Negotiations between the Imperium of Man and the Shaper Union were still ongoing.
Although the Shaper Union cooperated fully, integrating an empire with a trillion-strong population was by no means easy.
Political structure, power distribution, selection of new Governors, establishment of tithes levels, and the obligations the Shaper Union needed to fulfill, every item was far-reaching.
Negotiations for other terms proceeded relatively smoothly, but only on the tithes level did the Shaper Union refuse to budge, striving to secure its own interests.
To obtain a lenient tithes policy, the Governor specifically sought out Blazkowicz, tearfully pleading for leniency and some tolerance for the Shaper Union.
"My... Looord... you should... know... we are... in the... fringe... terri-tories... and this... tax... is truly... too... diffi-cult... to ac-cept."
The Governor, dressed in a golden robe, knelt at the lower end of the main hall, his voice choked with sobs, clutching his chest and begging for the Imperium to reduce some taxes.
The tithes of the Imperium of Man exceeded their imagination; it was an unbearable burden.
Once agreed, the quality of life for their compatriots residing in human bodies would be greatly diminished, plunging them into endless, tireless labor.
Everything they enjoyed now would turn into an illusion.
Materials produced by society would be prioritized for the Imperium, making it impossible to maintain a high-welfare life, and their quality of life would drop several grades.
These foreseeable futures surged in the Governor's mind, shattering his long-held values.
It wasn't just him; even the Great Mother, upon learning of the tithes level, remained silent for a long time, beginning to ponder whether to integrate into the Imperium.
The Ganas Worms aimed to conquer humanity, join the Imperium, and enjoy a parasitic feast, but the reality before them was that they would become laborers for the Imperium, working day and night for the Imperium of Man.
They were punished for no crime, it was suffering without cause they thought.
The sensations of their compatriots, highly fused with their hosts, during work, including the fatigue and hardship, were no different from what the original hosts felt, and might even be more intense.
Their exquisitely sensitive neural tendrils could even perceive the slightest muscle soreness, bringing a sense of exhaustion to the body.
To enjoy life, the Ganas Worm race established the Shaper Union, utilizing human technology to create a high-welfare society.
When the Imperium arrived, wielding the club of tithes, it knocked the Ganas Worm race from the clouds into the mud.
How could they accept this?
"Truly pathetic...
Only death and taxes are unavoidable."
On the golden throne, Blazkowicz, who had been invited, maintained his arrogance, a strange look flashing across his face.
"Taxes are the cornerstone of the Imperium, the foundation that allows humanity to conquer the stars; they are unavoidable."
Blazkowicz spoke righteously, explaining the necessity of taxes, and incidentally presented a grand blueprint to the Governor, what Old Terra called 'drawing a big pie.'
He threw out the prospect of conquering the stars, reminding the Governor that the Ganas Worm's purpose was to colonize the universe, not to indulge in present enjoyment.
He felt a pang of melancholy; the Imperium's tithes, just hearing about them, instilled fear in an ambitious alien race, even causing them to hesitate.
And within the Imperium of Man, countless worlds paid tithes, countless lives exploited for the Great Crusade.
For some citizens of the Imperium, if they knew of the Shaper Union's existence, even if they learned the truth of the parasitism, they would willingly embrace the alien.
Maintaining consciousness, enjoying a high-welfare life, and experiencing no pain upon extinction, for the residents struggling in the underhives, it was a temptation like a hallucinogenic drug.
On the path of the Great Crusade, the Legion would leave a conquered world, and then the tithes ship would arrive, followed by a rebellion on that world.
The reason, in essence, was simply that the local populace felt their lives became even harder after joining the Imperium.
Ultimately, the Imperium would dispatch a punitive Legion, the Eighth Legion.
To punish those rebellious worlds, to make an example of them, and to use cruel retribution to tell everyone that the Imperium tolerated no betrayal.
Facing the tithes, the Governor's eyes were devoid of ambition, and Blazkowicz saw through the pure unwillingness to be enslaved in his gaze.
"But…" the Governor still wanted to argue, to secure a better life for his race, to avoid becoming a cog in the Imperium's flesh-and-blood machine.
Blazkowicz raised his hand, cutting him off, and spoke calmly, "There are no 'buts.'
The Imperium needs your dedication, humanity needs your dedication."
"In the dark star systems, countless compatriots await our salvation, countless lost territories await our reclamation, to restore the glorious past of humanity!"
