Life on Olympia was peaceful and comfortable. In just two short years, Perturabo had changed significantly.
Over those two years, Perturabo no longer excessively obeyed his instincts or underlying code.
While drinking tea on the balcony, he no longer calculated the operational efficiency of the Abominable Intelligences working in the distance; when looking at the flowers and tea trees, he didn't ponder how to optimize the genetic sequences of the plants; and when the children were playing soccer, he refrained from analyzing the aerodynamic trajectories of the ball.
At times, he found this lifestyle a bit boring, yet he rarely went into the laboratory to brainstorm new technologies, nor did he dismantle machinery just to optimize and reassemble it.
He had managed to procure a large stash of books and graphic novels that the Emperor and Malcador had accumulated over the years, along with tech tomes from the Dark Age of Technology. Perturabo still preferred those—after all, that was where his passion lay.
Enjoying life and staying sharp in technology didn't conflict with each other in the slightest.
He continually updated the Imperial technology innovations and upgrades within his logic engine. For him, a single glance at the creations of the Mechanicus Tech-Priests was enough to spot exactly where improvements were needed.
This drastically reduced the raw materials required by the Imperium to produce those items, creating far more cost-effective finished goods.
During those two years on Olympia, Perturabo also resumed good habits from the days before his return to the Imperium: he reclaimed the routine of nightly sleep, took peaceful afternoon naps, and enjoyed delicious afternoon tea with his sister.
The transition of the Warmaster's duties to Lion was notoriously tedious, but Perturabo simply washed his hands of the whole thing, dumping every last task onto Guilliman so he only had to stamp a thumbprint and sign his name.
The Emperor would occasionally send a message asking if he wanted to join a research project to rescue the Eleventh Primarch, mentioning he had already found a promising lead.
Perturabo declined. The Eleventh's issue could be solved sooner or later; he told the Emperor to send the difficult problems over, promising to return his thoughts or solutions once he worked them out.
When one could bask in the sun and sip tea on a balcony, who would want to stay cooped up in a lab doing research? Research required rigor, true, but Perturabo didn't care anymore.
Eat well, drink well, sleep well, throw the Imperium a technological innovation every now and then, and leave the war business to his sons and brothers. He was tired.
Such was Perturabo's semi-retired life.
It made the Khan and Little Magnus green with envy. Guilliman even declared multiple times that once he rescued his mother, handled his workload, and handed off administrative duties, he would absolutely live a retired life just like Perturabo.
More importantly, Perturabo had taken up writing books. Not technology manuals, mind you—he uploaded those directly via the logic engine to be hand-copied into multiple physical volumes for archive storage.
Lately, he had grown obsessed with keeping a diary. Calling it a diary was a stretch; it was mostly a memoir of his days since returning to the Imperium, spent venting about the Emperor and his brothers.
When it came to holding grudges and talking trash behind people's backs, if Perturabo claimed second place, no one dared claim first—not even the Squats!
Nearly every day, Calliphone watched him rail against the Emperor's total incompetence, mock his brothers for acting like giant infants, vent fury over the old Imperial system, spit venom at Malcador, and curse Horus for using his sons as cannon fodder back in the day...
"Aren't you being a bit too petty, Bo? You're still holding on to these trivial little things?" his sister teased.
"Hmph. Back then, for the sake of the Imperium, I didn't want to make a scene and ruin harmony. Now that I'm retired, if I can't even talk trash about them in my diary, wouldn't my retirement be a complete waste?"
Right after saying that, Perturabo picked up his pen and continued writing today's dose of routine complaints:
"Dammit, that son of a bitch Emperor—"
---
Time flew by, and another two years passed in the blink of an eye. These four years were the most comfortable Perturabo had experienced since returning: completely free of heavy burdens, with no need to worry about Warp storms or sudden catastrophes.
Having lived so long, this tranquil life was so stable that Perturabo almost forgot he was in Warhammer—a universe that never allowed anyone a moment of peace.
An encrypted transmission from Terra arrived, which Perturabo answered in his study. Guilliman's holographic projection looked worn out, the dark circles under his eyes resurfacing.
"What's wrong? What business has run you ragged like this again?"
"We need you back, brother," Guilliman said straight to the point, bypassing any pleasantries.
"What happened?"
Perturabo's expression instantly turned serious. When real business called, laying low was no longer an option.
