"I think you should come and see this." Peturabo said.

Vulcan did not answer his words, and the expression of the Lord of the Fire Dragon looked as if he was in the midst of a storm. Sunlight hit him like bullets through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

In front of him lay a long boulder table, carved from a single block of stone, surrounded by twenty-one chairs, each draped with flags.

Their size is a clear indication of who – or rather, for whom – they are made.

Perturabo walked to the top of the table and held up the flag draped over the back of his chair. The chair was larger than the other stone chairs, and its pattern did not belong to any of the Astarte Legions, with golden Aquila and Terra gleaming on it.

"Eighteen in all." He gripped the flag tightly and spoke slowly. "He's so thoughtful, everyone has thought about it, even the two that will never be seen again."

Following his words, Vulcan looked at the two chairs draped in white cloth, and he could not help sighing.

"Don't grieve for them." Peturabo said coldly. "Do you think they are worthy of your mercy, brother?"

I don't question my father's decision, but I do grieve that they will be absent forever."

Perturabo snorted coldly, but didn't say anything. He walked behind the chair that belonged to him, reached for the flag, unfolded it for a closer look, and then began to fold it carefully.

Vulcan looked at him inexplicably and asked, "Why did you do this?" ”

"Political use." The Iron Lord said calmly.

"Politics? Is there anyone against you? Vulcan frowned. Who would do such a thing at a time like this? And, isn't Ms. Judton's opinion enough to shut them up.? ”

"Politics is not a word, Vulcan. Talasha Yuton may be widely respected, but he is unlikely to be liked by all the bureaucrats of Makurag. ”

"What do you mean?" The Lord of the Fire Dragon asked cautiously.

"Some may privately express their admiration for her, but, on the surface, they will be adamantly against her, and occasionally against Robert Killiman."

"The game called politics is essentially nothing more than an exchange of interests, and Robert Kiriman clearly has the ability to break this exchange of interests that has lasted for thousands of years. Whether it's him, or us—"

Perturabo lowered his head and carefully tucked the flag into his belt, his voice still calm.

In fact, they all have the ability to turn politics into a hall of words, the difference is only whether they want to or not. Robert Kiliman certainly wouldn't do that, and he was willing to use some regression to turn Maculag into a so-called progressive democratic capital, but I don't know. For me, these opponents deserve to go to jail or beheaded, whether they are or not."

He paused.

"Willingly."

Vulcan was silent for a while before answering him: "Maculag hasn't changed his name to Olympia yet, has he?" ”

"Huh?" Perturabo narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

"I just think it's a little weird—" Vulcan explained with difficulty what he 'meant'. "—I mean, I understand every step of your transformation of Macurag, and I totally understand the necessity of it."

"But isn't it too much for you to go into a private room that Robert has sealed off like this, and take what he has prepared in a grand manner, in order to find a legitimate reason for yourself to kill?"

"You've done it again, Vulcan." Perturabo sighed, turned and walked out of the room.

Vulcan hurried to catch up with him, while still not forgetting to close the door. The victorious army nodded at him, but the Lord of the Fire Dragon hid his face and sped up.

In the court of the Lord of Macurag, the two primordials began to walk, talk—or rather, pursue, argue.

"What do you mean by the good old man's mistake again?" Vulcan frowned and asked. "I just don't see the need for you to do this, even if they oppose you, what can they do?"

"Valentus Hero and Lady Judon have your unwavering support, and the two forces you need to fight for are already behind you, what do you have to worry about? Why cut off their heads? ”

"I do everything for a reason." Peturabo replied coldly.

"At least explain it to me, then?"

"I don't see the need to do that." Perturabo tilted his head and said.

His words caused the Lord of the Fire Dragon to jerk his hand up, grab his shoulder armor, and force him to a halt. The two victorious soldiers who followed them turned their heads without squinting and began to look up at the windows in the wide corridors of the court.

Vulcan stared into his brother's eyes and asked a final question, earnestly.

