"Can you just NOT eat that stuff?!"
Lion roared at the Wolf King, who was gleefully gnawing on a fermented herring can paired with pickled murre.
His right hand was clenched tightly on his sword hilt; otherwise, he feared he wouldn't be able to stop himself from cleaving this 'barbarian' brother in two.
But Russ ignored him, merely grinning and continuing to eat ravenously.
The smell reminded him of those days on Fenris, living a primitive, blood-raw life. Back then, when the Wolf Mother took him hunting, he and his two wolf brothers would always get first pick of the livers.
He actually missed those days a little. The Wolf Mother was strong, and he was strong too. Even though food was scarce on Fenris, their family of four never went hungry.
Watching Lion gradually get red-faced with anger, Perturabo used his psychic power to isolate him, preventing the stench from making him more暴躁.
He wasn't planning on keeping this command room anyway. He'd remodel it later and send it to the Emperor.
"Brother, you just don't get it. This authentic flavor is the real deal. Brother Perturabo here knows how to enjoy life. Only he could make such delicacies."
Clang!
Lion's sword had been drawn an inch from its sheath.
Watching Russ, who looked utterly savage yet completely 'guileless', voraciously devour those indescribable 'foods', both Lion and Perturabo's mouths twitched.
Perturabo truly hadn't expected that a joke, a prank, would actually whet Russ's appetite.
He made his own bed, now he had to lie in it. He couldn't make his brother unhappy, could he?
After hastily downing three large bottles of the highest quality wine sent from Baal, Lion finally recovered from that nauseating, queasy feeling.
"Brother, what are your plans after returning to Terra this time? You're not really going to ask Father for the Custodes conversion surgery, are you?"
Russ asked between mouthfuls.
"What, does he think he's being cheated? You both saw how strong the Rangdan were with your own eyes. Do you think I spent all those resources for fun?"
"If he doesn't cough up that Custodes conversion surgery this time, I'll start deducting supplies for the expeditionary fleets again. Let's see where he finds the resources to fill that gap without my supply."
Lion and Russ didn't say much. Especially Lion. The Dark Angels had suffered heavy losses. Even if it wasn't crippling, it still stung for a long time.
The fact that even the honor of the victory was only passed to him because his brother didn't want it made Lion, a fiercely proud Primarch, quite depressed.
During the triumphant return to Terra, he had practically single-handedly drunk all the wine sent from Baal. Perturabo almost suspected this brother was genuinely upset.
He hadn't even gotten a few sips himself! Lion had drunk it all!
…
Three months later, at the Mandeville Point in the Sol System, the fleets of Lion and Russ translated from the Warp.
The Iron Warriors needed no honor, so they would not participate in the Terran victory feast.
Perturabo stayed aboard the Truth Implacable with a few of his sons, following Lion back to Terra after Russ's departure.
Truthfully, when he saw the planet ahead, now yellowed and with severely polluted atmosphere, Perturabo felt no nostalgia nor emotion, only deep disappointment.
Perturabo had never returned to Terra since his rediscovery, nor had he ever set foot aboard the Bucephelus.
The Emperor had never brought him to his side, and Perturabo didn't want him to.
Because Terra was terrible, and Perturabo didn't want to see the Emperor.
Seeing him occasionally was enough. If you interacted with the Emperor regularly, no matter how much charisma he had, you'd still eventually want to bash his skull in with a hammer.
Truth be told, Perturabo still wanted to fix humanity's homeworld.
The homeworld's significance was immense, crucial for any species.
It was like a mysterious, profound destiny surrounding the species. If the homeworld fell, the species' future was essentially doomed.
This was the main reason the Emperor never abandoned Terra.
Besides, the Emperor had invested immense resources into Terra. The Webway project had already begun laying connections. The Astronomican was built here.
Regardless, Terra could not be lost, could not fall!
So, when Perturabo felt he could rebuild Terra, do something genuinely good for humanity, the Emperor refused.
His reasoning was simple: you are better suited for the Great Crusade, not construction.
Then he recalled the Imperial Fists, who had just finished fighting the Arachnid alliance, and sent them back to Terra. Dorn became the chief architect and commander, responsible for building the defenses of the Sol System.
