From the moment they laid eyes on Perturabo, Suvorov and Forrix realized the giant before them was their genetic father—the very source of their gene-seed.
Natural instinct took hold. These two Astartes, usually possessed of immense pride, dropped to one knee before Perturabo, offering their deference to their progenitor.
"You are the Fourth Legion? My sons?"
Looking down at the two officers kneeling before him, Perturabo nodded slightly and spoke in a measured tone.
"We finally meet, Father. I am Forrix, currently the acting Master of the Fourth Legion," Forrix replied, striving to remain composed. He hoped to leave at least a passable impression on Perturabo.
"Acting Master? Where is the previous commander?"
Perturabo's brow furrowed. Having learned from the Emperor that the Fourth had won a pyrrhic victory, he had been speculating on the severity of their casualties. However, the fact that even the Legion Master had been replaced was a development the Iron Tsar had not fully anticipated.
"My Lord, I am Suvorov, Captain of the Second Company."
"My Lord, as you likely know, we recently fought a brutal war—a victory that cost more than it gained. We suffered devastating losses during the Incaladion campaign."
"Our Legion Master and nearly the entire high command perished in that battle. That is why Forrix was appointed acting Master. Currently, the entire Legion suffers from a shortage of leadership. Those who were captains are now Praetors; those who were squad leaders have been promoted to company captains."
"Father—if you are still willing to let us call you that in our current state—we are in desperate need of your guidance. We need your leadership."
Suvorov, standing beside Forrix, stepped forward. After introducing himself, he explained the situation with a grave expression, laying out the chain of events that had led them here.
"I see. I understand."
"So, you are a broken legion. A legion of the mangled and the dead."
Hearing the explanation from his two scions, Perturabo did not erupt in the rage they expected, nor did he show them any pity. He merely nodded with a calm face, as if the casualties of the Fourth Legion were nothing more than a set of figures on a ledger.
"My Lord, if you wish to punish me for our failure, then do so. I have no desire to continue living in this shameful manner," Forrix said, stepping forward to claim responsibility before his father's hidden anger could boil over.
"Indeed, Suvorov said one thing correctly: you are currently unworthy of calling me 'Father.' I refuse to acknowledge such sons. For now, you are fit only to address me as 'My Lord' or 'Sire'."
"I have reviewed your campaign archives. Your rigid, unimaginative tactics... they bring me shame."
"The people of Kislev call me, their High Tsar, 'Little Father.' In my view, those diligent, simple peasants are more entitled to call me 'Father' than you Astartes who return from a defeat."
Perturabo, who had been silent until now, began a sharp critique of his sons. His tone remained characteristically caustic.
"My Lord, you may insult the commanders, but the rank-and-file battle brothers are innocent! They do not deserve this! They are not inferior to mere mortals!"
Unable to endure Perturabo's mocking tone, Forrix summoned every ounce of his courage and shouted back at the Primarch.
"And yet, as I see it, you are inferior to mortals! If you want this Primarch to respect you, then show me the capabilities of an Astartes!"
"If you remain as useless as rotting mud, then I shall reshape you in my own way. Just as a blacksmith hammers raw iron a thousand times to forge it into unbreakable steel!"
Perturabo's sarcasm grew even sharper in response to Forrix's defiance.
"My Lord! Give us one more chance! Let your mortal armies fight alongside us! Let the true battlefield judge who is superior!"
Suvorov could no longer restrain himself either. He stood forth and shouted his suggestion to Perturabo.
"Exactly as I intended! Only the blood and fire of the battlefield can forge true steel! Suvorov possesses more true courage than you, Forrix. What do you think of your brother's proposal?"
Perturabo turned to Suvorov with a look of approval before turning back to Forrix to continue his cold derision.
"If that is your wish, then I and the entire Fourth Legion accept this challenge! Point us to the next battlefield!"
"On that field, regardless of the outcome, we will prove ourselves to you with our blood and our tenacity!"
Realizing there was no turning back, Forrix spoke with a look of grim determination.
"Good. You are at least a man of some character. That earns a sliver of my respect." Seeing Forrix accept the challenge, Perturabo nodded and continued.
"According to reports from the Expeditionary Fleets, there is a world nearby called Norsca. The techno-barbarians there refuse to submit to the Emperor, clinging instead to their heresies."
"The Emperor demands that whichever Imperial force can reach the world fastest must suppress them immediately. Fortunately, Kislev is the closest world."
"Therefore, the first battle under my command will begin on the world of Norsca. I will use this campaign to evaluate your abilities and understand you better."
"This is the opportunity I am granting you. Do not squander it. I will be watching your every move."
Having secured Forrix's pledge, Perturabo formally announced his orders to the two officers.
"I understand, My Lord. The Fourth Legion will prepare for battle and stand ready to fight alongside your armies!"
Forrix gritted his teeth as he gave his reply.
"Excellent. I appreciate that attitude."