"Forgive my bluntness, but what you just said sounded like a crude, boring joke.
All I see on you is aristocratic indulgence and ignorance."
Perturabo looked over the Savior's suit of armor, the kind of violently ostentatious "flexing" that screamed brute-force wealth, and he sneered as he shook his head.
Just from the armor alone, he could tell this man understood neither the beauty of mathematics nor the beauty of art.
"Your taste is even worse than that pathetic False Emperor's."
A trace of disdain flashed through Perturabo's eyes. "You only know how to decorate yourself with expensive, rare relics, and paint everything in blinding gold.
Vulgar. Hideous."
Eden shook his head. He was not particularly angry. Instead, he explained seriously:
"This is called pragmatism. You do not understand the value of doing it this way.
Judging by appearances alone is a severe mistake."
As the Savior and the Emperor of the Imperium, of course he had to be shining with gold. Gold was the most eye-catching element.
More importantly, his public persona was the wealthy emperor. If he did not hang enough good things from head to toe, how would he demonstrate power?
Only then could the Imperium's warriors and citizens truly feel at ease.
The old Imperium had been too impoverished. Many soldiers wore a single suit of armor for three generations. Only by letting them see, and personally feel, the Savior's abundance could he give them real hope.
So the soldiers would know this much:
Follow the Savior into battle, and you will have everything you should have.
Perhaps once the Imperium revived and prospered, he could change styles, get a touch of refined elegance, then focus on civilization-building and economic growth.
But for now, when even survival was uncertain, there was no room to talk about civilization.
Perturabo sheathed his slender sword, adopting the posture of a scholar.
"No need to explain. You are merely of middle-tier education from the Loyal Scions Academy. You are not even as good as the most ordinary scholar."
"In that case, any argument is meaningless."
The Lord of Iron was one of the most learned beings in the galaxy. Even on Holy Terra, he could have been counted among humanity's highest-order scholars.
His learning spanned multiple disciplines. He would have been more than qualified to serve as the Loyal Scions Academy's headmaster.
Meanwhile, the Savior's "honorary dean" status came with only a mid-level credential. In the Imperium's knowledge hierarchy, that was roughly an associate degree.
"Tch."
Eden sucked in a quiet breath.
"So he actually does credential discrimination. I am an honorary dean, for Throne's sake. Could he not at least give me that much face?"
Now Eden understood why other primarchs disliked Perturabo.
That man probably looked down on people through his nostrils every day. Among the primarchs, almost none could match him in scholarship.
From a certain angle, Eden's learning was probably near the bottom, at best slightly better than the Lion's.
He had only so much talent, and he had dumped most of it into faith and charisma. Even his combat power was faith made manifest.
Of course, if he truly committed time to it, with a primarch's brain he could become a high-tier scholar without much trouble.
It just was not worth it.
With that time, he would rather go fishing for technological relics in the Warp, or allocate more funds to build schools across Imperial territory.
To cultivate talent for the Imperium.
In truth, Eden had intentionally used a false identity to leak his "academic level" to Perturabo on the noosphere.
To lower his guard, and lure him into accepting this special wager.
Otherwise, with Perturabo's black-market noosphere account, he could never have uncovered something that sensitive.
It was a relatively high-level secret within the Imperium.
"Since this contest is about knowledge, then we will compare knowledge related to art."
"Preferably art from Ancient Terra. That is my strong suit."
Eden stopped trading barbs with the twisted man and directly proposed the rules, transmitting the relevant documents over.
This special contest, this wager, was best-of-three.
He had already lost the swordsmanship round.
Which meant he had to take the next two rounds, or he would bleed value.
"Fine. We will compete in the art domain."
"But your defeat is already certain. Perhaps you should hand over the spoils in advance."
After hearing Eden's proposal, Perturabo smiled.
Knowledge of Ancient Terra's art was also his strong suit.
He could be called one of the most learned in the field of Ancient Terra studies.
He had delved into many artistic disciplines, even spending a long time searching for and understanding the works and knowledge of the Ancient Terra artist Leonardo da Vinci.
That was an existence from tens of thousands of years ago, whose legacy remained only in traces.
