Ferrus listened in absolute silence, his face completely devoid of expression.
It was only after Karon had finished his report that the Primarch finally spoke.
"And their technical data?"
"Waiting outside."
Karon immediately hailed an Astartes to bring in the half-meter-tall stack of documents, presenting them to his Father with both hands.
The documents were bound tightly with coarse hemp rope, the paper itself thick and crude. It genuinely looked like an ancient relic excavated from a long-buried ruin.
Ferrus took the heavy stack. The fingers of his living metal left hand contracted slightly as the micro-data ports on his fingertips automatically interfaced directly with the organic fibers of the paper.
It was a unique ability of his—by utilizing microscopic material scanning, he could instantaneously extract the entirety of the information recorded on a physical medium in mere seconds.
Three seconds passed.
Deep within the Primarch's gray pupils, cascades of data refreshed like a waterfall.
Radiation purification schematics... rudimentary, but functionally viable.
Soil ameliorant formulas... missing the synthesis methods for three critical chemical catalysts.
High-yield irrigation system blueprints... the conduit routing leaves significant room for optimization.
He lowered the stack of documents and looked at Karon.
"They are all fragments."
"But they are highly useful fragments." Karon raised his head. "The Tech-priests have already evaluated them. They conclude that if these fragments can be fully codified, they could boost agricultural output on frontier worlds by a minimum of ten percent."
Ferrus offered absolutely no confirmation or denial.
His gaze dropped back down to the igniter and the bottle resting on the floor. He then slowly knelt down. The simple action made Karon's heart clench—the Primarch rarely ever displayed such a relaxed posture in front of his subordinates.
Ferrus picked up the mechanical igniter and pressed the trigger.
The bright blue plasma arc snapped to life, burning steadily and continuously.
"An ingenious little trinket."
The Primarch evaluated it, his tone completely neutral. "The energy utilization efficiency is quite commendable. The structural design... bears a faint resemblance to the early architectural styles of the Martian Mechanicum."
He set the igniter down and picked up the bottle of vodka.
The cap utilized a standard screw-top design. Ferrus pinched it between the thumb and index finger of his living metal left hand and gave it a gentle twist.
With a harsh screech of rending metal, the cap was instantly crushed and deformed, though the glass bottle beneath it remained perfectly intact.
The Primarch brought the neck of the bottle to his nose and sniffed.
"A grain-fermented base spirit, infused with... extracts from some local flora?"
He tilted his head back and took a generous swig.
The instant the alcohol hit his throat, Ferrus's eyebrows arched upward slightly.
It entirely lacked the abrasive, violently harsh burn typical of standard Imperial rotgut. Instead, it delivered a long, smooth, rolling warmth that cascaded down his throat, pooled in his stomach, and then gently radiated outward through his massive frame.
"Interesting."
Ferrus lowered the bottle. A full third of the liquid had already vanished.
"Is there more?"
He looked down at Karon.
The Fourth Company Captain immediately retrieved the open pack of cigarettes from his storage compartment, pulled out a single stick, and respectfully offered it with both hands.
Ferrus took it, rolling it under his nose to sample the scent.
Tobacco leaf. Nicotine content... approximately 1.2 milligrams per gram. A full eighty percent lower than standard lho-sticks.
Additives: glycerin, honey, and a type of...
The Primarch's mechanical eyes flared bright blue as his internal systems rapidly broke down the chemical composition.
Camphor? No, a structurally similar botanical extract possessing mild sedative properties.
He looked at Karon. "Light it."
Karon hurriedly picked up the mechanical igniter from the floor, depressed the button, and presented the bright blue plasma arc.
Ferrus leaned down, bringing the tip of the cigarette directly to the electric fire.
The tobacco ignited, and pale blue smoke began to spiral lazily upward, forming a bizarrely soothing haze under the harsh, stark white lighting of the bridge.
The Primarch straightened up, the cigarette resting between his lips.
He took a drag.
He didn't take a tentative, experimental puff. He inhaled deeply with the practiced form of a true chain-smoker. His massive chest expanded, fully utilizing his enhanced lung capacity as the dense smoke lingered in his alveoli for three full seconds.
Then, he exhaled slowly.
The resulting plume of smoke was so thick it was almost physical. It rolled and diffused through the air, carrying a profoundly rich aroma that temporarily completely overpowered the bridge's permanent stench of ozone and cold metal.
Karon subconsciously held his breath.
He saw Ferrus's eyes narrow ever so slightly. It was a microscopically subtle shift in expression, but the Fourth Company Captain had served under the Primarch for over a century. He instantly recognized the subtle tell of genuine relaxation.
"Not bad."
Ferrus exhaled the final wisp of smoke and casually pinched the burnt-out butt between the thumb and index finger of his living metal left hand.
Fine ash fluttered down, creating a tiny gray-white patch on the gleaming alloy decking.
