While Perturabo went off to manufacture weapons and equipment for everyone, the remaining Primarchs began preparing to use their own talents to direct the twisted monstrosities created by Fabius.
But before they could begin strategic command, there was one more thing to do: confirm each person's responsibilities.
"Per—"
"Perturabo already has something to do."
Just as Guilliman was about to mention Perturabo, Lion interrupted him, having evidently thought of the same thing.
As he spoke, Lion shot Guilliman a glance filled with hostility and suspicion.
But Guilliman could clearly tell that the hostility was not directed at him as the ruler of the Five Hundred Worlds, nor at his painstaking efforts to build up his territory and Legion.
It was a different kind of hostility—one born of status.
"So Perturabo's duty is to manufacture weapons and equipment."
"As for me, I'll handle strategy. Guilliman, you'll process all battlefield intelligence for me."
"Magnus, you're responsible for making the best possible use of your Psychic Power."
At that, Magnus raised his hand.
Lion nodded. "Speak."
"What exactly do you mean by the best possible use?" Magnus asked.
"You're the one who uses Psychic Power. Don't you know?" Lion shot back.
"I ought to crush your dog head with my Psychic Power first," Magnus said coldly.
In Magnus's eyes, Lion had been mocking and sneering at him ever since they awoke, acting as though he stood above everyone else. Naturally, Magnus found it deeply unpleasant.
The Clone Lion at this point had not yet endured the tempering of ten thousand years of slumber.
He immediately rose to his feet and confronted Magnus head-on. "You think you're so impressive? You're dissatisfied with Father-Emperor's decision at the Council of Nicaea. I'd like to ask what reasons support that dissatisfaction. Your Psychic Power exposed us. If