"The Tyranid Hive Fleets—their main forces have begun a full-scale invasion. It isn't just our home galaxy; the main fleets of the Great Devourer are attacking all the other galaxies as well. And across five different galaxies, five Great Devourers have somehow linked together."
"While it doesn't provide them with physical reinforcements, their hive mind intelligence is now shared across the network. Their evolution speed far exceeds our expectations, and the Imperium is currently mobilizing everything for a full counteroffensive."
"Lion has already deployed 1,400 Chapters to the front lines to hold off the swarm. Almost all our brothers are at the front. Aside from the garrisons guarding the Dark King, we've mobilized over half of the Imperium's total military strength."
Hearing that it was a massive Tyranid invasion, Perturabo's tense heart settled back down. He had thought the Necrons had awakened and launched a full-scale assault; if it was just the Tyranids, that was manageable.
Leaning against the edge of his desk with his hands rested over his stomach, Perturabo listened to Guilliman's report without responding immediately.
He glanced out the window. The afternoon sun over Olympia was pleasant, and his sister was in the garden watering newly planted mint. Water droplets refracted tiny specks of light off the leaves, like an undisturbed dream.
He pulled his gaze back and turned to the non-stop projection of Guilliman.
"So? We can't beat them?"
Guilliman's expression froze for a second before he let out a helpless sigh.
"We can. Although the swarm evolves rapidly, the Imperium's overall combat strength still holds the upper hand. Our Abominable Intelligence legions and Necron technology remain hard counters to the Tyranids, and those anti-psionic devices are immensely helpful for sniping synapse creatures."
"Then what are you putting on an act for? What do you want to wring out of me this time? I haven't been running any experiments; even if you want archetype technology, I don't have any to give."
I'd be a fool to believe you! Trying to play mind games with your brother again?
This time, however, Guilliman truly hadn't come to squeeze tech out of Perturabo.
"While Lion's front-line command is flawless and our brothers are fighting well in their sectors, the issue isn't whether we can win—it's attrition. Our scale is too vast. A war spanning five galaxies is a severe test for our logistics."
"And the sheer numbers of the Tyranid swarm are overwhelming."
Guilliman pulled up a dataset and projected it in front of Perturabo.
"Over the past three months, fighting simultaneously across five galaxies, the Imperium's logistical consumption has equaled the total of the past ten years combined."
"Fleet fuel resupply, Titan weapon replacements, Space Marine armor production, warship repairs—every logistical indicator is skyrocketing. Our production capacity can keep up, but the delivery speed isn't fast enough."
"Furthermore, the pressure on the Logistics Department is at maximum capacity again. Many logistics personnel have suffered sudden fatal overwork. Corvus had no choice but to act as a logistics unit, playing firefighter across five galaxies to transport supplies."
Perturabo glanced at the data, his eyebrow twitching slightly.
Without deep analysis, he could tell that while the Imperial logistical system was indeed running at full load, it was far from the brink of collapse.
Guilliman hadn't come to him because he couldn't solve it.
"You want it faster?" Perturabo said.
Guilliman nodded in admission. "Yes, faster."
"The swarm's evolution speed is accelerating. If we cannot crush their main force within the next six months, they might evolve to a point where we need triple the firepower to destroy them."
"We need your Necron technology production lines running at absolute full speed, along with those overly blasphemous stockpiles you keep hidden. We need your aid, brother."
Perturabo fell silent. Wait, brother—so your idea of bringing me out of retirement is just to drain everything I've accumulated over the years dry?
Perturabo originally intended to throw Guilliman some black-market tech to brush him off, but looking at Guilliman's exhausted face, and thinking of those Space Marines and Solar Auxilia troops... he couldn't just stand by and watch them die, could he?
Sigh, fine.
"The production lines are already running at full capacity. I'll grant you access shortly. As for the specialized tech production lines and other assets, I am transferring full production and operational clearance to you—remote calibration will be all that's required on my end."
"Regarding the stockpiles, I will have the Abominable Intelligences coordinate them immediately. Seventy percent of what I've accumulated over the years will be shipped to the front lines within half a month."
"I've also hidden plenty of good gear across various worlds and Chapter homeworlds. I am handing all access and command authority over to you; use your judgment on how to deploy them, or hand them to Lion."
Guilliman froze for a moment, then quickly pulled up the inventory manifest. His eyes scanned the data pad rapidly before he snapped his head up, his face filled with disbelief.
