"You are Rogal Dorn."
"I am Rogal Dorn."
"I am Perturabo."
"You are Perturabo."
Perturabo's back was ramrod straight, his jaw tight. Little Dorn sat on the table, imitating him by puffing out his round cheeks, gnawing on his chubby little hand and babbling.
Perturabo's ice-blue eyes gazed at Dorn. In that instant, a storm of complex emotions churned within him.
He had always longed to reunite with his brothers. He wanted to see the gap between himself and them, exactly how big it was, and where the difference lay.
He wouldn't arrogantly believe he was better than his brothers. They had grown up earlier than him, were luckier to have Caelan's company. While he was still wasting time, they were already campaigning among the stars, earning great military honors, returning triumphant from every war.
But Perturabo also firmly believed that the gap between him and his other brothers was temporary.
The only difference between them was time. Given the same amount of time, he would surely catch up, even surpass them!
Now, Perturabo had finally met his brother.
Yet the infant before him, sucking his finger and babbling, was far from the image of a brother he had imagined.
The competitive feelings in Perturabo's heart had long since vanished into thin air.
Comparing with a child, even winning wouldn't be honorable, and losing would be even more embarrassing.
Interacting with Dorn also left Perturabo at a loss. He had no experience caring for a child. It was undoubtedly a torment.
Even if Dorn only looked young, his brother possessed wisdom equal to his own. But he was still a child. His ignorance still left Perturabo bewildered.
Caelan had left Rogal Dorn with him, using the excuse of urgent business before hurrying off.
But Perturabo believed Caelan was eavesdropping outside the door.
Perturabo didn't call him out. Caelan occasionally showed this mischievous side, and Perturabo didn't mind it.
It was actually a buffer for their close relationship.
But what about Dorn?
What was he supposed to do with his brother?
Dorn suddenly reached out his short little hand, clumsily tugging at Perturabo's sleeve, and looked up with his small face. "Brother."
Perturabo gazed at the boy's delicate, porcelain-like face. His heart melted. The complex emotions churning within him all vanished.
Perturabo leaned down and reached his arms out to Dorn.
Dorn blinked his clear eyes and also opened his chubby little hands in response.
Perturabo carefully adjusted his hold, letting Dorn lean comfortably against him, murmuring to himself, "Yes, I am your brother. I will protect you, teach you. Make you into someone better... as good as me!"
Dorn seemed to understand. He reached out his small hand, curiously touching Perturabo's cheek, and gave it a gentle pinch.
"Smile... smile, brother."
The serious expression Perturabo had painstakingly maintained shattered completely in that moment. An involuntary smile spread across his face.
He had a brother. His brother was still a child. The burden on his shoulders had grown heavier.
How the other brothers ranked themselves had nothing to do with him. But Dorn called him brother, so he was the older brother!
He had to set a good example, show his little brother what a qualified primarch looked like!
Bang!
The study door was suddenly pushed open. The Tyrant's olive laurel crown slipped precariously. He staggered, grabbing the doorframe to steady himself.
As he looked up, his eyes met Perturabo's.
The Tyrant guiltily averted his gaze. "I really was just passing by this time..."
Perturabo called out, "Mentor."
Caelan raised four fingers, his expression serious.
"I swear I wasn't peeking."
'This was pure sophistry. How could I peek without the door open?'
'My crime all along had been eavesdropping!'
Perturabo knew this perfectly well, but deliberately put on a stern face, "If you don't peek when my brother and I reunite, it means you don't care about us!"
Caelan was silent for a long time before squeezing out a single word, "Six."
A flicker of sly triumph showed in Perturabo's eyes. But the Dorn in his arms suddenly squirmed, reaching his hands out towards Caelan, calling out in a babyish voice, "Dada."
Perturabo's smile instantly froze. He watched expressionlessly as Caelan took Dorn from his arms, then suddenly snatched him back.
Caelan looked at him questioningly.
Perturabo said, "I need to spend more time with Dorn."
While Dorn was still young, he needed to properly educate him. Otherwise, once Dorn grew up, he'd lose the chance!
No wonder Calliphone always called him 'stinky brother.' Perturabo now felt Dorn was also a stinky brother!
"Perturabo, are you going to the Anvil Camp this afternoon?"
Herakon burst into the study excitedly, but his steps froze in the doorway before he could finish.
Because as soon as he entered, he saw the room was full of people.
'This was a study, not a council chamber. Why were you all crammed in here?'
'Caelan was the mentor, Calliphone was a student. It was normal for them to be here.'
'But Father, why were you here? You didn't belong here at all!'
'Dammekos, a dignified Tyrant, skipping work to watch a show, was simply scandalous!'
'And who was the baby in Perturabo's arms? Had Father secretly fathered a fourth child?'
"Let's go!" Perturabo replied briefly, subtly saving Herakon from his awkwardness.
Caelan understood. "A day off today. Go now!"
Even if he stayed in the palace, Perturabo probably wouldn't be able to focus on lessons.
