it, the entire city of Carena could be easily seen.
As a relic of the Golden Age, Carena was a city that perfectly blended history and glory. Magnus first spent a second marveling at its intricate layout, then his gaze was drawn to the truly important matter.
"The Steadfast Light, I intend to reactivate it."
Perturabo's voice came from beside him. He was pointing to the massive colony ship in the center of Carena. It was this ancient colossal vessel that, thousands of years ago, carried the first human colonists here, creating everything that belonged to Dawnstar. Now, it stood there as a pure monument.
"It is already a relic, Perturabo, a pure antique."
Even Magnus was surprised by his brother's brief declaration of grand ambition. He quickly stepped forward, gazing carefully at the colossal vessel, and soon found it covered with densely packed steel: Perturabo's sons and Mechanicus laborers were working on it.
"You truly intend to reactivate it? Entrusting the lives of hundreds of thousands of refugees to an... antique?"
"I have no choice, Magnus." Perturabo pointed to his workbench, which was now covered with countless charts and sketches. Magnus could recognize some of them as data for various orbital transport vehicles.
"Our orbital transport vehicles can launch approximately 200 times a day, transporting sixty to seventy thousand people from this dying world to our fleet. This is still the ideal state where ground launch centers are undisturbed, and you and I both know how severe the public's panic is now."
"But this is not the most serious problem: the total population of Dawnstar exceeds two million, and your fleet and mine combined amount to only a few dozen ships. Even if we fill every compartment, we can only evacuate no more than 1.6 million people. And in these last three months, our fleet cannot complete round trips between the nearest habitable worlds and Dawnstar."
"In other words, if I don't reactivate it, one-fifth of this world's population will be abandoned and die in despair."
Magnus breathed heavily, lowering his head. He could not refute his brother: the Thousand Sons Legion had arrived fifty-odd days earlier than the Iron Warriors, but these numbers had never appeared so clearly in his mind.
"You are right, brother..."
Just as Magnus's deep voice began to echo, perhaps to alleviate his father's embarrassment, or perhaps simply because he genuinely believed it, Phosis of the Thousand Sons Legion stepped forward, indicating he wished to speak.
"We actually don't need to take such a risk, my Lords."
"Why?"
The Thousand Sons Librarian handed Perturabo the thick stack of documents he held. These were the reports from Hathor and others regarding the evacuation of civilians around the world.
"Many people on this world refuse to evacuate. In those remote, savage mountain villages, they are completely unwilling to obey our orders and leave their homeland. The same is true in the cities. In Carena City's relief zone alone, at least hundreds of people privately escape back into the wilderness every day. Ahriman can confirm all of this."
Phosis first stated his argument. After receiving Ahriman's silent nod, he slowly articulated his plan.
"Given this situation, I believe that since these mortals, who have abandoned reason and logic, are unwilling to save themselves, why do we need to bother with them? In any case, these foolish individuals would bring no benefit to the Imperium even if rescued. By abandoning them, our rescue plan can proceed more swiftly."
As his last letter landed, the room fell into absolute silence. Only the continuous working sounds of the two Triumvirate members could be heard.
"...Is that what you believe?" Perturabo leaned against his conference table, his gaze piercing. He avoided his brother and the others, focusing entirely on Phosis. The Primarch's expression was like that of a deeply disappointed teacher looking at a lazy student.
The Lord of Iron's question was low and calm, without a trace of tyranny, yet it made Phosis involuntarily lower his head. Beads of sweat began to appear uncontrollably on his forehead. Magnus opened his mouth, wanting to say something for his foolish son, but before he could, Perturabo's firm and undeniable declaration erupted.
"Listen!"
"No matter how vibrant a flower, I would not allow a young child to run to the edge of a cliff to pick it without stopping them."
"Nor would I allow you to run near the Fourth Legion's minefield of this fortress without a map and proper training."
"We must cast aside these childish and ignorant notions and do what is right. Now do you understand why we must do our utmost to save more people?"
Phosis's head was almost touching the ground. He was as silent as a dead body. Only after a while did he respond in a low, sincere voice.
"Yes, my Lord, I am very sorry."
Almost simultaneously, Magnus came forward smiling and patted his brother's shoulder.
"Phosis is a master of data processing. He is more skilled at arbitrating issues composed of experience and absolute right and wrong, rather than philosophical and moral debates."
"I know, Magnus, I know."
"Such voices have also appeared among my Iron Warriors. They do not understand the importance of rescuing mortals. And precisely for this reason, you and I need to cooperate more closely, my brother. Urge our sons to rescue as many people as they can."
"Of course, brother, I have always strived to do so."
"Then, I hope every warrior of the Thousand Sons will participate in the disaster relief, like my Legion, instead of digging up ruins and ancient libraries." A hint of cunning swiftly flashed across Perturabo's face, visible to Morgan.
"That's just one squad, Perturabo. I swear I won't send more men. One squad won't affect the overall situation."
The discussion between the two Primarchs quickly became swift and intense. They rapidly divided their respective Legion's areas and tasks: the Iron Warriors would gradually take over everything related to evacuation and construction, while the Thousand Sons would disperse into squads to assist them. Perturabo would be responsible for all these matters, while Magnus would immediately depart for an inland city, where the Governor and his team were reportedly already present.
As for Ahriman, Ahtawallpa, and Phosis, they also had their own tasks, either leading their teams to guard a region or delving into ruins to search for the things that captivated Magnus.
The discussion between the Primarch brothers progressed rapidly in an increasingly amicable atmosphere, until the last question arose.
"No, Magnus, you must leave one person behind, at least an officer who can directly contact you."
Perturabo vehemently refuted his brother.
"We must be able to maintain constant communication to prevent any unforeseen circumstances. Don't rely so much on your psychic powers. You know, in this galaxy, there are countless ways and accidents that can suddenly nullify such power!"
"Alright, Perturabo."
The Iron Lord's repeated words left Magnus speechless, or perhaps he simply didn't want to continue arguing. The Primarch of the Thousand Sons looked left and right, then pulled Morgan to his side.
"The high-ranking officer you requested, my brother."
"A mortal?"
"I repeat, she is my Senior Advisor."
"Have you personally tested her?"
"My most excellent sons all acknowledge her wisdom and ability. I trust their judgment."
Perturabo sighed. Perhaps also tired of arguing, he finally nodded, allowing Magnus to swiftly depart with his three sons.
Ahriman was the last to leave. As he passed by Morgan, he discreetly slipped something into her hand. Only after their footsteps faded did Perturabo slowly lower his head. He casually glanced at Morgan before him, then walked back to his workbench.
"Begin working, mortal."
"I hope my brother hasn't exaggerated this time."