42: Olympia Unrest (III)

If he had a choice, Perturabo wouldn't have done it, but he didn't. Unfortunately, he didn't.

The massive fleet, consisting of the Iron Blood and over seventy other ships, burst out of the Warp. Screaming echoed from inside the ship; the excessive speed and incorrect gravitational pull caused the Ironblood's bridge to shake violently, forcing even Perturabo himself to grab onto a nearby handrail.

His face was grim, and his captain, Katis from the Terra family, stood beside him with an iron-like expression. She was one of the few officers and crew members who did not tremble, and even had the strength to persuade the Lord of Iron to remain calm.

"My lord, you should issue an order for the following fleet to temporarily halt engine output; otherwise, we risk triggering a series of accidents."

"I don't need you to tell me what to do, Garza." Perturabo lowered his head, his gaze sweeping coldly over her. "But you're right, pass on this order. I don't want any ships damaged."

"Yes, sir." The female captain bowed slightly and headed towards the control tower.

It was an almost unbearably noisy place, as were all the command posts. Officials and crew mingled together, constantly talking. Data reports gurgled from the mouths of the Cogitator, mechanical to the point of being monotonous.

Working in such a place is daunting, but Katie Garza was used to it. She had served on Perturabo's ship for seventeen years, a tenure that shocked her predecessors.

Perturabo lowered his head and tapped the data display panel in front of him a few times.

His specially modified large Dataslate possessed capabilities far exceeding those of other models, enough to allow him to stand here and command everyone else on the Iron Blood. The blue light shone on the Primarch's face, revealing his near-mad, clenched teeth.

His hands trembled, and a dark rage surged in every detail of his demigod body. But somehow, he managed to suppress this rage.

"Forrix," Perturabo called out to the Dataslate, "Tell everyone to prepare. If I don't get the response I want, you're airdropped directly into Olympia."

"Understood, Primarch," the Breaker said. "But are you sure we need to be fully armed?"

"Just do as I say!" Perturabo roared. "You understand what all this means!"

"Yes, my lord," Forrix said, his voice sounding almost like a sigh.

Perturabo clenched his fist, only relaxing it a few seconds later.

He continued to manipulate the Dataslate, mobilizing satellites around Olympia. His privileges were so high that he could directly access their data centers without any verification.

The data streams from fifteen satellites swept wildly across the Dataslate, but Perturabo ignored their chaos and firmly grasped each satellite in his hand.

He orchestrated them efficiently, not letting his anger affect anything. Soon, satellite surveillance of the ground appeared on the Dataslate: fifteen different perspectives, fifteen different plots of land.

Mountains, ocean, forests, and cities were arranged harmoniously and orderly, appearing perfectly harmonious on the surface. A hint of doubt flashed across Perturabo's face as he continued to shift his perspective, eventually discovering a clue within the city.

Soldiers clad in armor of different colors were fighting each other, using guns and cannons—weapons originally left by Perturabo as a precaution, but now used to kill one another.

The Lord of Iron's breathing quickened slightly. He closed his eyes, turned around, and tapped his forehead with his right hand. The dull pain quelled his anger and brought him back to his senses somewhat.

He turned back to the Dataslate and turned off the satellite feed. There was no need to look any further; everything was true.

The supply fleet from Olympia was not lying; an internal conflict was breaking out in his homeland.

But why?

Perturabo pondered, a brooding and furious yet incomprehensibly rational thought—he couldn't understand why there was internal strife, why they were attacking and killing each other.

This is simply absurd. Olympia has reached its peak in every aspect through improvements over the years, Lord of Iron is confident that it is by no means inferior to Roboute Guilliman's Macragge.

Moreover, there is no superhuman division of power here like in the Ultramarines; the rulers here are still the tyrants of the various cities of Olympia. Perturabo knows the advancement and superiority of Roboute Guilliman's system, but he disdains it.

He knew what superhuman rule would evoke in mortals; he calculated that he had given Olympia everything he could. So why were they still fighting?

"My lord," Katis Garza's voice came from in front of him, "You might need to take a look at this."

"Just tell me, Garza," Perturabo told her calmly. "Tell me what you've found."

