"Father… what kind of man was Fermu in the Empire's 40K era?" Ferrus ultimately couldn't suppress his curiosity and doubt, seeking out Caelan the next morning.
Caelan gazed at Ferrus's neck, "A man who couldn't get a grip on things. "A man who slipped the blade meant for him, only to kneel before another."
Ferrus's frown deepened.
"Fermu was one of the rare great generals of the Empire," Caelan continued, "who understood perfectly that he had been forged as a tool… and felt neither resentment nor regret for it."
Ferrus nodded silently. This was indeed his character.
"He was relentless in cutting away his own weaknesses," Caelan said. "While his closest friend, Fujin, pursued perfection itself. One sought refinement. The other sought transcendence."
"When Fujin betrayed the Empire and attempted to turn him, Fermu refused. But the attempt planted a seed in his heart: Fujin came to turn him, so there must be a possibility that he could be turned!"
"This self-doubt became his heart disease, driving him to urgently want to eliminate this weakness by killing the traitor Fujin."
"That doubt festered. It became a sickness. And he convinced himself that the only way to eliminate this weakness was to kill the traitor with his own hands."
"But during the duel with his brother, he didn't use his most powerful weapon. Instead, with a strong sense of fatalism, he used the Fireblade, a gift he had given Fujin, to fight him. And Fujin, during the battle, used the Forgebreaker war hammer that he had once given Fermu."
"But when the two finally met in battle, Fermu did not wield his greatest weapon. He chose instead the Fireblade, a blade he himself had once gifted to Fujin. And Fujin, in turn, raised Forgebreaker, the war hammer he had once given Fermu."
"In the fight, Fermu was decapitated by his best friend."
Ferrus's face was covered in question marks. What kind of idiot was Fermu?
Where were your hands? Why didn't you use them? Why did you use a sword?
Ferrus asked, "If Fermu had used his most powerful weapon, what were his chances of winning?"
Caelan replied, "At least ninety-nine percent."
Fermu left little mark in the Empire's official histories. Beyond the name, he was nearly forgotten. Yet among the generals of his time, he had been anything but insignificant.
With his wargear fully unleashed, his combat prowess ranked above all but the Angel.
His prestige had once placed him among the foremost candidates for War-Marshal.
At that time, there were only three strong contenders for War-Marshal: Hershan, Fermu, and Simba El'lion.
Simba El'lion had the lowest chance of being elected because his relationships with the other generals were poor. No one supported him.
Hershan's staunch supporters were Santong and Longar.
Fermu had three staunch supporters: Fujin, Nucan, and Little Magos.
Hershan was a social butterfly, getting along well with every brother.
Fermu, though less dazzling, maintained harmonious ties as well. He was not stubborn. He acknowledged his flaws openly and labored to correct them.
Moreover, he was one of the very few normal Primarchs. His personality had no obvious flaws.
Jieman privately called Fermu, Longar, and Santong, believing they most closely embodied the Emperor's vision.
He once called Fermu the most crucial, irreplaceable pillar of them all.
Fermu liked Fujin the most, but the person he most wanted to become deep down was Jieman. He was just a bit tsundere and wouldn't admit it out loud.
Among the undecided generals, most were neutral. Whoever claimed the mantle of War-Marshal would be accepted.
Fermu's Tenth Legion also enjoyed extremely high prestige. The number of cities they conquered exceeded even the Sixteenth Legion's.
If not for the Emperor's favoritism, Fermu and Hershan's chances were almost fifty-fifty.
Simba El'lion was just a filler. No one except himself thought he would win.
Fermu had intended to compete. But after a single defeat in the field, he withdrew voluntarily.
He recognized his own limitations. He was a conqueror. Nothing more, nothing less.
The office of War-Marshal did not suit him. It would have twisted him into something uncomfortable, something false.
And since he could not excel in that role, it was better to give up and let his brother have the chance.
As for the honor of being elected War-Marshal, Fermu didn't care.
In this regard, Hershan was actually worse than Fermu.
Hershan did not truly wish to be War-Marshal either. But neither could he bear the thought of another holding the title. He desired recognition, desired to stand above his brothers in their admiration.
"Idiot!"
Ferrus clenched his iron fist, anger burning in his silver eyes. 'With every advantage in your grasp, you chose fatalism? What were you trying to prove?'
'External weaknesses were insignificant. Fermu himself was the greatest weakness of his entire life!'
'Had he unleashed his full strength without hesitation, he could have cut his way out.'
'Even in death, he could have dragged other traitor generals into the abyss with him.'
'How could he have ended up headless?'
"Father, what about Fermu's Legion? What is your assessment?"
Caelan said, "If I must judge them, they were the most abstract Legion in the Empire."
Most Legions followed a pyramid structure. The clearest example was Fujin's Third, built on a near-total personality cult.
When Fujin soared, so did they.
When he fell, they fell with him.
The Tenth was different. Its structure was rigid, almost mechanical. Efficient beyond compare in battle. Precise. Relentless.
