Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 454: Order of Nikea

"Why do you say that, Dantioch?" Perturabo stood in front of the crystal wall and turned his head. The circular prisms that opened like the ribs of a sea fish stretched the passage behind him, all the way to a parallel line vanishing point hundreds of meters away. "Why do you guide my actions, my warsmith?"

Not long ago, Perturabo secretly returned to the Iron Wing and completed the handover with his other body. He brought back only a crystal box, which was directly sealed in his own workshop, and no one was allowed to explore it.

Judging from his serious expression, he did not achieve satisfactory results - to be more precise, after Nikea, the Lord of Iron has decided to go to that unknown planet again.

Dantioch clenched his fingers nervously inside his armor.

He bowed his head to the Iron Lord. "This goes against everything you have taught me, father. If you take over all of Colchis' power and turn it over to the Iron Warriors, using immigrants from the Olympian Cluster to fill the gaps left by the ashes of Colchis, how will the world view us, father? This is your first major decision as Warmaster."

"Isn't this the result of Lorgar Aurelion's decision?" Perturabo replied expressionlessly. "When he burned Colchis, he lost all control of the planet. The Emperor gave Colchis to me, and I am fulfilling my duty, Dantioch. I am rebuilding Colchis."

"But this is not the region bordering the Olympian Cluster, Father. Colchis and Olympia are on opposite sides of the Milky Way."

"Do you expect me to stand aside and watch, Dantioch?"

Dantioch took a deep breath. "Your accusations hurt me, father."

Perturabo was silent for a moment. "Please speak your mind, Warsmith. It is your right, and I will listen."

"No offense, father, but I just want to tell you that we can allow people from the planets around Colchis to migrate nearby. This way, the whole process will be easier to complete, the cost of migration and adaptation will be greatly reduced, and your reputation will be further improved."

"Not feasible," Perturabo said, the cables in his black hair blending into the darkness in the dim light of the tunnel. "First, the planets around Colchis are deeply influenced by Lorgar's religious culture. I don't want a second vicious incident to happen after we leave. Second, if Lorgar has no psychological burden to massacre his followers, I don't believe he would dare to wipe out all my people."

"But why, father?" Dantioch couldn't help but say, "With all due respect, the Primarch Aurelion is not rational enough. Please forgive my judgment."

"His rationality only exists in the world he sees. And I believe he will not offend me because I am his eldest son, his morning star."

Perturabo said in a cold voice. When Dantioch showed a surprised expression in his iron mask, a smile gently passed over the corners of his resolute mouth, and the frozen atmosphere was instantly eased.

"Lorgar Aurelion will not hold Colchis any longer. He did so at his own request—under my watch. Rest assured, Dantioch. I know what I am doing."

The Lord of Iron stretched out his hand and placed it on Dantioch's shoulder, then turned his gaze to the outside of the tunnel, as if he could see the embers still burning on the land of Colchis through the building structure.

In a week, the Iron Warriors took down nearly ten thousand Word Bearers banners, along with hundreds of thousands of other symbols. Then, the Olympians would rebuild the planet, in their own way.

No Word Bearers will be left, and as the Great Crusade draws to a close, "the Word Bearers will not rush to replenish their ranks," Warmaster Perturabo once said aboard the Ashes of Colchis. "Live within the laws of your faith until the Emperor agrees to allot you a world to be your second home."

"Feel the air, Dantioch," he said, "see the bullets piercing the bricks and the broken glass on the ground. For those who believe what Lorgar says, everything that happens here will live forever. The air here is burnt and dry. It is filled with hatred and anger, with the dust of dedicated glory and the shattering hatred of heresy. The smell is so strong, and it will linger for a long time before it fades.

"Kyle went to ask the three governors nearby for their opinions. Do you want to hear them?"

"Please tell me, father." Dantioch lowered his head, feeling Perturabo's fingers tightening on his shoulders, stopping just before they hurt him.

"They said that those who immigrated to Colchis would be the offspring of sinners, and only holy war soldiers would be born from them. After selection, only one out of a hundred would survive, in order to save the resources that the God-Emperor would give them for future wars."

