Perturabo originally had little interest in focusing on chess pieces; he had no plans for extensive interaction with his brothers, expecting nothing more than a nodding acquaintance in the future. After all, he disliked politics and had no desire to compete with that pack of "giant infants" for the Emperor's attention, staging some grand ethical drama of "I love Father, Father loves me."
Unfortunately, aside from Horus and Vulkan, few were truly favored by the Emperor. In the beginning, when the Primarchs were first recovered, the Emperor still had the patience to spend time with them aboard the Bucephalus, offering some semblance of care. But as the Great Crusade accelerated, the Emperor lost more of his humanity. He gradually shifted his focus to the Webway, and the days of leading from the front became rare.
By the mid-Great Crusade, the Primarchs began to distinguish themselves. The most striking records belonged to Ferrus and Guilliman, followed by Lion and Horus. By then, the Emperor rarely met his sons outside of War Councils and social gatherings.
He only had a general grasp of their performance; Horus had already occupied an irreplaceable role in his heart, the position of Warmaster practically predetermined. No matter how hard the other Primarchs worked, they could not capture the Emperor's true focus.
They were merely useful, convenient tools.
And tools are meant to be discarded once used. If a tool developed inappropriate thoughts, the completion of the Webway would spell the end for the Primarchs and the Astartes—just like the Thunder Warriors after the Unification Wars.
Perturabo had no intention of participating in that cycle. If the Emperor succeeded and expected him to abandon his current achievements, that would be impossible. Frankly, if the current Primarchs refused to acknowledge their Warp essence, which of them could rival him? He wasn't falling to Chaos, so what could the Emperor do? If the Emperor tried to force his hand, then let there be rebellion! He'd bombard Terra directly!
Perturabo held zero affection for any world outside his own rule. He had a deep-seated stereotype of the "Warhammer World," and his internal barriers—his underlying code—left him disinterested in anything he didn't personally control.
Saving humanity? That depends on the humans! Who is worth saving? The Imperium? Worth my foot! If it weren't for the Warp, the Emperor would have dismantled the Imperium himself. This political entity, built on extreme exploitation to rapidly strip resources, was something even the Emperor wouldn't have done if he had any other choice. If he loved humanity that much, what right did he have to be Emperor?
Better to stay on Olympia and avoid the Imperial vortex. Perturabo disliked those parasites and had no interest in bickering with his brothers. The Emperor was truly inhumane; Perturabo wouldn't even have to volunteer—the Emperor would see his Legion's high compatibility and work him like a Great Crusade mule while Horus and the others split the spoils. Then they'd PUA him, saying it's all for humanity, that things will be better after the Crusade, and that humanity will remember his contribution.
But humanity won't remember squat! Which human remembers things like that? They care about stable policies, steady lives, and whether they are full and warm. He does all the work, they take the glory—and they expect the Fourth Legion to be remembered?
If Horus still rebelled, as a pragmatist, Perturabo would get PUA'd from both sides, neither side wanting him. Why go through that suffering? Is there anything in the Imperium worth saving?
If Sanguinius were Emperor, Malcador the Regent, Corax the Inquisitor, Rogal Dorn the Shield of Terra, Ferrus the Warmaster, Guilliman the Logistics Chief, and Vulkan the Defender... a Warmaster should just focus on fighting, not "balancing" things. If Guilliman and he just stayed level-headed and focused on building, how could the Imperium lose? Chaos?
I see Khorne as weak and cowardly! Nurgle as a fat, terrified pig! Slaanesh as a vulgar, posturing exhibitionist! Tzeentch as a blind, deaf skeleton in a tomb!
Only an Imperium like that would be worth Perturabo's protection—one that existed from the start to make human lives better. But even that isn't absolute; Chaos would never want the Imperium to thrive. Unexpected things happen. But that's for the future. Perturabo didn't care because he had the power to protect his own domain. Not even the Four Gods—no, not even the Emperor—would interfere with his territory!
