After declaring his bold ambition to sweep away the Norscan barbarians who had emerged from their dens to besiege his fortresses and sever his road networks, the Iron Tsar of Kislev began his work.
Perturabo stared intently at the hololithic projection before him, searching the expanse of the battlefield for a weakness in the Norscan lines.
While such a task might seem impossible to others, it was no obstacle for Perturabo. As one of the twenty Primarchs created by the Master of Mankind, commanding war was his very nature. Finding an enemy's flaw was as instinctive to him as a predator tracking its prey.
Soon, Perturabo identified the vulnerability beneath the Norscans' fierce momentum—a fatal weakness he could exploit to lure the tribal forces into a trap of his own making.
"Forrix, what is this location? Why is it marked with such a significant icon?"
Perturabo pointed to a prominent marker on the holographic map. The Primarch had just noticed this specifically designated site.
"My Lord, that is their religious sanctuary—'Wodenheim.' It was the desecration of this holy site by Governor Vassa that originally ignited this war," Forrix explained, stepping forward quickly to answer his father.
"So, it was this sanctuary that started the great conflict. In that case, I have an idea—one that will bring this war to a definitive conclusion."
Perturabo nodded slightly as he spoke, his mind already formulating the logistics.
"My Lord, what is your plan? We stand ready to execute your will without hesitation!" Forrix replied. He could sense that his genetic father had conceived a stroke of genius. He was prepared to lead his brothers into the fires of battle, to bleed and die to see Perturabo's vision realized.
"Forrix, I was thinking: since this entire mess began with the desecration of a Norscan holy site, it is only fitting that it ends at that same site."
"I plan to launch a sudden strike on Wodenheim. When we seize their sanctuary, the Norscans will be forced to abandon their sieges on our fortresses and rush back to reclaim it."
"There, I shall demonstrate the true power of a Primarch. I will show these barbarians that what they worship is a collection of false gods—puppets built on lies and superstition."
Perturabo explained his reasoning with a meaningful glance at the map marker for Wodenheim.
"I see. It is indeed a sound plan," Forrix agreed. From his perspective, Perturabo's strategy possessed both high feasibility and tactical elegance.
"However, how shall we bypass the Norscan armies to launch this surprise attack? If they realize our objective is their holy land, they will move heaven and earth to block our path," Forrix asked after a moment of reflection.
"Heh, Forrix. You are an Astartes. Have you forgotten how we travel? The sky is still ours."
Perturabo chuckled softly at Forrix's concern.
"Of course. I had momentarily forgotten."
Wodenheim.
The Norscan holy site was now almost deserted, save for a few elderly shamans and their attendants. Following the resolution of the Great Council, every able-bodied Norscan had marched off to besiege the Fourth Legion's fortresses and cut their supply lines.
The Norscans felt secure in their sanctuary, believing it to be impregnable.
Wodenheim lay deep within the heart of tribal territory, ringed by formidable mountains. Any invading army would have to fight its way through numerous tribal lands just to reach the outskirts.
The only reason the former Imperial Governor had been able to desecrate the site was that the tribes had temporarily submitted to the Imperium, allowing his troops to pass through their lands. That event had been the spark that united the tribes in fury.
After the rebellion began and the sanctuary was rebuilt, the tribes had initially stationed warriors there. However, the Imperial counter-attack had forced the tribes to recall their soldiers to the front lines.
Their absolute faith in the sanctuary's geographical security allowed them to leave it undefended. But the Norscans had forgotten one crucial detail: what if the enemy did not come by land, but fell from the heavens?
"Look! What is that in the sky?!"
"No! It is the iron birds of the star-strangers! Quick, ring the great bell!"
The Norscan shamans had been sweeping the plaza outside the Great Temple. Maintaining the cleanliness of the sanctuary was their daily ritual, alongside the morning sacrifices.
As they worked, one of them spotted "something" in the sky. As the objects drew closer, the truth became clear—Imperial aircraft.
It was a massive formation of Fourth Legion transports, a heavy mix of Stormbirds and Thunderhawks. They were descending directly upon the holy site.
The shamans scrambled to the bell tower, but before the great bell could toll more than a few times, the Thunderhawks carrying the Fourth Legion Astartes touched down in the plaza. The assault ramps hissed open, and the Astartes poured out like a silver tide, rapidly seizing the plaza and the temple entrance.
"My Lord, we have successfully secured the plaza and the Norscan temple."
"As you anticipated, the Norscan forces are entirely committed elsewhere. The site was undefended, save for a few elderly shamans."
"How shall we deal with these captives?" Forrix reported as he moved to meet Perturabo, who was descending from his personal Stormbird. The old shamans had been easily captured by the Astartes.
"Hmph. Release them," Perturabo said indifferently. "Let them go to their kin and tell them that I am here. Tell them we have taken their most sacred place and that we await their counter-attack."
"By your command, My Lord!"