But it was not a living pyramid.
It was a framework built around a central axis, their general.
Remove that axis, and the structure froze.
Fermu and his Tenth Legion were arguably one of the hardest-working and meritorious Legions in the entire Empire.
The reason they became so obscure was partly that Fermu died too early, and partly because of the Tenth Legion's nature.
Without him, the Legion stagnated. No myth grew. No legend flourished.
Many people think Fermu was just beheaded by Fujin. This is a misunderstanding.
He wasn't just beheaded. He was dismembered.
Hershan made Fermu's skull into a specimen. The traitors chopped up his corpse and took pieces as trophies.
Fujin also took a piece, using it to clone Fermu.
The Cult of Gorgon only recovered one severed hand.
Nucan was initially very happy. He really thought his brother could resurrect like him.
When he saw the mechanical monster pieced together from Fermu's severed hand, he flew into a rage and smashed it with his hammer.
The Tenth Legion's combat effectiveness far exceeded most Legions, but its abstractness also far exceeded other Legions.
"Why is that?"
Ferrus silently looked up at the crimson sky. After hearing Fermu's story, he found it hard to imagine such a Legion could be so meritorious.
He and his Legion seemed to exist for comic relief!
Vulkan offered his answer, "The Legion fractured because Fermu never truly unified it."
After Fermu's death, the Tenth Legion lost two-thirds of its warriors, but still had at least 37,000 warriors, far exceeding the total of the other two traitor Legions.
However, their role in the subsequent Hershan Suppression was zero.
When other Legions lost their generals, grief turned to vengeance. They sharpened their blades and demanded blood.
When the Tenth lost theirs, they would only reflect. Their reasoning was that the general was too weak, so he died. Therefore, the general was inadequate.
The Tenth Legion was structured around clans. Their homeworld itself had never been unified. Naturally, the Legion reflected that same fragmentation.
Conflicts between different clans were constant due to ideological differences. All this led to infighting and division within the Tenth Legion. Some clans even joined the traitors.
This was similar to the Fifth Legion. The Fifth Legion was also never unified, and they also experienced infighting and division.
They were tribes gathered beneath a banner, not a nation forged into one will. Once the banner fell, chaos returned.
This wasn't a defect unique to the Fifth and Tenth Legions, but an inherent chronic problem for all Legions. Legions were built around their general.
The general was like the sun. The Legion was the planet orbiting it.
Under the sun's rays, the planet thrived.
But once the sun went out, the planet would fall into eternal winter.
If the world beneath had forged unity, it could endure the cold together. If not, it would tear itself apart over dwindling warmth.
"Unification," Ferrus repeated the word softly.
He was still young, yet to come into contact with the clans of Medusa.
But since he had identified this weakness, he would spare no effort to make up for it.
Whether division or unification, the choice was his. The important thing was to recognize the cost of the choice.
If he could unify Medusa and unify the Legion, even if he died, the Legion wouldn't immediately disintegrate.
The cost was that he would have to remove much of Medusa's native culture.
Division, by contrast, would preserve tradition. But the Legion would remain a loose knot, held together only by his iron fist.
But once the restraint of his iron fist was gone, the whole edifice would instantly collapse.
"Father." Ferrus raised his silver eyes. "How should I choose?"
Caelan asked, "Are you asking for advice?"
Ferrus shook his head, "No. I want an answer."
"My answer may not be what you expect."
Ferrus shook his head again, "No. I already have an answer."
What he sought was not direction.
He sought confirmation.
He needed someone to place weight upon the scale.
"If it were me, I would choose unification."
Division ultimately leads to infighting. And he detested pointless conflict.
Even if unity were only superficial, even if beneath the surface each walked his own path, on matters of consequence, they must stand as one.
The Imperium itself was proof.
Though its million worlds enjoyed high autonomy, with varying technological levels and even diverse political systems, monarchies, parliamentary systems, dictatorships, feudal systems, democracies all existed.
Yet were all ruled by a single center: Terra.
This was still the bright dawn of the Great Crusade. The Emperor and the Primarchs walked among men. Malcador's hand still guided the machinery of governance.
The bureaucracy had not yet calcified. Idealism still burned. Even the lowest administrators believed sincerely in humanity's unification.
This was still the bright dawn of 30K. The Emperor and the primarchs walked among men. Malcador still labored diligently for the Imperium.
The Imperial governing machine wasn't yet rigid. The bureaucracy was clean and efficient. Everyone was filled with passion and sincerity for the Great Crusade.
Even the lowest administrative officials burned with pure idealism, willing to devote their all to the great cause of human unification.
This was humanity's finest era since the Golden Age.
If not now, when?
Unified Legions endured internal contradictions without civil war.
The Sixth Legion, Seventh Legion, Ninth Legion, Thirteenth Legion, and Eighteenth Legion were prime examples.
Divided Legions, each carried scars of internal conflict.
Ferrus's voice was decisive, "Then I will unify."
Relief shone in Caelan's eyes.
