Felix ultimately didn't catch up.
Ahriman regretted this; deep down, he still quite approved of the Breaker of Cities, even though he came from the crude and fanatical Iron Warriors Legion, Felix himself was indeed a good warrior.
Magnus's sons were accustomed to viewing their comrades from other Legions with an arrogant attitude, and he certainly could do so, as these individuals were merely butchers who created slaughter and destruction on the battlefield, their glory destined to last only until the end of this long crusade.
But the Thousand Sons were different; Magnus's sons were engaged in a great undertaking that would benefit the entire human race immensely: they diligently collected ancient texts and unique copies on every world they visited, cherishing the infinite wisdom contained within them, and doing everything in their power to find and organize the lingering souls of the Golden Age.
On Prospero, the collection of even the most ordinary library numbered in the hundreds of millions, and the Thousand Sons believed these were the most magnificent treasures in the galaxy; no one could harm these vessels of wisdom under their protection, yet despite this, they would still go to any lengths for new discoveries in the galaxy.
So, when he saw the never-before-seen set of books Ms. Morgan handed him, even Ahriman, as arrogant as he was, couldn't help but feel genuine joy.
“Is this a new acquisition?”
“The head of one village was once an excellent traveler; he possessed extraordinary power in the history, geography, and ancient languages of this world, and was keen to compile his knowledge into books.”
“You should have invited him over, Morgan, a stormbird can certainly carry one more person.”
“He insisted on staying with his family and friends; it's a large family, several hundred people, but I can ensure he reached the camp safely; Hathor has already taken over the defenses there.”
“…The sorrow of mortals.”
Ahriman shook his head, but he wasn't worried that such a generalization would cause any emotional harm to his companion; Morgan always preferred silence, and she rarely initiated conversation.
Even though her reputation between the Legion and the Auxiliary Army was already quite prominent, few Thousand Sons truly understood this lady, and even Ahriman's impression of her was limited to a few conventional points: taciturn, extraordinarily psychic, alluring in appearance, and exceptionally capable.
“You returned faster than I expected; I thought you would need at least three more days. How are things? Did you encounter any problems?”
“Overall, it went smoothly, but the residents repeatedly mentioned a cult called the Sons of Sithan, and some were even fervent believers, ranging from individual to collective village-wide behavior.”
“That's a cult… broadly speaking, yes, they worship a fellow called the Lord of Storms; this is the local governor's dereliction of duty. Dawn Star has been subjugated for so many years, yet he still hasn't managed to promote the imperial truth.”
Ahriman spoke of that esteemed guardian with the utmost contempt, conversing with Morgan while reporting the situation here to the Legion Lords.
Their footsteps, accompanied by brief exchanges, gradually faded into the distance. Behind them, the Iron Warriors had already organized a force of ten thousand to clear the aftermath of the recent massacre; chaotic shouts and low sobs intertwined in the air, reflecting the magnificent city of Kalena in the distance.
— — — — — —
Salimavis was a fortress worthy of praise.
Despite his inner displeasure with the Legion Lord of the Fourth Legion, Ahriman would not disingenuously disparage the Gene-Seed Primarch's architectural art; as the King of Olympia, the Gene-Father of the Iron Warriors, Perturabo indeed had his unique qualities.
“It is said that his first act upon arriving here was to personally lead his soldiers in renovating this fortress… it only took one night.”
Looking at the “temporary command post” before him, which was somewhat exaggeratedly large even by Astartes standards, Ahriman's voice carried a peculiar hint of sourness.
“It looks like a permanent fortress.”
“In fact, it's semi-permanent. According to Felix, the Fourth Legion would only need a week and the lives of seven hundred soldiers to completely occupy this place. With sufficient fire support, those two numbers could be halved.”
Ahriman continued to converse fluently, almost showing off, discussing the various regulations for fortresses and strongholds in Astartes standards, and Morgan was the perfect listener; she was quiet but not lifeless, always posing interesting questions at just the right moment to keep the conversation flowing.
Unseen by the Thousand Sons Captain, invisible light waves constantly flashed across Morgan's eyes, meticulously recording every word Ahriman uttered.
And as the conversation gradually shifted to the owner of this fortress, the atmosphere inevitably grew heavy.
“If, and I mean if, we unfortunately have to meet the Gene-Seed Primarch of the Fourth Legion later, Morgan, I hope you can remain silent, just as you always have.”
“I've heard of Perturabo's name. Does that name cause unease?”
“No… it’s disgust.”
“Gene-Seed Primarchs are, of course, great figures worthy of obedience, but our Gene-Father Magnus commands us with his wisdom and benevolence, whereas Perturabo is entirely different; he relies on a ruthlessness more extreme than steel.”
“I have fought alongside the Iron Warriors, more than once, including the most brutal Battle of Intinicaon. They are the most resilient comrades, tenacious yet unyielding. I still remember they lost a full twenty-nine thousand warriors on that desolate world, but that didn't break them.”
“And then? Then… then Perturabo returned, on the world of Olympia, as the Gene-Father of the Fourth Legion… and what happened next.”