"Could it be—" he raised his voice, a hint of suspicion entering it, his calm eyes gradually sharpening, "that your previous hopes, your desire to join the Imperium of Man, were all just to deceive me?"
His voice gradually lowered, like the growl of a beast, the cold killing intent within making the Governor tremble, immediately realizing what kind of being stood before him.
A Son of the Emperor, one of the twenty-one Primarchs of the Imperium, the Warrior King.
If he were angered, the Imperium of Man would not hesitate to wage war, venting a Primarch's fury with artillery fire.
"Ne-ver! I wouldn't dare!" the Governor changed his kneeling posture, prostrating himself in utter humility, repeatedly apologizing "We... are willing... to dedicate... ourselves... and even... more willing... to join... the Im-perium... we just... need... some... leeeniency."
"We... need... an adapta-tion... period... to get used... to high-intensi—" He felt the cold gaze and quickly corrected himself "—to... adapt... to a... better life... of... dedi-cation."
The Governor was well aware that his race was more suited to gradual infiltration; direct combat was not advantageous, so he had to temporarily compromise.
"You should thank me for my grace."
Blazkowicz nodded, his expression exceedingly proud, "My tolerance and benevolence have averted a war."
"If it were one of my brothers who came, your hesitant attitude would have them wielding the Hammer of Judgment, letting you know that the Imperium stands in the stars not by negotiation."
"Yeees... thank you... for your... graaace."
The Governor lay prostrate on the ground, constantly expressing gratitude verbally, but in his heart, he was already cursing with the most venomous words.
What gratitude? He saw the person in front of him not as a benefactor, but as a ruthless tyrant, preying on his own people.
"I must leave."
Blazkowicz's tall figure rose from the throne, his war boots clanking on the gilded checkered floor, stopping as he passed the Governor.
He shook his head, saying disappointedly, "I thought it was something important; I didn't expect it to be such a trivial matter. Next time, just contact the Imperial representative; I don't want to waste time on these things."
With that, his war boots clanked on the floor, and he, along with his Blazkowicz Guard, left the Shapers' council hall, leaving the Governor alone.
The Governor straightened up, enveloped in despair, all elegance and beauty gone. High-ranking officials, hidden in the shadows, surged forward, silently pulling the Governor to his feet.
"What should we do?" someone asked, a hint of fear in their tone, unable to imagine the days ahead.
"Let ussss agree to them first."
The Governor's slender hands brushed his robe, dusting off non-existent grime, trying to shake off the humiliating past.
"With navigators, we will not get lost in the Warp.
Then, the sky will be the limit for us; in the vast universe, where can we not go?"
"Hardship is only temporary!"
The Governor walked to the throne, sat down steadily, and said to his compatriots below,
"Be-fore... us... is a great... jour-ney... to con-quer... hu-manity... to con-quer... the star... sea."
"We... must... assi-milate... all... of hu-manity... become... the rule... makers... and then... cre-ate... a com-fortable... so-ci-ety."
"Gentle-men... let us... all... strive... to-gether—"
His voice regained its elegant composure, sounding very melodious, carrying an unparalleled power of enchantment, depicting that comfortable and pleasant future.
"For a beau-tiful future!"
The crowd below cheered, raising their arms, sweeping away the previous gloom, their voices filled with vigor!
The Governor nodded in satisfaction and, seizing the momentum, began to preside over the meeting, discussing how to negotiate with the Imperium of Man next.
Blazkowicz, having exited the main hall, arrived at the plaza to board his dedicated landing craft, departing the Shapers' homeworld, though there were a few extra passengers inside the shuttle.
KV-117, KV-230, and KV-237, the three assassins, had returned to the cabin; now they were finally safe.
"My Lord."
They removed their cloaks and bowed gracefully to Blazkowicz.
"No need for formalities," Blazkowicz extended his hand to help them up, saying sincerely, "I should thank you.
It was you who went deep into the enemy's lair to investigate crucial intelligence."
His gaze was burning, revealing genuine and pure emotion, as his palm brushed an Iron Men's shoulder: "You averted a crisis and saved countless lives."
The Iron Men's body trembled slightly; this respect almost overloaded their emotional modules.
KV-117's cold, mechanical voice even stammered a little: "This… this is our inherent duty."
"That was once," Blazkowicz smiled, "Now there are no inherent duties or responsibilities; everything is your choice. It is you who stepped forward to serve humanity again.
Rest well."
He pressed the Iron Men into a seat and saw the container in KV-237's hand, holding a parasite.
