Howens IV was still the same old Howens IV. The slaughter brought by the Flayers had mostly been confined to the information-sealed super-prison, leaving the factory districts largely unharmed.
The planet had always been savage and cruel. Though Ranko's absence as the great factory owner had created a brief power vacuum, the other factory owners on the planet had coveted his position for a long time.
After showing Perturabo the reconstruction plan, the Lord of Iron selected capable enough people from among the greedy factory owners to replace Ranko.
Life had not changed much. Factory owners were still factory owners, guards were still guards, and filthy workers were still filthy workers.
As for the state of the super-prison, they did not care either. They could barely guarantee their own food and warmth each day; they had no energy to waste such extravagant mercy on strangers.
High-pressure steam burst forth, setting whistles roaring with loud, piercing blasts. The mines and factory districts across the planet began operating once more, and smoke and dust again filled the air, blotting out the planet's sky.
In Ranko's formerly luxurious office, Perturabo stood by the window. From there, he could see the entire factory district at work. Though the facilities before him were so crude that they were not even one ten-thousandth as good as the bases he had built on Olympia and within the Eye of Terror.
Still, watching the mechanical behemoths operate without pause, watching sparks rise from the furnaces, the magnificent beauty of industry truly improved Perturabo's mood.
There was also a fat man standing in the office. Compared to Ranko's lean, sturdy build, this man's obesity disgusted Perturabo.
The heaps of fat and the man's tiny eyes gave him the deceptive appearance of being honest and solid. But in Perturabo's eyes,