"Just as I told you, Dorn."
"I won. I did exactly what I said I would—I shattered the defenses of these resistors in the shortest time possible."
Amidst the ruins of the fortress, where the acrid smell of gunpowder still hung heavy in the air, Rogal Dorn and Perturabo Rurik Kislevsky stood watching the prisoners of war being herded by the Kislevite Streltsi.
Perturabo turned slowly toward his kinsman, speaking in a measured, deliberate tone.
Though the Iron Tsar's voice was outwardly calm, any keen observer could detect the underlying sense of superiority. It was the smug satisfaction of a man who had succeeded where his brother had struggled.
"Indeed, you did. In a matter of hours, you resolved a resistance that had stymied me for a considerable time."
Dorn did not respond immediately to Perturabo's boast. After a long silence, he replied with unadorned dignity. His words, much like his nickname "The Stone," were devoid of any polished flattery or hollow praise.
Hearing this plain acknowledgment, Perturabo allowed a flicker of pride to cross his face. No matter how much Dorn withheld flowery compliments, the fact that he recognized the achievement was a victory in itself.
However, Dorn's next words quickly extinguished his satisfaction.
"But, Perturabo, as your kinsman, I must say something. Even if you do not wish to hear it, it must be said."
Having acknowledged the feat, Rogal Dorn spoke again with slow deliberation.
"What do you mean by that, Dorn?"
"If you intend to accuse me of disregarding the lives of my soldiers, you are mistaken! I made every preparation, and when the battle commenced, we secured victory with maximum speed!"
"I did not, as you previously criticized, hurl my warriors out of their trenches unprepared to die for nothing!"
Perturabo's mood soured instantly. He could not fathom why Dorn would still find cause for criticism when he had launched the attack only after meticulous planning.
"Perturabo, you did indeed make full preparations before attacking. I do not deny that."
"Sigismund has already reported the details of your plan to me. Even I could find no fault in its military execution."
Seeing Perturabo's interrogation, Dorn shook his head and answered calmly.
"Then what is it you wish to say, Dorn? Are you simply looking for trouble? Seeking a reason to find fault with me?"
With his tactical brilliance admitted, Perturabo's patience reached its limit, and he shot back with mounting irritation.
"Perturabo, look around us. Look at these ruins."
Dorn gestured to their surroundings. Even as Perturabo's temper flared, Dorn maintained his characteristic, unshakable composure.
"And? What of it, Dorn?"
Perturabo asked, his confusion deepening into frustration.
"You, Perturabo, are my brother."
"I do not deny that your plan was militarily perfect. You breached a fortress in minimal time that had long resisted us."
"But I must state that you have violated the laws of engagement. I have received reports from my subordinates; they witnessed your troops slaughtering innocent civilians during the breach. They made no distinction between combatants and non-combatants."
"I could charge you with an intentional massacre."
Facing the bewildered Perturabo, Dorn finally delivered his critique—not from a tactical standpoint, but from the perspective of military law.
"So? You condemn me for the sake of the families of these rebels? The Imperium requires an example to be made! Only by executing these resistors along with their kin can we send a message to the rest: if you wish to betray the Emperor, be prepared for your entire lineage to be extinguished!"
Perturabo sneered, dismissing Dorn's accusation with cold pragmatism.
"You are wrong, Perturabo."
"Firstly, they are not rebels. They are the indigenous people of this world. The Imperium invaded their world; they became our enemies only to defend their homes."
"Regardless of how grand or desirable the Emperor's cause may be, to this world, we remain invaders from beyond the stars. We are aggressors in their eyes."
"Now, my brother, think carefully. We invade their world and then deliberately massacre them. What image of us does that leave in their minds?"
Rogal Dorn continued in his unhurried manner, explaining the situation with painstaking clarity.
"Amusing! So, Dorn, you rebuke me from the perspective of the locals?"
Perturabo laughed, though there was no humor in it. He was rendered almost speechless by his brother's "stone-like" stubbornness.
"No, Perturabo. I am considering the long-term peace and stability of the Imperium here. I do not wish for us to be viewed as invaders and butchers. I want them to accept the rule of the Imperium and the Imperial Truth from their hearts."
Dorn ignored Perturabo's mockery and shook his head slightly as he answered.
"Then you are the one who is wrong, Dorn."
"I do not care if the people here submit from their hearts. If they dare to resist further, I will order the Iron Warriors and the Streltsi to carry out a 'Final Solution' for the humans of this world."
"If you believe massacre cannot buy total obedience, then why should I not simply wipe them all out? We can then repopulate this world with Imperial colonists who are far more inclined to obey."
Perturabo let out a cold snort, his voice dripping with disdain for the mortal populace.
"Perturabo, my brother... I did not expect you to choose such a path."
"I am disappointed in you. Perhaps I misjudged you."
Rogal Dorn's brow furrowed. After a heavy silence, he offered his final response.
"Suit yourself," Perturabo said coldly.