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Perturabo. I just don't understand why politics in the secular sense affects you, and you yourself said that you are a primordial who can turn politics into a word. ”

"Not to mention that you have the support of Valentus Hero and Lady Judton, what are you doing this for? There are some things that have a boundary, and you can change the makurag because it is needed for war, but why would you kill people for no reason because of a few words of opposition? What do you think Robert would have thought if he found out? ”

"He'll thank me." Peturabo said helplessly and annoyedly. His sigh could not be stopped.

"What?" Vulcan looked at him in amazement, as if his brother had finally gone mad.

"He'll thank me." Perturabo repeated. "And I'll forgive you, because you've been spending most of the past four days with me behind that damn tactical table, and you don't know what I've detected in those papers."

Vulcan looked at him a little embarrassed, but also looked at him more and more suspiciously.

"Ten more minutes — no, nine minutes. Valentus would take the two men into one of the reception rooms I was about to go to. ”

"One man, Mog Srelt, is a Rogue Trader in Macurag, very powerful, and specializes in selling their local specialty wines across the galaxy."

"Another person, Elam Santiafos, is the foreign director of the Makulag press office, and he returned to Makulag six months ago after completing his assignment."

"The lives of these two people have never crossed paths in the past, until half a year ago. Do you know where this esteemed businessman and this conscientious foreign director came back? ”

"Where?" Vulcan asked with some trepidation.

"Istfan." Peturabo replied coldly. "More coincidentally, they happened to be one of those who opposed me – and vehemently asked to meet with me."

His words caused Vulcan's pupils to shrink.

"You mean ——?!"

"I'd rather kill the wrong than let it go." The Lord of Steel spoke, and regained his steps and strode forward.

——

Looking at the scene in front of him, Valentus couldn't help but frown. After a moment of silence, he finally couldn't help but ask, "Mr. Mog Srelt, is it really necessary for you to bring so many attendants?" ”

"Of course, Lord Yingjie." The man in a beautiful dark purple cloak and a straight mustache answered his question without raising his head, still focusing on the wine swaying in his glass.

"And, is that really a lot? Ten followed, and besides, they weren't armed. ”

His tone was arrogant, like that of every big businessman, full of superiority over privateering and great wealth.

Valentus suppressed his anger and looked at his ten retinues, all dressed uniformly, all dressed in beige armed robes, with uniform hairstyles, all bald heads that made it easy to wear helmets.

It was true that they were unarmed, but Valentus could tell some clues from the way they were standing. They were overly professional, and it was clear that these people were actually the private soldiers of this ronin trader.

Stupid cowards. Valentus thought. He was stern against him, believing that he was undermining the civilization and progress of Makulag. The request was fulfilled to meet with him, but with these impossible private soldiers.

If a primordial wants to kill you, what if they're fully armed?

"Then whatever you want." Valentus said. "So, what about you, Director Elam?"

"Huh?" The man whose name was called looked at him in alarm. "W-what's the matter, Lord Yingjie?"

"Why did you ask for a meeting with Master Perturabo?" Valentus asked as scripted, having just thrown the same question to Mog Srelt.

The latter's answer was stupid but plausible - the Rogue Trader believed that Perturabo's martial law policy prevented him from leaving Maculag and threatened his life and business opportunities, so he opposed the Iron Lord and demanded to meet him.

So, what about this person?

Valentus looked at the trembling foreign press director, and some doubts gradually flashed in his heart.

He hadn't seen each other before, but he didn't think a normal Makurag would be so upset when facing an Ultramarine.

This may be explained by the imminent meeting with Perturabo, who is the same Perturabo and is not surprising to be concerned about his personal safety. But why did he keep glancing back?

Valentus looked behind Elam Santiafos.

There was a young assistant with a camera in hand, carrying a machine that had not yet been started, calmly staring ahead. Noticing the sight of his gaze, Elam Santiafos's trembling actually became more intense.

Yingjie narrowed his eyes, and his hand was already touching his waist. At that moment, he heard a sigh from Elam Santiafos' assistant.

"You useless idiot." He scolded and threw the camera down.

A thousandth of a second later, a violent explosion erupted.

This chapter is 3k, and there are 7k.

(End of chapter)