Homeworld

Standard Terra Calendar .672.M31

Name: Limnos III Region: The Expanse Sector: The Maelstrom System: Limnos System Population: 1–3 million Allegiance: Imperium of Man Type: Feudal World Tithe: Fourth Tier Exempt

The Shortsword-class Frigate Blackrock floated silently in orbit around Limnos III. This ancient warship bore the scars of countless battles, having undergone many repairs—even before it was seized by the Iron Warriors. In the equally weathered command bridge conference room, all 22 Astartes of the "Forged Steel Brethren" warband were seated, with servants pouring each of them a cup of Bloodwine.

Peter wasted no time, activating the holographic projector to display the blue-and-yellow planet before his brothers.

"This is Limnos III, the third planet of the Limnos System. It has no moons, three major continents, and land covering 41.53% of its total surface area, with mountainous terrain dominating. The main continent is ruled by a feudal dynasty and its many vassals, with the most powerful dynasty's ruler serving as the Planetary Governor. The second continent lies at the north pole, perpetually frozen and uninhabited. The third continent is home to even more primitive peoples—essentially savages draped in animal hides, wielding stone and bone weapons. The total population ranges between one and three million, with no obvious signs of Chaos corruption or mutation. The main continent's technology has only just begun iron smelting; in other words, the Planetary Defense Force still uses spears and bows. This is Limnos III, and it will become our Homeworld."

Peter swept his gaze across all the Astartes.

"Any questions, brothers?"

A low voice rumbled:

"Forged Steel Lord, why leave the Eye of Terror and travel thousands of light-years to the Maelstrom for a Homeworld? This world is too sparsely populated, its technology backward, and it even belongs to the False Emperor."

Peter looked at the speaker—Brother Wonaby, captain of the Second Tactical Squad. He was a latecomer to the warband, but sharp-minded and skilled at building camaraderie, knowing when to voice the brothers' questions even if Peter already knew the answers. That was why Peter had appointed him captain.

"Most planets in the Eye of Terror are tainted by corruption, with severely mutated populations—hardly suitable as a source of new blood for the warband. The warbands there are too numerous, and the good territories are never within our reach. With our forces, we can't hold a world with planetary shields and orbital defenses. Most importantly, the Imperium likely doesn't even know this world exists."

Peter tossed a badly damaged parchment onto the table.

"I found this in the Legion archives. It led us here. During the Great Crusade, this world was conquered by the Iron Warriors Legion—I mean, the 'former' Iron Warriors Legion."

"Back then, the Primarch hadn't yet rejoined the Legion. The veterans of the Great Crusade discovered this planet, a squad descended, and found the so-called king of the dynasty. The rest isn't worth telling—a few dozen Astartes facing a bunch of natives with wooden sticks. The king immediately declared allegiance to the Imperium, and the Legion left behind administrative staff before moving on."

Peter felt thirsty, took a large gulp of Bloodwine, and continued.

"At the time, the Imperium even considered collecting tithes, but this world had nothing to offer. No food, no weapons, no industrial goods. There might be minerals underground, but no mining equipment. As for recruits, it was easier to find them in a nearby Hive World than to travel all the way to the Maelstrom for a world with a few million people."

"And then nothing. It couldn't serve as a supply point or generate taxes, so the Departmento Munitorum simply set the tithe to Fourth Tier and forgot about it. The Imperium's relevant documents are probably buried under meters of parchment or destroyed in the fires of the Battle of Terra. If I hadn't found this file in the Legion's archives, this world might have remained obscure forever. As for the administrative staff left behind, they're no issue—after nearly a millennium, their descendants have become part of the local ruling class."

"Waiting for the Imperium? Might as well wait for death—at least death actually comes."

Hearing their leader's deadpan joke, Filon let out a hearty laugh and picked up the thread.

"I get it, boss. Even though Warp Storms are frequent here, it's still more stable than the Eye of Terror. And this is the Maelstrom—wealth is nearly endless, so whether we plunder or mine, it'll be much easier. Since both places are unstable, there's clearly more opportunity here than fighting over twisted planets in the Eye. Right?"

Filon, a battle-brother in silver-gray Power Armour, spoke while tossing unknown human fingers into his mouth, crunching loudly. The twisted metallic tentacles connected to his power pack revealed his identity—a Voidsmith. But what set him apart even more was his skin, black as freshly mined coal, and his blood-red eyes, glowing like beacons in the dark.

