Chapter 318: The Fury of the Iron Lord
Ten thousand years ago, when Perturabo and his Iron Warriors were still wallowing in the mud of thankless sieges, he never imagined a day like this would come.
He had improved. There was no doubt about that.
He was certain that even his past self, backed by the full resources of the Great Crusade-era Imperium, would struggle to gain an advantage in this current war. Because the Perturabo of now had long surpassed the Perturabo of then.
However—
As the intelligence reports Forrix brought back from the Imperial rear scrolled across his retina, the Lord of Iron fell into a rare silence.
Religiously, the Dawnbreakers were squeezing out the traditional Ecclesiarchy and the Machine Cult, using the doctrines of the Blood Angels and the new Omnissiah faith. They controlled the population under the Ecclesiarchy on one hand, and the production capacity of the Mechanicum on the other.
Politically, they were using an efficient civil service system built around Astartes to intervene in planetary affairs, air-dropping 'political commissar' groups to take military control of various Imperial command centers.
Regarding the Throneworld, the Dawnbreakers didn't hesitate to withhold the Imperial Tithe and seize ownership of depot systems, pouring every resource into the war against the Iron Warriors' invasion.
This war was vastly different from what Perturabo had initially envisioned. He hadn't expected to be fighting a monster with absolutely no scruples.
So this is how the Imperium plays now?
Do they really have this kind of status?
Is there really a Primarch who can hold both political and religious power, withhold taxes from Terra, let Astartes interfere in administration, and build a state within a state without inviting the Emperor's wrath?
Playing with religion, Astartes meddling in politics, warlordism—which one of these wasn't dancing on the Emperor's nerve endings?
Perturabo couldn't help but recall the past.
As a Primarch who had maxed out his talent for reading the room (even if he chose to ignore it), he could feel the Emperor's obsession.
The Emperor wanted to create an ideal world for mortals, the weak, and the oppressed. He intended to hand the Imperium completely over to mortals after clearing all obstacles and threats in the galaxy.
So, from the very beginning, He had never considered the future of the Astartes.
Of course, Astartes had limited lifespans. As long as production stopped, their numbers would naturally dwindle over time. Perturabo had been relatively optimistic about how the Emperor would deal with them.
But that didn't stop it from being galling.
The Astartes conquered the galaxy, but when it came to ruling it, they were expected to retire gracefully, without even a seat on the Council of Terra.
Why did the Primarchs care so much about the title of Warmaster? Wasn't it because the Astartes had nothing else but that honorary title?
Back then, even Horus didn't dare raise this issue with the Emperor. He only dared to carefully lick the candy the Emperor handed him, afraid to reach out for more.
Everyone was wary of them, the Imperium's most powerful armed force.
The Custodes looked down on them from the start. Having experienced the Unification Wars, they never trusted these biological weapons. Malcador, that cunning old man, even created the Officio Assassinorum just to eliminate the threat of rogue Primarchs.
And now?
Perturabo's gaze swept over the Dawnbreaker emblems on the desk, the various propaganda doctrines, the statues and vid-logs of the four brothers, and finally rested on the corpse of a Primaris Space Marine in a stasis pod.
These new Space Marines were stronger, more intelligent, and had greater resistance to the warp than the old Firstborn.
And, most importantly—
Primaris Space Marines were functionally immortal.
This meant that as an extension of the Primarch's authority, Astartes rule would become eternal.
Perturabo's expression twisted as if he'd just smelled Mortarion.
And there was the Emperor's gaze, constantly hovering around them. From the perspective of the warp, it was practically gilding the four of them in gold light. Even Horus had never experienced this level of attention.
The more he thought about it, the more bitter Perturabo became.
Why didn't the Emperor give the Iron Warriors this much support back when he led them? If he had this much support, would he have turned those grinding wars into internal friction? Would he have needed to rebel?
Looser agreements, more care, stronger sons, and an Imperium that obeyed them.
The Emperor could have given it to him, but He didn't.
The Emperor was biased towards these brothers.
"How is the communication with the Chaos warbands? How many are still under our control?" Perturabo took a deep breath and asked.
