The Lighting Crew Is Getting Ready

Perturabo stared silently at the enormous amphitheater before him, his expression as indifferent as ever.

He was the one who originally designed this place, envisioning it as an arena. But the Emperor clearly had other ideas for this hollowed-out volcano, so the Master of Mankind took over and made some other changes.

Perturabo was curious about his reasons for doing so, but unfortunately, he was now too lazy to dig into the reasons behind it.

This wasn't because of some ridiculous theory that "the Emperor's will cannot be predicted." Perturabo simply realized that doing so was pointless—if the Emperor had any requests or suggestions for him, he would naturally speak up.

Instead of racking your brains trying to dig out some trivial details from every word of the Master of Mankind, it would be better to do something truly meaningful.

"Abo?" A voice came from beside him, interrupting his chaotic thoughts.

That was Calliphone, the tyrant of Olympia, and his sister. Perturabo silently lowered his head and saw a worried face.

"What's up?"

He spoke calmly, as if they were not in a bustling amphitheater, but somewhere in the outskirts of Olympia. And those making the sounds were not the most distinguished figures in the entire Imperium, but merely birds or cicadas.

"Why haven't your brothers come looking for you?" the tyrant asked anxiously, gripping her cane tighter. "We've been here for eleven minutes."

Yes, why is that?

Perturabo looked up at the left side of their box. He hadn't closed the door, nor had the door to another box not far away.

He could see Horus Lupercal and Jaghatai Khan having a serious conversation at a glance. Leman Russ Russ stood by the railing with a glass of wine in his hand, but he didn't drink it; he just swirled it.

Sanguinius and Fulgrim sat together on two armchairs, an expression worthy of the painter's attention. Due to the angle, he could only see these people, but he knew that others were also there.

Apart from Lorgar and Magnus, the increasingly distant and silent Great Word Bearers and his offspring stayed together, while the Crimson King was once again late, for a reason that was neither new nor interesting.

Perturabo narrowed his eyes, his right hand instinctively clenching. Only then did he answer Calliphone's question.

"Don't overthink it, Olympia's only tyrant. They're not coming for me just because you're here."

He tried his best to soften his tone and make his voice sound less harsh. He did his best, but to little avail; his voice still sounded low and cold, like two pieces of steel colliding in a furnace.

Calliphone, however, sensed his effort, looked at him in surprise for a moment, and then actually laughed.

"So, I'm the one who prevented you brothers from getting back together? I'm so sorry, Abo."

"."

Perturabo slowly shook his head, looking very serious. "I don't like this joke, Calliphone —but that's alright, I'm going to be away for a while now; I have to talk to them about something."

"Go, brother," the tyrant whispered.

Her tone was quite intriguing, as if she were the Primarch and Perturabo was the old mortal who had only left Olympia once in his entire life.

Perturabo nodded to her, then gestured to Forrix, who was in charge of the guard. The city breaker tapped his breastplate solemnly and silently swore an oath.

Half a minute later, he appeared inside the private room.

The Primarch seemed unsurprised by his arrival; those who were talking to each other greeted him with nods or smiles, while others responded with more curt indifference.

However, Perturabo never expected that the first person to speak with him face to face would be Rogal Dorn.

"I've heard what you did in Olympia," Dorn began slowly. "I must say, your Mercy surprises me, Perturabo."

"Mercy?" The Lord of Iron laughed coldly. "Are you trying to insult me, Dorn?"

If time could be reversed, perhaps Perturabo would have given a different answer to that question. But time cannot be turned back, and he could not stop himself from uttering that almost provocative remark to Rogal Dorn.

He thought he could remain calm about anything now, but he was wrong, and he didn't even know why.

He just couldn't stay calm in front of Rogal Dorn.

"I had no such intention." Dorn frowned, apologized earnestly, and tried again to continue the conversation. "If my words made you uncomfortable, I apologize, brother. But what you did on Olympia— "

"--Don't mention it, Rogal Dorn." Perturabo spat out the words through gritted teeth, his tone as cold as if someone were cutting flesh with a knife.

