Only The Old Man in Yellow Can Point Out the Mistake

Iron Blood, bridge.

Perturabo's ice-blue eyes stared at the holographic image, and the first thing to catch his attention was two blazing stars.

The blade of the Trident. Warsmith Frix followed his Primarch's gaze and looked toward the holographic image.

"The other shining star was a gift from the Squats to Lord Nimrod."

"It is hard to imagine that they actually dragged a star here from the galactic core."

What Frix did not voice was this: after three Legions had fought a bloody war against the Squats, why were the Iron Warriors and the Thousand Sons still hated, while the Shadow of Order had established such a good relationship with them?

There were close trade ties between them. Fine weapons and civilian goods manufactured by the Squats circulated through the territories of the Shadow of Order.

A Squat fleet had long followed Lord Nimrod into battle, a privilege even the Imperium had not obtained.

Perturabo raised his head and looked toward a video screen, watching the torrent of scrolling data.

"That is not difficult."

"Calculation. Propulsion. Energy."

As he spoke, his ice-blue eyes turned toward the orbits between the stars.

Two Ramillies-class Star Fortresses and one Artificial War Satellite flew in adjacent orbits, in different quadrants.

Perturabo's superhuman mind spun at tremendous speed, then he raised a hand and circled an area.

"There are important assets here. They are guarding something."

Frix broke away from contemplating the calculations needed to drag a star and examined the various readings around them.

"Stellar energy, as well as astral interference, is obscuring whatever lies in the central region."

"I believe the Shadow of Order did this deliberately to hide their important assets."

As Frix spoke, he saw four streaks of light sweep across the holographic image.

He followed their trajectories and saw that