"As long as believers of the Word live here, hatred and fanaticism will be passed down from generation to generation, from parents to children, to their children's children, and then to generations that will last for ten thousand years in peace. All will remember that Colchis was destroyed because of its incomplete faith, and they are the descendants of bystanders."

Dantioch took a breath. "I understand, father."

Perturabo nodded slightly, removed his hand from Dantioch's shoulder, and said calmly, "Once things are concluded here, we will convene the Nicaea Assembly. Be prepared for the Emperor to be unable to come, Warsmith."

Did this mean that Perturabo would preside over the meeting himself? Dantioch wasn't sure.

The Iron Warriors built the Great Hall brick by brick themselves, reserved seats for all the Legions, and inlaid the podium with gold and silver, and decorated it with the emblem of the Sky Eagle to welcome the Emperor.

As for the entire process of the meeting, it was originally planned that the two Primarchs, Magnus of the Thousand Dust Suns and Mortarion of the Death Guard, would jointly preside over the standardization of the entire Imperial Space Marine think tank system, the merger of the Astronomican and the Astronomican, as well as the initial adjustments to the Black Ship system, and perhaps more specific arrangements for the Astartes Legion after the end of the expedition, and even - the Webway.

Perhaps, if the time is right, some of the secrets will be gradually revealed.

But so many unexpected events had occurred this year that the Warsmith could no longer feel any certainty about the planned future.

The Warsmith moved his old body. Over the years, he often felt quietly satisfied in his heart that although he was old, his body and will were still strong.

But here, on the gray world of Colchis, behind Perturabo's strides, he smelled a odor of blood and earth, as the ashes of the smoldering furnaces settled in the airless, sealed atmosphere, slowly and silently brushing against the armored steel of the Iron Lord.

And a silent, unidentifiable sigh rose from the Lord of Iron in the opposite direction of the falling dust, ascending towards the infinitely distant pale dome, until it exceeded the limit of Astartes' ears and then melted into the silence of the gray smoke.

-Nikea was not an ancient world. When the Emperor detected it from across the galaxy, it was still roiling in unformed lava and storms.

Ahriman knew that it was Perturabo, the Primarch who was familiar with Magnus, who had shaped it, reshaped it, carved it, polished it, filled the cracks in the rolling magma with stone, and stood up steel under the broken sky, allowing Nikaea to be reborn as a brand new glorious palace, a world of art through and through.

The Chief Librarian could easily imagine all of this, because he had personally witnessed the construction miracles created by countless Iron Warriors, even though that was more than a hundred years ago, and his regrets had never been made up.

Ahriman withdrew his gaze from the window, knowing that in the next few hours of sailing in the real universe, the scenery outside the window would remain unchanged, as if time had stopped.

But what is truly solidified is psychic energy, a special realm where psychic energy is almost forbidden. Only navigators and astropaths have the necessary limited psychic authority. Only those who are strong enough can draw aside this suffocating artificial curtain, but Magnus will not do that.

Because the Crimson King personally created everything related to psychic power in Nikea.

Right next to Azak Ahriman, separated from Mahavas by an old memoirist, Magnus leaned back in his seat, his long purple-red hair tied into a braid like twisted copper wire, covering his golden-red robe and golden armor covered with lapis lazuli and amber, with a few peacock green gradient eagle feathers woven into the ends of his braid.

A monocle covered one of his eyes. This noble eye had been damaged by a disaster not long ago. Otherwise, Ahriman could hardly imagine what a precious sight it would be if Magnus could look at everyone at the Nikea Conference at the same time with his two beautiful, bright golden eyes.

A heavy book was lying flat on his knees, fastened with a dark brown leather belt. The corners of the book were wrapped with fine gold corners, which were the packaging materials specially given to him by Conrad.

Ahriman knew that it was the Book of Magnus. His Primarch had devoted countless years of hard work to it for this grand meeting, and during the final revision period, he had almost blocked all external interference except for the necessary communication with Mortarion.

This would be a comprehensive codex, sufficient to provide instruction in the use of psychic powers for generations of Astartes to come.