The lessons for Perturabo weren't meant for Dorn's ears anyway. Dorn was too young; this education was too advanced for him.
Education for Dorn would follow the model used on Baal. A primarch's education had to start from infancy!
...
"Zoris, Zoris, are you listening?"
Zoris gazed at the golden spires of the palace. His companion had to call out many times before he finally turned away.
"I'm here, Hakor."
Hakor and the other companions always looked at him with envy because he had been brought to the Anvil Camp personally by Lord Perturabo.
Even more enviable was that before coming to the Anvil Camp, he had even been fortunate enough to stay overnight in the palace.
The luxury of that room still felt dreamlike to Zoris. His limited vocabulary couldn't begin to describe its splendor.
He later learned that it was Perturabo's room.
And his master, without any disgust for his filth, had given him, a slave, that soft, luxurious bed.
Zoris remembered it vividly.
From that moment, Zoris had sworn to offer his loyalty to his master, unto death.
Zoris's gaze fell on his companion. Hakor was a commoner's son who had joined the Anvil Camp to save his family a loaf of bread.
His parents had tearfully begged him to come home, but Hakor had eventually convinced them.
Hakor's parents loved him, but they were too poor.
If he went back, he would go hungry. At the Anvil Camp, he had plenty to eat and wear.
More importantly, Hakor saw a chance to change his destiny here!
Hakor nodded towards Miltiades. "The instructor wants us to assemble. Let's get back in line."
Zoris nodded and followed Hakor back into the formation.
"Will the Lord come today?" Zoris heard a low voice beside him ask.
Zoris didn't turn his head. "Barabas, why ask me?"
"Because you're the closest to the Lord."
"But I'm no different from you. Since joining the Anvil Camp, I've never had the honor of a private audience with the Lord."
Miltiades's gaze slowly swept over the crowd. They immediately straightened their backs and stopped whispering.
Because many of the children were very young, and many were illiterate.
Over the past year, they had only received the most basic physical training and literacy education. Generally, physical training in the morning, literacy in the afternoon, with occasional evening sessions.
Miltiades barked, "Zoris, Dantiok, step forward!"
Zoris and Barabas stepped forward.
"Three-kilometer warm-up run, two thousand four hundred meters for the girls. You two lead the runs!"
To be fair, Miltiades was not a good teacher.
When setting the physical training standards, Perturabo knew that if the standards were too harsh, many wouldn't be able to handle it.
So Perturabo had personally established standards. Miltiades only needed to strictly enforce them. In that regard, he was blameless.
But when it came to teaching, Miltiades was completely out of his depth.
Though he was literate, his teaching ability was disastrous. In the first few weeks, Caelan often had to come and help.
Later, Caelan developed teaching materials. Miltiades could just read from them during class, and the situation improved.
But his teaching skills were barely passable. He was only adept at training them.
Miltiades was also a noble's son. But as not the eldest, he had no right to inherit the family estate. He had to find another path.
Miltiades chose to join the military and, through his own ability, became a optio.
But this wasn't entirely unrelated to his bloodline. If Miltiades weren't a noble's son, no matter how capable, he wouldn't have qualified to become an officer.
But at the Anvil Camp, everyone was treated equally.
No matter whose son they were, they all received the same training.
Zoris was a slave, Hakor was a commoner's son, Barabas's father was a noble.
Their friendship was a miracle, something that could never have happened anywhere else.
Their classes were completely different. Without the Anvil Camp, their paths might never have crossed.
"Huff, huff!"
Zoris breathed heavily.
A year ago, he had been a scrawny boy, exhausted by even three hundred meters.
But after a year of hard training, Zoris had been transformed.
Though a three-kilometer run still left him panting and drenched in sweat, at least he could now finish the distance.
Barabas handed him a cup of water. Zoris drank it in one gulp. "Thanks."
Barabas said, "Zoris, your fitness still needs improvement."
Zoris wiped the sweat from his forehead, his tone a bit helpless, "Not everyone is as gifted as you."
Dantiok's father was a minor noble, and he was the eldest son. But his mother had been a maid.
For nobles, drunken indiscretions were commonplace.
But a maid bearing a child was still a scandal. Barabas surviving at all was thanks to his father's conscience, but he had no right to inherit the title.
Similar situations were common at the Anvil Camp.
Whether orphans, commoners, or nobles' sons, they had all come here with hope.
A year ago, there were only one hundred and seventy-four. Now there were over a thousand. The pressure on the kitchen had multiplied.
Some children were assigned to the logistics group, at a rate of one in ten.
Their physical training was substandard, so they no longer needed daily physical training, instead spending more time and energy learning logistical support. But no one envied them, because everyone understood the cost.
Zoris was different from the others. Perturabo had ordered him to train here, so he came.
Beyond loyalty, he had nothing to offer.
"Beeeep!"
After a brief rest, Miltiades blew his whistle.
The children quickly adjusted their ranks, their movements heartbreakingly practiced.
