Malcador, Have You Read Your Books to the Dogs?

"I'll leave that matter for when I return to Terra." Guilliman had some reservations. If he stirred up trouble before even setting foot on Terra, how would the Emperor see him?

"It's fine, anything goes. Guilliman, you need to learn to be flexible sometimes. Don't overthink political compromises. Take how you cleanly killed Galan this time—remember, absolute power in your own hands means the voice is in your hands." Sandman hinted pointedly at the end.

The problem lay in King Conno's education of Guilliman. Guilliman had an extraordinary tolerance for mortals, sometimes even obeying orders from mortal officials, which Sandman found utterly absurd. Guilliman had only raised his blade twice: once after King Conno's assassination, and again after waking from ten thousand years of slumber to see the Empire's abysmal state—the High Lords still scheming against each other—so he simply sent those vermin to meet his father. Whether to forgive them was the God-Emperor's business; Guilliman only handled the delivery.

"Does the Empire have no place for mortals at all?" Guilliman asked, shocked. He could sense which group Sandman was targeting.

"The Empire's steward, the Master of the Administratum Malcador, is a mortal. His department manages the Empire's ever-growing domains. Don't worry; the Empire's foundation is built on mortals." Sandman soothed the Big Blueberry.

Guilliman's education had been about ruling Macragge alongside mortals, and King Conno had always taught him to treat them well. Without that teaching, Guilliman might have taken far longer to recover from the Empire's mess after waking ten thousand years later. Sandman didn't think those lessons were wrong, but sometimes it depended on the stage.

The meeting between the Imperial envoy and the Primarch concluded with the grand banquet's end. In the following days, the Custodes would introduce him to the Empire and his father from various angles, while Sandman locked himself in his flagship again, delving into high-level applications of Psionic knowledge.

"Damn it, how the hell did old Malcador teleport around the Imperial Palace? Is the Palace's Anti-Psionic array just for show?" Sandman frowned. He'd tried many times but couldn't use Psionic teleportation to move from one room to the next. Now he finally understood Malcador's worth as the most powerful mortal Psyker. He'd nearly gotten stuck in a wall several times, which showed how dangerous it was for 40K's Astartes to force a boarding action without a Psionic Beacon. Getting stuck in a wall was the least of it; entire squads had been teleported into a ship's engine exhaust. And here Sandman was, practicing Psionic teleportation with full focus and no interference—not getting stuck was already lucky.

If Malcador saw Sandman's training method, he'd surely curse him for wasting all his reading. When had he ever written about using oneself as a test subject for Psionic teleportation, to see whose fate was tougher? He himself had started with small twigs, then gradually moved to stones of different weights, and finally to live animals for practice.

"Boss, I've received a Psionic message from the Sons of War Legion. They'll arrive at Macragge tomorrow." Nekser left a message in his contact channel.

"The Sons of War are coming soon? Eh, let Guilliman handle it himself. A Primarch always finds a way to manage his own Legion." Sandman marked it as read, forwarded the info to Guilliman and Aquillon, then immersed himself again in Psionic application research.

What Sandman didn't know was that the 13th Legion, en route to meet their Primarch, had already fallen into a massive mess. On their way to Macragge, a strange plague had broken out among the fleet's mortals, spreading rapidly. Neither the Legion's apothecaries nor the biologis magi could do anything about it. They'd tried every method but couldn't cure the bizarre disease that caused swelling, rotting, and pustules. It started on scout ships, then spread to frigates and Light Cruisers. The 13th Legion's commander acted decisively, evacuating the Astartes from those ships and ordering the infected vessels sunk. The evacuated Astartes were gathered on a Light Cruiser that had just shown symptoms; if they mutated too, the 13th Legion would send those brothers on ahead without hesitation. But the 13th Legion didn't inform Sandman, believing they could handle it themselves—a near disaster for Macragge.

This strange plague was a trivial speck Nurgle had casually tossed into the galaxy after sneezing while brewing Mortarion's fate in his garden. The 13th Legion's fleet had unluckily encountered it during Warp travel. The small ships' Gellar Fields couldn't withstand Nurgle's personally brewed virus, even if it was just a failed scrap.

