Adolphus sat upon his throne, looking coldly at the warriors who had stormed the palace.
This had once been the seat of power in Kardis, but now it was eerily silent, save for the echo of soldiers' boots marching through the halls.
"You have destroyed my kingdom. Now you've come to kill me?" Adolphus's voice still carried authority, even though he was now a king without a throne.
Perturabo offered, "Surrender. You can live. My father misses an old chess partner."
Adolphus let out a hoarse laugh. "You pity me? I am the Tyrant of Kardis. I am the ruler of a nation. I need no pity!"
"Then you refuse to surrender?"
"The victor writes history. My kingdom is lost. I will be buried with it!"
"My ancestors built this palace. My forefathers ruled my people from here. I am a failure, but I am no coward."
Adolphus slowly rose from his throne, smoothing every crease in his robes, straightening his crooked crown.
It was not a tragic march to death, but a glorious coronation.
"Get on with it. Give me a dignified end."
"As you wish."
Perturabo drove the dagger given to him by the Tyrant into Adolphus's heart. His life guttered out like a candle flame.
Perturabo left the body intact, preserving the last shred of dignity for this former king.
Zoris frowned, "Why did he seek death?"
Caelan answered, "The discrepancy between being a ruler and a captive is more terrifying than death itself."
Zoris was still confused. "But my Lord wasn't humiliating him. He could have lived with dignity."
'Keeping company with another tyrant, even if only as a chess partner, he could still enjoy wealth and honor for the rest of his life. Why choose death?'
"It's the same." Perturabo chuckled lightly. "If it were my father on that throne, he would have made the same choice."
Zoris couldn't understand the principles of those in power. 'Didn't the nobles of Kardis surrender anyway?'
'Lochos might strip their titles and confiscate their property, but better to live as a dog than die.'
If it were him, he would never die for such meaningless vanity. His life was already dedicated to Perturabo. Only the general was worth dying for.
Perturabo ordered, "Bury him. Lay his body to rest in his ancestral land."
"As you command, my Lord." Zoris bowed his head.
Herakon quickly caught up with Perturabo, his eyes full of eager fighting spirit, "General, when do we depart?"
Perturabo was his younger brother, but in the army, even he had to address him by rank.
Perturabo didn't stop walking. "In a week, after the Lochos garrison completes its handover, we'll leave."
Outside the hall, a warrior in gold-and-white armor had been standing at attention for a long time.
Seeing Perturabo, he struck his chest with his right fist. "My Lord, the soldiers are protesting. They demand their customary four hours."
Except for Perturabo's Anvil Camp, all the soldiers were craving the four hours.
The victors of a war were entitled to four hours of plunder. In that brief time, swords could be freely drawn, but greed could be uncontrollable. It was an Olympian custom, persisting for centuries, or longer. It was their due.
"Send word to all troops. Looting is forbidden." Perturabo's gaze swept over the city, where the smoke of battle hadn't yet cleared. His voice was cold. "Tell the soldiers their deeds will be properly rewarded, but victory is granted by me, and so is the reward."
"Have Hakor lead the provost guard to patrol the city. Anyone who breaks the law will be dealt with by military justice!"
Olympia's rules of war were too savage. They would eventually join the great crusade among the stars. He couldn't control how other armies behaved, but his troops must maintain discipline.
Looting could boost morale temporarily, but it corrupted discipline. If the enemy, not completely routed, went to ground, an army in chaos would be vulnerable. His troops shouldn't make such a basic, fatal mistake.
"Herakon, while I am away, you will have full command of the forces stationed in Kardis. Without my order, no one is to leave the city."
Herakon was stunned. "Away? Where are you going?"
"My brother needs me."
...
"My Lord, Corobus's orbital defense array has locked onto our fleet. Estimated time to enter maximum range, ten minutes!"
Dorn stood before the bridge's viewport, gazing at the planet in the distant void.
"Maximum engine power. Execute the planned operation."
As Dorn's orders were relayed, the usual bustle on the bridge took on a grim undertone.
"By Imperial classification standards, both Inwit and Corobus would be considered hive worlds," Perturabo said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother.
The minimum classification for a hive world was five hives; some had hundreds. Due to size constraints, the smallest hives could only hold a billion people, the largest at least a hundred billion. Due to mismanagement and lost technology, many hives had been abandoned. Even those still running had severely aged facilities, housing far fewer people than their maximum capacity.
But Inwit, due to its harsh surface environment, was first classified as a death world. Corobus was a genuine hive world, with eight large hives and a population exceeding a hundred billion.
In Inwit's pocket empire, Corobus was one of the few hive worlds. Its precious population was the cornerstone of Inwit's rule, and its hive factories provided vast resources to the empire.