"Two other fleets are passing Mandeville Point," the female captain told him hesitantly. "Their identification codes have been verified. One is the Fifty-First Expeditionary Fleet led by the Warsmith Dantioch. The other is the Second Expeditionary Fleet of the Midnight Blade."

Perturabo took a deep breath and looked down at the Dataslate.

"Hanger, prepare the gunboat." He began issuing orders. "Send Forrix down with five hundred men and tell them to cease fire immediately, no room for negotiation. Cease fire, or die. Then prepare another shuttle, just me, no pilot needed, I'll operate it manually myself."

--

Karyl had imagined many times what it would be like to meet some of the Primarch again, but he never expected this— the Iron Warriors Primarch Perturabo boarded the Tredesia empty-handed and alone, specifically requesting to see him by name.

Undoubtedly, this was quite unexpected, but Karyl had no intention of refusing.

He didn't even consider what might have prompted Perturabo to do such a thing; he simply agreed to the meeting and immediately headed to one of the only two meeting rooms on the Tredesia.

Upon entering, he saw the Lord of Iron with a gloomy expression. This expression was not unfamiliar to him; it would be strange if Perturabo were not gloomy one day.

But what the Lord of Iron did next was truly bizarre. The strangeness of this event made his solo boarding of the Night Lords ship seem ordinary, as unremarkable as Rogal Dorn's expressionless face.

"I need to borrow a company from you," Perturabo said. "I have a use for you."

"I'm sorry, I think I didn't hear you clearly." Karyl spoke slowly after a moment of silence. "You weren't saying—"

"--You heard me right, and you couldn't possibly have. So stop playing these tricks, Karyl Lohars. I need you to lend me a company of Midnight Blade; I have a use for them."

"Is this some kind of way of saying cooperation?" Karyl asked cautiously.

He maintained a calm tone, not wanting the conversation to veer into a more familiar situation. He wasn't the type to be sarcastic or cynical, and besides, Perturabo had changed since their last meeting.

"No." The Lord of Iron bluntly denied. "It's not cooperation, because I'm not going to wage war. This is just a temporary assignment; I have something I need someone to do, and the best people for it are you."

His gaze was fixed on Karyl's face, and he emphasized, repeating the short sentence again. "Do you understand? The best choice. Don't make me say it a third time, Karyl Lohars."

If anyone asked, Karyl would admit that he almost laughed—he didn't know much about Perturabo, but that didn't stop him from hearing a certain compromise and metaphor in the sentence.

The best candidate. How interesting.

"If I could, I would agree immediately, Perturabo. But no, I cannot do so, and you should know the reason. As the supreme commander of this fleet, I have the right to know the full picture in such matters."

The Lord of Iron's expression gradually turned ugly, which was naturally within Karyl's expectations—in fact, even Perturabo himself probably knew how he would react, because he quickly and miraculously controlled his anger.

His face displayed a very strange expression at that moment, a mixture of dark anger and cold calm, creating an expression that one wanted to capture.

Karyl looked at him and spoke again. He didn't want the atmosphere to become awkward, but his words sounded subtly cutting.

"Shouldn't any qualified commander do the same, Lord Perturabo? What kind of commanders are they if they don't take responsibility for the lives of their subordinates?"

"Don't call me that!" Perturabo yelled. "Do you think I don't know what you and Konrad Curze Curze were thinking when you called other people that?! You want the truth, right? Fine, I'll tell you the truth!"

He sneered, took a Dataslate from his waist, and threw it out.

Karyl reluctantly reached out and took it, secretly deciding that he should think more carefully before speaking next time—just as he said, he had never been good at communicating with people; he was only good at making things seem simple.

He lowered his head and began to peruse the Dataslate that had already been unlocked. The information displayed on it made his expression freeze for a moment. After a few seconds, he looked up and gave the impatient Lord of Iron a wry smile.

"Perhaps we shouldn't have come back with Captain Dantioch's fleet," Karyl said with a wry smile. "Well, Perturabo, how many men do you need?"

The Lord of Iron slowly exhaled and shook his head.

"Let's not talk about that now," he said curtly. "Get on my ship, and we'll discuss the matter further later."

Update complete.