It is a well-known fact.
The Imperium of Man possesses no reliable sources of information regarding the Eye of Terror—the massive Warp rift where Chaos forces congregate—or the chaotic warbands within it. Even the most elite Inquisitorial acolytes can only barely detect suspicious movements within the Black Legion, and these clues are often obscured by a barrage of conflicting reports, making them nearly impossible to verify.
At this moment, in a star sector near the Eye of Terror.
Medusa.
The planet is entirely covered in loess, with a harsh landscape and an extremely unstable geological structure, notorious for its frequent and massive tectonic shifts. Consequently, there is no unified government on this world; instead, it is partitioned and ruled by various mining clans.
However, the planet is unique for one reason—it is the homeworld of the Iron Hands, one of the First Founding Chapters.
Within the Iron Hands' fortress-monastery.
Ferrus Manus was clearly in a foul mood. Of course, he did not let his anger show on his face, nor did he scream hysterically at his sons. During his ten thousand years in the Warp, fighting the legions of the Four Gods under his father's command, the Primarch's self-control had improved significantly.
But even with a calm expression, when a Primarch is truly angry, the aura they project cannot be ignored by sons connected to them by blood.
Inside the hall.
Astartes from the Iron Hands and various successor chapters, including but not limited to the Sons of Medusa, stood silently in power armor bearing their respective insignias. Though they were massive in stature and covered in mechanical augmentations whose power was obvious even to an ignorant mortal, their movements were currently tinged with a cautious trepidation.
The current Ferrus Manus was no longer the psychic Legion of the Damned-style apparition he had been—a form that contradicted the Imperial Truth but fit perfectly into the Ecclesiarchy's myths. Through the Primarch's relentless efforts, he had retrieved his skull from the central altar of the Heart of Medusa, and with the assistance of Adam's reality-warping abilities, Ferrus had successfully restored his original flesh body from ten thousand years ago, allowing him to remain permanently in the material universe.
Naturally, this process had left obvious "aftereffects."
Previously, relying on his Primarch's wisdom and his knowledge of the Iron Hands, Ferrus had united a group of old subordinates from the Great Crusade and Heresy eras who had also been resurrected by reality warping. He had resolved the obstacles to his return in an efficient, if somewhat forceful, manner.
However, it was clear that some shortcuts were not the proper path.
"Say that again," Ferrus said, his gaze locked on the son before him. His tone was calm, but it carried an undeniable pressure.
"I said, you are not our gene-father! Our gene-father died long ago on Isstvan!"
Standing before the Primarch was an Iron Father from Clan Avernii. His face was tense, yet he gritted his teeth to force the words out.
This was the crux of the problem. The news of Ferrus Manus's return had struck like a thunderbolt, drawing Iron Hands from every company and successor chapter to Medusa. It had also plunged a group of stubborn Astartes into massive confusion.
They were deeply distrustful of this "gift from the heavens." Ferrus's previous actions had only amplified their dissatisfaction. Even though they could feel the pull of their shared blood, they stubbornly refused to believe the evidence before them.
One could not blame the Iron Hands for being paranoid; they valued logic above all else and had been burned before in such matters. This was proving to be a massive headache for Ferrus.
He could only conclude that he had died too early. He could vaguely understand the unique culture the Iron Hands had developed after his death, but he still found this obsessive level of doubt difficult to handle.
"In that case, do you intend to draw your weapon against me?" Ferrus took a deep breath, forcing his surging anger back into his chest. This massive emotional shift sent a subtle but very noticeable ripple through the Astartes in the room.
He spoke in a low voice: "If you truly see me as an impostor and a deceiver, then what are you hesitating for?"
"Do you still remember my teachings from when I lived?"
The Iron Father fell into a brief silence, clearly at a loss. At this moment, he could feel the death stares from Astartes of other Iron Hands clans and successors throughout the hall.
The warriors of Clan Garrasak, in particular, were the most reactive; they had maintained a steadfast belief for ten thousand years that their gene-father would eventually return. The Iron Father could sense his battle-brothers' hands already resting on their weapons. With a single command from the Primarch, he would be executed as a heretic on the spot.
However, Ferrus did not give the command. He shook his head wearily and signaled the other Astartes to lower their weapons.
"Forget it. Over the past week, I have shown you every proof I can think of—Imperial administrative documents and astropathic communications from Terra confirm my identity. If you still do not believe, there is only one way left."
Ferrus looked at the Iron Father. The other man's expression grew more strained, even displaying a hint of panic and a flicker of guilt.
"By my Father's decree, I shall launch a new crusade. I will take the Ferrum, the Gloriana-class battleship that has been moored in orbit for ten thousand years, and I will take everyone who is willing to follow me into this great war for the future of humanity."
"Our primary destination is Baal."
"As for those who do not trust me, under the Emperor's witness, I hope you will guard Medusa in my stead."
"That is all. This is my command."
Silence fell over the room. The Astartes looked at one another. The Iron Hands prized logic and cold calculation, believing precise planning in war was more effective than any morale-boosting technique. They weren't supposed to be moved by passionate speeches—or so they thought.
But in this moment, every listener stood at attention.
"So, what is your decision?" Ferrus stared directly at the Iron Father who had opposed him, his voice commanding without needing to be raised.
The Iron Father remained silent. He was wavering now. The prospect of losing this supreme glory filled his heart with no small amount of regret. He even wanted to ask if it was too late to board the ship.
Ultimately, the Iron Father nodded with great difficulty.
"Yes, Primarch."