Perturabo said nothing. From then on, unless the Emperor summoned him personally, he wouldn't say a word.
He even canceled the logistics supplies already packed and ready to ship to the Sol System, storing them back in the warehouses.
When the Emperor showed up, fuming, to confront him, Perturabo remained silent, simply threw the prepared resources directly into the Warp-forges (Daemon Factory).
After the Warp's psychic energy had corroded them through twenty-two layers inside and out, the Emperor said nothing more.
The Emperor looked at this son, who was even slightly taller than himself, his brown eyes glinting.
That day, Vulkan, watching his brother and father wage silent war while eating watermelon, fried chicken, and cotton candy, trembled in fear.
The Emperor eventually left. Perturabo didn't try to stop him.
Then, heavy taxes began crushing the reclaimed worlds. Many, already burdened with high levies, had half their lifeblood cut off.
The Imperium's resources returned to their previous state; there were no lasting effects.
Just a few more dead people. The Imperium's population was countless; it didn't lack a few million.
Perturabo didn't know how to describe that damn thick headed man. The Emperor wouldn't be moved by such trivial matters.
In his view, the Great Crusade and the Webway were equally important. He only cared about the results, not the process.
He loved humanity, but not individual humans.
Seeing Lion and Russ grow somewhat serious, Perturabo felt nothing.
But as he looked at the massive Phalanx looming over Terra, a disdainful sneer escaped his lips.
"Long ago, I proposed to the Emperor that I could be responsible for building the defenses of Holy Terra and the entire Sol System. I could even turn Terra into a garden world, even though the concept of 'water' barely exists there anymore."
"But he refused. He chose Rogal Dorn."
"Looks like he chose wrong. In my opinion, this defensive line is riddled with flaws. Even the strong points are pathetically vulnerable."
"And the entire solar…"
Watching Perturabo vent his dissatisfaction under the guise of criticism, Lion didn't respond.
He obeyed the Emperor's orders unconditionally.
But he thought the Emperor was right. If he had chosen Perturabo to build the Sol System's defenses, he and the Emperor would probably need to sleep with one eye open, worried that this brother might pull something big one day.
"Tell me, Lion, how was the Emperor's decision? Pretty terrible, right?"
Perturabo didn't phrase it as a question. His dark blue eyes stared intently at Lion. Even the atmosphere inside the ship began to grow tense.
"Yes."
Lion gave an affirmative answer against his better judgment. The once fiercely loyal and unbending Lion had, ever since Perturabo rescued his sons, been destined to lean in his favor, even if his loyalty to the Emperor remained pure and steadfast.
Koswain, Alajos, and the others looked at their father in disbelief.
Was this right?
Perturabo seemed to relish his brother's affirmation, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as the space dock grew nearer.
Ferrix and Berossus felt a bit of nostalgia for Holy Terra. But after seeing the greater universe outside, they felt this 'home' wasn't really worth missing anymore.
They had never known good times, nor did they have any desire for a triumphant return. Space Marines inherently lacked such concepts.
Only Dantioch, staring at the approaching homeworld of humanity, felt nervous.
Although they accepted no honors, they would still be granted an audience with the Emperor. He feared embarrassing himself and shaming the Fourth Legion.
"Being nervous about such an occasion, Barabbas."
Berossus's voice came from beside him, tinged with amusement.
"Doesn't seem like you."
"I'm afraid I'll bring shame to the Legion…"
Dantioch felt unusually awkward for the first time.
"Nothing to be nervous about. Relax. You'll get used to it soon."
Ferrix patted Dantioch's pauldron.
"Can this place even compare to Olympia?"
This single statement made every Paladin present, including Lion, turn their gaze toward these three exceptionally tall tin cans.
Ferrix realized he might have spoken a bit too freely.
…
Terra, Imperial Palace, Eternity Wall.
The sights along the way had completely eroded any goodwill Dantioch might have held for this human homeworld, which seemed fair without but was rotten within.
It was hard to imagine the interior of such a prosperous and glorious empire could look like this.
The sky-lanes were densely packed; even during their victorious return, they were stuck in a traffic jam for a full day.
