Chapter 920 - 919: If Lord Nareth Were Here, He Could Surely Dissuade Our Father

Segmentum Ultima.

The 125th Expedition Fleet burst from the Warp, entering the Olympia system's edge.

On the bridge of the Iron Blood, the Warsmiths and company captains gathered around the hololithic strategic table.

The hologram showed Olympia and its satellite. The planet's surface was covered in terraced mountains, twisted into broken lines by tectonic activity.

Thousands of lakes, like blue-green patches, dotted the valleys.

Perturabo stared intently at the data tags on the planet. He focused on the pre-action markers, almost obsessively, but he noticed his Trident's approach from behind.

"Forrix, what's the progress of the inspection?"

"Following your orders, seven Grand Companies have assembled on the flight decks of the Iron Blood, the Great Megara, the Perturabo's Revenge, and the Iron Tyrant."

"The latest information I have is that Governor Dammekos died three months ago. In the weeks that followed, disputes broke out over the succession."

"Minor wars erupted among four cities. When Tesug's fleet was ordered to recruit new soldiers, they discovered that the homeworld no longer had a central authority capable of negotiating with us. Our requests for supplies were refused."

Forrix restrained himself from directly questioning his father's plan. Any dissent against the Lord of Iron was severely punished.

Especially now, after over a century of unrelenting war against xenos in the galactic western frontier, without any glory of conquest, had worn away his father's patience.

He was already seething, desperate to release the pent-up frustration of being forced away from the main theater of war, accumulating no honor.

Forrix had maintained his position in the Trident only by always following orders. To caution his father through a statement of facts was the limit of his ability.

"The separatists are numerous, but their opposition is not unified. Only some seek secession, but all demand change. If we support one faction, we could push them into all-out civil war."

"If you are saying that, Forrix, then it means you disagree with Father's judgment." Harkor, another member of the Trident, challenged him. He had risen from a lower rank and always remembered Forrix's former arrogance.

His current weakness and doubt were an opportunity to strike him down.

"Don't make assumptions," Forrix warned.

"What is your plan?"

Perturabo's ice-blue eyes stared at his homeworld for a long time. "Send word to our homeworld. We will negotiate with them beneath the banner of the Eirene."

Forrix breathed a quiet sigh of relief. His gamble had worked, for now.

Olympia was his homeworld, the birthplace of the Iron Warriors, and should not be destroyed by his father's wrath.

The Iron Warriors descended at dawn, landing on the slopes of the mighty Mount Adaric. The Warsmiths felled vast swathes of forest, using rock-saws and melta-cutters to level the ground to a perfect flatness, within a millimeter's tolerance.

Perturabo ordered stairs carved into the mountainside, leading down to the Pelekontean Way, two kilometers below.

Years ago, he had marched down that same way to conquer Cardis, beginning his unification of the world.

Before sunset, the Warsmiths had already completed the Primarch's task.

The nobles of the Olympian city-states had also arrived, waiting at the top of the stairs for an audience with Perturabo.

The Iron Giant appeared at sunset. He looked down at the mortals below.

Perturabo recognized familiar names from the nobles' heraldry: Dammekos, Falk, Arestean, Ptolemid, Krastoph, their ancestors' armies had all once been defeated by him.

Yet the nobles standing before him still radiated undisguised arrogance and superiority.

They looked around the sandy ground of the tent for seats, finding none, and complained angrily to the Iron Warriors around them.

The only seat belonged to Perturabo. He walked to the massive throne brought from the Iron Blood.

He had decided that this was the last time he would sit in it.

He no longer favored Olympian style. He had little love for art these days.

He looked at the assembled nobles. About half wore red ribbons on their right arms; a few wore blue.

Factions.

His superhuman mind, cross-referencing the heraldry, assigned them to the ancient Pentuik League and the Achaian Hexapolis.

A century and a half ago, these two groups had been the federations that had fiercely resisted him.

He saw it as a harbinger of division.

He looked at the two factions. "Choose a representative to speak."

A woman stepped forward. Her herald announced loudly: "Demetria of Akos."

"Primarch Perturabo!" Demetria spoke directly. "We, the Achaian Hexapolis, ask you to join us. Kill the Pentuik dogs, and we will have peace again."

"Blue ribbon. You look just like your great-great-grandmother." Perturabo's voice was cold.

"You are not as wise as she was. When I came to Akos's gates with Lox's soldiers and the Iron Band, she opened the gates to welcome me."

"Her wisdom is why your city still stands. But I see no such wisdom in you."

He ignored the confused, terrified woman, looking to the other side.

"Red ribbon. You've resurrected that pathetic organization, the Pentuik League?"

"What do you want?"

"We only seek to be left alone. The Imperium has bled us dry." Didymus Diogoras said.

