43: The Olympia Uprising (IV)

The bridge of the Iron Blood was unlike any ship Karyl had ever seen before; it possessed a peculiar roughness, like unpolished steel.

Thick cables covered the ground, and the deck, with its exposed bolts and grinding holes, bore only the emblem of the Iron Warriors etched along its edges. Dozens of Cogitator, each with a different function, were arranged in an orderly fashion in various corners. The ceiling looked like that of a factory, with robotic arms humming as they suspended instruments.

Hundreds of officials and sailors moved about busily, talking amongst themselves. Their conversations sounded like debates or heated arguments between vendors and customers in a market.

Perturabo's disdainful pragmatism is on full display here—from the arrangement of those Cogitator and the bolts, he clearly had the ability to make it orderly, even aesthetically pleasing, but he was too lazy to do so.

Moreover, to avoid any perception that he was incapable of such a feat, he meticulously included almost eerie details in the minutiae. This way, if someone raised a similar issue, he could coldly point out those deliberately concealed details.

Of course, the most important point is that there are no observation windows here, not even half one.

All the windows for observing the outside world came from the bulky, heavy displays of the Cogitator Dataslate. Where the portholes should have been were sealed off, and the cold black and gray tones that filled the entire bridge gave it an intimidating feel.

"I have to say, this place has impressed me, Perturabo," Karyl said.

He said it with half sincerity, the other half being to calm Perturabo down.

He had no idea what the gloomy-faced Lord of Iron was thinking.

"I won't thank you for that compliment," Perturabo said, his tone softening somewhat. "But you certainly have the right to make that assessment, after all, you even have a room on the Emperor's Dream."

Karyl paused for a moment, feeling an urge to sigh.

Yes, from a certain perspective, he is indeed very qualified to make such an assessment; even without mentioning other reasons, just talking about the Emperor's Dream alone is sufficient.

Within the Imperium, she was a ship that could not and should not be compared to; anyone who boarded her gained the confidence to look down on other ships.

The problem is that Karyl isn't proud of it; in fact, he doesn't even want to go up there again.

Too much gold.

He was deep in thought, while Perturabo seemed to have grown accustomed to this silence—not to Karyl's silence, but to the unspoken silence that accompanied conversations with others.

He turned around, gestured to the officials behind the row of Cogitator, and naturally went about his own business.

"Project Forrix's situation," he commanded. "Then establish a communication connection with him, using the resources of five satellites to do this. I want to ensure the entire call is uninterrupted."

As soon as he finished speaking, the officials sprang into action. Their efficiency was astonishing; their exceptional professionalism combined with their fear of Perturabo himself created an eerie atmosphere where everyone was incredibly motivated.

Karyl silently observed everything, waiting for further developments. His wait was not in vain; Perturabo lowered his head and tapped the huge Dataslate in front of him a few times, and the deep blue light of the holographic projection immediately shone forth.

"My lord," Forrix Destroyer greeted immediately, his face appearing extremely stiff under the holographic projection. Of course, it was also possible that it was because he saw Karyl standing behind the Primarch.

Perturabo ignored his greeting, as he never did; he simply asked in a icy voice, "Tell me their answer, Forrix."

Forrix hesitated for a few seconds before speaking.

"They refused, but for a strange reason, my lord. Both sides in the war claim they are fighting for you, for justice, for righteousness, and for the Damnekos. They each believe the other cannot stop, or you will surely punish them."

What lies are they telling?!

Perturabo flew into a rage. He clenched his fist and slammed it heavily against the iron railing of the command platform. A deafening crash resounded as the solid, mixed-metal railing was cleaved in two.

He wanted to say something immediately, but he couldn't hold back. Karyl could see his jaw muscles tense and relax. After a while, Perturabo spoke in a less intense tone.

"Damnekos has been dead for thirty-four years! Even if they want a reason to start a war, they should find a believable one. What is this? Are they trying to fool each other like idiots? Or are these new tyrants in my homeland really idiots?"

Forrix did not answer his Primarch's question. His image turned around and walked out of the holographic field of view, and a whisper came from the other side. Half a minute later, he returned, his expression now somewhat serious.

"Breaking news, Primarch. Your. Relative, the tyrant of Lokos Calliphone, wishes to speak with you face to face."