Yet those traces were irresistibly enchanting.
"I will go first."
"In my collection, I possess a work by an Ancient Terra artist."
"You will appraise it. You only need to name the artist and the title of the piece."
Perturabo said this, thoroughly pleased with himself, and personally went to retrieve the priceless work from his treasury.
Wherever he went, the Lord of Iron always installed his vault aboard his flagship or fortress.
So that whenever he had time, he could appreciate art.
It was the one thing that could pull him out of war, and grant him a moment of peace.
After speaking, Perturabo went to his treasury with obvious excitement.
He genuinely liked this style of contest.
"Sigh. The sense of déjà vu is intense. The classic 'guess the treasure' segment."
Eden sighed with emotion.
"If you did not know any better, you would think I'd time-traveled back to some ancient court, playing the fool while secretly solving an impossible riddle an enemy kingdom could not answer…"
These rules were his own design, so of course they felt familiar.
All that was missing was a poetry duel.
Unfortunately, the Imperium did not really do that, or he could have put on a show.
Eden watched Perturabo's back and waited quietly.
He knew Ancient Terra's art extremely well, because a primarch's brain had practically excavated all the memories of his former life.
For Imperial scholars, Ancient Terra history was an unknowable secret from tens of thousands of years past.
For Eden, it was fresh.
But that did not guarantee victory.
If Perturabo brought out some obscure, eccentric artist's work, Eden might truly fail to guess it.
He was still wary.
"That great artist's work is not even recorded in the libraries of Holy Terra."
"Even if the Savior had the Machine-Goddess help him prepare in advance, he still cannot possibly know the answer."
Not long after, Perturabo returned, brimming with confidence.
Behind him, a transport machine carried a massive stone slab protected by a void shield and a stasis field.
More precisely, it was an ancient mural.
Time had eroded it into a mottled ruin.
Yet the contents were still faintly visible.
But the moment Perturabo stepped back into the hall, music sounded.
Da-da-da-dum!
That short, urgent, driving motif seized the soul.
In an instant, the entire hall fell silent.
All eyes turned to the colossal pipe organ in the corner, its sound solemn and holy.
It was a relic of some mechanized cathedral, absorbed by the Warp-Animated Chaos Foundry, becoming part of the hall itself.
Occasionally, the Lord of Iron would have daemonic musicians play the organ, so he could enjoy music he liked.
Now, the one playing in total absorption was the Savior himself, like an artist lost in rapture.
Eden had found yet another opportunity to build his image.
He never wasted a single chance to be flamboyant.
It was precisely this kind of relentless, opportunistic display that gradually accumulated the Imperium's impression of him, along with his authority.
Today, he intended to leave the Lord of Iron and the Iron Warriors with a clear impression:
He was a man of culture.
Which would make later communication easier.
After all, these people were among the galaxy's more important "cultural" circles.
If you could not break into their wavelength, it was hard to talk to them at all.
The Iron Warriors, like their gene-sire, wore many faces.
On the battlefield they were a frenzied storm.
In private they had clearer minds, and a stronger ability to appreciate art.
Perhaps this was simply the primarch's influence upon his gene-sons.
As the Savior played on, the melody rose and rose, cresting into a climax.
"So this is fate… unyielding struggle, resistance, and the joy of victory…"
Perturabo stood there, stunned.
His musical literacy was excellent. He could hear the emotion within the piece.
It stirred memories. It made him think of who he had been before his fall.
He had surrendered before fate and become what he was now.
That irony was bitter.
"This piece is Symphony No. 5, the 'Fate' Symphony, by the Ancient Terra composer Ludwig van Beethoven."
"Perhaps you have heard of him."
"I knew you would appreciate this kind of music. As the performer, I am honored."
After the final note, Eden stood and gave the audience a slight bow.
Then he briefly introduced what he had just played.
He had forced a full personal performance on Chaos territory, as if he were the master of this place.
Clap, clap, clap.
The Custodes began to applaud.
This was a form of etiquette the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, enjoyed, especially after speeches or performances.
With so few of them, their applause sounded thin and scattered in the vast hall of the Chaos factory-fortress.
Then more applause joined in, turning warm and lively.