Blazkowicz did not ask about its origin; it was likely a sample Viktor needed, collected by the Iron Men at his request.
The landing craft returned to the Royal Majesty.
When Blazkowicz returned to the bridge, he saw the void beyond the star system, glowing with Warp light.
"Brother, how have you been since we parted ways on Terra?"
A somewhat solemn, very heavy voice echoed through the communication channel.
The voice was deep and hoarse, like iron sand rubbing and colliding, and like a warhammer honed by countless trials, striking heavily upon the solid ground.
Blazkowicz heard the greeting, his expression instantly turning to surprise, then to joy; he truly hadn't expected to meet his brother in the stars.
Since their parting on Terra, he hadn't seen Ferrus Manus in a long time, only hearing rumors of the Iron Hands in the stars.
Since the Primarch's return, the Storm Walkers Legion was renamed the "Iron Hands," establishing Medusa as their homeworld and initiating recruitment drives.
The Iron Hands underwent cultural transformation based on Medusa, led personally by Ferrus, and embarked on the Great Crusade in the void.
Under the Primarch's leadership, the Legion displayed immense combat power, achieving remarkably impressive conquest results and receiving commendation from the Emperor himself on multiple occasions.
There were even many busybodies who suggested: if the Imperium were to once again elect a "Warmaster" to command all forces, Ferrus would have a chance to contend for the position.
Though a rumor, it was not baseless, showing Ferrus's capability in commanding troops.
Blazkowicz, reunited with his brother, was naturally very excited. He rose from his throne chair and, with genuine emotion, stirred his magnetic voice, saying, "I truly didn't expect you to come in person to help us."
He genuinely hadn't expected his brother to come to their aid.
It was indeed the Iron Hands Legion that came to support them, but the communication never mentioned Ferrus coming personally.
In the void, Warp radiance continuously flashed as an extremely massive fleet, whose mere aura suggested extraordinary combat power, warped in.
"Has my arrival disrupted your strategic deployment?" A holographic image appeared, showing a giant man in specialized power armor, carrying a firepower backpack and shouldering a Furnace Breaker warhammer.
He had short, spirited hair, and his square face, usually stern, now showed a slight smile, making him appear warm, gentle, and reassuring.
"If you don't welcome me," Ferrus saw his brother's astonishment from the holographic image, his smile fading, and he deliberately put on a displeased, stern face, saying, "then I shall leave."
The Primarch's greeting echoed through the communication, and everyone knew he was joking with his brother in his own way.
The Primarch had traveled specially from beyond the star river, primarily to help his brother; how could he possibly just leave?
The Gene-father's playful words indeed brightened the eyes of the Iron Hands Legion Warriors, as they saw another side of their Primarch—a gentleness hidden beneath his stern exterior, never before shown to the Legion Warriors.
Ferrus Manus, Gene-father of Iron Hands.
He managed his army meticulously, and in a very short time, he forged the Legion into an unbreakable warhammer, smashing it against the enemies of Mankind.
The Primarch reorganized the Legion's grand companies into "clans" to better align with Medusan culture, fostering competition among the clans to maintain high combat effectiveness.
Yet, as a source of authority, the Primarch had never smiled within the Legion, let alone joked.
Even when praising a clan or affirming a descendant, he always remained stern-faced; though his words were motivating, his expression was always serious.
Now, the Legion Warriors could feel the Gene-father's excitement and the joy of meeting his brother.
"Then you may leave…" Blazkowicz waved his hand dismissively, causing Ferrus to frown deeply, a little taken aback.
But the next sentence instantly enlivened the atmosphere between the two Primarchs.
His expression was extremely serious, and he said in a very low voice, "You can leave anytime, but Argent Nur doesn't provide return fuel costs. You'll have to find Malcador for reimbursement."
Ferrus was momentarily stunned, seeing the serious expression on his brother's face paired with his humorous words, then he broke into a brilliant smile.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!"
The Primarch's hearty laughter boomed, like an ancient horn echoing through the stars, making one's eardrums throb.
The two Primarchs, the Emperor's magnificent sons, laughed heartily in their playful exchange, drawing their hearts closer.
"I'm coming to see you now." Ferrus's brow was completely relaxed; he hadn't laughed like this in a long time, sometimes forgetting how to smile.
Now, reunited with his brother, as a guest, he must take the initiative to go and show due respect to the host.
"I've prepared a feast, waiting for you to come and drink and talk." Blazkowicz naturally agreed, smiling as he prepared to move: "I'll come to meet you."