"Attention! Maintain posture for half an hour!"
After the warm-up came monotonous drill training, day after day.
They were still too young. Perturabo didn't demand much of them.
No tactical drills or weapons handling, just boring standing, turning, marching.
This was also training. They had to learn to endure boredom.
Suddenly, a strange silence fell over the entire training ground.
A subtle stir ran through the ranks. No one spoke, but their eyes were drawn like magnets to the training ground entrance.
Perturabo stood there, watching them.
Zoris unconsciously straightened his back. Every child strained to puff out their chests, trying to make their stance look more upright.
Perturabo held Dorn in one arm. With his other hand, he pointed to the neatly formed ranks on the training ground. "They are my warriors."
"They are still unrefined crude steel, needing the test of tempering."
"I am the hammer that forges them. Through countless blows, I will shape them into the sharpest swords!"
Every word from Perturabo rang with force. A hint of pride and showing-off flickered in his eyes.
Little Dorn blinked, half-understanding. "Brother is amazing!"
Dorn's praise came too suddenly and too sincerely.
Even though he was just a child, it still almost made Perturabo lose his deliberately serious expression.
Perturabo coughed lightly, his fist to his lips, hiding the smile he could barely suppress more than a bolter.
But his eyes still betrayed him, brimming with irrepressible joy.
His little brother had praised him!
Reason told him his brother was just a child. A child's praise didn't count!
But Perturabo didn't care. Praise was praise. The recognition of a brother ranked second in Perturabo's heart!
So what if he was a child? He could get praise from him now.
When he grew up, he would still get praise from him!
Calliphone murmured, "A-Bo is becoming so easy to read!"
A gratified smile appeared on Caelan's face. "Isn't that heartening?"
Though Perturabo still tended to be twisted about small things, his frankness was terrifying.
This frankness could counteract any twistedness. As long as he spoke his twisted thoughts aloud, everything else would work out.
The worst was bottling everything up inside. That would eventually destroy a person.
Perturabo showing off to Dorn was only natural. Who could resist showing off?
Returning home wealthy is like walking at night in fine clothes.
Even Caelan couldn't resist showing off to Neoth: Look, I taught your son so well!
Showing off without being pretentious, competing without belittling, confident without arrogance.
Even Neoth would have to praise Perturabo as a good child!
...
"Corax, let's merge!"
Konrad, chewing on a piece of barley bread, suddenly spoke.
Corax didn't look up. "Having another episode?"
"I'm not sick. I'm perfectly clear-headed."
"Who would believe that?"
Corax retorted, but in his heart, he was uncertain.
Konrad wasn't sick. He was just too clear-headed.
Being half a step ahead is a genius. Being a full step ahead is a madman.
Both the Emperor and Konrad were too clear-headed, too far ahead of their time. They saw too many tragic futures.
When a field of flowers blooms in splendor, people see its beauty and vitality.
What Konrad saw was the flowers being trampled mercilessly, ground into mud.
Petals wither, stems break, fragrance fades, leaving only a scene of ruin.
They bloom. They wail.
They are so beautiful, yet so desolate.
They cry out to him, begging him to do something.
Every day.
Konrad said, "Father wants us to get along."
Corax didn't agree or disagree. He looked up slightly. "Tell me more."
"Mortarion and Jaghatai Khan, Fulgrim and Sanguinius, Vulkan and Ferrus, and now Dorn and Perturabo. Father is finding counterpart brothers for us. He wants us to be close. That is his expectation."
Konrad placed his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly. "Brother, it's time to set aside our mutual prejudices. We should let bygones be bygones!"
Corax sneered. "Let me beat you up again first, and then I'll let bygones be bygones."
He owed Konrad nothing. It was Konrad who owed him!
Konrad answered without hesitation, "It's a deal!"
Corax narrowed his eyes. "In the presence of our sons."
"Let's make it a tradition then. But I won't go easy on you."
Corax didn't want Konrad to go easy on him either. That wouldn't be Konrad's shame; it would be an insult to him.
Winning or losing didn't matter. As long as he could beat Konrad up in the duel.
Corax frowned. "You'd go this far?"
"You know why."
"To please Father, would you pluck the sun from the sky for him?"
Konrad thought seriously. "Which one?"
Corax smiled, a sense of relief in his eyes.
Konrad was still Konrad. Dorothy, worried about Konrad's mental state, had tearfully begged him to look after her deranged brother.
Corax had agreed. He couldn't bear to refuse, and he also wanted to see what his brother was really up to.
"Sister Evreninya."
"Sevatar."
The two Primarchs spoke in unison.
"Assemble the Legion. Prepare the duel venue. Have the Apothecaries on standby."
Regardless of who won or lost, someone would end up on the ground.
The Astartes and the young woman left. Konrad suddenly spoke again, "Corax, what do you think I should do to get Father to give me an Evo Truster?"
Corax's brow furrowed. 'What was is he up to now?'
'And what is an Evo Truster?'
....
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