Bridge of the Iron Blood, Fourth Legion Flagship.
Having received Horus Lupercal's assent, Perturabo began formulating his plan. He intended to devise a suitable strategy in the shortest possible time to crush the Ork fleet besieging the Luna Wolves with maximum speed.
In truth, the Iron Tsar already had a general objective in mind: he would use the formidable, newly modified firepower of his fleet to incinerate these insignificant xenos. However, he still needed to run calculations. He analyzed the available intelligence and data to determine how to break the Orks with the absolute minimum cost.
The Iron Tsar's meticulousness extended to calculating the precise number of shells required to defeat the Ork fleet; he could not tolerate the waste of a single round.
Perturabo was not a commander who was inherently unwilling to see his soldiers die; if necessary, he could dispassionately treat the Astartes and mortal soldiers under his command as mere strings of data. But the condition was always that it must be "necessary."
Currently, the Iron Tsar saw a perfect opportunity to defeat the Orks at a minimal cost—and, in doing so, show off his capabilities before the "First Found," his genetic brother Horus Lupercal.
"My Lord, shall we commence the attack? We should not allow Lord Horus and his Luna Wolves to endure this siege in vain," Forrix's voice interrupted Perturabo's train of thought.
It seemed the warriors under his command were more anxious for Horus's safety than their own gene-father was. This was not a good sign.
Perturabo was aware that before his return to the Imperium, the Fourth Legion had been briefly led by Horus Lupercal, the Emperor's most trusted First Son. It was natural for them to harbor some affection for Horus. However, he had not expected that even after his return, his gene-sons would still care more about the man who once led them than about him. This realization sparked a growing sense of dissatisfaction within Perturabo.
"Forrix, you seem more concerned about Horus than I am," Perturabo said slowly, a trace of displeasure coloring his voice.
"My Lord, I—I am merely instinctively worried that Lord Horus might face defeat. I have sworn my oath; I am loyal only to you! Father! I swear it to you!" Forrix, terrified by the edge in Perturabo's voice, quickly and frantically reaffirmed his loyalty.
He immediately understood the subtext of the Primarch's remark. No Astartes wanted their gene-father to doubt their loyalty; for an Astartes, such an accusation was more painful and shameful than a charge of disloyalty to the Master of Mankind himself.
"Hmph. That is better, Forrix. I expect that your feelings for your old commander, Horus Lupercal, will never surpass your devotion to me, your true genetic father!"
Only after hearing his First Captain's oath did Perturabo's scowl soften, the cold malice in his eyes receding slightly.
"However, you make a fair point. I cannot delay further. We must launch the assault to relieve Horus's forces," Perturabo conceded, turning his attention back to the battle. "Relay my orders: prepare to engage."
"By your command, My Lord!" Overjoyed that the order to rescue Horus had finally been given, Forrix hurried toward his colleagues to transmit the command to his battle-brothers.
As Perturabo watched his officers' visible excitement at the prospect of saving Horus, his expression darkened once more. As the Tsar of an autocratic monarchy, seeing his subordinates harbor such special feelings for another Primarch was profoundly irritating.
The Fourth Legion called him "Father," yet they turned around and idolized Horus Lupercal. How could this please him?
Whether out of emotion or cold logic, these "Horus-loyalists" around him were a source of great wariness. As long as these sentiments existed, Perturabo felt he did not truly possess the Fourth Legion. To him, this was intolerable.
Had it not been for this mission to support Horus, Perturabo might not have realized the extent of Horus's influence over his Legion. Now, he was forced to confront it.
Though these sons who idolize Horus are not a problem now, what if I were to break with Horus one day? Who would they choose? Their genetic father, or the hero they adore?
If they were my bodyguard, would they choose to bind or assassinate me to please Horus? No. I cannot accept these possibilities. The mere thought of it is terrifying.
Perturabo frowned, questioning himself. In the current era of the Great Crusade, where everyone was united, these men seemed harmless. But if a civil war or a schism in the Imperium ever occurred, how would these Iron Warriors, who loved and worshipped Horus, treat their own gene-father?
He could not bring himself to follow that line of thought to its conclusion. As an autocrat and a warlord, the inability to fully control his own Legion left him deeply unsettled.
I must find a time to deal with these Astartes who are overly devoted to Horus. Whether I shatter the pillars of their faith or eliminate them physically... I will not tolerate anyone in my Legion who does not love and worship me unconditionally!
Then again, Horus, the First Found, must possess a unique set of abilities for my sons to remain so infatuated with him even after reuniting with me.
Perhaps he is worth a personal visit? To see for myself exactly what kind of man this First Son truly is.
Perturabo continued to ponder, his thoughts leading him to a firm resolution: he would understand his brother, Horus Lupercal, the First Found, at any cost.