My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 379: The First Sacrifice
No one except Perturabo himself knew what the Lord of Iron had experienced within the Eye of Terror. But when he reappeared before the eyes of others, he had become… more arrogant, and more composed. Steel was no longer orderly; it had been smelted and reforged into other shapes.
After submitting a vague report to the Imperium that he was still operating within the Obscurus Segmentum, the Iron Warriors began to develop their power anchored around the Eye of Terror. One piece of infrastructure after another was erected; the Iron Warriors were scouring the worlds near the Eye with a greedy efficiency.
This was not solely for the Legion's growth. Perturabo was doing something else as well. He needed to make the situation chaotic. His ambitions had grown—he no longer wished to bow his head. He had already tasted true power, and he would never kneel again.
The Lord of Iron cautiously entered into temporary alliances with warp entities, each taking what they needed. They desired the death of a soulless one, while Perturabo desired a destabilized Imperium.
Near the Eye of Terror, countless blackstone pylons on various worlds were marked on the maps. This alien technology reminded Perturabo of a past, deeply unpleasant campaign—and now, these blackstone pylons were in the state labeled [Suppression].
[Suppression]. These towering, silent spires were restraining the warp's overflow from the Eye of Terror. When Perturabo approached them, he could clearly feel the weakness—the soul bound and shackled.
And all he needed to do was reverse their state.
Reverse it—to [Amplification].
Across savage wastelands, tower after tower crackled with dim green arcs of electricity. After a violent hum, lightning erupted skyward. The veil rippled, and warp storms imprisoned within the Eye of Terror for millions of years were unleashed.
Imperial warp communications began to falter. Countless once-stable warp routes started closing unpredictably. Astropaths wailed as blood-tears streamed from their eyes; Navigators trembled as they struggled to recover their bearings.
This was the prelude to a warp storm capable of tearing the entire Imperium apart—but unfortunately, no one yet realized it. They merely believed it to be another instance of normal warp turbulence.
Tear this Imperium apart, Perturabo thought.
It would cause the deaths of countless people. Peace would collapse back into war. But he did not care. He cared only for himself now. If splitting the Imperium in two benefited his accumulation of power and his rise as a sovereign, then Perturabo would do exactly that.
He calculated carefully, manipulating everything with precision. He could not be too hasty—he could not allow the Imperium to realize this was deliberate. They must not discover him.
His power was still too small.
But… Perturabo knew exactly where to find his allies.
At present, the Legion closest to the Iron Warriors was the Iron Hands. Ferrus Manus was preparing to lead the Tenth Legion northward to rendezvous with the Third Legion, the Emperor's Children. That was good—like two faces of the same steel. Perturabo knew well that this former candidate for Warmaster was not someone easily swayed.
To the northwest of the Iron Warriors lay the Raven Guard. Perturabo had little interest in them. Though Corax's brood possessed a "fine" tradition of being ruled by other Primarchs, the Nineteenth Legion's numbers were simply too small—and they specialized in assault warfare. Their values were too low.
Perturabo was not in a hurry, because the true candidate had come to him of his own accord.
The Lord of Iron sat sideways in his seat, casually lifting the letter in his hand. Gold—how ridiculous. Even though the Seventeenth Legion had its own colors, they still stubbornly chose that man's palette?
Lorgar… He silently recited the name of his former brother.
Rather than being the Emperor's dog…
The thought was blasphemous, and it thrilled him. He felt nauseated—but his heart beat fiercely.
…better to put him to use.
Perturabo's other hand rested carelessly on the armrest, his palm hanging loose. A dagger of peculiar design gleamed in his grasp.
Vashtorr had given the Lord of Iron this blade—"Death of Faith." The materials used to forge it came from Terra's last church. The Emperor himself had destroyed the Church of the Lightning Stone, proclaiming the end of religion.
What hypocrisy, Perturabo thought. The Emperor burned down the last church on Terra, loudly denouncing the faith of mankind—only to turn around and declare himself the Omnissiah on Mars, the emissary of a god.
Perturabo couldn't suppress his laughter. An absurd truth: the Emperor was the greatest liar in the entire Imperium.
