World 11-72.
This nameless world, designated by the Imperium with the numerical string "11-72," was ruled by a human nation that had flatly rejected the Imperium's offer of compliance.
Consequently, the Seventh Legion of the Master of Mankind—the Astartes legion he had personally named the "Imperial Fists"—was dispatched. Their mission was to use military force to bring this rebellious human world under Imperial rule in the shortest time possible.
Commanding the Seventh Legion was their Primarch—the Seventh Son of the Master of Mankind, the Kaiser of Inwit, and the leader of Clan Dorn: Rogal Dorn.
He stood now upon a high mountain outside the city, flanked by his personal guard, watching the fortress currently under siege by the Seventh Legion and its auxiliary Imperial Army detachments.
This was the final bastion remaining. Once it fell, the conquest of this world could be declared complete.
However, the casualties sustained by the Imperial Fists in taking this world had exceeded their projections. The human nation here possessed a remarkably rich cache of technology inherited from the Age of Technology, enough to inflict significant losses even upon a Legion of Astartes.
"My Lord, we have breached the enemy's third defensive line. However, our casualties are severe, and the men require a period of rest. My company has lost over half its strength; my subordinates are either dead or critically wounded. The enemy's firepower is beyond anything we anticipated."
An Imperial Fists officer approached Dorn, dropping to one knee to report to his gene-father.
"Indeed," Dorn replied. "Our losses have been too high. It is time to decelerate the offensive."
The Primarch of the Seventh Legion nodded. As a commander, he was acutely aware of the tactical difficulties plaguing this campaign.
"Father, our objective is to bring this world under the rule of the Master of Mankind. We should eliminate this final enemy as swiftly as possible."
Sigismund, First Captain of the Imperial Fists, who stood guarding his gene-father's side with his longsword in hand, spoke up in a slow, steady tone.
"You are correct. We must take this world quickly and present it to the Emperor."
"That is why I have sent a request to the nearest Imperial forces for assistance. With reinforcements, we can concentrate our final strength to take this stubborn fortress. Only then can we stop the continuous drain on our numbers."
Dorn offered a look of approval to Sigismund and nodded in agreement.
Aboard the Iron Blood.
"Tell me, have any of you worked with the Seventh Legion before? If so, what is your assessment of them?"
Perturabo leafed through the archives detailing the Seventh Legion and its Primarch. He looked up at Forrix, who stood attending him, and posed the question in a measured tone.
After his collaboration with Horus Lupercal, Perturabo had developed a sense of caution. He felt the need to fully understand the nature of his kinsmen before committing to any joint operation.
"My Lord, you mean the Seventh Legion?" Forrix asked, his expression one of cautious reverence.
"Yes. I am about to fight alongside my brother Rogal Dorn. I wish to know the truth of him and his Legion. Is there a problem?" Perturabo replied, a hint of impatience in his voice.
"In that case, My Lord... I can only say that the warriors of the Seventh Legion are like a solid, immovable stone."
"Unlike us, who served as the vanguard for siege warfare before your return, they focus more on shock assaults and consolidation. Before the Great Crusade even left Terra, they had constructed over six hundred fortresses to secure the Emperor's rule over newly conquered lands."
"The Emperor seems to favor them greatly. He once bestowed the title of 'Roma' upon them—the name of a great ancient city—to symbolize the honor they earned in defeating the Wind-Callers of the Himalayas."
Sensing his gene-father's impatience, Forrix quickly provided a detailed introduction to the Seventh's history.
"Interesting. A Legion that excels at building fortresses. That sounds... rather to my taste. Or perhaps... a suitable rival."
A playful glint appeared in the Iron Tsar's eyes when Forrix mentioned the Imperial Fists' talent for fortification.
"Now, tell me of the Seventh Primarch, Rogal Dorn. I understand he returned to the Imperium and began fighting for the Master of Mankind earlier than I did."
"Have you had any personal contact with him? If so, what impression did he leave?" Perturabo asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he focused on the inquiry.
"Father, if I must describe Lord Dorn..." Forrix paused, searching for the right words to convey to his gene-father. "I can only tell you that he is rigid and severe, yet exceptionally just. However, do not think for a moment that speaking with him is a pleasant experience. He has a way of infuriating people to no end."
"Intriguing. Is he difficult to get along with? Or is it that he dislikes telling the truth?"
Forrix's description only heightened Perturabo's curiosity. The more daunting Forrix made Dorn sound, the more interested the Iron Tsar became.
"No, that is exactly the issue, My Lord."
"Lord Dorn is precisely the type of man who insists on telling the truth. But because he is so brutally direct, the general opinion of him is not particularly high."
Forrix shook his head as he clarified the point.
"Now I am even more interested," Perturabo said, a look of genuine fascination crossing his face.
"My Lord, the fleet has just exited the Warp. We have arrived in the vicinity of the Seventh Legion's world," Suvorov reported as he entered the office and knelt.
"Good. Inform everyone to prepare for landing. Simultaneously, notify the Seventh Legion and Rogal Dorn: the Fourth Legion and Perturabo Rurik Kislevsky have arrived."