"Brother, calm down."
"Truly," Fulgrim added smoothly, "if reason fails, we can discuss it when our sister returns."
"Do not attempt to dissuade me," Horus growled. "My mind is decided."
At first light, an uncharacteristically volatile scene unfolded outside the Ministry of State Affairs.
Horus Lupercal strode forward like a thunderhead ready to break, his fury barely contained. On either side, Sanguinius and Fulgrim held his arms—not restraining him so much as anchoring him to restraint.
It would have looked scandalous from afar: the Warmaster escorted by two radiant figures, as if dragged away from a duel rather than toward one.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Constantin Valdor arrived at a brisk pace, alerted to the disturbance. He halted at the foot of the steps and took in the tableau with a veteran's composure.
Sanguinius and Fulgrim released Horus and inclined their heads respectfully.
Horus's voice was controlled, but iron-hard.
"Captain-General. Is the Lord Regent within?"
Valdor's relationship with the Primarchs was… complex.
He served the Emperor alone.
That singular loyalty had caused friction more than once. To Valdor, orders were law. To the Primarchs, law could be argued.
Yet with Horus, matters were different. Whether forged through countless sparring bouts or mutual respect for duty, Horus treated Valdor not as an obstacle—but as a warrior worthy of regard.
Valdor understood instantly.
Ah. Another attempt to harass Malcador.
He considered refusing entry. The Regent had endured enough.
Then a whisper brushed the edge of his mind.
Let them in.
Valdor exhaled slowly and stepped aside.
"The Lord Regent will receive you."
Horus inclined his head and strode inside, his brothers following.
The Regent's Office
Clerks and officials froze as the Warmaster passed. He ignored them all.
He reached the office doors and kicked them open.
"Malcador! You treacherous minister! By what right do you erase our brother's achievements from history?!"
The recent end of the Rangdan War should have ushered in celebration.
A great enemy defeated.
The Lion returned.
A catastrophe averted before it could define an age.
Yuki had even granted Guilliman leave to return to Macragge.
But Horus's unease had only deepened.
Every official record of the Second Legion and Mordecai had been erased.
Mordecai's removal Horus understood. Exposure to Rangdan cognition carried unacceptable risk. Even Mordecai himself could not fully control the danger.
Records had to vanish until safety could be assured.
But the Legion?
Why erase the sons along with the father?
The thought gnawed at him.
If the Legion vanished… would Mordecai ever return?
And if Mordecai could be erased… what did that mean for the rest of them?
Malcador did not rise.
He sipped his tea.
"Horus," he said mildly, "must you conduct politics like a gang enforcer in a public corridor?"
Horus stepped forward—
—and an invisible force seized his throat.
He dropped to one knee, gasping, clawing at nothing.
Even through the presence of the Sisters of Silence and Valdor behind him, Malcador's psychic grip held fast.
Horus's eyes widened.
He had known the Regent was powerful.
He had not known he was this powerful.
"Release him," Sanguinius said quietly.
Fulgrim added, "Please."
The pressure vanished.
Horus dragged air into his lungs.
Malcador took another sip.
"Now," he said calmly, "shall we speak like statesmen?"
Horus forced his voice steady.
"My brother is cast out. That I accept. But why erase his Legion as well?"
Malcador's eyes sharpened.
"When a Primarch is removed, his Legion cannot remain independent. The Emperor and the Vice-Emperor both sanctioned the decision."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one you require."
Horus did not yield.
From Malcador's perspective, the matter was clear:
The Rangdan threat involved cognitive corruption.
Residual structures, symbols, or loyalties could become vectors.
Total excision was security.
From Horus's perspective, it was something else entirely.
He had grown among gangs and warlords, where loyalty meant survival and abandonment meant death.
If the Legion vanished, Mordecai might vanish with it.
And if that could happen to one of them…
What protection did the rest possess?
Valdor stood silently, enjoying the spectacle with professional restraint.
Then a familiar voice brushed his mind.
Uncle Valdor, please deliver a message.
He resisted the urge to sigh.
Of course.
He stepped between them.
"A decree from the Vice-Emperor," he said evenly.
"The decision concerning the Second Legion was made jointly by the Emperor and herself. The eradication of Rangdan influence requires ruthless measures."
He paused.
"The Legion is disbanded. Its academies, wargear, and infrastructure remain intact and preserved."
Horus's eyes sharpened.
"It stands ready for immediate restoration upon its return."
Silence fell.
Valdor continued:
"Your brother is alive and well. Correspondence remains permitted."
Malcador lifted a brow.
Valdor finished with visible reluctance:
"And the Vice-Emperor requests that no further disturbances be made upon arrival at Terra. Offenders will be assigned to palace sanitation duties."
Valdor's composure almost cracked.
A Primarch with a brush and bucket…
Horus exhaled slowly.
His anger cooled.
He inclined his head stiffly toward Malcador.
"I was… impetuous. I will apologize properly another time."
He turned and left.
He did not revise his opinion of Malcador.
But the fear had eased.
Fulgrim offered an apologetic smile and followed.
Sanguinius gently pushed the broken door back into place before departing.
Malcador stared at the crooked hinges.
"…Sigh."
Valdor folded his arms.
"What a mess."
Malcador turned.
"…Excuse me?"
Steel and Precision
"You were not paying attention."
Perturabo did not look up.
With minute tools and fragments of alloy, he assembled a thumb-sized replica of an Imperial warship.
It hovered above his palm, void shields shimmering, micro-thrusters whispering.
Functional.
Precise.
Perfect.
Yuki blinked, rubbing her temples.
"There was a problem with one of your brothers. I resolved it."
"Why must you resolve their problems?"
"Because someone must."
She studied the miniature craft floating above her fingertip.
"It is exquisite. I have never seen its equal."
Perturabo's face remained impassive.
But his chin lifted a fraction.
"A trivial exercise."
"Terra approaches," Yuki said.
Outside the viewport, humanity's cradle filled the void.
A vast ochre sphere scarred by hive-cities, industrial scabs, and the wounds of millennia.
Perturabo stared.
This was the birthplace of mankind.
This… ruin.
"I did not expect Terra's biosphere to be so degraded," he said coldly. "Given authority, I could restore ecological stability within ten years."
Yuki tilted her head.
"…Why does that sound familiar?"
The Iron King did not smile.
But the thought had already taken root.
And like all things forged in iron, it would not easily break.
Visit patreon.com/ShiroTL to gain access to 40+ chapters