Dammekos gently pushed open the slightly ajar door of the study. Perturabo was bent over his desk, hurriedly writing, perfecting his designs.
Perturabo didn't look up. "Father, what brings you here?"
"Don't push yourself too hard."
Dammekos walked closer, his eyes full of concern. "We don't really have to be in such a hurry."
"Father." Perturabo looked up. "Olympia must be unified. This isn't just for you."
Dammekos had the ambition to unify Olympia. No one would compete with him for it. Perturabo would eventually leave. Herakon could go to other worlds to become a Planetary Governor. If he craved honor, he could join Perturabo's Legion. If he had an enterprising spirit, he could become a Rogue Trader.
Andos was an artist; the Imperium would welcome such an outstanding artist. And his sister might one day become his steward, or the Planetary Governor of Olympia.
The Imperium's advanced technology would improve the living standards of the Olympian people. A unified Olympia would have no more strife or war. Peace would truly descend upon this land. Everyone had a bright future.
Perturabo had to unify Olympia. With Inwit's technology, it would be very simple. Unfortunately, limited by Olympia's overall technological level, Perturabo couldn't create technological products too far ahead of their time.
"I'm not trying to dissuade you. It's just that we haven't had a proper conversation in a long time."
Perturabo looked at him questioningly.
"A family gathering without any ulterior motives, not just a polite greeting at the dinner table." Dammekos tried to explain, then shook his head self-deprecatingly. "Never mind. Maybe I've just been too sentimental lately."
He looked forward to the day Olympia would be unified, but as it drew nearer, he also grew anxious and uneasy. He wasn't afraid of war, nor worried about his people.
Dammekos was a qualified tyrant, but he wasn't a paragon of benevolent rulership who loved his people like his own children.
His children were all striving for this goal. Perturabo was buried in his study every day, drawing complex and obscure designs. Herakon spent his days at the Anvil Camp, mingling with the adopted children. He had given up on pursuing the throne. He had a new dream, to become a general.
As for the tyrant himself, he was still dealing with the same political issues as always, which made him feel very lonely. He had tried his best to avoid becoming estranged from his children, but it had still happened.
Perturabo put down his pen and looked directly at Dammekos. "Father, you're being too twisted."
"I suppose I am. I'm just like you used to be."
Perturabo corrected him stubbornly. "A long time ago. I haven't been twisted for a long time."
"Caelan is indeed more skilled at parenting than I am."
"So when should we go on our outing? Or to the theater?"
Perturabo's sudden question made Dammekos instantly become enthusiastic.
"A play. A new troupe has come to Lochos. Their performances are quite famous across the twelve city-states. What do you think?"
"Father will return tomorrow. It's best to do it within three days."
Dammekos understood he meant Caelan and smiled knowingly. "How about tomorrow afternoon?"
"I don't dislike theater performances, but I still suggest you go on an outing."
"Why?" Dammekos asked, confused.
Perturabo scoded, "You don't exercise enough. Your irregular lifestyle and chronic drinking also affect your health. I still suggest you run five kilometers every morning, but you never listen."
Dammekos looked down at his potbelly and blushed, but soon shook his head helplessly with a wry smile. "Spare this old bone of mine. I'm not like you young people. Five kilometers would killed me!"
"Start with one kilometer and increase it daily."
Perturabo's voice was very calm. "I'm a Primarch. My physiology far surpasses that of mortals. Even if I spent all my time on conventional exercise every day, it wouldn't achieve the desired effect."
"This isn't an excuse, but it is indeed meaningless for me. I must spend my time on more valuable work."
"These blueprints?"
Dammekos picked up a design drawing scattered on the floor. It depicted a steel beast with a fierce silhouette, very impressive.
"Is this the weapon you've secretly had the craftsmen building? What's it called?"
Dammekos was both shocked by Perturabo's imagination and curious about how magnificent this steel behemoth was.
"A tank. An ancient design originating from ancient Terra, still in use today. Olympia might have had them, but the technology to build them was lost. Our vehicles are still in the age of steam power."
Dammekos asked, "Can it breach the walls of other city-states? You've seen Lochos's walls. The other city-states have ones just as magnificent."
"With ease."
Though alarmed, Dammekos believed Perturabo. His son never exaggerated.
Dammekos looked troubled. "Now I'm worried Lochos can even build it. This isn't Inwit."
Dammekos only had a superficial understanding of design, but he could see how complex the tank's design was. He had seen images of Inwit on Perturabo's cogitator. The ice-hives there were truly magnificent, which had once made him feel incredibly defeated. But he soon got over it, because his son was also a Primarch.
In this respect, Olympia and Inwit were equal. They both had a Primarch.
Perturabo reassured him, "The technological limitations do bother me, but building a basic model isn't difficult."