To protect it, Inwit had invested heavily in a space defense system, including orbital defense platforms and heavy surface macrocannon batteries. These were now the most tricky obstacles for the pacification force.
If Inwit was willing to pay any price, of course, they could retake Corobus. But according to naval calculations, the cost was too high.
On one hand, excessive fleet losses would weaken Inwit's control over other systems, potentially causing a chain reaction. On the other hand, orbital bombardment would cause irreversible damage to the hive's infrastructure. Even if retaken, the hive world's productivity would be greatly reduced, and its strategic value would plummet.
So they couldn't resort to orbital bombardment, nor could they risk lingering in orbit. The Corobus rebellion was very tricky; otherwise, it wouldn't have been given to Dorn as a trial. But Dorn and Perturabo had devised a meticulous plan.
Perturabo smiled, "How about a bet?"
"How?"
"Who can capture a defense platform faster."
"Then I will win, brother."
"You seem very confident, but I don't think I'll lose."
"Why?"
"Because I'm the older brother."
Perturabo's eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly. His ice-blue eyes were filled with undisguised pride.
He was the youngest in Olympia, the smallest in the family. Only in front of Dorn could he show a bit of older brotherly authority and care.
Caelan would follow Dorn. That was the rule. This was Dorn's world, Dorn's time. He couldn't always monopolize their father. But Perturabo believed Caelan wouldn't help Dorn cheat. In matters between them, Caelan would remain absolutely neutral.
"Warning, final countdown, three minutes!" The announcement echoed through the corridors.
Dorn and Perturabo walked steadily towards the launch bay. Over a hundred warriors in light power armor were already in formation.
Their armor used Inwit's unique design, sacrificing some protection for enhanced mobility and tactical flexibility.
This technology wasn't unique to Inwit; similar power armor hadn't been lost on some other advanced worlds. But due to high cost, Inwit's stockpile wasn't large. On some worlds, only nobles could wear it, often calling themselves 'Hunters.' But unlike those sheltered, inexperienced specimens who could be killed by bounty hunters, Inwit's power armor was reserved for battle-hardened warriors.
"Alpha Team will be under my direct command. My brother will command Beta Team. The remaining squads will continue with the planned operation."
As Dorn spoke, Fafnir Rahn's face paled. He hurriedly advised, "My Lord, this is too dangerous! You're not even wearing power armor!"
Inwit had plenty of power armor, but none fit Dorn. He was too big. Even the largest size in the Inwit arsenal couldn't fully cover the Primarch's towering frame; wearing it would be like wearing nothing.
Fortunately, Caelan had anticipated the Primarchs' rapid growth. At his behest, the Dorn Clan had secretly crafted several sets of custom ceramite carapace armor. While not as good as power armor, it allowed the two giants to be fully kitted out, not fighting bare-chested.
"Even without fitted armor, I am still stronger than you. Step aside."
Dorn pushed aside the still-protesting Rahn with one hand. The effortless motion sent the warrior in full power armor staggering back two steps.
Inwit's power armor used the same ceramite as carapace armor, offering similar protection. But its precise power servo systems and reinforced joints allowed the wearer to exhibit physical abilities several times greater than a normal human.
Yet before a Primarch, these enhancements seemed like child's play. This wasn't contempt; the gap between a Primarch and a mortal was greater than that between Captain America and an infant. Even a Primarch not known for combat, even if ambushed, could kill ten fully armed Astartes with their bare hands.
Dorn boarded a small assault boat for the boarding action. He and twenty warriors waited quietly.
"Attention all hands. Final combat countdown, 30 seconds!"
"Expected 10 seconds to enemy contact! All departments, brace for impact! Repeat, brace for impact!"
"Assault teams, final launch countdown, 60 seconds!"
Dorn didn't personally command the fleet. Despite his extensive theoretical knowledge, he wisely chose not to interfere with the Inwit navy's tactical deployment.
Dorn believed there was a gap between theory and practice. Moreover, Imperial naval warfare was too tedious. Protected by void shields, even the most intense lance volleys and macrocannon bombardments were like scratching an itch. Fleets often spent days maneuvering before achieving anything. Such protracted, boring battles were incredibly trying on one's patience.
That's where boarding actions came in.
In the age of sail, boarding actions meant grappling and overwhelming the enemy with numbers. But 30k boarding actions were different; they were decapitation strikes. Even in the interstellar age, decapitation remained one of the most effective tactics. Boarding was the classic example of Astartes winning against overwhelming odds.
