Perturabo, dressed in Olympia's traditional attire, had eyes brimming with delight. To her, all of this was wonderfully strange.
Much like what happened whenever the Emperor found one of the Primarchs, atop the mountain, the Golden Giant turned into a ruthless script-reciting Servitor. Without a shred of emotion, he launched straight into a verbal barrage, opening with a thorough brainwashing of Perturabo.
The Imperial Truth, making humanity great again, the meaning of the Great Crusade, I'm your father, you have to listen to me—nothing but hollow slogans, golden fantasies saturated with clumsy PUA tactics.
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If he tried using that spiel on Mordred, the Emperor would at least get called an idiot a couple of times. It would then escalate into foul-mouthed mutual insults, followed by an anything-goes brawl like a pair of street thugs, ending with the Emperor using Psychic Power to beat the hell out of his Rebellious son.
But Mordred was one of a kind. This trick worked absurdly well on the other Primarchs, and coupled with the Yellow Skins' special advantage against humans, every last one of them had been charmed into puppy-like boys.
In barely half a day, Perturabo's eyes held nothing but the Emperor—his face, his voice, every smile. It gave Mordred the creeps, making him completely forget the look on his own face whenever he manipulated the masses.
To help Perturabo integrate into the Imperium, Russ—who had been kicked off the cliff alongside Mordred and had tried to sneak away—was dragged over to serve as Old Four's living guide.
Looking at the brother in front of her, who wore a blank expression yet kept sighing every so often, Perturabo could no longer endure it. She finally asked the question she had been wanting to ask all along:
"Why do