"These blueprints aren't for Olympia. They're my gift to Inwit. Inwit's factories can easily realize the design."
Dammekos felt somewhat guilty. "Sometimes I think you should have been born in a better world."
"There is no better world," Perturabo said. "There are many worlds with more advanced technology than Olympia, but only here do I have my family, my father. This is the best world."
"But it's a fact that Olympia lags behind other worlds."
"That's why I'm here. I'm here to close the gap. Otherwise, what else could I do for Olympia?"
Dammekos sighed lightly. "The war isn't your fault either. It's my decision as the tyrant. Don't worry, I won't let you bear the blame."
Perturabo shook his head, his gaze resolute. "I won't make excuses for my actions, but unification is necessary."
"When the Imperium arrives, their vast fleet can intimidate other city-states into peaceful submission. But something else might arrive before the Imperium. It has already arrived many times."
"If we remain divided, we will be defenseless. Only a unified Olympia can survive their invasion."
"I will negotiate with the other city-states, but if they insist on refusing, then war will become the only path to peace."
"I will let the flames of war sweep across Olympia, but I will also create true peace."
"War will destroy the old Olympia, and I will rebuild her with my own hands. Only then will people believe in the necessity of war!"
....
Not even the bone-chilling cold of the nightside affected Dorn.
A Primarch can calmly face the harshest environments. Even if cast adrift in the vacuum of space, they could survive on their superhuman physique alone.
That's a Primarch.
But they are still born of mortals.
For Dorn, Inwit's harshest trial was as easy as a relaxing outing. The risk of getting lost was far greater than the natural dangers of Inwit. But Dorn wouldn't get lost. Even if he spun in circles until dizzy, he could still accurately discern direction.
When he reached the ice-hive's surface entrance, the heavy alloy gate slowly opened before him.
Behind the gate, he saw several familiar figures. They had already arrived via air car through the ice caves.
Caelan asked, "Where's the blood from?"
Afraid Caelan might worry, Dorn explained very seriously, "Shortly after leaving the ice-hive, I was attacked by a beast. I killed it. This is just splattered blood. I wasn't hurt."
"Dorn, wipe your face." Sapphire handed the young man a warm towel, her voice full of concern.
"Thank you, Sister Sapphire."
Wind and frost had left a layer of ice crystals on Dorn's face, where a few streaks of dried blood stood out sharply. Though the actual damage was zero, it made him look rather battered.
Dorn wiped the blood from his face with the towel, but a few stubborn stains remained.
"Lower your head." Sapphire called softly, holding another warm towel.
Dorn silently leaned down. Sapphire stood on tiptoe and gently wiped away every stain.
"Was the journey smooth?"
He hadn't followed Dorn. Any form of interference during the trial would be considered failure. Though Caelan was confident he wouldn't be found, he trusted Dorn to face the trial alone. Secretly interfering would be a doubt and slight against the Primarch's abilities.
"Effortlessly." Dorn's voice was muffled through the towel. "Grandfather, does this mean I've passed the trial? Are there other tests?"
Old Dorn shook his head with a wry smile. "What else did you think there would be?"
Dorn said, "Too simple. I thought it would be more challenging."
Old Dorn couldn't help but laugh. "Don't ever let others hear you say that. Not everyone is like you."
Mortals undergoing the trial faced a near-death experience. That's why so few passed and why they were so revered by the various clans.
"That's why they need me."
If mortals were as powerful as him, humanity wouldn't need the Primarchs' protection. And that was the future Dorn was striving for.
The elevator descended smoothly. Old Dorn solemnly reminded him, "Passing the trial is just the beginning, child. There's still one thing you need to resolve before you can truly gain the recognition of the Dorn Clan."
"The Rahn Clan?" Dorn seemed to have anticipated what old Dorn would say.
A gratified smile appeared on old Dorn's face. "In recent years, the Rahn Clan has been attacking Dorn Clan outposts and ice-hives. In the last few months, their attacks have become more frequent. This crisis is a golden opportunity. Probus and Dean will assist you. As long as you can end the war, no one will oppose you anymore."
Although old Dorn was the leader of the Dorn Clan, he couldn't speak for the entire clan. For all the Dorn Clan members to accept Dorn, he had to achieve outstanding merits. Whether Dorn persuaded the Rahn Clan to accept peace or led the Dorn Clan to defeat them, either would achieve the goal.
Probus and Dean were old Dorn's sons. They were excellent warriors but lacked the talent for leadership. Old Dorn had once tried to groom them as successors, but now he had a better choice.
...
Deep beneath Inwit's surface lay a vast underground river.
It ran for thousands of kilometers along the terminator line between day and night, a kilometer under the ice field. This underground river nurtured thousands of tributaries. Many tribes migrated along the river from one ice-hive to another. The Rahn Clan lived at the river's most downstream point, controlling the largest tributary.