The Imperial Palace, built upon the Himalayas, was resplendent and magnificent. Inside the upper levels of the colossal hive cities, the decadence and debauchery of the nobles shocked even Ferrix, a Space Marine commander well-acquainted with depravity and corruption.
Weren't the humans in the underhive below still human? Why did the Emperor, who claimed to love humanity, turn a blind eye to their suffering?
For worlds outside the Sol System, Dantioch refrained from judgment. They were far away, and certain unavoidable problems were understandable. Even the exorbitant taxes, Dantioch could somewhat comprehend.
But why was Holy Terra, humanity's homeworld, the sacred ground countless pilgrims sought across the galaxy to worship, no different from those conquered worlds?
If forced to name a difference, it was that the noble lords and upper-hive natives here were far more arrogant than those outside.
Otherwise, no difference.
Why did the Emperor ignore the suffering of humans right under his nose?
Dantioch was confused, but no one could answer him.
Everyone was already accustomed to it.
Even Perturabo just frowned slightly with a hint of disgust, but said nothing.
Dantioch felt this was wrong, it shouldn't be this way. He wanted to speak, but the words died in his throat.
"What's wrong, Barabbas?"
His father's voice pulled Dantioch from his thoughts.
"Nothing, Father. It's just… just… I…"
"Feeling like Terra is utterly rotten, aren't you?"
Perturabo's words caused Lion, Russ, and the others to pause mid-stride.
"No, Father, it's just…"
Dantioch was flustered. He didn't want his father to overstep the bounds of propriety here on Terra.
"Why can't I say it? The Emperor loves humanity, but that doesn't mean he loves individual humans."
"In his view, he wants to save humanity as a whole. He doesn't care about the condition of the ploughing farmers or the humans in the underhive and sump."
"After all, once all xenos are exterminated, no matter how humanity behaves, it's humanity's own problem. He doesn't care what humans do, as long as humanity survives."
…
Perturabo's relentless critique of the Emperor's ruthlessness made Lion and Russ want to interrupt him.
"Brother, this is Terra."
Russ finally spoke, trying to dissuade him.
"So what if it's Terra? Was I wrong? If a single piece of Aurumite fell from the Imperial Palace, the entire underhive would probably start a bloodbath over its value."
"They'd kill ten of their own kind for a sip of clean water or a coarse grain bread. They'd slaughter an entire district's population for a plot of land. Even some of the auxiliary forces fighting across the galaxy were 'recruited' from here."
"So what about Terra? Is living here any better than living on my Olympia? Setting aside freedom, at least I can ensure they have food and clothing."
"If you're talking about freedom, I don't see them being very free either. Or order, for that matter."
"Look at him playing Emperor. What a failure. Can't handle the job, but insists on doing it. Does it, does it poorly."
"Won't listen. Doesn't understand. Doesn't act. Acts, does it wrong. Won't admit fault. Admits it, won't change. Headstrong, stubborn, and twisted…"
Lion and Russ's foreheads started beading with sweat.
"But yet in humanity's darkest hour, he was the only one of his kind who stepped up."
"Tch. Pathetic."
Perturabo's words, bordering on high treason, made the Astartes and mortal attendants instinctively close their ears.
They heard nothing, knew nothing.
"Father…"
Dantioch felt his father didn't need to go this far, but Perturabo was clearly worked up.
Might as well have given Terra to him back then. Look at what they've done!?
They're not even as good as me!
"Brother, let's not say things that are bad for unity."
"It reflects poorly."
Russ was genuinely worried this time. How could this brother be so thick-headed?
"I also don't think Father is as incompetent as you say, brother."
Lion began to counsel him too. He never expected someone like him to play the role of peacemaker.
"Let him talk. What's there to fear saying? Who in the galaxy doesn't know that the worlds under the Fourth Primarch are incredibly prosperous? Not even inferior to Terra."
Everyone fell to their knees, including Ferrix and his men.
Ahead stood the Emperor, draped in white robes, wearing a laurel wreath, arms crossed, watching Perturabo with cold eyes.
Behind him, Valdor and a contingent of Custodians stood ready to welcome the triumphant group.
"Hmph, not inferior? Terra isn't fit to be mentioned in the same breath as my Olympia. I think you've lost your mind, Constantin!"