"The nicotine concentration is decidedly low, but the botanical additives create a potent synergistic effect. The actual stimulating effect is twenty-five percent higher than the raw chemical data suggests. The smoke particulate diameter is tightly controlled below 0.3 micrometers, placing an exceptionally minimal burden on power armor filtration systems."
He paused slightly before adding:
"It's just too short."
Karon: "..."
"How many crates did they provide?" Ferrus asked.
"Fifty crates in total, Father." Karon replied instantly. "Along with thirty crates of alcohol and fifty custom igniters."
Ferrus nodded slowly.
He turned back to the main console, his living metal left hand dancing rapidly across the control interfaces.
The holographic projection expanded once more, this time displaying a comprehensive administrative map of Aurelian IV.
"Make another trip tomorrow."
Ferrus dragged his finger across the map, coming to a dead stop over a specific sector in the northern hemisphere.
"Escort their administrator to the City of the Holy Anthem. Process their legal paperwork."
The map zoomed in aggressively, displaying the intricate, three-dimensional schematic of a sprawling Hive City.
It was the Kent Mining Hive. The standard population census flashed at the bottom of the screen: 98,743,221.
"This minor Hive City originally belonged to the Hysman Merchant Guild. It has since been absorbed into the sixty percent of assets legally confiscated by the Imperium."
Ferrus pulled up the detailed logistical data of the Hive.
"The Hive's defensive perimeter encompasses three massive promethium veins. Every single one boasts reserves easily exceeding a trillion tons. There are also ten medium-yield veins and twenty-three minor veins. The supporting refineries, the logistical transport networks, the worker hab-blocks... everything is already fully established and operational."
He looked back at Karon.
"Effective immediately, the Kent Mining Hive is hereby designated as an explicit asset of the Iron Hands Legion. However, the Legion cannot afford to garrison warriors here. We require a highly competent local force to act as our proxy administrators."
A faint, fleeting smile tugged at the corner of Ferrus's mouth.
"Crimson Dawn... is perfectly suited for the task."
Karon instantly understood the brilliant play.
It was a blatant promotion that masked absolute control.
Giving Crimson Dawn a legal Imperial identity and granting them administrative authority over an entire Hive City sounded like an unimaginably massive favor.
But in brutal reality, the entire output of the Hive's mining veins belonged exclusively to the Legion. Crimson Dawn was merely acting as the middle management, receiving a fixed percentage cut for their labor.
Furthermore, with the sheer administrative weight of an entire Hive City chaining them down, Crimson Dawn would be inextricably bound to the Legion's war chariot.
They would be forced to constantly invest vast amounts of manpower just to manage the city, maintain basic order, and suppress any inevitable backlash from displaced local factions. They simply wouldn't have the spare bandwidth to orchestrate any covert operations.
Even better, the Kent Mining Hive was formerly the core asset of the Hysman Merchant Guild.
Now that it had been seized and handed over to Crimson Dawn, even if the local Mechanicus factions harbored deep resentment, they would direct all their fury precisely at the new management.
"Three birds with one stone." Karon murmured softly. "A brilliant maneuver, Father."
Ferrus neither confirmed nor denied the praise.
He pulled up the tactical scans of the Crimson Dawn base once more. Staring at the vibrant oasis they had aggressively carved out of a lethally irradiated wasteland, a deeply complex emotion flashed deep within his gray pupils.
"The Imperium is infested with far too many parasites."
The Primarch suddenly spoke. His voice was unusually soft, sounding more like he was simply talking to himself.
"Corrupt politicians like Harrington. Entrenched local warlords like the four major factions. Greedy Fabricator-Generals of the Mechanicus who care only for stripping planets bare..."
"They occupy vital positions and consume endless resources, yet they utterly fail to fulfill their fundamental duties."
He looked at Karon.
"Crimson Dawn has conclusively proven one thing. If you simply give ordinary humans an opportunity, they can perform ten times better than those bloated parasites."
Karon listened in absolute silence.
He knew perfectly well that his Father rarely ever spoke like this.
Most of the time, Ferrus Manus was exactly like an unfeeling machine—discussing nothing but raw efficiency, tactical data, and logical outcomes. He almost never displayed genuine personal emotion.
But on incredibly rare occasions, the Primarch revealed his other side: the stubborn idealist who still inherently believed that 'humanity can become better through sheer, unyielding effort.'
"When you arrive tomorrow."
Ferrus withdrew his gaze, his tone instantly reverting to cold, professional business.
"First, finalize all the paperwork. Ensure the Departmento Munitorum issues the formal documentation. Second, explicitly inform Cage Lawrence that he may have administrative control over the Kent Mining Hive. However, for the first operational year, eighty percent of all mineral output goes directly to the Legion. He retains twenty percent purely for the Hive's operating expenses."