It was the Iron Warriors.
They did not fully understand what was happening, but under the atmosphere's pull, they applauded instinctively.
Even as fallen warriors of Chaos, the Iron Warriors still retained a trace of respect for the Custodes.
More than that, a primarch had just performed, and he had shown respect to them.
Pathetically, these Chaos warriors could not even remember the last time they had felt respected.
Their gene-sire punished at the slightest disagreement.
He had even carried out a one-in-eleven selection execution, and that was without defeat.
The Lord of Iron's reasoning was simple:
"It was a costly victory. The Iron Warriors did not lose, but they did not do their best."
He demanded his gene-sons be not merely excellent, but unmatched.
He used a "bottom-out elimination" system to sift them.
In other words, the Iron Warriors lived under impact-based education.
Respect and recognition were painfully rare.
"This is the continuation of tragedy. Perturabo has transferred the unfair treatment and grievance he suffered under the Emperor, as he perceived it, onto the Iron Warriors."
Eden watched the Iron Warriors, who stopped clapping almost immediately and began reading their gene-sire's expression, and he sighed softly.
"I did not expect you to understand music. That surprises me."
Perturabo walked over, his expression no longer as relaxed as before.
After appreciating the music, he realized the Savior was likely far more learned than he had assumed.
Especially that performance. It carried an Ancient Terra classical flavor.
At minimum, it was not the level of "mid-tier education."
Worse still, Eden understood Ancient Terra art.
That lowered Perturabo's odds considerably.
Fortunately, the subject of this round was da Vinci.
It was the field he was best at, within Ancient Terra art.
At present, humanity's knowledge of Ancient Terra was pitiful.
It could not even fill a single bookshelf.
"Hmph. The Savior cannot possibly understand that great artist better than I do."
Perturabo still believed he would win.
He admired the relic again, then spoke:
"Savior. You have five minutes to find the answer, then you will give it to me."
"What a precious piece…"
Eden stepped closer and studied the worn, colorless, incomplete mural with admiration.
Seeing something once familiar in this strange world moved him in ways he did not bother to hide.
The incomplete mural showed several mounted warriors fighting in battle.
A work by da Vinci.
Of course, Eden already knew Perturabo would bring out a da Vinci piece.
After all, that was his favorite artist.
That was precisely why Eden proposed an art contest.
He understood the Lord of Iron extremely well, in temperament and in taste alike.
This was the advantage of information asymmetry.
A dimensionality reduction strike.
"If I am not mistaken, this is an Ancient Terra mural by Leonardo da Vinci."
"It is titled The Battle of Anghiari."
"It depicts a primitive, violent war."
Eden glanced a few times and answered without hesitation.
To him, this was familiar, at least in memory.
Back then, just to argue online and talk politics for fun, he had skimmed plenty of related material and remembered more than a little.
In that era, obtaining knowledge was likely far easier than it was now.
Of course, once the psychic network matured, the Imperium would establish a complete knowledge-storage system as well.
Eden continued:
"This mural was once meant for the Hall of the Five Hundred in a palace."
"It is one of da Vinci's more unusual works."
"Impossible. How do you know it in such detail?!"
Perturabo froze.
The Savior's understanding of the piece was actually deeper than his.
Yet in the next instant, he fell silent, with no argument left to make.
Because the Savior used psychic power to reconstruct the mural and project it.
The reconstructed image matched the surviving portion of the relic perfectly.
Afterward, senior Librarians used the Warp to verify the truth of Eden's statements.
The past inevitably left traces in the Warp.
They could not always identify what a thing was, but they could use psychic means to test whether certain information was true or false.
And the result proved Eden had not lied.
Then Eden discussed even more Ancient Terra art knowledge with Perturabo.
It was a total suppression.
Anyone could see it.
Before the Savior, the Lord of Iron had no room to fight back at all.
"You may have heard my legends."
"I am an all-knowing, all-powerful being in this galaxy, and not merely in prophecy."
"I know more than anyone imagines. I even know the nature of this world."
Eden adopted the posture of an omniscient seer, instantly stunning the Lord of Iron and his sons.
Those who possessed knowledge respected erudition more than anything, to the point of awe.