"Let's talk about something else, or just let me go, and let yourself go too. This isn't the right place to show brotherhood; we both know why we're here today."

Dorn looked at him silently for a moment, nodded, and left. Konrad Curze Curze's voice came a few seconds later from the large external observation deck, carrying his usual nonchalant air.

"Listening to you two talk is a real treat, brother," he said with a chuckle.

The Lord of Iron frowned and walked over. He glanced at the Night Lords, who was testing the railing's durability with his back, then reached out and pulled him up swiftly and forcefully.

"Can't you be serious for once, Konrad Curze?" he said, frowning. "I can't believe no one's stopped you from behaving so undignifiedly."

"Actually, he did, but he gave up. Besides, I can be intimidating when I'm serious," Curze chuckled softly. "So I usually don't have a stern face, don't you think that's better?"

I don't think so.

"You really have no sense of humor at all." Curze clicked his tongue, patted Perturabo's shoulder dismissively, the pat not hard, but quite sarcastic.

Standing not far away, Vulkan's eyes widened. He instinctively felt that Perturabo was about to Thunder, but the Lord of Olympia did not.

He simply sneered, grabbed Curze's wrist, and tossed it off his shoulder.

"Having no sense of humor is better than having a bizarre sense of humor," Perturabo said, mimicking Curze's tone in the same soft voice. "And Karyl Lohars?"

"Why are you asking this?" Curze yawned listlessly, his face showing obvious signs of sleepiness, but Perturabo wasn't buying it.

"How could he possibly miss an event like this?" He frowned. "Or is he upstairs?"

"On what?" Curze asked knowingly, shrugging and deliberately drawing out his words. Only after Perturabo finally showed his impatience did he laugh heartily and give his answer.

"No, he's not in that glittering box. We Nostramo people can't stand such opulent places."

"You mean he's not planning to attend this meeting?"

"Hey, bro, why are you so concerned?" Curze leaned closer, hooked his arm around Perturabo's neck, and asked in an almost whispered, emotionless tone.

His hands were devoid of warmth, like a corpse long dead. His breath was like a night wind blowing through the night, carrying coldness and deathly stillness.

Perturabo felt a sudden discomfort, but he suppressed it. A few seconds later, the Night Lords released him and smiled again, as if everything were normal.

"Okay, Abo— " He winked at Perturabo. "—I know you're curious, but I can't tell you the details. It's a secret, you understand? Just like how you treat your sister, it's a secret."

The Lord of Iron snorted coldly and turned to leave.

Curze watched his retreating figure and, judging from his gait, realized he wasn't truly angry, so he relaxed. He squinted, leaned back again, and rested against the railing.

In the darkness beside the observation deck, another pale figure was staring at him.

"Corius Corax," Curze began slowly, calling out his name in an aria-like tone. "Why do you always run off to someone else's side without a word?"

"Every time?"

The Lord of Deliverance slowly walked to his side, took out a bag of dried sand eel meat from his pocket, and handed it to him. He shook his head, seemingly not very much in agreement with Curze's statement.

"It's not every time. I wouldn't approach other people this way; it would scare them."

"What? You think I won't get scared?" Curze glared at him, then casually pulled a piece of jerky from the bag and swallowed it in one gulp.

"At least you know I'm in the shadows," Corax said slowly. "While others don't know, and won't be prepared in advance."

"Then I should feel honored?"

"If you'd be honored by this, then so would I," Corax joked, a rare occurrence for him, but he didn't give Curze time to laugh back. The Lord of Deliverance abruptly shifted the conversation to a serious tone. "How long until the meeting begins?"

"Soon," Curze said, squinting. He saw Sanguinius and Fulgrim stand up from their chairs, and knowing what they were going to do, he quickly gave the answer. "About ten minutes, brother. Then we'll hear Magnus and his long-winded monologue."

"Will he really go on and on like you say?"

"Probably." Curze shrugged noncommittally. "After all, he hasn't realized what this meeting really represents. If he had, he wouldn't have been the last one to arrive."

Corax nodded thoughtfully. He didn't ask about Karyl, but silently stretched out his arm and handed over the bag of dried sand eel meat again.

Yes, there is a code.