“He took one-tenth of his Legion's warriors, which was 3,500 men, and then demanded that they be beaten to death by their own comrades, from the highest-ranking officers to the lowest-ranking soldiers, none were spared… I knew several of the best Iron Warriors. They were indeed crude and warlike, but they shouldn't have died like that.”
“Died at the hands of a fastidious… madman.”
The final muttered words were so low that even an Astartes would have difficulty hearing them, and Ahriman's sole listener seemed utterly unconcerned, merely examining the fortress before her, documenting its appearance.
“But even so, he still led the Legion to this world; perhaps he has changed.”
“Who knows? How can we fathom the thoughts of any Gene-Seed Primarch?”
Ahriman looked up again, caressing the spines of the books, which began to lift his spirits.
“Perhaps he has become a saint among the stars.”
“Or perhaps it's just basic obedience to the mission.”
She always knew what he was thinking.
Ahriman smiled. He was glad he had chosen to be friends with Morgan; although he couldn't always view mortals as equals, that didn't mean he disliked forming friendships with truly exceptional individuals.
“Come, my lady.”
“I'll take you to meet my Gene-Father. He is one of the wisest sages in this galaxy; you should have met him long ago.”
“…Yes.”
“I should have met him long ago.”
“It seems you have long heard of Magnus's great name?”
“More than that, I joined the Thousand Sons Legion's fleet precisely because of him.”
Ahriman's laughter grew boisterous.
Why hadn't he ever noticed that Morgan had a talent for flattery?
— — — — — —
Even among the demigod-like sons of the Emperor, Magnus was particularly tall; his physique was perhaps second only to Vulcan, the Gene-Seed Primarch of the Eighteenth Legion.
Anyone who saw this Gene-Seed Primarch would instinctively be surprised: such a grand and mighty giant did not reign through strength and might, but was renowned for his intricate and complex psychic abilities and wisdom.
As his epithet suggested, “The Crimson” Magnus was a red-skinned giant. He wore no armor, but a long robe of red and white, the most striking decoration on which was the symbol of the Thousand Sons Legion: a ring extending tentacles in all directions, like a black-hearted sun.
But what was most captivating were Magnus's eyes; the Gene-Seed Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion had only one pupil glowing with purple light, while the other was as empty as a black hole.
The Gene-Seed Primarch was not alone; standing beside him were two of his sons, who were also senior advisors in the Legion: Atawa and Focis-Taka. These two excellent Astartes now stood like schoolchildren to the Primarch's left and right; the former offered Ms. Morgan a friendly smile, while the latter chose to turn his face away, not even bothering to look at her.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Morgan; many of my sons have spoken to me of your abilities and wisdom.”
Magnus's voice contained an undeniable confidence and arrogance; he bent slightly, showing courtesy to this most excellent mortal assistant.
“Ahriman has already told me everything that happened in the evacuation zone, and Hathor's report appeared on my data-slate early this morning. Fortunately, you clearly did not betray your psychic talent; I must admit, as a… mortal, this is very rare.”
When he spoke the word “mortal,” the Gene-Seed Primarch's tone paused noticeably; he frowned slightly, feeling a sense of surprise.
This Ms. Morgan gave him a feeling unlike other mortals; some of the aura about her was more like himself and his brothers.
However, this thought was quickly erased by the Gene-Seed Primarch himself; Magnus did not believe he would fail to recognize a blood relative, and besides, he should only have brothers, as his Gene-Father had not mentioned anything else.
Thinking this, he straightened his posture again, a smile appearing under the gaze of his three sons.
“Given your consistent excellent performance, Morgan, the Legion's High Advisor is a deserved reward for you—but not now. As you can see, we have more urgent matters to attend to, but I assure you, your title will be confirmed at a more solemn and grand occasion.”
“However, before that, you can indeed accept the responsibilities and rights of a High Advisor. All your actions and plans can be reported directly to me, and most importantly, you can serve as my follower, and together with me, experience the infinite mysteries of the Warp.”
“Believe me, when you witness that endless sea of the unknown with your own eyes, you will find that any worldly honor will be insignificant.”
The Gene-Seed Primarch's voice was filled with enticing prospects, charm, and future; whether it was Ahriman or the Primarch's two advisors, all were immersed in this voice, clearly having explored that unknown mysterious void more than once.
But unfortunately, none of this truly attracted the “mortal” before him.
“I was forced to witness the tides of the Warp, Lord Magnus, and from my personal perception, it is exceptionally dangerous to me.”
This remark successfully made Magnus laugh.
“Perhaps for you, yes.”
Magnus patted her shoulder.
“But now, you need not worry. In terms of Warp exploration, I am the undisputed master. I have ventured deep into that place many times, observing and recording everything I saw, even communicating and interacting with the entities within. Believe me, most areas of the Warp are merely harmless turbulence, and some of the ancient beings there have benevolent intentions.”
“Everything is under my control; there is nothing that knowledge and wisdom cannot solve.”
Magnus's confident voice echoed in their ears; the Gene-Seed Primarch, lost in thought, paid no attention to the mortal's expression. After a moment, the Primarch finally turned around and clapped his hands, as if he had just remembered what he was supposed to do.
“That's enough, everyone; we've had enough time for pleasantries and greetings.”
“Now, let us enter this fortress and get to work; I'm sure my brother must be getting impatient.”