Now, let's rewind time slightly.
——————
As Ahriman and Pholix discussed the philosophy of mercy, murder, and death in the battleship's corridor, their respective gene-fathers were discussing similar topics in the command center.
"This isn't the first time I've carried out a massacre, Magnus, my brother. I admit to you, when I was a general on Olympia, I did the same thing as now, more than once."
"But at that time, I could at least convince myself: because they were enemies tainted by blood feuds, stubborn individuals unwilling to surrender, a group of people who didn't need my pity or any promises."
"But now it's different, my brother Magnus... now it's truly different."
The Lord of Iron's shadow was elongated by the light reflected from the gigantic floor-to-ceiling portholes, stretching very long, all the way to the farthest end of the room. On either side of him, over a dozen crew members and communications officers received the fleet's continuous signals and reports, relaying the progress of the purge.
But Perturabo wasn't listening at all. He merely stubbornly stared at the silent flashes from the viewport: it was the Iron Warriors and Thousand Sons' fleet opening fire. They hurled deadly cannon shells into defenseless civilian ships. To more efficiently cleanse the cursed Dawn Star natives, this wasteful act of destroying ships was tacitly allowed.
And in a more distant place, Dawn Star was burning. The spearhead of the Cyclone Torpedoes roared impatiently the moment the order was given. This terrifying planet-destroying weapon did not tarnish its reputation. Towering flames incinerated everything on this unfortunate world, from the atmosphere to the mountains, from life to soul. A crimson net devoured them completely, finally rolling up a world-spanning death curtain, visibly killing the Dawn Star itself. This grand funeral could even be observed clearly from the void.
Until the blood-red net finally disappeared at the poles of the dead world, the Imperium lost a once flourishing and prosperous inhabited world.
Perturabo lowered his head, offering his final condolences as the sole guest at this funeral. Then, he turned his head and looked at his brother.
As the second tallest figure among the Primarchs, Magnus's expression was clearly observed by his brother: the Lord of Prospero's face also showed sadness, but not much, more like a template put on to express respect and solemnity.
"Does all this before our eyes not even make you ponder, Magnus?"
The Primarch of the Thousand Sons glanced at his brother. He was somewhat unsure which thought process Perturabo was now on: was he a general? A scholar? Raging? Or a melancholic artist?
It seemed like the latter.
"Calm down, brother."
Magnus patted Perturabo's shoulder.
"You and I both grew up in death. On Olympia, you were embroiled in countless wars. On Prospero, I led my people to annihilate endless psychic devourers, creatures ten thousand times stronger and more cunning than the wildest beasts in your imagination. I witnessed my soldiers die in battle, their brains and minds consumed and drained. Believe me, for a psyker, there is no more terrifying way to die."
The Lord of Prospero placed both his hands on his brother's shoulders, until his consciousness told him that Perturabo's mind had stabilized again.
The Primarch was somewhat uncertain. His brother was already a seasoned general, even having personally executed his own sons. How could he feel genuine pain over the death of mortals?
Unless... his brother detested not the death of mortals, but failure: Perturabo's failure.
Perturabo had arrived, Perturabo had vowed, Perturabo had strived, Perturabo had failed. This outcome was unacceptable to him, and it ultimately blended with the grand slaughter to become a lament for death.
Truly Olympian thinking, isn't it?
Of course, Magnus would not voice such a conclusion.
——————
After just one deep breath, Perturabo calmed down again. Perhaps to forget the melancholy he had just experienced, he became even colder.
They resumed their conversation, gradually moving away from the previous tragedy. These two like-minded Primarchs naturally had endless topics to discuss. When Magnus ordered Morgan to come, his conversation with his brother had turned into a recollection, recalling the time they had spent together in pursuit of knowledge on Holy Terra.
"Antikythera, do you still remember it, Magnus?"
Perturabo's voice made Magnus's single eye light up. He remembered his time learning alongside Perturabo: the two Primarchs, like ordinary students, excavated ancient ruins on Terra, searching for lost wisdom.
"Of course, brother, of course I remember him. He was a deceased naturalist, and his remains were one of the most precious discoveries you and I made."
Perturabo, having received the answer, smiled. He turned and walked into a deeper room. When he emerged, he was holding a strange object.
The Lord of Iron placed it on the table, letting Magnus observe it carefully.
And the Lord of Prospero stared at this incredibly complex instrument. The curved metal devices, winding mechanisms, and adjustable lenses on it made him feel increasingly familiar. And when he finally remembered what this thing truly was, the Primarch took a breath that implied something incredible.
"Antikythera... yes... Antikythera..."
"Oh my god... Perturabo... you, you succeeded?!"
"It was merely an imitation, Magnus. I admit that if I had developed it alone, it would have taken many more years. But if it was merely a reproduction of a predecessor's work, if it was merely standing on the shoulders of giants and touching the sky, then a few years' time was indeed enough."
"No! Now is not the time to say these things, my brother, I mean no offense, but... can it be activated?"
Perturabo shook his head.
"I'm not sure. I haven't truly activated it. And Magnus, you only gave me a blueprint and asked me to replicate it, but you never explained its original design purpose or told me what it actually does or how it works."
"But you built it, Perturabo."
The Lord of Prospero nodded in admiration. Then, he looked at his brother and smiled.
"Then what do you think it does?"
Perturabo pondered for a moment.