"Starting the second year, the revenue split will be adjusted entirely based on their managerial performance."
"Third..."
The Primarch paused, looking down at the open pack of cigarettes resting on the floor.
"Ask them if they can drastically increase the dosage and physically lengthen the cigarette. The current specifications... are simply not enough to satisfy."
"...Understood."
Karon was just about to rise and excuse himself when Ferrus's voice echoed out once more.
"Oh, and one more thing."
The Primarch turned back around, his gray eyes locking intensely onto Karon.
"Of those fifty crates of tobacco, deliver exactly thirty-five to my personal quarters. As for the alcohol... I require ten crates."
The face hidden beneath Karon's helmet instantly tightened.
His original plan had been to dutifully present his Father with fifteen crates of tobacco and five crates of alcohol, while privately divvying up the remaining spoils among himself, his fellow Captains, and the brothers of his own Company.
He had personally tasted that alcohol. It was undeniably spectacular. Pairing it with a drag from one of those cigarettes was an incredibly rare luxury in this bleak universe.
But now...
Thirty-five crates of tobacco. Ten crates of alcohol.
The Fourth Company Captain rapidly calculated the devastating math in his head: Fifty minus thirty-five leaves fifteen. Thirty minus ten leaves twenty.
Which explicitly meant he only had fifteen crates of tobacco and twenty crates of booze left to split with the entire Legion.
My precious.
But outwardly, Karon's voice didn't waver in the slightest.
"By your will, Father."
He bent down, carefully retrieved the open pack of cigarettes and the bottle of vodka, and gently placed them into the storage compartment beside the main console.
His movements were flawlessly meticulous, completely masking the fact that his heart was currently bleeding out.
Ferrus watched his actions closely. The faintest hint of a smile seemed to ghost across his lips before instantly vanishing. Karon couldn't be certain if it was just a trick of the light.
"Go." The Primarch waved a heavy hand dismissively. "Deploy early tomorrow morning."
"By your command." Karon saluted sharply, spun on his heel, and marched briskly off the bridge.
The exact second the heavy airlock doors sealed shut behind him, the Fourth Company Captain took a massive, shuddering breath and slowly exhaled.
He subconsciously patted the storage compartment on his waist, where two sample packs of cigarettes Cogboy had secretly slipped him still rested safely.
I honestly never expected Father to actually enjoy them this much. It seems I need to figure out a way to secure a significantly larger supply.
As Karon marched toward the hangar bays, his tactical mind immediately began calculating a new logistical strategy.
Tomorrow, I need to sit down and have a very serious discussion with this Cage Lawrence... The supply of tobacco and alcohol absolutely must be established as a long-term, high-priority cooperative project. Price is completely irrelevant. The Legion possesses vast reserves of Imperial Coins. If necessary, we can easily barter with raw ore, or even military armaments. The only critical factor is sheer volume...
He vividly recalled the expression on his Father's face after taking that drag, and the Primarch's distinct complaint that it was simply "too short."
Perhaps I should directly suggest they manufacture an extended variant specifically for Astartes physiology? Say... roughly three times the standard length?
The more Karon thought about it, the more highly feasible the tactical adjustment seemed.
He subconsciously accelerated his pace, the servos in his power armor letting out a brisk, eager hum.
Meanwhile, back on the bridge, Ferrus Manus stood before the primary console. He had already pulled up the live tactical feed of the Crimson Dawn base once more.
He silently watched the native residents toiling in the fields. He watched the youth corps screaming their marching chants on the training grounds. He watched the heavily armed players patrolling the high walls...
"I sincerely hope you do not disappoint me."
The Primarch murmured softly, his living metal left hand clenching into a fist and slowly releasing.
In the corner of the holographic projection, the intricate 3D model of the Kent Mining Hive rotated slowly in the air.
That single Hive City housed nearly a hundred million souls. It possessed a fully integrated industrial complex, vast mineral wealth, and decades of deeply entrenched, violently conflicting local factions.
It was a brutal test. It was also a monumental opportunity.
If Crimson Dawn could successfully govern this Hive City and conclusively prove that their administrative model was both scalable and replicable, Ferrus would have absolutely zero reservations about granting them significantly more resources.
Perhaps... sometime in the distant future, he might even formally integrate them into the Legion's auxiliary support structure.
Outside the thick armaglass windows, the twin moons of Aurelian IV had already reached their zenith.
The stark red and pale white light filtered through the observation bays, spilling across the freezing metal decking of the bridge and washing over the silver-gray armor of the Primarch.
Ferrus Manus stood entirely motionless, like a silent god forged of living iron.
At some unseen point, he had lit another cigarette. Bright blue plasma snapped across his metallic fingertips as pale smoke drifted slowly upward, curling lazily through the moonlight before finally dissipating into the bridge's atmospheric cyclers.