Deep in the Warp, a massive, pitch-black factory was operating. Countless Chaos Undivided Daemons were forcibly imprisoned on assembly lines within this gargantuan facility by a mountain-sized giant robot. They worked without rest, mechanically repeating tasks; any slackness was met with a "Five-Point Lightning Strike." Occasionally, the command "Go work!" echoed. The Daemons knew another "prisoner slave" had been captured by the Lord of Iron.
Endless mechanical arms extended from the Daemon Factory, scouring the Warp for Undivided Daemons. Even Daemons under the Eight-Pointed Star were snatched if they dared appear before the Lord of Iron. He had even captured hundreds of Greater Daemons for the assembly lines!
The factory had twenty-two levels, its height and breadth incomprehensible. It was filled with equipment, massive Daemon overseers, researchers, and that colossal robot. It functioned like a giant computer, its body connected to the entire factory via mechanical arms.
It wasn't a Greater Daemon of this place; the factory belonged to it, but the Lord of Iron had seized it and turned the "Daemon Workshop" into a "Daemon Factory." The giant robot hadn't originally possessed such strength or processing power, but the Lord of Iron upgraded it—at the cost of becoming a permanent tool. Its independent thoughts were now a muddled mess of programs and operations.
The Greater Daemons under him served as diligent supervisors, occasionally hitting inefficient Daemon slaves with "Warp Lightning," cosplaying as a Lightning Overlord. But in the next moment, the Daemons felt their bodies tremble; their movements quickened.
Perturabo appeared, five meters tall in white civilian clothes. Compared to the black factory and the fierce Daemons, he was as bright as a small sun. The Daemons showed fear and awe, their hands moving with incredible speed. Daemon Engines and starships were forged; blasphemous vehicles and armaments were produced in a never-ending stream.
Perturabo walked to the giant robot. The expressionless machine rarely showed a hint of fear, but every Daemon felt it.
"Vashtorr, well done. Your efficiency has improved."
"It is my duty, Lord of Iron."
The towering figure showed a hint of sycophancy toward this "ant." Perturabo was satisfied; it was worth not entirely erasing Vashtorr's will. This flattery never grew old.
After realizing his essence, Perturabo's strength exploded. In a short time, he gained formidable power in the Warp. While the Warp is vast, the bright five-colored lights always lingered; now, a brilliant grey light had joined them.
The Chaos powers were curious and even welcomed this sudden "sibling," but they couldn't find him. He was crashing through the Warp with his entire factory. The Warp was too big, and even Chaos couldn't move as freely against a peer. Furthermore, the Warp storms following Slaanesh's birth still raged, making it hard to pinpoint the new Lord of Iron. Even if they did, so what? If their Greater Daemons were snatched, they just had to make new ones. They couldn't even find him to complain.
This was Perturabo's confidence. He could stir enough chaos in both the Warp and realspace that even the Chaos Gods would have to consider if crossing him was worth it. The Daemon Factory could churn out unlimited weapons. His "Malicious Craftsmanship" gave him unrivaled creativity—but only in the Warp. The factory could replicate gear infinitely; Vashtorr could turn designs into reality instantly. Theoretically, he could build a legion that crushed the galaxy.
Even if the Necrons awakened, Perturabo was confident he could outlast them. But the Imperium's threat wasn't just Necrons; it was everywhere, with Chaos being the largest. Tyranids and Orks were huge threats, but Perturabo didn't fear them. Neither did the Emperor. They only ran rampant because they bullied the Emperor for not being able to stand up—but Perturabo was different.
The Great Crusade's Imperium was the same—gold on the outside, rotten within. Even without Chaos, it would have fallen into internal chaos. Once the Webway succeeded, the Emperor wouldn't care about humanity; unless it was an alien invasion or Chaos corruption, he wouldn't interfere in human infighting.