Perturabo shot back without any politeness.
"Which of your eyes sees Terra as better than my Olympia? You're a beggar who has to import every grain of food and drop of water, and you dare talk prosperity to me?"
"If this wasn't the homeworld, Olympia would be the core of the galaxy by now. Compare to my Olympia are you? You can't even measure up to Macragge!"
The two white-robed figures suddenly erupted with immense psychic power, colliding in a silent standoff across the distance.
Even the Custodians strained to withstand the shock. The others, already drenched in sweat, found it even more unbearable.
But then a force separated the clashing powers. Malcador appeared behind the Emperor.
"Enough. The Emperor of Mankind and a Primarch, acting like children. What a disgrace!"
The two snorted coldly and withdrew their psychic auras.
"Stand up. What are you still kneeling for? If outsiders saw this, they'd think you lost."
Lion, Russ, and the others stood up and discreetly moved away from Perturabo.
But the mortal attendants couldn't steady their legs, still kneeling. They desperately wanted to stand, but their legs refused. Some attendants even had tears and sobs on their faces.
The Paladins and Wolf Guard hid behind their Primarchs, trembling. This was huge. They seemed to have heard things even Astartes shouldn't know.
Perturabo and Malcador each released some psychic energy to support the mortals, enabling them to walk.
The celebration hadn't started yet, but preparations were already in place.
The walk was outwardly calm, but their footsteps grew heavier with each step. Watching the two walking side-by-side, secretly competing, even Malcador was speechless.
Even Lion and Russ, fellow Primarchs, dared not comment on Perturabo's flagrant overstep, so others dared even less.
Ferrix and his men, especially, felt this would probably be their last time returning to Terra.
Dantioch also hadn't expected his father to be so resolute. Where was the usual silent, low-key father? Where was the cold exterior but warm heart?
But regardless of what everyone thought, the two were still clashing and crushing each other with their psychically disguised physiques. As they walked, their bodies grew larger, nearly reaching eight meters tall.
"HAVE YOU TWO NOT HAD ENOUGH?!"
The Regent finally lost his patience.
He grabbed his staff, split it in two, expanded it to the size of a Knight suit, and brought both ends down hard on their heads with a mighty SMACK.
"Is this how you behave?!"
Under the old man's special 'persuasion', the two finally walked obediently into the Imperial Palace.
Seated at the council table, the Emperor was silent. Perturabo, seemingly from nowhere, produced three Iron Warrior miniatures and began carving details with a knife.
Malcador was silent. Lion and Russ sat on pins and needles. The others stood, feeling each second stretch into an eternity.
These elite among Space Marines felt, for the first time, that simply standing could be so agonizing.
"Just the Primarchs stay. The rest of you, leave."
Finally, Malcador broke the deadlock.
The Custodians had already left, but the Astartes looked at each other. What was happening?
"Take these. Go look around. Remember, don't go to the underhive areas. Barabbas, remember to restrain yourself, don't be impulsive."
Perturabo handed the three miniatures to his sons and sent them off. Lion and Russ did the same. The following discussion was not for them.
It wasn't Ferrix's first time touring the Imperial Palace, but he was still awed by its scale. It was even more magnificent than decades ago.
It covered the entire Himalayan range, from base to peak, from east to west, layered and dense.
Countless spires, domes, arches, and statues adorned with Aurumite glittered golden in the sunlight. Inside, they saw officials from the Adeptus Administratum hurrying about.
They showed no fear of the Astartes. Dantioch rarely saw mortals with such courage.
Looking at the exquisite reliefs, luxurious decorations, and expensive materials, merely crafted into beautiful ornaments, objects the Terran officials probably wouldn't even glance at normally – the total value could probably build a Gloriana-class battleship. Such a waste.
Dantioch thought again of the underhive humans, their desperate struggle for survival etched into his mind.
That was only what he could see. What about what he couldn't? The deeper sump? What was it like there?
Dantioch couldn't imagine it. He wanted to change this place.
The framework for this planet had already been mapped out in his mind while they were in orbit above Terra.
Just a bit more investigation and measurement, and with his experience building hundreds of fortress worlds, he was sure he could fix Terra.
But Father hadn't won the contract.