He knew clearly that this couldn't go on. Either retreat, or concentrate his remaining intact forces to strike at the enemy's command center before they grew even stronger.
"Apart from the 'Oath-Broken' warband built around Khârn, other Chaos warbands have shown significant fragmentation and independent action," said Barban Falk. Due to his deep connection with the warp and his popularity as a warband leader over the past ten millennia, Perturabo had assigned him to handle Iron Warriors diplomacy.
Though Falk found it shameful, he knew this was the nature of Chaos.
They were warband leaders; they couldn't command shit when it came to other Chaos warbands.
Perturabo's decimation, often criticized in the past, held zero deterrence for the forces of Chaos now. For these Chaos Astartes, not gathering enough sacrifices to please the gods before dying was the real end.
So they would rather find a planet to party on before they died than listen to Perturabo's orders.
"Hmph."
Perturabo nodded, then looked at Forrix, who had been operating on the front lines and behind enemy lines.
"In the northern Scarus Sector, our offensive has been severely hindered. The Scarus Sector Fleet has chosen not to split its forces and is now locked in a prolonged struggle and stalemate in the ground wars of the invasion zone."
"The Astartes mobile fleets led by the Space Wolves and Black Templars have been patrolling around the Eye of Terror, constantly striking and suppressing scattered Chaos warbands."
"In the southern Cadian Gate, the Dawnbreaker main fleet has successively completed the clearing and expulsion of the roaming Dark Mechanicum fleets and has begun to gather at the fortress world of Cadia."
Forrix reported methodically.
Although they wanted to engage in another siege-and-defense duel with the sons of Dorn, in this war, the Black Templars did not entangle themselves with the Iron Warriors. Instead, they relied on their massive numbers and the equally large Space Wolves to concentrate their strikes on weaker warbands and the few productive planets within the Eye of Terror.
Both the Space Wolves and Black Templars were highly aggressive Chapters. Against opponents weaker than them, they were a wrecking ball.
At the same time, for certain reasons, these two Chapters had extremely high resistance to the warp, allowing them to enter the Eye of Terror to strike at Chaos's few industrial worlds.
"If Fulgrim could launch an attack..." Perturabo frowned, staring at the galaxy map and making a gesture.
He hadn't wanted to deal with his brothers initially, but now he had to rely on that part of his strength.
"My lord."
Falk's Adam's apple bobbed behind his gorget, struggling to squeeze out the report.
"According to the latest report from Lord Commander Eidolon... Eidolon's scout squad sent back news... After Lord Fulgrim captured Planet X-2179, he and the Emperor's Children discovered an ancient relic. They found it could create completely realistic illusions in realspace, and thus began to reenact the Unification Wars of Terra."
"The Unification Wars?"
"Yes."
Falk replied, his tone tinged with disbelief.
"Fulgrim himself plays the Emperor, the local populace plays the masses he liberated, and various warbands play the techno-barbarian warlords of Terra."
"They injected six hundred million tons of chemical agents into the planet's atmosphere. The entire planet is currently in a state of... revelry."
"Any attempt to contact them has failed. Troops landing on the surface have, without exception, succumbed to hallucinations and joined the carnival."
The holographic projection suddenly switched to reconnaissance footage. The planet's atmosphere was dyed in neon toxic mists.
On the surface, mortals in ragged costumes were breathing air laced with stimulants, weeping tears of joy as they sang praises of liberation, chasing golden figures even if it meant crying their bodies dry. Meanwhile, gold-painted Emperor's Children were slaughtering each other, draping the skin or sinew of corpses over their bodies, standing atop piles of dead to enjoy the cheers of victory, bathing in the glory paved for them by mortals.
When it came to having fun, no one beat the worshipers of Slaanesh.
Suddenly, the candle flames flickered. Several candles went out, rising wisps of blue smoke. The outer door opened and closed without the Warsmiths reacting at all.
They realized it now, but it was a bit late.
A strange, calm pressure filled the room.
Forrix realized something, feeling the presences beside him dwindling, and lowered his head.
"Forrix, Falk, Khârn stay."
After a long time, Perturabo gave his order, his pale face cold and indifferent.
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