The two nodded to each other, cut off the holographic communication, no longer content with audio-visual communication, and prepared to meet face-to-face.
"My Lord."
Blazkowicz was about to leave the bridge to welcome Ferrus, but he was called back by a rational, gentle voice; Sophia's graceful figure appeared.
He stopped, frowning, and looked at his digital steward, a look of confusion on his face.
"The Shaper Union has sent a communication." Sophia's speech was steady and clear, describing the event in simple words: "A large number of fleets have appeared in the void. They are very alarmed and hope to receive a reasonable explanation from you."
Blazkowicz nodded slightly; the xenos' alarm was understandable, and they indeed needed to be appeased. The time for action had not yet arrived.
He pondered for a moment, then instructed Sophia, "Tell them the truth. Inform the xenos that my brother is passing through here and has come specifically to reunite with me."
For a race on the brink of extinction, Blazkowicz was sufficiently generous, telling them half the truth as a final requiem.
In a sense, Ferrus truly was coming to visit him, and there was no doubt about that.
After handling the matter and giving his instructions, Blazkowicz strode out of the bridge and headed to the hangar, personally welcoming his brother aboard to host him.
The Royal Majesty's elevator was extremely fast, taking only a few minutes to descend from the bridge to the hangar.
As Blazkowicz stepped out of the elevator, service robots had laid out a red carpet, and Sentinels and Doom Slayers stood on either side of the carpet, each holding a battle standard.
The most striking figures present were still the Custodian Guards, their armor reflecting golden light, standing at the end of the honor guard, one hand on their hip and the other holding a halberd, looking immensely majestic.
A thousand Custodian Guards; the Emperor had never mentioned recalling his bodyguards, implicitly allowing them to remain by Blazkowicz's side.
The Custodian Guards also understood the deeper mission bestowed by the Emperor, and so they settled comfortably aboard the Royal Majesty, obeying the Warrior King's commands.
They set aside their arrogance derived from the Emperor, actively integrated into the Royal Majesty Battleship's society, and participated in various tasks.
Their presence was naturally indispensable for parades and welcoming ceremonies; the Custodian Guards delighted in activities that displayed the Emperor's majesty.
On the hangar, three distinct powerful warriors from across the galaxy formed a solemn honor guard, also showcasing Argent Nur's inclusivity.
Blazkowicz stood at the end of the red carpet, closing his eyes and waiting for Ferrus, his mind still plotting war details, striving for meticulousness, ensuring the first battle would be decisive, completely eradicating the Ganas Worms in one war.
After several hours of waiting, the Iron Hands flagship—the Iron Fist—completed a short-range system jump, entering the star system from its edge.
The Iron Fist, a Gloriana-class Battleship, was constructed on the moon and incorporated Ferrus's design philosophy.
Her hull was sleek, with a Medusan-style city at the rear of the upper deck. The ship featured massive portholes with giant colored glass curtain walls, and on both sides of the rear, the ship's flanks bore circular insignias carved with an iron hand.
At the fore of the upper deck were several magnificent rotating weapon platforms with expansive hemispherical firing arcs. The ship's sides were equipped with numerous high-power weapons, personally designed by the Primarch, who was skilled in manufacturing and revered science, making their power far exceed many active Imperial armaments.
The upper half of the bow was fitted with a ram, shaped like an eagle spreading its wings, symbolizing the glory of the Imperium, while the colossal eagle's beak was its sharpest point.
Due to Ferrus's deep love for forging, the Iron Fist's lower deck housed an advanced forge, where the Primarch crafted weapons.
The Iron Fist concluded its short-range jump, adjusted its posture to enter planetary orbit, and paralleled the Royal Majesty, facilitating shuttling back and forth.
The people on the planet saw another bright star appear in the night sky—a powerful Imperium of Man Battleship entering high planetary orbit.
The majesty projected by the Battleship oppressed every neural tendril of the Ganas Worms, instilling deep fear in the xenos parasitizing humans.
The Imperium of Man was rich in martial virtue; the firepower of this type of Battleship was unquestionable, with just one capable of destroying a world!
Two Gloriana-class Battleships paralleled each other; they were distinctly different sisters, just like the two Primarchs, different in thought and culture, yet blood brothers of the closest kin.
The Iron Fist released a shuttle, which passed through the protective force field bubble and landed steadily before the laid-out red carpet, opening its airlock hatch.
As the pressure valves vented, Blazkowicz's lips slowly curved into a smile, his eyes filled with anticipation.