A handful of warriors could infiltrate an enemy ship, eliminate its command, and destroy or even capture the vessel. It was far more efficient than days of fruitless gunnery duels. And the losses were much smaller. Even if the mission failed, only an assault boat and a few Astartes were lost. Though each Astartes was invaluable, compared to the cost of a ship, the loss was negligible.
"Final countdown, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Launch!"
Five assault boats shot from the mothership's belly like arrows, slipping through gaps in the friendly fleet's void shields, their engines burning blue in the void.
They accelerated, racing towards the distant defense platforms that were firing lances at the fleet.
Silence reigned in the void, and in the cabin, only the hum of power armor servo systems could be heard.
Dorn's eyes were fixed on the tactical screen, watching the numbers change.
[Estimated time to enemy contact, 1 minute 42 seconds]
"Reconfirm mission objectives." Dorn spoke on the encrypted channel. "Remember, priority is securing the core as fast as possible. Don't get bogged down in fights. Don't fall behind!"
There were five large defense platforms. Each assault team was responsible for one. The smaller platforms were less threatening and could be handled by the fleet.
[Estimated time to enemy contact, 9 seconds]
On the tactical hologram, five blue dots pierced the red outlines of the defense platforms like arrows.
BOOM!
The assault boat's missiles tore through a weak point in the platform's outer hull. The boat, trailing metal debris, crashed into the interior. Hydraulic buffers sparked amidst the screech of tortured metal, locking the boat to the deck.
Amidst the screech of decompression alarms, a violent air current formed at the breach, instantly sucking out any unsecured personnel or equipment.
Inwitn soldiers in power armor rushed from the boats, their magnetic boot locks clanging as they secured them to the deck.
"Right corridor. Follow me."
Dorn's orders came through the encrypted channel to every soldier's ear.
Dorn's carapace armor had only a basic life support system, capable of sustaining him in a vacuum for only thirty minutes. The assault boat was damaged in the crash, but Dorn never considered retreating. They had to secure the defense platform. Every extra minute his tactics took put the fleet at greater risk.
The defense platform's interior was a maze. Its intricate passages could hinder and confuse invaders. But the Corobus platforms were built by Inwits. Dorn had memorized their layout before arriving.
"Maintain formation. Take route C-7!"
The Primarch's superhuman intellect accurately predicted the enemy's defensive deployments. Each turn precisely avoided heavily guarded corridors, rendering their supposedly formidable defenses useless.
BANG!
They encountered very few fights along the way. The hastily summoned guards were dead before they could pull triggers. Only one final door stood in their way.
"Melta charge ready!"
BOOM!
The command center's alloy door twisted and collapsed like molten butter.
Dorn, wielding a lasgun specially made by Perturabo, fired first through the smoke. The commander's helmet, along with half his skull, dissolved in the air.
The assault team poured in like wolves, quickly eliminating all resistance. They then aimed their weapons back through the doorway, going on the defensive.
Dorn pushed aside the commander's body and operated the blood-spattered tactical console, overriding the rebels command authority.
Clunk!
The defense platform's turret arrays suddenly turned, aiming their once skyward cannons at their sister platforms.
"It seems I lost, brother." Dorn murmured, seeing on the tactical screen that another platform had fired three seconds earlier.
Though Dorn never obsessed over victory or defeat, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret. If he had avoided that patrol earlier, he might have been faster than Perturabo.
"Good thing I'm slightly better."
Perturabo wiped the cold sweat from his forehead; his palms were also sweaty.
He had been three seconds away from losing. If he lost to his younger brother, Perturabo didn't know how he'd face anyone.
...
With the defense platforms gone, Corobus's orbital defense system was crippled. The hive's surface cannons alone were useless. They couldn't stop the large-scale deployment of Inwitn forces.
Perturabo commanded thirty mechanized regiments. With Caelan's help, they crushed the enemy and secured the spire's defense nodes and strategic points. Dorn led assault teams, with Sapphire's assistance, into the governor's palace.
Inwit had expected a costly campaign, but under the two Primarchs' brilliant command, the rebellion became a hopeless suppression.
Yet, Dorn was puzzled. The governor sat motionless on his throne, as if anticipating this moment.
"Why did you betray us?" Dorn's gaze held confusion.
If the governor had independent ambitions, his rebellion would be understandable. But all of Inwit's governors were Inwitn. This one was too. He had no reason to betray the Inwit Empire, yet he did.
The governor gave no response. His head was bowed.
Dorn, sensing something wrong, reached out and lifted the governor's chin.
The governor's chest still rose and fell rhythmically; his heartbeat was discernible.
But eerily, his body was abnormally cold and stiff, as if he had been dead for a long time!
........
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