They also had an ice-hive, but it was too small. They couldn't reach the surface and didn't have a seat on the Inwit Imperial Council. The vast empire beyond Inwit had nothing to do with them. Their world was confined to this small underground space.
"The Chosen One!"
People called him that.
In an ancient prophecy passed down through generations of the Rahn Clan, a Chosen One would one day come downstream, leading the clan in a glorious holy war against their ancient enemy!
Nineteen years ago, a Dorn Clan patrol found an abandoned infant on the riverbank.
Nearby lay a woman's corpse, emaciated, covered in wounds, yet still in a fighting stance. Beside her lay two male corpses wearing Dorn Clan armor.
This dying mother had, in her final moments, killed two fully armed warriors to protect her child. But if left unattended, her child would soon die. However, fate gave him a second chance. His adoptive mother took him in.
She was an imposing woman. She used a knife to persuade those who advocated returning him to the Dorn Clan to quell the dispute, making the Rahn Clan believe that the Dorn Clan wanted him dead precisely because they recognized him as the Chosen One.
He was destined to lead the Rahn Clan against the Dorn Clan!
Thus, he was given a name, Fafnir Rahn.
People hoped he would lead the Rahn Clan, that the Rahn people would gain a place in the wider world.
He learned from his mother, day after day.
Until he came of age at sixteen.
He didn't disappoint the Rahn Clan's expectations. At sixteen, he defeated the clan's strongest warrior.
The Rahn Clan firmly believed he was the Chosen One. They willingly followed his leadership.
At sixteen, he became chieftain.
Many clans, hearing his legend, came to join him. Powerful Ice Caste clans also began actively contacting him, secretly supplying weapons.
Thus, three years ago, he launched a war against the Dorn Clan.
But he still had reservations at the time.
The Dorn Clan was renowned, and he carried the Rahn Clan's future on his shoulders. Starting a war rashly might destroy the entire clan.
At first, they only dared to attack Dorn Clan outposts, ambushing them repeatedly in the ice caves and underground rivers, exhausting the Dorn Clan. Other clans continued to ship weapons to the Rahn Clan.
They were biding their time, waiting for the day they could truly start the war. Their attacks grew more frequent. They wanted to lure the Dorn Clan into attacking first, or to force them to the negotiating table.
He didn't need to lead the Rahn Clan to a complete victory over the Dorn Clan. They only needed to seize one ice-hive, giving the Rahn Clan a real foothold. This wouldn't require becoming mortal enemies with the Dorn Clan. The multiple ice-hives controlled by the Dorn Clan were meant to be opportunities for weaker clans. This was the rule on Inwit.
The Dorn Clan were merely caretakers of those ice-hives. They only had the right to rule one of them. Even if they seized an ice-hive, they would still hold the moral high ground. Once they gained a seat on the Council, the Dorn Clan would also recognize their status. If the Dorn Clan was willing to negotiate and cede an ice-hive to the Rahn Clan, giving them a place in the empire, it would be the best outcome, victory without bloodshed.
However, successive victories went to the heads of his people. Especially those who had the most contact with other Ice Caste clans. They became very belligerent, even repeatedly volunteering for battle.
Fafnir Rahn had rejected their foolish proposals more than once. The Rahn Clan's overall strength was far inferior to the Dorn Clan's. If they started an all-out war, the Rahn Clan might gain local advantages with surprise tactics in the early stages, but as time went on, they would surely lose.
The Rahn Clan only had one chance. Until that moment arrived, they had to remain patient. The attacks on Dorn Clan outposts were just to keep other Ice Caste clans supporting them. But this also bred considerable discontent within the clan. They thought him too cowardly, unworthy of leading the Rahn Clan.
But he was the Chosen One. His adoptive mother and many others supported him. He was the chieftain. He had to consider not only victory but also the survival of the Rahn Clan.
If the Dorn Clan became truly enraged, what could they use to withstand their fury?
Fafnir Rahn's birth mother had died at the hands of the Dorn Clan, but he didn't even know her name or why she was hunted. He was Rahn now. The clan's interests were above all else.
His second-in-command suddenly pushed open the door. "My Lord, emissaries from the Dorn Clan have arrived!"
Rahn asked, "How many?"
"Only two. They came on an air car, along a tributary of the underground river."
The Dorn Clan's power was their backing. That's why they dared send only two warriors to negotiate.
When Rahn, with his fully armed clansmen, reached the riverbank, his gaze was immediately seized by a figure as towering as a mountain.
That giant stood beside the air car, half a body taller than the tallest warrior of the Rahn Clan. Even from dozens of meters away, Rahn could feel the suffocating pressure!
....
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