Leaving aside Leman Russ, Horus Lupercal, as the first returned son, was already one of the commanders of the Great Crusade. Soon, Ferrus would also complete his task and lead the Iron Hands onto the grand stage of the galaxy. The Iron Hands Legion would sweep away all xenos they encountered with their most adept iron tide, and Ferrus would ultimately become one of the three commanders of the Great Crusade.
In the early days of the Great Crusade, the Imperial Crusade had three commanders in total: the Emperor as the Supreme Commander, and Horus and Ferrus as co-deputy commanders, jointly leading the vast Imperial fleet. Before the return of the other Primarchs, both Horus and Ferrus led several other Legions to conquer the galaxy. In fact, during the Ulanor Crusade and the election for Warmaster, Ferrus was Horus's greatest competitor. Later, Ferrus realized that he was not suited for the position of Warmaster and withdrew from the competition.
From every perspective, Ferrus's abilities were among the best of all the Primarchs.
"I wonder which brother Father will bring back this time?" Ferrus said with an expectant look. At least so far, the relationship among the three returned Primarchs was still quite good. As for whether the Emperor would win, Ferrus had never worried about it; that tall man had never lost.
Horus's humility and Leman Russ's delicate inner self beneath his savage exterior all made Ferrus feel greatly appreciative. Only they, the Primarchs, were truly of the same kind; mortals, Astartes, and even the Custodes were far removed from them. It was just that the galaxy was too vast, and the threats from various xenos faced by humanity were too numerous. Ferrus met his other two brothers very rarely, communicating more often through other means.
Horus and Leman Russ would share with Ferrus the troublesome xenos they encountered during the Great Crusade, as well as the suffering humanity endured in the current galaxy. The Gorgon, while gaining a more thorough understanding of various xenos, also grew to hate them more deeply.
Ferrus was not affected by these emotions; he continued to master his role as a Space Marine Legion commander in the interstellar age at his own pace. Ferrus always remembered the Emperor's teaching, "Sharpening the axe does not hinder the chopping of wood." In the interstellar age, every combat order concerned the lives of tens or hundreds of thousands of soldiers. Therefore, even with a Primarch's powerful single-combat ability and superhuman learning capacity, several years of study were still required.
Not only did Primarchs need to learn, but their followers, who underwent genetic modification with the Primarchs from their homeworlds, also needed time to adapt to the various implanted organs of the Astartes and the corresponding training. After completing 19 gene-enhancement surgeries, they still needed to start as new recruits, accumulating various experiences to grow into qualified Astartes. Current recruits had much better conditions than Terra-born recruits; initially, a newly modified recruit needed several decades to become a qualified Astartes.
As the Mechanicus found technologies during their recovery of various knowledge that could directly implant knowledge into the Astartes' brains, the training period for new recruits was shortened to several years.
"Who knows? The return of a Primarch is like the blind box game popular on Terra now; before the result is revealed, no one knows what number they've drawn, not even someone as strong as the Emperor. We'll just wait and see which Legion is called out."
"My break time is over, Ferrus, work hard." After Malcador finished speaking, he intended to return to his Administratum. After a flash of psychic energy, the hunched old man and the vat of Fenrisian mead on the ground also vanished.
"Uncle Malcador is truly busy; he can't even spare the time for the short journey back to the Administratum." Ferrus glanced at the clock on the ornate palace wall, which pointed exactly to twelve o'clock, and sighed. Malcador's time management was so precise that not a single second was wasted, commonly known as arriving exactly on time for work.
Psychic teleportation was a very profound psychic application technique. This psychic method was used effortlessly by Malcador. In the Imperial Palace, he was the only one who could use psychic abilities like this while contending with so many psychic dampening arrays. Ordinary psychics would have long since exploded, literally exploded.
Malcador was known as the Sigillite. When the Emperor was not on Sacred Terra, Malcador could decide all matters, big and small, within the Imperium. As the Great Crusade unfolded vigorously, more and more lost worlds were reclaimed by the Crusade, and the demand for various supplies on the front lines grew ever larger. Maintaining all of this was precisely Malcador and the officials of his Administratum. In addition, Malcador was also an immortal and possessed psychic power second only to the Emperor.
After sighing at Malcador's dedication, Ferrus returned to the massive Primarch's desk and began to complete the task the Emperor had given him once more. This time, he needed to find and resolve issues in the Legion's logistical supply from a vast sea of data.
In the Storm Sector of Barbarus, within a mountain fortress perpetually shrouded in toxic mist, a tall, thin figure like a reed swung an iron chain, shattering his xenos attendant. He charged directly towards the steepest side of the mountain cliff where the fortress was located, leaping off the city wall without a backward glance.
At the bottom of the steep cliff, a group of humans were trying to escape the slave-catching team amidst the chaos. Mortarion had seen this scene moments before and heard one of the people below wailing at him.
"Who are you!" Typhon's throat, damaged by the perpetual toxic mist on Barbarus, half-wailed, half-pleaded.
"You just stand there, high above, watching from the sidelines? You could clearly help us!" Typhon struggled to resist the xenos' attacks while shouting with difficulty. As for the escaped humans, they were either fighting these xenos with rusty weapons in their hands, or they had already been poisoned by the mountain's toxic gas, awaiting death. Without support, these weak and inexperienced people would quickly be torn to shreds.
"Please, stranger, you are human too, you can help us."
Typhon looked at the figure on the city wall; his intuition told him that the other party was currently undergoing an extremely intense internal struggle. Finally, in Typhon's peripheral vision, he saw the tall, thin figure shatter the attendant who was beside him. They were Mortarion's subordinates and also his jailers.