The Emperor's favorite general was Hershan. But the general who best embodied the Emperor's vision was Fermu, followed by Jieman.
Fermu knew the truth but always willingly acted as a tool because his ideal for humanity outweighed his personal desires.
Vulkan asked, "Father, what are we learning this afternoon?"
"I am in an excellent mood. You two have the afternoon off. Explore Hesiod properly."
...
"Vulkan, is there a blacksmith shop in Hesiod?" Ferrus stopped, his gaze sweeping across the street.
Vulkan replied, "We can go to Uncle N'bel's shop. Do you want to forge a weapon?"
Ferrus nodded, "Your weapon broke. I want to give you a suitable one."
Vulkan had sacrificed much to save him.
He couldn't repay with his life now, but he could at least replace the weapon.
"That wasn't my weapon. I took it from Uncle N'bel. I still need to forge him a new one as repayment."
"You never had a weapon before?"
"A real weapon? No. That was my first battle."
Ferrus smiled, "Perfect. I want to give you a real weapon!"
His brother's first battle was alongside him. And his brother's first weapon would be forged by him!
And all his future weapons, Ferrus would provide them all!
Vulkan grinned. "Then I'll forge one for you. What do you want?"
"A warhammer. You?"
"Me too. Father taught me: one who is strong conquers ten who are skilled!"
Vulkan was very strong, but lacked agility. His movements were always somewhat clumsy compared to his brother's.
A warhammer suited him best. Broad, sweeping moves could maximize his brute strength.
Using swords or spears, which required delicate body movement and quick changes, would waste his talent, making him constrained and unable to perform.
Ferrus could wield anything. But he suspected what his brother truly wanted.
So he chose the same first.
.....
CLANG!
Vulkan swung the smithing hammer. Each blow precisely struck the glowing iron ingot.
Sparks flew. The outline of a warhammer slowly took shape from the blank.
At a nearby forging table, Ferrus held a red-hot ingot with his silver arm. The metal was as obedient as clay under his hands.
He didn't need a smithing hammer. Those hands were the most perfect tools. He could forge metal into any shape he wanted.
And the weapon taking shape between his iron hands was also a warhammer, identical to the one his brother was forging.
Primarchs were all-rounders. They could do anything.
But they also each had areas of expertise.
For example, Vulkan and Ferrus were both highly skilled forgers; none could surpass them.
"Brother, you should learn from my forging method. Use it, don't deny it."
Ferrus's forging rhythm was efficient and precise. His iron hands were much more useful than his brother's hammer.
Though Vulkan's hands still retained the dark complexion of flesh and blood, Ferrus knew that beneath that seemingly ordinary surface, his brother's hands also contained the same non-human essence as his own, both originating from that iron giant beast.
Perhaps by chance, or maybe by some hidden gift, those strange metals had perfectly fused with their flesh.
Ferrus gazed at his own iron-metallic palm. He didn't resist it. He could feel the power this gift brought. But his brother seemed somewhat resistant.
Vulkan's smithing hammer paused in mid-air. The clanging stopped: "I've never denied this power. But I prefer using a hammer, feeling the vibration transmitted to my palm during forging. Perhaps it is meaningless. But I choose to persist.
Ferrus: "Only a fool questions the meaning of persistence. Persistence itself is the meaning."
"Thank you for understanding, brother."
"If you're truly grateful, swallow the thanks. We are brothers."
"And if I insist?"
"If your mind is made up," Ferrus's eyes glinted, "you're welcome."
The brothers smiled at each other. Vulkan bowed his head and continued forging his warhammer.
Ferrus looked around the shop. He took a hammer from the anvil and symbolically tapped on his already-shaped weapon.
His brother was very pragmatic. So he would also try to persist, even if just ceremonially.
He should use his hands, but not rely on them excessively. Using a hammer helped him remember he was still a blacksmith.
Ferrus's tapping movement stalled for a moment.
In that instant, he suddenly understood, maybe Fermu's failure to use his iron hands wasn't due to stupidity.
His seemingly meaningless persistence might also have meaning.
These hands weren't ultimately his. And he didn't want outsiders focusing too much attention on them.
One day, he would shed these iron hands. He wanted to prove to the world he didn't rely on them.
Not for honor, but for some higher persistence.
Perhaps this was the reason for his persistence.
"But he was still an idiot," Ferrus murmured. He shouldn't have abandoned his wargear.
It wasn't arrogance. He was just bound by emotion, causing him to fail to see reality clearly.
Emotion should be strength, not a chain.
Fermu's weakness had not been Fujin.
It had been himself.
Ferrus would learn from this. He wouldn't repeat Fermu's mistakes. He wouldn't fall in the same place twice.
Maybe he would still become close friends with Fulgrim in the future. But now he had someone better, a brother willing to go through fire, willing to sacrifice his life to save him!
CLANG!
With two clear hammer blows echoing in unison, sparks flew like stardust.
On the anvils, two warhammer blanks were slowly taking shape.
....
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