Always watching always waiting like a spider waiting for the fly to catch itself in a web. The other captains seemed intent on seeing to his downfall. Whether it was a vendetta, to secure the might he commanded, or to topple one they saw as impure. It mattered not they slunk in the shadows whispering hushed treason dripping with venom. He would plunge his hand into the darkness and tear their geneseed from their still living bodies but to do that would cross a great canyon and draw wrath to him. He had dealt with the Master of the Forge who, through honeyed words no doubt, dismissed Kunzhardt's worries and reassured the second captain of the purpose of the tanks but what of the others? There was a cult within the XIXth that would see not just purity from corruption but also purity from foreign blood and it was common knowledge he was one of the Bastard's. Yes he was born of an Iron Warrior Fortress World and bled with Maloxdraxian recruits but those not from that broken dead world were seen as less to them.
The frustration built up in him as heavy boots trudged in a forced march back his own lair. He'd have words with Pelegon before the mission and express his own anger over things. His anger turned to rage as he entered his own quarters to discover a wall of 1st company honour guard mingling within his quarters. His own soldier was taken by them and was being questioned as to his whereabouts it would seem. Had pelegon sent his hounds for Kunzhardt? Would they be used the same way the Vlth legion was ordered to deal with the llnd and the Xlth in their own purging? He felt the twitch almost instinctively as his power fist drew back just past parallel with his body in a somewhat cocked position. The only saving grace was that none of them had their weapons drawn. Did they expect him to surrender with civility? He would die there in his own home with his hands drenched in their blood.
A bellow rang throughout the room magnified by his vox link to the casters throughout the hangar and at once the room was quiet, no bolter rounds, no explosions, just the hiss of singed metal as every iron clad astartes in the room turned to face him and the group. They would not find his courage wanting, and if it came to it, he would not find their firepower wanting. He marched past them to where they were questioning his subordinate and took his place dismissing him back to his own duties. His fists clenched and unclenched and adrenal glands brought forth their potion readying the soldier for anticipated conflict. With a slightly bladed defensive stance he addressed the lot of them his words dripping with defensive venom.
"Why are you here, Hand of the Warsmith? Why have you brought your. . . retinue to my domain?"
He censored his remark towards the honour guard. His disdain for the first captain aside Kunzhardt highly admired the veterans of the first company. They were able soldiers second to none and served as fantastic frontline soldiers to allow his guns to pound enemy positions into mulch. Still if this came to blows he would make it his final act to rid the first company of a bat that had long overstayed its welcome.