"You've been preparing for this since long ago?"
"Please, I'm retired, not brain-dead. Did you think I didn't factor these things in? Otherwise, would I have dared step down from the seat? Without enough backup plans, would I have retired so easily?"
Guilliman opened his mouth to say something, then swallowed the words back down. Standing at the other end of the holographic projection, he was at a temporary loss for words.
"Thank you, brother."
"We're family. Don't waste breath on formalities."
Perturabo walked over to his desk, pulled open a drawer, took out a data pad, weighed it in his hand, and plugged it into a drive to upload to Guilliman.
"I have one more thing to give you. It might offer some help."
Guilliman looked down at the newly received file, his pupils contracting slightly.
"This is... a decryption of the Tyranid Warp communication?"
"Not entirely a decryption," Perturabo said, leaning back into his lounge chair and pouring a cup of hot tea.
"It's an analytical breakdown of the interface between the Tyranid Hive Mind network and the Warp. I developed it earlier, though it wasn't fully complete. You can have those Tech-Priests reverse-engineer it using front-line telemetry data; it should give them a boost."
"With this, you can anticipate the direction of the swarm's tactical adjustments, prepare counter-measures before they evolve, and slap psychic suppression fields on them ahead of time."
Guilliman's fingers flew across the data pad, skimming line after line of complex logical frameworks, algorithmic formulas, and deeply profound psionic analysis decodes—all simplified by Perturabo.
"You truly are a genius, brother."
"Need you tell me that? If I weren't a genius, could I have steered this broken ship of an Imperium this far?"
"Alright, hurry up and go help Lion and the others. Poor guy runs into this kind of rotten luck right after taking office. When I took office, it was just a minor rebellion; the moment he takes over, five galaxies get hit by a main Tyranid invasion. Lion sure is blessed."
Guilliman took a deep breath, saving the document fully into the primary database of the logic engine.
When he raised his head again, the exhaustion on his face had faded somewhat, replaced by a firmer resolve.
"With this, our intelligence department can predict the swarm's tactical shifts forty-eight hours in advance. Targeted firepower deployment will cut ammunition consumption by at least thirty percent—"
"So you can go back to work now. Move troops, fight wars, and stop hovering in front of me with those dark circles under your eyes. I'm afraid you'll drop dead right in front of me."
Guilliman choked on his words, instinctively touching his eye sockets with a bitter smile. "I'll try my best."
---
Once the transmission cut, Perturabo stood in place, put the data pad back into the drawer, and walked out of the study. He happened to see his sister coming out of the kitchen with a freshly brewed pot of tea.
"More trouble?" his sister asked, pouring him a cup.
Perturabo pulled her into his arms, and together they sank into the lounge chair, sipping the warm tea.
"A massive Tyranid invasion. The Imperium has hit a major snag again, but it's solvable—just with high attrition."
"Guilliman came asking for resources. I gave him some stockpiles and a bit of assistance. It should be enough."
Calliphone set the teapot on the side table. "The fact that you could hand over so much means you were preparing for this all along."
Perturabo smiled, not denying it. "I never intended to return, so I had to make sure their fallback options and backup plans were fully prepared. Otherwise, things would get very troublesome if a crisis hit."
Calliphone looked at him, her gaze gentle, wise, and carrying a faint hint of helplessness.
"So if real trouble comes, you won't just stand by. You'll leave this place and return to the Imperium, won't you?"
"We are in the Imperium right now."
"It's not the same. Remember? You said we could live out every day in peace and quiet."
Perturabo said nothing. He simply looked down and took a sip of tea, the crisp aroma of jasmine spreading across his tongue.
After a moment, he shook his head gently. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to break my word, Sister."
Calliphone felt no real disappointment; ever since she decided to take over Olympia's administration, she had harbored this premonition.
A true retirement was likely a pipe dream, especially after becoming a Perpetual.
"Then you must promise me: our future retirement—at least this kind of peaceful retirement—cannot be interrupted too often."
It was her final request.
"Alright."
Perturabo held his sister tightly in his arms, making a promise that would very likely go unfulfilled once more.
Calliphone knew it too, yet she was still willing to believe.
Having grown accustomed to a quiet, happy retirement, no one truly wanted to return to that past life of working overhours like cattle.
The artificial sun over Olympia radiated a soft light, warming them both.
Retirement days really were wonderful.