"However, Honored Son of the Omnissiah, although our engineering has entered its final stage, it seems we have encountered some issues. Consequently, the delivery of the battleship may be delayed."
At that moment, the Archmagos known as Mars-001 seemed to recall something. He turned to look at Perturabo, his cold, mechanical voice carrying a subtle trace of apology—a rarity for a Tech-Priest.
"In other words, on the day I come to inspect it, you tell me that I might not receive the flagship gifted to me by my Father on schedule?"
Hearing the Archmagos's words, Perturabo's brow furrowed. He shot back an inquiry laced with irritation. As the cold Tsar of Kislev, mere dissatisfied questioning already tested the limits of his patience and respect.
In Kislev, if an industrial manager dared to report such news to the Tsar in person, their fate would involve spending the rest of their days in a Gulag, while the Tsar appointed a replacement to finish the project.
Had it not been for the unique status of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the moment the Archmagos finished speaking, the secret police of the Okhrana would have dragged him away from the Tsar and thrown him into a mineshaft to live out a miserable existence.
"Yes, Lord Perturabo. Regrettable as it is, such is the reality."
"To express our sincere apologies, once you take command of your Legion, we will provide a generous supply contract for the Fourth Legion free of charge. This will ensure you can more rapidly replenish any losses sustained in war."
Seemingly oblivious to the growing discontent of the Primarch before him, the Archmagos nodded slightly and continued his explanation.
As a high-ranking member of the Martian Priesthood, Mars-001 did not truly hold the Primarch in high regard. In his eyes, these Astartes from Terra and their leaders were little more than barbarians fighting with the legacies of their ancestors. In no way could they be compared to the Adeptus Mechanicus, who had exerted every effort and utilized their own strength to preserve ancient knowledge.
Their outward display of respect was merely for the sake of the Master of Mankind, the Avatar of the Omnissiah. Had Terra not been ruled by such a figure, the Tech-Priests of Mars would have long ago launched a great war against the Terran warlords to seize their technological relics.
But there were no 'ifs.' The Emperor had unified Terra and led His imperial host to the Red Planet, manifesting miracles that existed only in prophecy before the eyes of the Tech-Priests.
Because of this, the Martian clergy firmly believed the Emperor was the prophesied Avatar of the Omnissiah—a saint who could lead them toward the ultimate pursuit of knowledge. Thus, Mars had submitted to the Imperium.
However, submission did not mean Mars accepted everything about Terra. In the eyes of many Tech-Priests, the Astartes were merely techno-barbarians modified through crude genetic engineering, unworthy of true respect.
Therefore, the Archmagos viewed Perturabo as a barbarian warrior who knew nothing of technology, thinking he could be deterred by a few esoteric terms.
He was wrong—profoundly wrong.
"What is the meaning of this, Archmagos Mars-001?"
"What do you mean, 'cannot be delivered on time'? This is a gift from the Emperor to His son. If it cannot be delivered on schedule, it will bring dishonor to the Emperor. The responsibility lies entirely with you!"
Before Perturabo could let his fury boil over, the Custodian Tribune behind him stepped forward, questioning the Tech-Priest with a severe expression.
As representatives of the Emperor, the Custodians generally held little affection for the Primarchs—in fact, they tended to view everyone other than the Emperor with equal disdain. In their eyes, no one but the Emperor could command them, and no one else was worthy of their loyalty.
However, the Mechanicus's claim of 'engineering issues' delaying the delivery of Perturabo's Gloriana-class vessel triggered their suspicion. They began to wonder if the Priesthood's loyalty was as steadfast as it appeared.
Protecting the Emperor's authority was the Custodians' sacred duty. Every faction within the Imperium was a hypothetical enemy; as long as a faction possessed the potential to threaten the Master of Mankind, the Custodians would treat them as a latent adversary.
"Honored Custodian, while that logic holds, we find ourselves helpless in this matter!"
"This problem emerged only a few days ago. We have already summoned several Archmagi of immense academic and technical renown for a joint consultation, yet they have still not identified the root cause."
"I believe the Avatar of the Omnissiah Himself would not wish for a battleship with inherent flaws to be pressed into service prematurely, would He?"
Facing the Custodian's reprimand, the Archmagos adopted an air of helplessness, countering with reasoned arguments and refusing to accept the blame.
"This..."
The Custodian Tribune showed a look of hesitation. The Archmagos was not wrong; ensuring quality was a justification that few could challenge.
"Regardless, would you allow me to personally inspect the source of the problem? Perhaps I can fix it myself."
"That way, even if this Gloriana-class titan cannot be completed on Mars, it can be towed to my homeworld of Kislev to be finished there. Conveniently, I wish to develop Kislev's industry."
Perturabo, who had been listening in silence, spoke up. His request stunned both the Archmagos and the Custodian.
"Lord Perturabo, pray do not be overconfident. This is an incredibly complex engineering matter, far beyond anything you dealt with in Kislev!" the Custodian Tribune urged.
Archmagos Mars-001 merely watched Perturabo with an amused air, waiting for his response.
"Custodian, you know nothing of me. My intellect exceeds your imagination."
"I can resolve this matter. Come, lead me there. Let me see the root of these 'problems'."
Ignoring the Custodian's warning, Perturabo responded with absolute confidence and looked directly at the Archmagos.
"Then follow me, Son of the Omnissiah."
"Let us see your true capabilities."