Dantioch looked up. The shadow of the Phalanx was faintly visible against the murky amber sky.
The Seventh Primarch had stolen what should have been the Fourth Legion's duty! And the Emperor's favoritism had prevented Father from ever gaining a foothold on Terra.
Now, Dantioch even wondered if the Emperor refused to trust Father because he seemed too ambitious, entrusting Terra's construction to the Imperial Fists instead.
How were they better than the Iron Warriors?
In terms of strength, construction, or building defensive lines, how did they surpass the Iron Warriors?
Those short guys didn't even reach chest height!
Dantioch, Ferrix, and Berossus grew angrier the more they thought about it. Why? What gave them the right?
But the decision was made. Father said nothing, so they shouldn't complain behind his back.
Carefully placing the miniatures inside their customized Cataphractii Terminator armor to avoid damaging them – these were handmade by Father, only one of each! – they stepped outside the Imperial Palace.
At the spire's peak, breathing the finest air, surrounded by meticulously crafted buildings, the view was pleasing to the eye.
It was hard to believe this was the same world as the underhive.
This place was the polar opposite of Olympia.
On Olympia, the upper and lower hives were almost indistinguishable.
Aside from a slightly better view and possibly more comfortable living quarters, there was virtually no difference.
Yet every scientist and engineer there was a true genius. Every official and financial officer was capable.
They were no worse, often better, than the Terran Administratum staff. But their living standards probably weren't even one ten-thousandth of those here.
Luxury and excess had almost created reproductive isolation between them and the underhive humans!
Outside were cultivated fields. Some family members were so bored they engaged in… activities. The Emperor paid no attention to such trivial matters.
Looking at Terra, shrouded in decadent luxury, Dantioch felt it truly needed his father's firm governance.
Was this humanity's homeworld?
How could they present such a shoddy, failing world to the galaxy?!
No wonder they said Father and the Thirteenth Lord were ambitious. How could people like the Emperor's court not be afraid of Father?
Terra needed correction!
A terrifying aura emanated from Dantioch. Ferrix and Berossus could clearly feel it.
Some Administratum officials passing by Dantioch shivered involuntarily, glanced at the Astartes nearly twice their height, and instinctively shied away.
"Don't be impulsive, brother. Forget what Father told you?"
"Maybe it's not as ideal as you imagined, but even Father's proposal was rejected. You can't act rashly now."
Ferrix said earnestly.
"Barabbas, you still can't get over this mindset. Some things aren't black and white. Without the Emperor's decree, we basically can't even get started. Even if you want to change this place, you're powerless. Focus on the worlds we've conquered. I'm sure Father will eventually win us the opportunity."
"Yeah, I think Father is also very dissatisfied with Holy Terra's system, but there's been no chance. We have no reason to garrison Terra. But I believe he will come here eventually."
"And when he does, the reconstruction task might be entrusted directly to you, Barabbas. That day won't be far. The Emperor will eventually realize the Iron Warriors are far stronger than the Imperial Fists!"
Their almost undisguised discussion made the Administratum officials' faces change.
What did this mean?
What did 'Iron Warriors rectifying Holy Terra' mean?
The Paladins nearby simply watched these unusually tall cousins in silence, their eyes scanning them from head to toe.
Koswain felt it was a pity they probably couldn't fight for a while. Otherwise, he'd like to test these cousins' mettle.
And Sigismund – it had been a while since they sparred. He wondered if Sigismund's swordsmanship had improved.
The Wolf Guard reacted differently, most watching these cousins with interest.
Wolves disliked politics, but they weren't stupid. They could easily see through flaws and lies.
But cunning as they were, they also knew they were more like the Emperor's military police. The Sixth Legion was destined to never have its own ideas, to obey only the Emperor's will for the rest of their existence – even their father couldn't avoid that.
But soon, the Paladins and Wolf Guard wore amused smiles. There was going to be a show.
A squad of similarly short, lemon-colored tin cans approached aggressively.
The leader had a distinctive 'broom' crest on his helmet. The Imperial Fists' praetor had arrived in person.
But Ferrix and the others didn't care.
So what if they'd talked? What were they going to do about it?
The praetor reached Ferrix, but the immense size difference made the Wolves, anticipating entertainment, nearly burst.
