"Iron Lord... I... I don't understand... Forgive my stupidity. Do you mean a realm that matches your own ideals?"
"That... that's one way of putting it."
"Then that's wonderful, Iron Lord! We can begin here, smash this old Imperium we hate, and build your realm atop its ruins. Every Iron Warrior will follow your ideals to the very end."
"No... not destroy the Imperium. What I mean is, we will become part of the Imperium. Do you understand?"
"Become part of the Imperium? Iron Lord... I... I don't understand..."
Drau was deeply confused. He could not understand how Perturabo's temperament had changed so drastically in barely twenty-odd years. Countless memories and experiences told him that no one hated the Imperium more than Perturabo.
Drau had taken part in the siege of the Imperial Palace. He had also taken part in the slaughter of the Imperial Fists at the Iron Cage. On Medrengard, he had done everything in his power to fulfill every quota handed down from above, providing everything from slaves and minerals to technological equipment.
For over ten thousand years, he had lived for Perturabo, for Perturabo's ideal of hating the Imperium. He had burned, killed, plundered, razed cities, and annihilated countless Imperial soldiers and civilians—far beyond mere billions.
More than twenty years ago, Perturabo had departed Medrengard with a fleet and never returned. No matter how the Iron Warriors searched, they found no trace of him. Over the previous ten millennia, Perturabo had never once stepped out of the fully sealed Iron Blood. Though Perturabo had never given them any orders, merely seeing the Iron Blood's distant silhouette had been enough to reassure the Iron Warriors.
His disappearance for more than twenty years had brought nothing but chaos and panic.
At the time, every Iron Warrior believed they