"That's my sister," Perturabo corrected coldly.

He glanced back at Karyl, his eyes warning. Karyl raised his hands, smiling harmlessly—though he had no idea why Perturabo would care about such a thing.

"Where is she?" the Lord of Iron asked again.

"The City Council," Forrix stated, a location name on his face, looking somewhat puzzled. "I've never heard of this building, Primarch. At least not when I left Olympia."

"I haven't heard of it either," Perturabo said slowly, his eyebrows twitching. "You move that way, I'll be there soon."

After the call ended, Perturabo turned around, and Karyl immediately spoke before he could, "You want me to come with you?"

"Yes." The Lord of Iron nodded coldly.

He appeared to be deep in thought, his expression making him seem more like a machine than a human being of flesh and blood. The lonely light from the steel bridge divided his face, casting a chilling shadow.

A few seconds later, he repeated it again.

"Yes, I want you to come with me."

--

Forrix observed the so-called city-state council through his visor, his steps still exuding a menacing aura. His Terminator Armour was already intimidating enough, but his current posture added even more to the aura of fear.

The nobleman who led the way was stiff, his back already soaked with sweat. Forrix didn't laugh at him, but felt a surge of disdain—when he left Olympia, no one here feared Astartes.

Nobles, grand dukes, tyrants, commoners. They didn't fear the Iron Warriors; who would fear their own son or brother? Now it was different. Those familiar faces had all vanished with the passage of time, and these people...

They are nothing but incompetent parasites.

Lacking any character or ability, they are merely enjoying what they shouldn't have, relying on the legacy of their ancestors. These things should be rewarded to those who have made outstanding contributions, not squandered by these people.

Forrix couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.

"My lord, the main hall of the city council is just ahead. I am not a tyrant, therefore I have no right to enter." The nobleman stopped, turned around, and bowed deeply to Forrix. "I'm afraid you'll have to walk the rest of the way yourself."

Forrix didn't answer, but simply made a gesture. He stood there, and after the nobleman left, he began to observe his surroundings more closely. He had left the rest of his men at the front of the council chamber, which made it easy for him to do this now.

The city council building is a typical Olympia- style building, but more primitive, unlike the urban architecture improved by Perturabo. Eight huge and delicate marble columns support its entrance gate, and gold and silver relief panels form the steps leading to it.

Forrix could easily determine the origin of these materials; he could do so without even using the analytical function of the eyepiece.

The stone and relief panels came from two city-states far apart, the red carpet beneath his feet came from Lokos, and other details, such as glass, decorations, and other items, came from various city-states.

Forrix quickly came to the conclusion that this place was jointly built by various city-states, a fact unknown to him and his Primarch.

A small surge of anger began to well up within Forrix, but the Citybreaker didn't let it truly affect him. He looked up and observed the sky.

The intense sunlight became useless through the eyepiece; the sky was azure, the clouds pale and soft—the familiar scenery of Olympia. Its sky was always gentle and all-encompassing.

Forrix removed his helmet and used his naked eye to experience the true colors of the sunlight and sky, and within seconds he saw a silver streak across the sky, just as he had hoped.

He put his helmet back on, activated the runes, and switched communication channels.

"Primarch," Forrix began to call out. "Have you arrived?"

"Soon," Perturabo said, his voice slightly distorted. "And the tyrant of Lokos?"

How strange. He just said this was his sister, but now he's using such a formal and distant form of address. Forrix thought to himself.

She is waiting for you inside the parliament building.

"Very good," Perturabo said. He hung up the communication, Forrix stood still, not moving forward. He knew Perturabo's character well; even though he had changed somewhat, he was still astonishingly stubborn in some ways.

Without explicit orders, Forrix would not meet with the tyrant of Lokos in Primarch of his Primarch. The Broken One continued to silently observe the building and soon discovered a point he had previously overlooked, which was now quite worthy of reporting.

There are no guards from Lokos here.

A tyrant may travel without envoys, but how can he travel without guards?

Forrix immediately called out again, but to no avail. His voice was cut short by a deafening explosion, like thunder, a second streak across the sky, the clouds darkening as the gray from the explosion obscured the original azure.

The city breacher stood still and watched as a shuttle plummeted to the ground, billowing smoke.

He immediately drew his Boltgun.

Besides.