"I believe it's some kind of navigation instrument, like the sextants used by sailors dozens of centuries ago, but its operational size is much larger. What kind of ocean would you be sailing in that would require such equipment?"
Magnus turned his head, continuing to stare intently at the exquisitely crafted instrument.
"The vast ocean."
"The vast ocean..."
Behind him, Perturabo's voice grew uneasy.
"I think... you're referring to the Warp?"
"Yes, that's it."
The Lord of Prospero was fascinated by the creation before him; it carried a part of his dream.
"You cannot imagine its marvel, Perturabo. If the deceased naturalist's records are correct, then this marvelous little thing can even navigate in the Warp. By then..."
Magnus looked up, carefully glancing left and right.
"By then, ships won't even need navigators. They'll be able to find their way in the Warp, and even ordinary mortals will be able to travel safely through its mists."
"Magnus... you must remember what our Father once said about the vast ocean, right? He doesn't want us to go too deep into it, let alone these mortals. You remember, don't you?"
Perturabo sighed. He walked around the room, rummaging behind Magnus, and finally picked up a heavy metal object: a warhammer. He charged at Magnus.
Before the Primarch of the Thousand Sons could react, the Lord of Iron's arm rotated. The warhammer whistled through the air in front of him, and finally slammed down.
The next moment, accompanied by a crisp cracking sound, the exquisite, infinitely promising creation had once again turned into cracked metal and broken lenses. They fell to the ground along with the shattered table remnants, clanking like a rain of iron.
Magnus's expression froze.
"No... no, no, my brother, what are you doing!"
"Doing what needs to be done, Magnus."
——————
Then, Morgan walked in and saw that scene.
——————
The Primarchs roared at each other, using elegant words and furious tones to accuse each other.
In Magnus's fury, Perturabo became a brute, a destructive maniac, an incorrigible Spartan. He reprimanded his blood brother, criticizing him for completely disregarding the crystallization of wisdom and effort.
Perturabo, on the other hand, was much calmer. He merely repeated his point over and over: the Primarchs' power was far inferior to the Emperor's. Therefore, for a realm that even the Emperor dared not overly tread, what right did they have to act without permission?
This argument was violent, crazy, yet swift. The two Primarchs confronted each other perhaps a thousand times, but to an outsider, it was only a few minutes. And their wisdom and calmness also ensured that this argument would not drag on.
"You truly have a cruel talent, my brother."
Finally, Magnus ended the discordant debate with a resentful description.
"Perhaps."
Perturabo did not deny it. Instead, he nodded.
"But cruelty has its advantages. At the very least, you can now clearly understand my stance, Magnus."
The Lord of Prospero did not continue the conversation. He waved his hand, seemingly wanting to disperse everything from the unsettling air. The Lord of Iron, on the other hand, turned around again and took out a roll of blueprints.
"This is the blueprint you gave me, Magnus. I will not build a second one... If you can find and persuade a skillful individual, then as a brother, I wish you good luck."
Magnus did not take it. His gaze wandered around, finally settling on Morgan.
"Ah, Lady Morgan... Sorry for the wait."
The Primarch showed a slightly apologetic expression. He had just remembered what he was supposed to do.
On the Dawn Star, he had promised this mortal a sufficiently solemn inauguration ceremony, and he was indeed prepared to do so.
One Primarch presiding, another Primarch witnessing. The so-called pomp and circumstance and guests in mortal worlds were utterly insignificant compared to this setup. Magnus believed Morgan would agree with this point.
Morgan slightly bent her knee, and the Primarch extended his hand. Naturally, his attendants rushed forward, presenting him with a badge and documents.
——————
"I am not like my brother Fulgrim. I am not one who is so fond of ornate words and elaborate rituals. Therefore, Lady Morgan, let's make everything simple."
"From today onwards, you are the High Advisor of the Fifteenth Legion. Your opinions will be cherished by me, and your requests will be granted by me."
"I grant you the power to go on diplomatic missions, the duty to lead in battle, the grace to seek knowledge as a scholar, and the heavy responsibility to manage as an official."
"From now on, you need not address any of my sons as 'Lord,' for you, like them, are a pillar of my army, directly subordinate to me."
"I, Magnus, hereby bestow upon you, Morgan, responsibility and power. I will always fulfill my promises, unless you betray your loyalty to the Emperor, to the Imperium, to humanity, and to me. I believe you will not do so."
"Here, with my brother, Perturabo, Lord of Iron of the Fourth Legion, as witness, from this moment onwards, you are my High Advisor, my right-hand woman."
"Now, rise. There is no need for such formality. We are now the vanguard of the Imperium, the Emperor's arms, and fellow travelers on the path of knowledge, never giving up."
"Here, welcome, Morgan."
——————
Magnus's words fell, and Perturabo ritually clapped his hands, confirming his witnessing of the ceremony.
"A mortal advisor, Magnus?"
"Perhaps you should try it too, my brother."
"If I truly can encounter such an excellent individual, then I will."
The two Primarchs laughed, as if their previous argument had never happened.
"So, what are your plans next?"
"Of course I have plans."
Magnus nodded.
"I will perform a ritual, taking some of my sons and Morgan with me. I need to go deep into the Warp to find a way to heal their souls' wounds."
"I think you can trust doctors in reality, brother."
"No, Perturabo, don't joke."
Magnus chuckled and shook his head.
"The one before you is Magnus, a great scholar second only to the Emperor."
"Who in this world is more trustworthy than me?"
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