"Hmm, something's off. Why do I feel this ominous dread?" Sandman, swimming in the sea of knowledge, felt that inexplicable crisis again and put down his book. Ever since he got word of the Sons of War's arrival, his sixth sense had been nagging him. This unease made it impossible to focus on Psionic practice.

"The Sons of War can't betray. So what is it?" Sandman was baffled.

"Where's the 13th Legion now?" Sandman directly hailed Nekser.

"Boss, the 13th Legion is about to exit the Warp. Lord Guilliman and Lord Aquillon are ready to meet them near Mandeville Point." Nekser checked the latest comm logs and answered immediately.

"Order the 13th Legion to stay near Mandeville Point. No approach to Macragge without my command. I want to inspect all their communications. If the 13th Legion acts on their own, I authorize you to Open Fire and stop Guilliman and the others!" A deadly sense of crisis gripped Sandman's heart; he couldn't care about anything else.

"Yes, boss." Nekser didn't know why his boss was so frantic but faithfully executed the order.

"Yor, bring your three squads and come with me." Sandman urgently called for the three Sisters of Silence squads the Emperor had assigned him. The only things that could make him this uneasy were the four bastards in the Warp. But which one it was, he'd only know after personally inspecting the 13th Legion.

Time rewind.

"Let's go. Let me meet the Legion built on my genetic template." Guilliman, ready to meet his sons, said to Aquillon. This time, he didn't ride a Raven Guard or Custodes ship but stayed on Macragge's fleet heading toward Mandeville Point. Macragge's fleet set off slowly, forming neat ranks like a proud rooster heading for its destination. But soon, that proud rooster hit trouble.

"Report. The Raven Guard fleet is blocking our course." The Augur Array operator reported to Guilliman.

"What's going on?" Guilliman was displeased.

"Report. Incoming communication from the Raven Guard." The comms officer immediately reported.

"Patch it through."

"Guilliman, you'll have to wait to meet your Legion. The 13th Legion has issues and needs my inspection." Sandman said awkwardly to Robert Guilliman.

"Lord Sandman, I am the master of the 13th Legion. Even if they have problems, I should be the one to inspect them. Besides, I've received no reports of any anomalies from them." The look on Guilliman's face told Sandman exactly how bad his mood was. You told me to take over the 13th Legion, and now you're saying they need inspection.

"Guilliman, I haven't handed over command of the 13th Legion yet. Since you want to know, come with me. It'll be a good chance to meet humanity's true future enemy. The Sisters of Silence squads are already on their way to pick you up." Sandman ended the call with Guilliman.

"Is he always this domineering?" Guilliman looked at Sandman, who had ended the call, and asked the Custodes Tribune Aquillon.

"The strong are always domineering, aren't they?" Aquillon countered. "The Sisters of Silence squads have been deployed. This is no small matter. I don't doubt the 13th Legion's loyalty, but Lord Guilliman, please be prepared." Aquillon looked at the Sisters of Silence squads that had appeared on the flagship.

Guilliman saw five mortal women approaching him. Instinctively, the Primarch felt a faint revulsion. He knew this was another unit directly under his father, specializing in Anti-Psionic operations.

Mandeville Point.

"Lord, the Raven Guard's High Lord Commander orders our fleet to stay near Mandeville Point and not approach Macragge!" The comms officer reported to the Sons of War's acting Legion Master, Auguston.

"Reply to the Raven Guard's High Lord Commander: the 13th Legion will obey his orders!" Auguston gritted his teeth.

With the Sons of War's hot temper, they'd normally ignore such orders. But seeing the Custodes squad approaching, he had no choice. The Custodes represented the Emperor's will, and the 13th Legion's highest command currently belonged to the Raven Guard's High Lord Commander. Until he handed it over to their gene-father, they had to obey.

"Report. Communication from the High Commander." The comms officer patched it through.

"Auguston, report any anomalies your fleet has encountered." Sandman glared at the audacious man before him.