69: The End of Silence (I)

This was the first time Perturabo had seen Horus Lupercal, the Warmaster, since Ullanor.

This prestigious position was very attractive to Ferrus Manus and Lion Eljonsson, who were indeed fully qualified to serve as Warmaster, but so was Horus.

The reasons why the Emperor decided to appoint Horus as the Warmaster are unknown, but he certainly had his own considerations. However, people also have their own favorites, so this matter inevitably sparked some discussion when the celebrations in Ullanor came to an end.

Perturabo never got involved in these matters; he was more concerned with the significance of the Emperor's departure from the Great Crusade. Furthermore, he believed in Horus Lupercal's resolve and ability.

That was true, at least it used to be.

But now, standing on the holographic projection platform of the Iron Blood, staring at the giant in black and gold armor, his expression gradually became serious.

He wasn't blind; he could see the changes in Horus Lupercal.

The projection created by the holographic projection table couldn't compare to reality, but it was clear enough. He could clearly see Horus's changes, from his armor to his face, from the vanished Aquila to the Eight-Pointed Star mark that replaced it.

And that fake smile that almost hurt the eyes.

"It's a pleasure to see you all again, brothers," Horus said with a smile, the blue light on the holographic projection platform now tainted with blackness, his eyes as terrifying as black holes.

"Arriving on time is a wonderful phrase; you are very punctual. As a general, I cannot ask more of such a force. Now, let's discuss the battle plan."

"What exactly are you?" Vulkan asked.

The Lord of Drakes's expression was extremely grim. He had been prepared long ago, but preparation alone was clearly not enough. His image hovered to Horus's left. If this were a face-to-face exchange, Perturabo believed the Lord of Drakes would probably already be swinging his Warhammer.

"Your question is rather strange, Vulkan." Horus looked at him with surprise. "I am Horus Lupercal, what else could I be?"

"No. You are not," Vulkan said. "Answer my question, what are you?"

Horus's smile turned to trouble. He frowned, glanced at Vulkan with a puzzled expression, then turned to seek the support of the fourth person present.

"Mortarion, my brother, what's wrong with Vulkan?"

The Lord of Death watched him silently, offering no answer. The respirator hissed, but he remained silent, simply raising a weapon in one hand. The Silence flashed and abruptly appeared in the holographic projection.

Horus was stunned, and seemed somewhat at a loss, but he quickly laughed.

"Looks like you were warned beforehand?"

The smile gradually turned into calm, and Horus Lupercal, whose eyes burned like stars, slowly asked, "Who informed you? Angron, Fulgrim, Corax? They shouldn't have run into you so easily, could they?"

"What did you do to them?" Perturabo asked sternly.

With his hands behind his back, his right hand was already making two resolute gestures to his company commander, Forrix. The bridge of the Iron Blood immediately sprang into action silently; its main guns began warming up, and all subsequent artillery positions would be reloaded within the next two minutes.

They will launch immediately at Perturabo's command.

"You should ask what they did to me, brother. You should ask what they did to my legions, what they did to my ships," Horus's expression suddenly darkened. "They slaughtered my sons, destroyed my ships, and even tried to kill me in my own court."

"Where are they?" Perturabo asked indifferently, his expression growing increasingly calm.

Horus stared at him for a long time before slowly speaking.

"I thought you could understand, Perturabo," he said.

His eyes were flashing, and the blue dots that formed his image began to dance wildly. An error message, never before heard from the holographic projection platform, rang out, and several cables laid on the ground crackled and popped.

"Can't you see the Emperor's lies? He came to Olympia, threw you into a war, without asking if you wanted to. And so you were far from home, while the Imperium began to exploit you."

"I heard there was a rebellion there? That's the result of the Emperor's lies. He made your homeland turn against you, made your people hate you, and then he could take your place. Open your eyes and see clearly, brother, don't be fooled any longer."

"Olympia's affairs are none of your concern," Perturabo said. "As for the lies you mentioned, the Emperor may indeed have lied, but I still have eyes; I can see the difference between you and him."

"He Deceit you!" Horus roared in a low voice. "Think carefully, why did he allow the Mechanicum to regard him as a god while opposing all religions, and why did he allow Lorgar Aurelian to preach within the Imperium? A contradictory liar, a hypocrite!"

"I don't care about these things," Perturabo replied coldly. "I only ask you one thing, Horus. Do your words mean you intend to rebel against the Emperor and the Imperium?"

Horus Lupercal smiled slowly.

"So what if it is?" he asked softly, seemingly affectionately.

Perturabo raised his right hand and swung it down heavily in front of him.

"I look forward to the moment we meet," Horus said before the light faded. "I will expose his lies to you one by one."

"Shut up, traitor," said the Lord of Iron.

The decks trembled, cannons roared, and the fleet began to exchange fire silently in the vacuum. Led by three Gloriana-class Battleship, the fleet slowly advanced, gunboats and assault boats clashing back and forth, either being shot down or successfully landing on enemy ships amidst the stars of Isstvan.

Perturabo had returned to his command platform, where dozens of screens flashing with chaotic data streams slowly rose before him, issuing command after command in a timely manner, even down to the specific sergeant on a particular ship.

The main bridge of the Iron Blood underwent some changes during this period; twelve enormous portholes became the crew's primary means of observing the battle situation after the metal plates were lowered. This was just one of the improvements Perturabo made to his ship.

The Lord of Iron's face was illuminated by the cold light of the screen. He stood on the command platform, commanding with authority. The warships of Vulkan and Mortarion were under his direct command, something that had been agreed upon long before the war began.