"We, the Pentuik League, demand our world back. Before the Imperium came, only a few dozen were recruited each century. Now, thousands are taken every year."

The man behind him, seeing Perturabo's calm expression, added, "We are proud of our independence."

"Traitors." Demetria seized the opportunity to condemn them.

"The Achaian Hexapolis wishes to restore proper authority as soon as possible, if only we could discuss the heavy burden of conscription."

Fire seemed to ignite within Perturabo's eyes. "This is not a negotiation!"

"You are not petitioning me. You are instructing me!"

"You have always used me, always told me what I should do, right up until my true father arrived."

"And now you have forgotten the order I established."

"After Dammekos died, you should have respected the succession."

"New order?" Didymus scoffed.

"We will no longer submit to a planetary hereditary dictatorship, allowing the Imperium to enslave our spirits."

"Your Imperium has done nothing for Olympia."

"Nothing?" Perturabo suppressed his anger.

"Unity. Peace. Advanced technology. A life free from war and external threats."

"Without me, every mother on Olympia would still be praying that the Black Judges would not come in her child's lifetime."

"What have you lost?"

"You freed us from one fear, only to replace it with a greater one!" Didymus protested.

"You have taken our children." Demetria also said. On this, the Achaian Hexapolis and the Pentuik League were united.

"You take them, and you send them to die."

"You and your Emperor are no better than the Black Judges. You take far more than the ancient lords of the Meretara Cluster ever stole."

Perturabo responded calmly: "Your sons are heroes."

Demetria gave a bitter laugh. "Then tell me what your Emperor says. Tell me He values the sacrifices of our people."

"Do not use my father against me!" Perturabo roared.

The nobles all trembled. Didymus's face went pale.

"For us to reconsider remaining in the Imperium, our situation must change!"

"Do you truly believe Olympia is special simply because Father found me here?" Perturabo's face was like ice.

"You have not seen the worlds I have burned. The xenos races I have exterminated."

"If you had witnessed the terrors of the void, you would give your children without complaint. All that blood, for one purpose: to protect humanity."

"Those who do not submit to the Emperor's rule will suffer the wrath of my Legion, like any other world that defies Him."

Perturabo's threat made Didymus stammer.

"This is a negotiation!"

Realizing he had shown fear, he tried to control himself.

"We came to arbitrate under the ancient Eirene decree, and you threaten us with violence?"

"Negotiation?" Perturabo sneered.

"There is no negotiation with traitors. I made my judgment the moment I heard of your rebellion."

"I sentence you all to death!"

Forrix opened his mouth, but said nothing.

'Father had already decided. He had planned its destruction, and I tried to change his mind.'

Forrix thought, bitterly.

A figure flashed through his mind.

'If Lord Nareth were here, he could surely dissuade our father.'

'No... Father would not... dar-'

Forrix didn't want to use the word dare to describe his father. The Lord of Iron feared nothing. But after Nikaea, his father had changed. He no longer mentioned Lord Nareth.

He had even demoted Atrax, the Master of the Watch, to an ordinary Iron Warrior for merely mentioning Lord Nareth's name.

He grew more silent, no longer going to his private quarters.

Perturabo rose from his throne, raising his arm, pointing at Cardis.

"Look!"

Whoosh!

A storm of wind.

A firestorm rose over Cardis in a mushroom cloud of nuclear fire, a plume of black smoke.

"Olympia's fate will be destruction!"

"Those who submit will receive my mercy. Those who do not will be destroyed or enslaved."

"If you will not serve the Emperor as free men, then serve me in chains."

Didymus cried out, "Eirene! We came under the banner of Eirene!"

Perturabo raised his arm, the wind snapping the banner in two.

"Your customs mean nothing to me."

"Loyalty is the only virtue I value. If you have no loyalty, this world is worthless."

He gave the order to the Iron Warriors. "Kill them."

"But do not damage their heads. Send them back to their cities."

Forrix watched the Iron Warriors' cold forms. He knew everything had changed.

His father, though stern, had not been cold in the past.

He had even smiled during a performance at Vostroya's Grand Theater.

When had it started?

A century ago.

The Emperor had sent them to the galactic western marches, to wage unrelenting war against countless xenos races across countless systems.

The Iron Warriors were used only as a battering ram. No one could see what they had sacrificed for the Imperium.

Each brutal war against the xenos in the marches had cost his father a drop of blood.

He grew more silent. The only time he relaxed was when he was forging the armor for Lord Nareth.

But he was never satisfied, and never sent the gift.

Until Nikaea. His father had seen Lord Nareth and Lord Magnus while the Emperor ordered him to remain a silent observer.

He returned to the western frontier in haste, as though he had suffered a crushing defeat.

He tried to lose himself in pursuit of the magnificent construct he had learned about from the xenos.

He wanted to study it to forget everything and then came the news.

His homeworld had rebelled.

....

If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.

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