"Da Vinci once said that painting is the child of nature, and that he loved everything about nature."
"And yet you use violence to shape fortress-architecture. You destroy nature. You ruin planets."
"I cannot imagine why you claim to love da Vinci."
Eden looked at Perturabo and drove the knife in with a pointed question:
"Or is it that what you do now is not truly what you want, but something you are forced into?"
"Or a disguise?"
"What are you implying?!"
Perturabo's face was heavy with dejection, drowning in frustration.
Hearing those words made him uncomfortable in a way he could not name, hovering on the edge of rage.
"My apologies. I spoke too much."
Eden did not continue provoking the twisted man. Instead, he stepped back.
"I only wish to remind you that I have won this round."
That was an indisputable fact.
Custodes and Iron Warriors alike had watched the contest.
In their hearts, they acknowledged it:
The Savior was more learned. The Savior had defeated the Lord of Iron.
Before all eyes, Perturabo had nothing to refute.
He nodded.
"Savior. Your learning is worthy of praise."
"You have won."
He had no excuse to deny the loss. Eden's victory was too obvious.
And Perturabo's pride would not allow him to shamelessly violate the rules.
That would be dishonorable.
"Each of us has won one round."
"Then the machine war will decide the final victor."
Perturabo worked to steady his emotions and turned to walk out.
His odds were still high. With equal numbers, his Chaos machine host should win.
Eden's expression turned solemn as he thought of something.
He followed, heading to the terrace to watch the battle that would decide everything.
Win or lose would be determined by this last throw.
Not only him.
More Iron Warriors came out as well.
Their hearts were tight with tension.
They had sworn on their lives and their honor:
If the Savior won, they would become his warriors.
It was not an oath easily broken.
Even if they reneged and endured the curse's erosion, they would lose all honor.
After that, they would be called deceivers, not Iron Warriors.
On the terrace.
Eden, Perturabo, and the rest stared toward the distant battlefield.
The ground had been shattered by violent bombardment, magma spilling through cracks.
The region was painted in bizarre colors by lethal radiation.
War between machine legions was even more terrifying than imagination.
Perturabo glanced at the Savior, then returned his gaze to the battlefield, smiling faintly.
The machine war was nearing its end.
His Dark Automata held the advantage and were destroying the last automated war-automata.
"What a pity, Savior. Your forge-craft is not good enough."
Perturabo spoke softly, thoroughly pleased.
"My machines are the finest among mankind's creations."
"I will win this special war. Your flagship-fortresses and your technology will be mine."
"I suggest you look more carefully."
"I have not lost."
"My machines are counterattacking."
At that moment, the worry in Eden's heart scattered like smoke.
He knew this was stable now.
On the battlefield, the last automated war-automata endured the Dark Automata's fire and revealed a gleaming, gold-bright inner frame of special alloy.
They began a reverse charge, plunging into the Dark Automata's ranks.
Relic-grade weapons erupted with ferocious destructive power.
These were not automata that had ever appeared on the battlefield before.
They were the Savior's private pattern.
The Forge Directorate loved producing "enhanced" versions of weapons and creations, then presenting them to the Savior as guard forces or collectibles.
And the materials of these automata were mixed with substantial quantities of auramite, a metal of exceptional hardness.
Yes.
The same material used in the Emperor's True-One Armor.
Holy, beyond question.
After all, even the Imperium's highest-ranked warriors might only receive a fingernail's worth of auramite.
Some could only obtain auramite grains, or even auramite at the level of particles and molecules.
Not only were these automata forged from sacred materials, they had also been left beneath the Holy Sun for one hundred and thirty days, and fitted with blackstone technology.
They were a brutal counter to Chaos machines.
Very quickly, they served as the breakthrough force, leading the remaining automata to smash the Dark Automata and seize final victory.
"My apologies, brother Perturabo."
"I have won in the end. Now it is time for you to fulfill your promise."
Eden's smile spread wide.
He looked at the Iron Warriors behind Perturabo, and his eyes carried an unmistakable hint:
What are you all standing around for?
Get over here to your godfather's side already.
(End of Chapter)
[Get +30 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Zaelum"]
[Every 300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]