A towering giant, carrying a warhammer and followed by an honor guard, stepped out of the shuttle.
Ferrus, a smile on his face, nodded steadily to his brother, his power armor boots stepping onto the red carpet. Since their parting on Terra, this was their first encounter in the stars, and this moment was truly worth remembering!
Ferrus led his retinue out of the shuttle, stepping first onto the red carpet, a symbol of honor and triumph, and walked towards his brother standing at the far end.
He kept his gaze straight ahead, nodding to display the proper decorum of a Primarch, restraining his usual unconventional manner for such a solemn occasion.
The honor guard surprised Ferrus; the Custodes, of course, were the Emperor's personal bodyguards, ultimate beings at the apex of the universe.
The Doom Slayers, always mysterious, now displayed a majesty and power that in no way ceded to the golden-armored Custodes.
And on the other side of the red carpet, those warriors in special power armor, proudly holding their heads high, openly displaying their might, were entirely on par with the Astartes.
They were the Sentinels, whose legends Ferrus had heard—noble warriors who upheld their vow to guard Argent Nur through its long night.
They deserved to be proud, and they deserved to be remembered.
The Sentinels had no loyalty etched into their genes, nor an innate hatred for Xenos; they were devoted to their duty for a promise, possessing immortal will and noble character.
Ferrus's expression was solemn as he strode across the carpet, leading his honor guard—the Morlocks.
These powerful warriors, who had distinguished themselves in the competitive environment of the Iron Hands, hailed from the Avenii clan and wore Terminator power armor.
The Morlock Terminators now displayed impeccable military discipline, their footsteps perfectly synchronized, without a single misplaced sound.
Were it not for the fierce clang of their power armor boots striking the steel as they walked, it would be hard to imagine these hundred warriors moving as one.
Blazkowicz suppressed his smile, his expression becoming serious to match his brother's solemnity, and cast an approving gaze at the Primarch's guard.
The Iron Hands Legion's slightly bronze-colored power armor reflected subtle light under the illumination, the Space Marines manifesting their Legion's strength through their formidable presence.
Several warriors wore standard power armor, with the Iron Hands' relief carved into their belt buckles and the Legion's white insignia painted on their bronze shoulder pads.
They carried battle standards, their steps solemn and majestic, escorting the Gene-father on either side of the Primarch.
Ferrus quickly closed the distance, arriving before Blazkowicz, his eyes filled with deep joy.
Blazkowicz also walked forward, opening his arms to reveal his broad chest, stepping towards his brother.
Ferrus, clad in his battle armor, was as tall as Blazkowicz; he likewise extended his two silver-grey Iron Hands, embracing his brother warmly.
The two giants embraced, their hands patting each other's backs, using physical gestures to convey their profound longing, replacing words.
"Let's go," Blazkowicz said after the embrace, grasping Ferrus's iron arm, cordially offering to lead the way for him, fully displaying his host's demeanor.
Ferrus nodded silently, allowing his brother to pull his arm as they walked deeper into the magnificent warship.
Along the way, the two brothers chatted, recounting their experiences since parting ways on Terra.
Blazkowicz spoke engagingly and humorously, occasionally interjecting small jokes to enliven the conversation; Ferrus, true to his stoic nature, recounted various data from his conquests, appearing somewhat overly formal.
Blazkowicz, however, didn't mind, listening intently, often asking for key information, sometimes deeply agreeing.
He learned from their conversation that Ferrus had refined warfare, calculating the resources and forces needed for each campaign, to conquer the stars.
Along the Iron Hands' conquest routes, the Legion's clans separated, each choosing a path and fighting in their own way.
Ferrus fully utilized his Primarch's leadership abilities, calculating each battle precisely, rarely having an excess of forces.
It was precisely this mode of conquest that allowed the Iron Hands Legion to conquer worlds very quickly, making them currently the Legion that had conquered the most worlds.
Blazkowicz listened, greatly admiring Ferrus's boldness and his incredibly precise control.
His brother's strategic thinking was completely opposite to his own; Blazkowicz typically approached war by making thorough preparations, then executing a grand strategy, securing victory with a single major campaign.
Ferrus was different; he preferred to attack on all fronts, gradually achieving overall victory through a multitude of small victories.
As they spoke, their voices gradually softened.
Blazkowicz noticed that Ferrus's attention was completely captivated by the Royal Majesty warship.
His gaze was exceptionally sharp, scanning every technological creation he saw, a thoughtful expression occasionally appearing on his face.