"We are almost there," Magnus said, blinking slightly, his pearly red fingers resting on the Book of Magnus in his arms. He stared into the void, a landscape farther away than anyone else could see existed in his eyes, and then his brows furrowed.

“What is the matter, my lord?” Ahriman asked.

Around the Nikaea system, he could not see the surging waves in the etheric environment. All that appeared before him was the void and the holographic projection of the Nikaea Theater on the star map: white marble columns stood in a forest, and the finely carved capitals were painted with golden curlicues. The dome was high, and the sky was painted with countless glorious conquests in the Great Crusade. It was extremely solemn and spectacular. Even in the Terra Palace, there was no such magnificent large venue.

"No," said Magnus. "He has not come. I cannot see his ethereal light piercing the sky, nor the golden light of the sun blazing like an astronomical torch. We are so close to Nikaea that within a few hours, a Storm Eagle will fly from our flagship, pierce the atmosphere of Nikaea, and fall to the place where the next chapter of the Empire's destiny begins. Yet he has not appeared, his light has not arrived."

The Crimson King stood up from his chair, his huge body towering in the center of the ship's command room like a golden-red tower. The light he emitted was so bright that it almost passed through the cover of the psychic veil, and was enough to reveal the surging waves in his heart.

"Perhaps the Emperor will come after the Congress begins, my Lord. The Nicaea Congress cannot be driven by the Legiones Astartes alone," Ahriman said, and his heart began to tremble quietly. Hesitation grew in both his heart and Magnus's, and the amount of worry was different.

"We need a moderator, no doubt about it," Magnus said, "but none of us have witnessed Perturabo's ascension to Warmaster, and naturally underestimate the authority he holds among us."

He paused.

"My brother has enough authority to allow him to step onto the podium in the name of the Emperor and take charge of the glory of the Sky Eagle. However, this authority is too short-lived and has not been accumulated deeply enough to allow him to truly sit firmly in the position that should have been occupied by the Emperor and gain the absolute conviction of everyone."

Ahriman lowered his eyes, Magnus's worry driving his own concern, and he knew that Magnus was right.

The Warmaster's authority grew with his achievements, such as the Iron Warriors' recent treatment of the Word Bearers - the Grey City of Colchis shocked all the Astartes Legiones, and Ahriman knew that at least Magnus and Mortarion were very supportive of Perturabo's decision.

But the Warmaster's majesty will be taken away and weakened the more times he stands above his brothers and acts as a higher judge, until everyone becomes accustomed to Perturabo's existence, or the Warmaster's existence comes to an end.

"The Death Guard Primarch Mortarion is waiting in orbit, asking if you would like to join him in the Storm Eagle." A transmission came.

Mortarion never set foot inside the Thousand Dust Suns, and every time he saw Magnus emerge from his flagship, which was covered in psionic instruments, there would be a silent but sincere sigh in his eyes - anything further would be pity, which Mortarion knew Magnus would never accept.

Magnus tucked his Book of Magnus at his waist, "We can meet again on the surface. Before the conference begins, we will have enough time to prepare the rational methods we will need next."

His attention was suddenly drawn to another group of souls not far away. The ashes seemed to float slowly on the surface of pain, creating some kind of wave in the ether ocean that brought some sad omen.

Magnus listened carefully to the sound of the tide.

Then he heard the weary ring of ashes praying face to face in the hermitage; then he heard the lightless sanctuary barely lit by burning candles; then he heard the wordless silence, no prayers, no begging, only the strange absolute coldness of the thoughtless, as if he was not the one who was seeking the answer, but the agent of some empty intellect, or the empty shell of a fallen ashes.

Then he heard a soul kneeling in pain, the charred armor that had never been removed locked his once beautiful golden skin, becoming his cage and shell.

"No," Magnus let out a surprised breath, and a surprising pity flashed through his soft heart, but it was quickly replaced by anger and chill at what Lorgar Aurelion had done.

"No." The second no was stronger, and its meaning changed. The Crimson King took a deep breath, and ran his fingers over the adamantine edges of the Book of Magnus. "Lorgar has disobeyed the Emperor, and he must not cross that line again."

(End of this chapter)