Perturabo didn't want to manage it either; he only cared about the territory he would conquer. He wouldn't leave the Imperium, but he wouldn't participate in its wars. He would provide weapons and vehicles to his brothers, but his Legion would stay out of it. He wanted to save humanity, but only when the Imperium was worth saving. Otherwise, he'd pay some taxes based on his mood. If any reckless mortals tried to command him, he'd show them how the "Lord of Iron" got his name.
As Perturabo and Vashtorr discussed factory improvements, a communication filled with fury and rage connected. Perturabo frowned. Some Daemons in the factory hadn't fully lost the power of the Four Gods; they could still be used to locate the factory. They couldn't find it physically, but sending a message was no problem. Perturabo didn't want to deal with this raging idiot.
"Lord of Iron, I know you are listening. I will give you 88 Bloodthirsters for ten batches of melee gear. I want the best."
Khorne's voice, full of bloodlust and rage, echoed in the factory. Through this stench of sulfur and blood, Perturabo could see Khorne sitting on the Brass Throne.
"Get lost!"
Khorne, who had been about to project his power, froze on his throne. Then, a roar of primal fury erupted from the Blood God's realm, making the Bloodthirsters and Bloodletters tremble. His roar echoed through the Warp.
A chuckle came from the Crystal Labyrinth, whispering things like "idiot" and "all according to plan." The Lords of Change were confused. A wanton laugh also came from the Palace of Pleasure; the rival's frustration brought it joy. In the Garden, Grandfather was still smiling, giant maggots and viruses dripping into the cauldron; the Great Unclean Ones and Nurglings salivated. But the soup was for the Goddess of Life; they were out of luck.
The Emperor, working on the Webway, was distracted by Khorne's sudden outburst. "Did that moron get snubbed again?" he thought. His strength wasn't enough to know everything in the Warp yet. He went back to the Webway. It was paramount. He had decided: once the situation improved, he would delegate authority, withdraw from the Crusade, and focus on the Webway. That was the work for a shut-in researcher like him! Why spend every day killing? He planned to retire after the Webway was done. Humanity could do whatever it wanted!
But for now, the Crusade had to continue. Only Horus and Alpharius had returned; he couldn't find his other sons. They were the best tools he'd designed! He shouldn't have to do everything himself. It was all Erda's fault! And the damned Chaos! He got angry thinking about it. How could he have known Erda was such a "Holy Mother" type? She wasn't that sentimental when they played "games" on Terra.
Since it happened, anger was useless. The Emperor had to lead. Luckily, Alpharius fell right at the Palace gates, and Horus was found on Cthonia. Now the first-recovered son was learning by his side. The Emperor had never been a father; he had no manuals or examples. He gave Horus everything he could—extreme affection. This made Horus a bit strange, though he hid it well. It was a secret he buried deep in his heart!
Perturabo ignored Khorne. Later, during the critical period of Webway construction, he would wage war against the Four Gods to buy time for the Emperor. That would be more than enough. Whether the Webway succeeded depended on the Emperor's own ability.
Primarchs were born to serve the Crusade and humanity, but few realized it. They really just wanted their Father's favor. Only Guilliman and Horus truly realized this. Unfortunately, Horus didn't care, and Guilliman was too idealistic. Fulgrim's pride made him arrogant, but he was the face of the Imperium early on—the Proud Phoenix. Sanguinius and Vulkan didn't realize it, but they were born kind and willing to sacrifice for mortals. Corax was different; he simply wanted people to live well, but he lacked the ability to make it happen; Guilliman was what he wished to be.
The rest of the Primarchs, to a man, were indifferent to mortals—scornful and cold. The Khan was the best among them, but even he only managed things to a point. For the "Great Cause," they would die; for the Emperor, they would give everything. But for mortals? They'd leave everything behind and wander the galaxy without a second thought.