The praetor removed his helmet, eyes glaring at Ferrix.
Ferrix showed no fear. Ridiculous. If the current overall commander of the Fourth Legion got intimidated by an Imperial Fists praetor for speaking some truths, he might as well step down and go back to training with the recruits!
The straightforward, cunning savages never cared about others' opinions. They immediately burst out laughing.
The atmosphere grew awkward.
The Custodians, silently observing from a distance, discreetly averted their gazes.
Several tall, hooded figures stood beside the Custodians, watching these tin cans who had replaced them on the galactic battlefield, feelings complex and inexplicable.
…
"We need to push to the edge of Pacificus Segmentum. Although you dealt with the Rangdan in the Halo Stars, that region still has the highest concentration of xenos and pocket empires. Ferrus's legion's advance has slowed recently."
"The Great Crusade is still too inefficient. We need to increase efficiency."
…
There was no distribution of rewards, no discussion of honors. The Emperor was still fixated on his Great Crusade.
But Perturabo's persistent silence annoyed him. Why did the Fourth have to be so contrary?
"So, to accelerate the Great Crusade's efficiency, Perturabo, I need your worlds to provide another forty Titan Legions and standard equipment for at least three full Legions."
"The Crusade Legions are still severely lacking these. The Mechanicum's inefficiency and Warp travel losses are costly. Only your fleet's logistics are truly reliable."
"For the sake of humanity…"
"No."
The Emperor's face instantly fell.
"This is necessary…"
"No money."
Perturabo fiddled with an Iron Circle automaton model, casually refusing the Emperor's outrageous demand.
He had the equipment, but he didn't want to give it this time.
"Don't play dumb with me. I'm telling you, this time you will…"
"No money."
"Hey, I'll…"
The Emperor stood up, red-faced.
Malcador, sensing trouble, immediately restrained him.
Lion and Russ said nothing, just sat silently watching the farce.
Truth be told, they had never seen their father like this.
Nor had they realized that this brother, in just the dozen years since his return, had already provided the Imperium with so many resources and equipment.
Compared to him, they seemed to fall far short.
"What will it take for you to resume logistical support for the Crusade?"
The Emperor finally backed down.
"Give me the Custodes conversion surgery."
"Dream on!"
"I'm telling you, forget it!"
The Emperor slammed the table and stood up again.
This ungrateful son was really pushing his luck. The Custodes were the template for the perfect human he designed for humanity's future.
If this rebel learned how to make them, who knows what madness he'd unleash.
"Then I have no money. Keep raising taxes. Even if you tax me, I have nothing to give."
"If you try to forcibly collect, I'll make sure Terra's tax ships never return. Try me."
"Do you not understand the concept of 'the bigger picture'?! What's wrong with sacrificing some resources for humanity's future? Can't you make a small sacrifice for humanity?"
"As long as you provide enough resources, I guarantee you, the future Imperium will…"
"Stop dangling carrots in front of me. Trade me the Custodes conversion surgery, or no deal."
"Let your 'First-Found' golden boy conquer those worlds for you. I see he's quite adept at using our brothers' sons as cannon fodder."
"I see no need to keep using Titans and Knights. They aren't cheap, I'm loath to spend them. Or the warships."
"I dragged most of those mining worlds back from beyond the Astronomican, one by one. If you don't care, I certainly do."
"I painstakingly built this fortune. Do you know how dark it is beyond the Astronomican? How terrifying that constant sense of disorientation is? How…"
"I'll give you the Custodes conversion surgery. Get lost tomorrow."
"Deal."
"A hundred Titan Legions and two thousand capital ships. Help yourself to the rest of the ground armor forces."
Watching the defiant son sit calmly back down, the Emperor, for some reason, instantly felt his fists harden.
"I've put up with you for a long time, you ungrateful brat!"
A corner of the Imperial Palace shattered. One black and one yellow streak flew outside, immediately drawing the attention of Ferrix and the Imperial Fists praetor, who had been on the verge of fighting.
The Custodians instinctively moved to launch Stormbirds in pursuit of the yellow streak, but the Regent stopped them again.
Everyone looked at Malcador's expressionless face and decided it was best not to provoke him.