Aboard the Bucephalus, the flagship of the Master of Mankind.
"I see that you are deeply interested in this vessel, my son."
The Emperor spoke softly, a light chuckle in His voice as He watched Perturabo. The Primarch's eyes were fixed intently on the machinery and the various advanced technological arrays lining the warship.
Perturabo had already begun his journey back to Terra with the Emperor. Before departing Kislev, the Iron Tsar had established a Council of Regency, appointing his foster father, Father Mikhail, as the Regent of Kislev to govern the nation in his absence.
Now, he stood with the Emperor on His personal flagship, returning to Terra under the escort of a massive Imperial fleet.
"Yes. Although my mind is filled with boundless knowledge, Kislev is still too backward. No matter what means I employed, I could not have enabled Kislev to construct such a wonder at this stage."
"At best, current Kislev has reached the level of the early space age. Urbanization and industrialization are only now entering their most critical phase. It will still take time to climb further up the technological ladder."
Perturabo nodded and spoke with a hint of envy. The structure and layout of the Master of Mankind's flagship, saturated with ancient technology and wisdom, fascinated the naturally gifted Primarch.
"Quite right, my son. You possess the inherent wisdom for such things. I did not increase your intellectual capacity during your creation for nothing."
"This ship was constructed entirely by Terran craftsmen; the Mechanicum of Mars did not interfere in the slightest. It stands as a monument to Terran technology, proof that human scientific achievement is not exclusive to Mars."
Seeing the admiration in Perturabo's eyes, the Emperor nodded and began to explain the ship's origins.
"Then, Father, do I have other brothers? And how did this great endeavor begin?" Perturabo asked urgently. For a Tsar who pursued glory, he was desperate to know the Emperor's progress.
"Perturabo, I appreciate your eagerness to join the Great Crusade. However, you still require education and training to command vast armies. Only then can I place you in command of a Legion of the Adeptus Astartes—a legion of gene-forged posthumans created from your own genetic template."
"Therefore, during our return to Terra, I will explain everything to you slowly, so you may know how it all began."
The Emperor smiled with approval at Perturabo's impatience. "Malcador!" He called out.
At the Emperor's summons, a slender, silver-haired old man in black robes entered with slow, measured steps, carrying a staff topped with the eternally burning Eagle's fire. "My Lord," Malcador the Sigillite, Regent of the Imperium, said respectfully.
"Malcador, this is the Fourth Primarch, Perturabo—more accurately, Perturabo Rurik Kislovsky, the High Tsar who ruled all of Kislev." The Emperor introduced Perturabo to His regent and old friend.
"My son, this is Malcador the Sigillite, my Regent. He is an old friend who has been by my side since the Unification Wars of Terra. It is he who manages many of the Imperium's practical affairs. Should you have any needs, you may discuss them with him."
"I see. So you are the Fourth Primarch. Please, accept my greetings." The small old man named Malcador bowed slightly toward Perturabo, his voice neutral and calm.
Malcador's greeting left Perturabo with a strange sensation. Although this man appeared as frail and aged as "Mr. Mikhail," Perturabo sensed a terrifying power within him. This slender elder was not nearly as weak as he appeared on the surface.
To the hyper-sensitive Perturabo, this attempt to mask one's power felt insincere, sparking an immediate sense of dislike toward the Regent.
"So, you are my Father's Regent," Perturabo replied coldly, making no move to return the bow.
Strangely, Malcador did not show any offense at the Primarch's rudeness. He merely shook his head and sighed before turning back to the Emperor.
"Revelation, your sons are always the same. They all treat this old man with such coldness," Malcador complained to the Emperor with a hint of helplessness.
"I am sorry, old friend. But it must be this way," the Master of Mankind replied silently.
"You always say that, Revelation. You always carry out these plans without explanation, and in the end, it is I who must bear the consequences." Malcador shook his head.
Perturabo watched Malcador with a frigid gaze. He did not know the Regent's history, but he knew one thing—he did not like this old man. His subconscious told him that Malcador's background was deep and dark.
"Well then, I shall leave you two to your conversation. I have much to attend to; there is a mountain of chaos on Terra requiring my attention."
Malcador sensed Perturabo's disapproval. Recognizing he was unwelcome, the Regent requested to leave.
"I understand, Malcador. Go and attend to your duties." Realizing it was best for Malcador to leave, the Emperor nodded.
After bowing to the Emperor, Malcador gripped his staff and slowly retreated from the room. Now, only the Emperor and Perturabo remained in the vast chamber.
Once Malcador was gone, Perturabo turned to his father with a look of intense longing.
"Father, what exactly is my responsibility? I believe You have given me a very important duty. As I vowed to You, I am ready to bear any burden." Perturabo spoke with an expression of iron determination.
"That is a long story, Perturabo," the Emperor replied, nodding slowly.