Perturabo was relatively better. He was a dictator—a capable one, and not a cruel one. So Olympia was doing well. He liked this; the Daemon Factory in the Warp was the same, completely in his hands. He enjoyed the feeling of his word being law, watching tasks executed efficiently. It made him feel fulfilled.
Though there were occasional delays or errors, they weren't big deals. He wasn't the Perturabo of memory; he just turned some people into servitors or mine slaves. Daemons were best—they didn't die. He prepared a bunch of engines that were starved for Daemons; he could build infinite engines, and there were infinite Daemons.
If a worker did well, he might even promote them to a Greater Daemon. He set strict standards; becoming a Greater Daemon was just a thought away for him. It was a strange feeling—total power over life and death—but he enjoyed the control and efficiency. He didn't like politics or war or wanton killing, but he couldn't do what he wanted without those three things.
Anyway, it was better than being under the Imperium. At least here, people weren't living lives worse than death. But if you expected him to act like Guilliman, forget it. Equality and freedom didn't exist in his domain.
Initially, some people, perhaps because they were too well-fed, developed nihilism and started demanding equality and freedom. They even dared to rebel! If Perturabo could tolerate that, he wouldn't be a Primarch. He didn't execute them; he just turned them into mining servitors without removing their frontal lobes or memories. They were forced to suffer for eternity. Dead? Doesn't matter! He marked their souls; they'd report to the Daemon Factory upon death to keep working. Once broken, they'd be stuffed into Daemon Engines or Helbrutes. Not a shred of value was wasted!
The Daemon Factory roared with oppression, but Daemons don't tire or die! Black smoke billowed, contributing to the "rising temperature" of the Warp. The black Warp grew darker; the "blood and tears" of Daemons spoke of tragedy, but no Daemon cared. They just tried to avoid the place.
The name "Lord of Iron" rang through the Warp. A black-hearted slave-driver doesn't talk mercy with Daemons.
The factory moved, capturing Daemons. The factory was huge, but a domain is even larger. Not just the factory, but the realms of the Four Gods and the Emperor too; the entire Daemon population of the Warp could fit. A domain is infinite; it just depends on how the master reveals their essence.
When Perturabo ascended, Vashtorr—driven by a hunger for power—approached to see what was happening. He was swallowed along with his land. The Workshop became a Factory, and he became its "pillar."
It was still early. Perturabo wasn't in a hurry. Returning to the Imperium was irrelevant; he'd take these peaceful days any time. In the Warhammer world, you take peace when you can. Why waste your days? You won't get leisure later.
When bored, he brought his hobbies into the Warp. He had the power to back it up. "Since I can build weapons that destroy everything at any time, why rush?" Sometimes he'd stop and lock a piece of Vashtorr's consciousness in a data cage, making him calculate "how many threads a perfect bolt should have" just for the feeling of total control. He'd capture Daemon slaves to build impregnable fortresses, sealing them inside and melting them into the structure.
He had many such fortresses now. Whenever he wanted, countless Daemons would vanish, melted by the Lord of Iron. They were finished—just like that cursed Anathema. They were all from the Warp, yet some wore human skin and ruled the real universe, hitting their "Warp compatriots" without mercy. Even the Evil Gods weren't that bad! Total dissolution! What kind of... animal behavior is that?
He was jealous. Every Daemon in the Warp was. Even the Chaos Gods were. Who doesn't want to walk in the real universe? Every Daemon knew the Warp was fed by realspace.
Perturabo and the Emperor were heavily criticized, but the daemons were helpless. What else could they do? Just take it!
Perturabo especially enjoyed the expressions of daemons struggling, roaring, and cursing him. That twisted, evil look made him feel comfortable.
801.M30, Warp Daemon Factory.
Perturabo lay on his lounge chair, his neural cables processing data from Vashtorr. He felt incredibly cozy. Life is beautiful; "slacking off" really is the right way!
While processing massive amounts of data, Perturabo thought to himself.