For the Primarchs, this was a fierce clash between moral bottom lines and ruling philosophies.
But for the Astartes warriors in power armor within the hall, especially for the scions of the The Fourth Legion—the Iron Warriors—the images on the screen were more than just "wrong."
In a corner of the hall, the Iron Warriors phalanx, which had originally stood as solemn as a gray iron wall, was now permeated by a suffocating low pressure.
No roars, no excuses, only a piercing silence like the snapping of gears within a precision machine.
Barabas Dantioch, the Warsmith who had long been "exiled" by Perturabo to a remote sector, was now leaning heavily on his iron staff. No surprise showed on that weathered, scar-covered face.
Instead, he merely closed his eyes slowly, letting out a faint sigh that was as heavy as a landslide.
"Is this... the end of the calculation?"
Dantioch's voice was hoarse and rough, like the grinding of rusted metal.
He had foreseen this day long ago. From the moment he was stripped of his honors and kicked out of the inner circle of decision-makers, he knew that his father's (the Primarch's) paranoid perfectionism and growing resentment would eventually lead this Legion to ruin.
"Iron Within, Iron Without."
Dantioch whispered the Legion's motto, his tone filled with bitter irony.
"We always thought it meant being indestructible. But now it seems it only means... emptiness."
"To prove the hardness of the wall, they killed all the people protected within it. This is no longer war engineering; this is madness."
He didn't need to open his eyes to feel the wavering of his brothers around him.
But he knew it was too late.
The Primarch had made his choice, and the Legion... the Legion would only act like a programmed meat grinder, blindly carrying it out.
Not far from him, Narrik Dreygur, the Commander of the 114th Grand Battalion, was staring intently at his comrades on the screen as they fired expressionlessly at civilians.
As a "Master of the Herd" skilled in commanding automata, Dreygur was used to dealing with soulless machines.
He appreciated the loyalty of machines because they never hesitated and never betrayed.
But at this moment, a strong sense of nausea hit his nerves.
Dreygur's fingers tapped unconsciously on the data slate, the rhythm chaotic.
He watched the Legion on the screen firing at the home they had once sworn to protect, feeling a chill deep in his bones.
"automata follow Orders because they have no souls. But we... we clearly have souls, yet we chose to excise them like necrotic tissue."
"If the price of 'Iron' is becoming such a tool of slaughter, then this 'loyalty' is worthless."
Dreygur's gaze swept over the similarly pale Iron Warriors.
He saw fear, he saw confusion, but more than that, a habitual, numb obedience.
This obedience was once their pride; now it had become their curse.
Not everyone was reflecting.
Kroeger, the captain who would later become famous for his brutality during the Siege of Terra, wore a cold expression.
He watched the images of Olympia burning, a dangerous light flickering in his eyes.
"Weakness is a sin."
Kroeger thought to himself.
"If the people of the homeworld are so weak that they need rebellion to express dissatisfaction, then they have lost the right to survive. The Primarch is removing impurities. It is... efficient."
Compared to the suppressed sense of collapse within the Iron Warriors, the reactions of other Legions were more direct and shocked.
Especially the Ultramarines' formation.
For these warriors from Ultramar, accustomed to establishing Order after war and coexisting with mortal governments, the Iron Warriors' actions were simply incomprehensible madness.
"Why didn't they stop him?"
An Ultramarines captain asked in a low, disbelieving voice, his gaze moving back and forth between the Iron Warriors and the screen. "That is Carnage. That is an exterminatus order against their own homeworld."
"In Ultramar, if a governor gave such an Order, even if he were a Primarch, we would—we would at least protest!"
"We have an Honor Guard, we have grievance mechanisms!"
(It's worth mentioning that in 30k, Ultramarines really did question Guilliman's decisions; some tough guys would even be a bit snarky—though this only happened among the Ultramarines.)
(Otherwise, regarding Hill's proposal that the Ultramarines prepare for other Legions—except for those Legions specifically meant for such tasks—she wouldn't have been able to survive.)
(Even the Space Wolves wouldn't discuss such matters as official business.)
(Moreover, Guilliman hasn't stripped Hill of her position yet; he just made her wear a red helmet.)
"That's the most terrifying part."
Hill said with a grave expression: "Look at those Iron Warriors."
"They are executing the slaughter program with precision and indifference, as if they were building fortifications."
"This isn't just the Primarch's madness; it's the pathology of the entire The Fourth Legion. They have placed 'obedience' above 'humanity.' They are no longer Guardians of the Imperium; they are merely the hammers in Perturabo's hand."
"If even their home can be quantified as erasable data, then is there anything they cannot destroy?"
In the Imperial Fists' ranks, Sigismund's hand gripped his sword hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"No honor."
The future Emperor's Champion spat out these words coldly. "Firing on unarmed kin—this cannot even be called a battle. It's a group of cowards venting their emotions."
He looked at the Iron Warriors, who were once considered rivals.
"If this is what you understand as 'fortitude,' then you aren't even worthy of being our enemies."
Ahriman, the Chief Librarian of the Thousand Sons, felt fear from another perspective.
He looked at Perturabo's blood-stained hands, as if seeing some kind of omen.
"When reason is stripped away and emotions are suppressed to the extreme, only pure destructive desire remains."
Ahriman whispered to himself, "The Iron Warriors always prided themselves on being the most rational and logical Legion. But now... they've proven that logic without the restraint of conscience is more terrifying than madness."
In the hall, the unspoken understanding and brotherhood that originally existed among the Astartes developed a massive crack at this moment.
The Iron Warriors stood there alone, as if isolated by an invisible wall.
They felt the gazes from around them—no longer the trust of comrades, but shock, disgust, and deep wariness.
Dantioch opened his eyes again, looking at the genetic father who was roaring, making excuses, and finally falling into silence before the throne.
"It's over."
The loyal Warsmith sounded the death knell for his Legion in his heart.
"From this moment on, the The Fourth Legion is dead. What remains is just a group of lonely ghosts clad in iron."