Perturabo's Quarters, Inside the Monastery
Perturabo was hunched over his desk, drawing and writing on a long wooden table. Although he had delegated most of the administrative paperwork to his devout and steadfast foster father, Father Mikhail, he was not entirely free from clerical duties. Military affairs and design blueprints were enough to keep him at his desk for hours every day.
"My Lord, someone is here to see you. He says he has very important business," Perturabo's attendant knocked on the door and announced.
"Tell him to find Mr. Mikhail. He handles such matters now. I don't have time to meet everyone individually. If Mikhail deems a visitor worthy of my personal attention, I will meet them."
Perturabo replied loudly with a hint of irritation. Since becoming the master of Perturabograd, he was besieged daily by all sorts of people seeking an audience with the young sovereign.
Some were genuine talents hoping to secure a position in his court. However, many more were merely charlatans looking for a free meal under the new ruler.
In the beginning, Perturabo had been willing to personally interview those who wished to present their talents and ideals. Those who proved their worth through his rigorous examinations received what they sought.
But after encountering too many frauds, Perturabo grew weary of the routine. He handed these tedious tasks to his foster father, letting Father Mikhail screen the visitors. Only those confirmed by the priest as truly gifted were granted an audience with Perturabo.
This was the source of his current annoyance. Even as he spoke, his pen did not stop moving across the paper, sketching intricate mechanical diagrams at high speed.
"My Lord, this gentleman has Father Mikhail's approval. That is why we dared to bring him before you," the attendant explained, visibly frightened by Perturabo's tone.
"This man was approved by Mr. Mikhail...? Why didn't he notify me?"
Perturabo looked up in surprise. Usually, if Mikhail found someone worthy, he would inform Perturabo immediately so he could prepare for the meeting.
"Yes! The man seemed desperate to see you. When Father Mikhail gave the permission, he demanded I bring him here immediately, before the Father even had a chance to send word."
"I see... then let him in. I am curious to know what business is so urgent." Perturabo nodded slightly. The mystery of the visitor's haste piqued his curiosity.
"As you command, my Lord." The attendant hurried to follow the order.
Led by the attendant, the man entered the room in such a rush that his footsteps stirred a draft, swirling fallen leaves behind him. He was a man with a small mustache and a receding hairline.
When the visitor stood before him, the young monk remained focused on his sketches, ignoring the newcomer. He was busy distilling the vast knowledge in his mind into blueprints that would become machines far beyond the current era.
Faced with this dismissive and rude treatment, the man in the heavy coat did not speak. He stood in silence, watching Perturabo write.
"I imagine your reason for visiting me is not so simple. You have another purpose."
"I suspect you are an assassin, sent here to take my life."
Perturabo finished a sketch, nodded with satisfaction, and slowly raised his head. He spoke these terrifying words with a casual air.
The visitor did not show fear or shock at the accusation. He simply stared at the Lord of Iron.
The poor attendant's face turned deathly pale. He scrambled out of the room to find the guards, realizing he had personally brought a killer before his sovereign—a crime for which death would be insufficient punishment.
"Just now, my entire focus was on my drawings. You could have struck then. There was no one in this room but us and the servant who just ran for help. If you wanted to kill me, you had every opportunity. Did you abandon your mission? Did you give up on your target?"
Perturabo spoke each word with deliberate weight.
"Heh. Correct. I was indeed sent to assassinate you. I was hired by certain nobles who fear your rise to power but are too cowardly to provoke you openly. They hired me, the greatest assassin in Kislev."
"But when I entered your city, I was struck by the vitality of Perturabograd under your rule. In that moment, I realized that only you can make Kislev truly prosperous, not those useless gluttons."
The assassin let out a soft laugh and answered slowly.
"So you chose to tell me this news instead. That is why you were in such a hurry to see me." Perturabo nodded. He understood the connection.
"Exactly, Lord Perturabo. Furthermore, I wish to change my allegiance and serve you. I want to serve a true hero, not a pack of fools." The assassin's gaze turned resolute.
"Interesting. How should I address you?" Perturabo nodded again. He did need a subordinate capable of gathering intelligence and eliminating rivals.
"Savinkov. Or rather, Boris Savinkov. I command a unit of assassins known as the 'Combat Organization.' At my word, they will serve you."
"Very well, Savinkov. Although you committed the crime of attempting my life, your subsequent actions have provided atonement. Therefore, I pardon you and permit you to join my cause."
"I am most grateful, Lord Perturabo. This is the wisest choice you could have made."