Ferrus, being skilled in forging, was naturally interested in technological creations, possessing an innate love for machinery.
Seeing that he was not inclined to converse, Blazkowicz smiled faintly, not disturbing Ferrus's contemplation, and quietly slowed his pace, allowing his brother to observe more closely.
Walking and observing like this, stopping and starting along the way, it took a long time to reach the garden deck.
After arranging for the honor guard to enter the banquet, the two Primarchs departed, heading directly to the warship's bridge to discuss important matters.
Ferrus was accompanied by ten Morlock Terminators and nine clan leaders, who represented their respective clans and participated in the Primarchs' strategic meeting.
"These clothes make me very uncomfortable."
As the bridge door opened and the massive figure entered, Ferrus lightly tugged at the collar of his robe; long-term combat had made him somewhat unaccustomed to casual attire.
"You should get used to relaxing," Blazkowicz said, pressing his broad shoulder, affectionately massaging his brother's shoulder, signaling him to relax.
"The Imperium won't be at war forever, brother..."
The two walked one after another, arriving by the warship's viewport, sitting opposite each other at a small table, for their size at least, with the brightly lit Shapers' world visible outside the window.
On the table were exquisite platters laden with various delicacies, and cups filled with fine wine, prepared to welcome Ferrus's arrival.
"I truly envy your life," Ferrus sighed, taking a small sip of the wine in his cup, closing his mouth to savor its sweetness. After a long moment, his eyes lit up as he said, "It truly is excellent wine; no wonder it sells for so much."
Blazkowicz shook his head with a wry smile, knowing full well his brother was teasing him.
The fine wines produced on Argent Nur, bearing the banner of the Primarch's homeworld, fetched exorbitant prices on Terra.
Ferrus put down his wine glass and used a knife and fork to manage the delicacies on his plate. After tasting good food he was content, picking up food and bringing it to his mouth, narrowing his eyes in enjoyment.
"Finally, some real flavor.
"I've never eaten these before," Ferrus said, picking up a post-meal fruit, which was sweet and sour, refreshing, and very delicious.
"You can enjoy it to your heart's content," Blazkowicz said, feeling a pang of sadness, pushing the food in front of him towards his brother.
Ferrus, however, waved his hand, declining his brother's kind offer, and wiped the juice from the corner of his mouth: "That's enough; food is for tasting. We have important matters to discuss."
But out of respect for his brother, he took a plate of fruit and placed it on his lap, intending to enjoy it slowly.
Blazkowicz raised his hand, signaling the attendants to clear the dishes, and lightly tapped the warship's viewport, causing a holographic model of current intelligence to appear.
"Our current known intelligence, all sources are clear, and the information is true and valid."
After introducing it to his brother, he leaned back into the soft sofa, waiting for him to review the intelligence and offer his valuable opinion.
Ferrus's eyes lit up; the intelligence model on the viewport, with its comprehensive 3D data, was an excellent intelligence management system.
He secretly made a note that the Iron Hands would also need such an intelligence model in the future, as it would be extremely beneficial for warfare.
The Primarch raised a hand, signaling the clan leaders to gather, allowing them to view the strategic arrangements of the two Primarchs.
"Blazkowicz, what do you intend to do?" Ferrus sat upright, his brow no longer relaxed, but filled with seriousness and gravity: "How do you plan to conduct the operation?"
Blazkowicz sat up straight, then tapped the viewport again, bringing up the still-developing operational plan: "This is my plan; since you're here, you can also propose and refine it."
"I have no mercy for those xenos; they must be eradicated completely."
Ferrus nodded in agreement, his already serious face gaining an added solemnity. He had learned about the Ganas Worm's ecology from the intelligence and deeply understood its threat to humanity.
"True. These xenos have no idea of the doom forging its way toward them."
Casually sifting through the plan his brother had devised, Ferrus nodded repeatedly, his eyes full of admiration.
The nine clan leaders stood in place, their hearts surging with tumultuous waves, their two hearts trembling slightly in awe of the Primarch's methods.
The Warrior King, the Lord of Argent Nur, was willing to destroy hundreds of worlds to utterly annihilate every xenos race!
Worlds that had evolved over billions of years were, in his eyes, merely an appropriate price to pay for eliminating the Xenos.
(T/N: Come on author, u gonna do Ferrus dirty like that, saying he had clumsy hands and couldn't use a knife and fork properly so he turned them into 'chopasticks'. Come on now...)