With a faint unease, and a trace of cruel curiosity, Perturabo found himself unable to wait for Lorgar's arrival.
He raised the dagger before his eyes and examined it carefully. If Vashtorr's words were true, then he would be murdering his brother—
The thought made him shiver once more.
His fingers loosened slightly, and the meaningless letter from Lorgar drifted down to the floor.
. . .
[My dear brother,]
[I have heard that many worlds in your region harbor heretical beliefs. In order to purge such heresy, I am preparing to lead the Word Bearers on a crusade into this sector. Since Ferrus seems intent on seeking Fulgrim to renew old ties, it would be inconvenient for me to contact him, and so I have come to you instead.]
[The warp routes of the Obscurus Segmentum are infamous for their difficulty. My Navigators have more than once shown reluctance at my request. Brother Perturabo, as one who campaigns in this region, do you possess stable warp-route charts? And would it be possible for you to grant me a copy?]
[I also look forward to meeting you. The Fourth Legion is always busy, is it not? You did not attend the Warmaster's ascension ceremony—you could have gathered with Magnus and me then… Perhaps you might have dissuaded Magnus. Or perhaps I should have let the Khan speak with him. You know—perhaps what followed could have been avoided.]
[Magnus is arrogant and often sharp of tongue, but I know he does not act from deliberate malice.]
[At the time, I was immersed in my own world. Besides, I am not a forceful man. We argued over my own affairs, and I did not pay much heed to Magnus's oft-repeated discussions of psychic matters—]
Lorgar's pen paused. Perhaps he should not have written this. Perturabo and Magnus were close friends; he should not have brought this topic up himself.
Yet on the other hand, perhaps the Lord of Iron—so distant from the political center of the Imperium—was anxiously awaiting news of Magnus.
Lorgar pondered for a moment, then took out a fresh sheet of parchment. He ought to be mindful of Perturabo's feelings. He gathered the discarded draft, folded it carefully, and threw it away.
At his side, the black crozius radiated a gentle warmth. After the burning of the Perfect City, Lorgar had ordered artisans to forge him a staff of blackstone—the same material used in the execution of criminals. It served as a constant reminder to the Primarch of the forbidden line he had once nearly crossed.
Lorgar carried the blackstone crozius with him at all times. Through his daily devout prayers and its use in battle, the staff gradually became suffused with psychic energy and faith. In the Primarch's hands, it now emitted a faint golden glow.
Lorgar unconsciously stroked the black staff—this had become a habit. At last, he decided to tell Perturabo why he was bringing the Word Bearers here: the God-Emperor's command to him was to spread the Imperial Truth, but not to disturb regions that were already stable.
This meant that the Word Bearers would be sent to more turbulent regions—ideally worlds that had believed in heresies from the very beginning. Such planets already possessed a habit of faith; it was merely directed the wrong way. Under the guidance of the Word Bearers, those heretics would submit to the majesty of the God-Emperor.
And if they truly proved beyond salvation, then Lorgar would not hesitate to invoke Exterminatus.
Thus, the unstable regions of the Obscurus Segmentum became the ideal ground for the Word Bearers' missionary work. Perhaps because their connection to the warp was relatively weak, the people there often believed in strange and peculiar religions.
Lorgar pondered this. He wondered how he should answer if Perturabo asked him about Magnus in detail. Lorgar himself had not been present at Nikaea; from the mouths of the White Scars' Librarians, he had heard that the Silent Ones had played a significant role in that event.
The Silent Ones—the Head of the Silent Sisterhood, Hades.
Lorgar thought of him in silence. Yes—there was no mistake.
Then… had Magnus committed the same folly Lorgar once had? Had he too been deceived, betrayed by his sons?
Lorgar remained silent, but this only reinforced his suspicions. Hades—the Lord of the Underworld—held a position of great importance within the God-Emperor's designs. He was His true executioner, His corrector of errors, the God-Emperor's proxy in the mortal realm.
He recalled that night, and Lorgar's soul trembled faintly.
No more, he thought. He was loyal to the God-Emperor. The God-Emperor was mighty—He brought the Imperium, He brought peace, He gave mankind direction and a path to walk.
He would be loyal to Him.
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