The world designated "11-27" had been pacified through a bloody campaign. With the fall of the last rebel stronghold, the human population of this world finally submitted to the Emperor of All Mankind.
The cost, naturally, was staggering. Countless once-prosperous villages and towns had been reduced to ash in the fierce fighting between Imperial forces and local resistance. The young, able-bodied workforce that should have driven the local economy had been systematically slaughtered.
Following the breach of the fortress, the deliberate massacres carried out under Perturabo's philosophy of "destroying the enemy's effective strength" dealt an even more devastating blow to the global population.
Rogal Dorn, the other Imperial commander and Primarch of the Seventh Legion, had expressed his dissatisfaction and condemnation toward his kinsman for this decision.
However, it was common knowledge that the only being capable of truly commanding a Primarch was the Master of Mankind Himself. As long as the Emperor remained silent on the matter, no one—not even a brother—could truly hold a Primarch accountable for his actions.
Consequently, following his dispute with Perturabo, Rogal Dorn led the Seventh Legion away without even conducting a victory ceremony for the reclamation of the world. This departure reflected both the Seventh Primarch's characteristic efficiency and his silent protest against his brother's methods.
The criticism from the "Stone of Inwit" sat uncomfortably with Perturabo.
In a departure from his usual greed for territory, the Iron Tsar did not incorporate this world into his "Tsardom of Kislev." Instead, he handed the administration over to the bureaucrats of the Terran Administratum. Perhaps Perturabo Rurik Kislevsky did not wish to keep a place that reminded him of such an unpleasant conflict with his brother within his own borders.
After the last Iron Warrior and Kislevite Streltsi boarded their transports, the Fourth Legion departed from the world they had just conquered, leaving it in the hands of a governor dispatched from Terra.
The Fourth Legion resumed the Great Crusade, continuing to win glory for the Emperor across the vast expanse of the galaxy.
Aboard the Iron Blood.
"My Lord, the final units have boarded their respective ships. We are ready to depart. We will reach the system's Mandeville point in less than two hours."
Perturabo was in his office, tinkering with a small mechanical device he had constructed, when Forrix entered to deliver his report.
"Good. Very good."
"And what of Rogal Dorn, my golden-haired brother, and his Seventh Legion?"
The Iron Tsar of Kislev responded slowly. There was a rare trace of lethargy in his voice.
"My Lord, Lord Rogal Dorn and the Seventh Legion left the system long ago to continue their Great Crusade," Forrix replied promptly.
"I see. Did Dorn leave a message? Before he led his Legion away, did he entrust you with any words for me?"
Perturabo squinted his eyes slightly as he posed the question.
"He did, My Lord."
"Before boarding the Stormbird that took him to his fleet, Lord Dorn spoke to those of us who went to see him off. He requested that we relay his words to you exactly as he said them."
Forrix hurried to inform him, careful not to let the sensitive Iron Tsar think he was hiding anything.
"Interesting. Very interesting."
"Tell me exactly what Dorn had to say. I am quite curious."
The Iron Tsar's voice carried a hint of genuine interest.
"He said: 'Tell my brother that I am disappointed in him. However, if he can change his philosophy, I, Rogal Dorn, will still embrace him unconditionally. After all, he remains my brother by blood.'"
"Those were the words Lord Dorn left for us to relay to you."
Forrix spoke in a measured pace, delivering the Imperial Fists Primarch's message word for word to his gene-father.
"Hahahaha!"
"Forrix, these are the words he wanted you to deliver? I truly overestimated him! People say Dorn is a stone of Inwit, incapable of a joke."
"But today, it seems he understands them quite well!"
Perturabo froze for a moment after hearing the message, then burst into a roar of laughter, as if Dorn's words were the most hilarious thing he had ever heard.
"I do not understand, My Lord. Why do you find Lord Dorn's words so amusing?"
"Do you truly believe that the deliberate slaughter of prisoners after a breach is the correct path? That is what Lord Dorn finds so repulsive!"
Surprise and confusion flickered across Forrix's face. He asked the question carefully, wary of provoking his cold and ruthless gene-father.
"Do you also believe Dorn is right, my First Captain?"
Perturabo's expression soured instantly as he threw the question back.
"No! I am merely... curious. What makes you believe that the intentional massacre of prisoners is the right thing to do?"
Terrified by Perturabo's displeasure, Forrix scrambled to explain himself, fearing for his rank and perhaps even his life.
"Heh. Since you have asked, I shall give you a serious answer!"
Perturabo raised an eyebrow and spoke slowly.
"I am listening, My Lord," Forrix said.