"Correct, Brother Filon. Any other questions?"

Peter waited ten seconds. The conference room remained silent for ten seconds.

"Next topic. Captain Barnabas, what's the status of the Blackrock?"

The captain, wearing an MK2 Expeditionary Pattern helmet, replied:

"Lord, not good. This ship was built on Mars during the early Great Crusade. It's a miracle it's still intact. With just a few Lance batteries and Macro Cannons, it can scare off pirates, but we don't even have Virus Bombs or torpedoes for an Exterminatus. To carry one out, we'd need to bombard a world without planetary shields for months."

"As for the crew, even with lowered standards and selecting from slaves, we're still short a few. Food-wise, we can still supply Corpse Starch to the crew and Sailors. The slaves are processed into protein blocks to feed the rest—barely within acceptable limits."

Peter nodded.

"Captain Barnabas, we won't be getting a new ship anytime soon. We'll have to make do."

"Understood, Forged Steel Lord."

Peter turned to the Voidsmith.

"Filon, what about the armory?"

Filon quickly set down his cup, swallowing the wine.

"Boss, aside from personal gear, there's not much left. For the mortals, besides what the Sailors carry, we've only got some Laser Guns, Combat Shotguns, Autoguns, and Logging Guns. For aircraft, just one Aquila Shuttle, two Avior Barges, and a Valkyrie still under repair. No ground vehicles."

"The warband's armory has one Land Raider, one Rhino APC, and one Storm Eagle Gunship. For small arms: forty base units of Bolter rounds, three Bolter Guns, two Bolter Pistols, seven Monomolecular Combat Knives, three Combat Shields, two Boarding Shields, one Heavy Bolter, one Meltagun, twenty Meltabombs, four crates of assorted grenades. But high-grade Adamantium, Power Cells, and Micro-beads are running low—just maintaining current gear is a struggle. Good news: Promethium reserves are decent."

"Bad news?" Peter knew his brother's temperament.

Filon flashed a smug look.

"We barely have any equipment to burn Promethium."

He straightened up and continued.

"If materials run out, I'll have to make a few sets of Carapace Armour from substandard Adamantium and modify the Combat Shotguns and Laser Guns for the brothers."

"Then modify them. Save them for the new blood."

Filon looked skeptical.

"Boss, we have no recruits, no Gene-seed, no modification equipment, not even an Apothecary."

"The Apothecary and equipment are already on the way; as for the Gene-seed, I'll handle it," Peter replied calmly.

Filon clenched his fist and struck his palm, a look of sudden realization dawning on his face: "Oh, you mean that kid Dioscorides! I knew you'd find a way, boss."

At that moment, a warrior seated to Peter's left, the left half of his face scarred and melted, clenched his gauntlet and spoke angrily: "Captain, we've fought for the Legion all these years, and when it's time to leave, they treat us like thieves. Founding a warband is permitted by the Primarch, yet they give us nothing. I'd say they'd be happy if we left the warship behind, the Bolter Guns behind, the Power Armour behind—hell, they'd probably want us to die too, so they could keep the Gene-seed."

Peter let out a soft sigh, turning his gaze to Anthony, who sat beside him—short and stout, half his face similarly melted. Though he was the smallest among them, he was the one Peter trusted most: "They were never our brothers. Think of Father's Iron Circle Automata. Father didn't trust his own sons, yet he demanded that his sons trust each other."

"Fine. If the Legion thinks our service is worth only this, then we owe them nothing more."

After offering that consolation to Anthony, Peter continued issuing orders: "Anthony, Wonaby, lead the first and second tactical squads—sixteen battle-brothers. Be ready in the hangar within the hour. We're going to conquer the Homeworld. Captain Barnabas, you and the remaining three brothers will hold the flagship."

Seeing that he hadn't been mentioned, Filon immediately spoke up: "Boss, what about me? What about me?"

"You want to go down too? Is the Valkyrie fixed?"

Filon rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish grin: "It's not that I won't fix the Valkyrie—I'm just short on parts. Besides, I want to see the Homeworld. I've been cooped up on this ship for too long."

"Fine. Time stays the same. I won't wait for you."

With that, Peter rose from his steel chair. The other warriors followed suit, rising with him. Peter gazed at his brothers around him, clenched his right fist, and struck his left chest hard, producing a dull clang of Adamantium. He spoke in a low voice: "Into the Furnace."

The others struck their chests in reply: "All Forged into Steel."