Of the three Primarch, Perturabo is undoubtedly the most talented at multi-front warfare, and he had long since shed his reputation for disregarding human life.

"He's gone mad." Mortarion's voice came through the communication channel, and Perturabo made a nasal sound to indicate that he was listening.

But the Lord of Death fell silent after uttering those words. His bridge was bustling with activity, with people constantly chanting the Emperor's name.

"He is not Horus at all," Vulkan solemnly refuted Mortarion's conclusion. "Have you ever seen Horus so hypocritical, so chilling? There was not a trace of emotion in his eyes when he spoke to us; everything about him was unbelievably fake."

"Whether he is or not is irrelevant; traitors only deserve to die. The Imperium will never tolerate betrayal, and neither will humanity. Humanity is about to embark on a path of light, and I will not allow anyone to destroy it," Perturabo said.

He lowered his head and turned to another screen. Data streams and a huge star map rapidly changed shape under his finger manipulation. Less than ten minutes into the war, the Lord of Iron had already begun to predict where the second battlefield might be opened.

His words were echoed by Vulkan and Mortarion, and they began to exchange information about the battle directly on the communication channel.

For Perturabo, listening to their reports while manually controlling an entire fleet was not difficult. He had even become immersed in the virtual world constructed by the screen, ignoring the real world and throwing himself wholeheartedly into the war.

As he gave his answer, he ordered one of his warships to turn around and engage Horus's fleet in close combat. One thing was quite counterintuitive: Horus was clearly a lone individual, but his fleet was not small, and it was even able to hold its own against the combined fleet of three legions.

The fact that he possesses so many warships means that he likely requisitioned a considerable number of ships on his way to Isstvan under the name of Warmaster, or perhaps he has a Forge World under his command.

Perturabo would prefer the former.

His brow furrowed deeper with his speculation, but this seemed to be only the beginning of misfortune. Minutes later, he discovered a lone, out-of-group data point in the data stream representing his own fleet.

The Lord of Iron located it immediately and retrieved its data. Among the dense text, Perturabo precisely found the information he needed most at the moment.

The Terminus Est.

Captain: Karas Typhon.

Speculated destination: Central area of the Combined Fleet.

Posture: Full speed ahead.

What was he trying to do? Why had he abandoned his post without orders? These questions flashed through Perturabo's mind, but before he could speak, Mortarion's voice rang out on the communication channel.

This time, the Lord of Death's unique voice, hoarse from the respirator, carried undisguised astonishment.

"Brother, my company commander has taken his ship and left the flank of the fleet."

"I know."

"I'll go talk to him," Mortarion said. "Perhaps it's just—"

"No, that's not necessary," Perturabo thought.

A dazzling explosion erupted in the central area of the Combined Fleet, sending metal fragments and human corpses tumbling through the air and freezing into ice shards as they spun rapidly. It had once been a Battle Barge, but now it was nothing more than a dismembered wreck.

A warship relentlessly crushed them, continuing its full-speed charge towards the Iron Blood. Hundreds of assault boats roared out from its forked bow as it itself charged headlong into the Iron Blood.

"Karas Typhon!" Mortarion roared into the communications channel. "Are you insane?! Fire! Fire on him, stop him!"

Perturabo turned his head and silently issued another order: not to stop, but to destroy. At the same time, another voice came through the communication channel.

Clearly, Mortarion had just reconnected to the Terminus Est and put someone into their communication channel. It was foolish, but considering Karas Typhon's relationship with Mortarion, it wasn't entirely incomprehensible.

Perturabo took a deep breath, trying to make himself understand, but he failed.

He couldn't understand.

"I am not insane, my Primarch, my dearest friend," a hoarse voice slowly spoke.

"What are you doing?!"

"This is nothing but a sacrifice, Mortarion. The Terminus Est needs some merit to transform itself, and so am I. My form has endured mediocrity for too long; I must ascend to a higher realm of immortality."

"What are you talking about?" Mortarion asked incredulously, his voice filled with the rage of betrayal and deep hurt.

"I am speaking to you of the ultimate truth of the universe, Primarch. Has your numerology not yet reached this point? Seven of seven," Karas Typhon laughed hoarsely, his laughter low and deep, as if he were choking on phlegm.

Perturabo ignored their conversation and instead issued several orders to Vulkan. The Salamanders fleet immediately accelerated; Perturabo could not allow the stalemate that had already begun to turn in Horus's favor at this moment.

At the same time, the Iron Blood began to fire repeatedly, but the firepower that should have been enough to destroy the Terminus Est hundreds of times missed it, with none of the shots hitting its mark.

This utterly irrational scene made Perturabo's expression even colder as he began to calculate the distance between the Terminus Est and the Iron Blood.

Mortarion was still yelling at Karas Typhon over the communications channel, saying he would expel him from the Legion, but the latter didn't care and even gave himself a new name.

"I am about to become Typhus," he said hoarsely. "I am about to transform, Primarch. If you wish to stop me, then come and try."

"Typhus, is that so?" Perturabo asked, extending his right hand to grasp a Warhammer he had personally forged. Lightning crackled across its head.

"Yes, sir."

"You will die," Perturabo said.

He stared out the porthole at the rapidly approaching warship, his expression unbelievably calm— the Iron Blood was too massive; even with acceleration, it couldn't avoid a collision. He had already calculated this conclusion.

But he didn't care.

"Bring it on," he thought. "I'll kill you, and then I'll kill Horus."

I will return in triumph

I will not lose anyone.

Besides.

Sorry I'm late, I rewrote it many times.