The Emperor's Angel

"My Lord, do you have any orders for summoning me?"

Sicarius walked in, looking at the seated Guilliman, and asked with a puzzled expression.

Guilliman stood up, his armor emitting a magnificent sound with his movements.

He wore that armor, which had brought him back from the dead, at all times.

This suit of armor was far more than a mere creation of the Adeptus Mechanicus; it contained a sliver of the power of Ynnead. It was precisely this power that filled the wounds in Guilliman's soul, allowing him to be resurrected.

During that duel on Thessala, Guilliman had been viciously stabbed by the traitor Primarch Fulgrim. That blade had pierced his neck, plunging him into a slumber that lasted for ten thousand years.

That injury was not merely a physical wound; it was a wound upon his soul as well.

Otherwise, even if a Primarch's heart were dug out, they would not perish instantly.

The slain Primarch Ferrus had also fallen because Fulgrim used a weapon imbued with the power of Chaos; otherwise, it would have been absolutely impossible to kill a Primarch.

As of now, Guilliman had no means to discard this armor. Perhaps when his Cheat database unlocked to the second level, he would find a way.

"The Astropaths have received a message. The Sara System is under siege by Plague Warriors, and they require assistance. I have analyzed this information, and since this system lies on our path, I have made a decision: I intend to have the Macragge's Honour lead a portion of the fleet to resolve the issues in this system. I need you to assemble the warriors so that we may form a force the moment we emerge from the Warp. We must be as fast as possible. After clearing the Sara System, we shall return to the fleet and head toward the industrial system of Konor."

Sicarius hesitated for a moment before speaking in a cautious tone, "This matter does not require you to take action personally. Leave it to Captain Phicris; he will complete it well. You should not involve yourself on the battlefield; we cannot bear the risk of losing you."

"No, I cannot make a decision and let others fight for it while I hide in the back. Besides, the fleet will eventually have to split up to assist different systems. I am a Primarch; the Empire needs me to achieve victory, and the citizens of the Empire need me to achieve victory. It is decided, Sicarius. Go and prepare."

Guilliman's tone became solemn and beyond reproach.

Going to the Sara System to clear out the Plague Warriors was not just about pacifying the populace; Guilliman had his own calculations.

The Lord of Dominion Template could convert the faith the Imperial citizens held in him into power. The higher his fame and the more brilliant his battle achievements, the more the Imperial populace would trust him.

It was much like a snowball effect; by continuously stacking buffs, eventually, he would be unstoppable, cutting down anyone who stood in his way.

Guilliman had always been clear about his enemy: the Chaos Gods.

If he lived, the Chaos Gods would die.

If he died, the Chaos Gods would live.

The opposition between the two was as sharp as fire and water, with no room for compromise or mitigation.

Only when one side fell could this war be considered at an end.

Guilliman had to seize every opportunity to raise his reputation and make his presence known, ensuring the Imperial citizens firmly believed that he, the Thirteenth Son of the Emperor and the Lord of Ultramar, was the light of salvation.

Hearing Guilliman's firm and unquestionable words, Sicarius could only agree.

He lowered his head, bowed, and turned to walk out, gathering the warriors aboard the Macragge's Honour to prepare them for battle, striving to clear the Sara System with the greatest possible speed.

Guilliman would take a fleet alone to save the Sara System.

Other fleets would be managed by different heroes.

While gathering such a massive number of warships together was powerful, it offered no way to achieve victory quickly and restore stability to Ultramar.

The fleet had to be divided. Celestine, Amalrich, and other Imperial heroes would each lead a fleet to rescue those systems deep in the clutches of Chaos.

The ultimate goal for these fleets was the industrial system of Konor, located at the very edge of the Ultramar sector and closest to the borders of the Imperial territory.

The Imperial heroes would travel to the Konor System via different routes, saving the systems in need of rescue along the way.

Once all the fleets reached the Konor System, the work of purging Chaos forces within the Ultramar sector would be largely settled, allowing them to radiate outward to other sectors of the Empire.

Saint Celestine, Inquisitor Grey, and other Imperial heroes did not wish for the Primarch to enter the battlefield personally, fearing they would lose him just as they had ten thousand years ago. Yet, they were persuaded by Guilliman to take their respective fleets to complete their missions and save those suffering in misery.

On the bridge of the Macragge's Honour.

The Servitors connected to the central control computer began to tremble, the magnitude of their shaking causing the neural cables connected to their scalps to vibrate as well.

The Servitors broadcasted information in a synchronized voice.

"Coordinate data detected: Sara System."

The captain, possessing mechanical arms, scrutinized the numerous data windows before him with his electronic ocular implant and shouted: "Enter realspace."

The data supervisor, propulsion supervisor, and intelligence supervisor shared and updated data at the fastest speed their mechanical components allowed, enabling them to better control this massive warship.

"Realspace coordinate data parsed."

"Energy conduits are shifting; attempting to open a realspace aperture."

"Propulsion systems remaining stable."

Amidst a series of urgent broadcasts, the twenty-six-kilometer-long Macragge's Honour surged out of the Warp, followed closely by warships from other chapters who were fighting alongside Guilliman.

A massive influx of information flooded the bridge as the warships rapidly shared data with one another.

The Auspex emitted a piercing sound, and the Logis Engine produced the high-speed clicking of rapid operation.

"Warning: Chaos vessels detected."

"Warning: Chaos vessels detected."

The broadcast Servitor, connected to the Auspex via neural cables, twitched, its built-in brass vocalizer in its throat rapidly broadcasting information about the enemies.

"Convert the Geller Field to Void Shields! All forces, prepare for battle! Fire at will! Wipe out these damned traitors and show them our might!" The captain gripped the railing in front of him and roared.

Sara Planet.

Grix Hive.

This ancient, gargantuan hive city had largely fallen under the relentless onslaught of the Plague Warriors.

The surviving civilians had been evacuated into the massive Astropathic Fortress, where the Void Shields remained operational, serving as the survivors' final bastion of hope.

The thunderous roar of artillery continued unabated as the remnants of the planetary defense force, relying on the hive's last stronghold, sniped at the Plague Warriors in a desperate attempt to halt their advance.

Plague Zombies, birthed from the contagion, were steadily devouring the defenders' positions, the encroaching shadow of death driving the soldiers toward utter despair.

Inside the fortress, civilians with faces twisted in agony huddled together, seeking a sliver of spiritual strength from each other's warmth to endure in this world of hopeless darkness.

Men and women of age had already been conscripted to the front lines, only to fall as corpses, rise again, and join the ranks of the Plague Zombies.

An elderly woman clutched two children to her chest; the children's innocent gazes were filled with fear and unease, their eyes reflecting an unspeakable sorrow that was heart-wrenching to behold.

At an age that should have been filled with innocence, they had already come to understand the agony between life and death.

Born into an age of darkness, all they saw before them was despair and suffering.

Their peaceful lives had been shattered completely months ago, when the children watched their father pick up a rifle and follow the soldiers to the battlefield.

They watched as their mother was seized by the Plague Zombies, hearing her scream for them to run in a voice filled with agony, and witnessed her being torn to pieces by the monsters.

"Grandma, didn't you always say the Emperor would protect us? Why hasn't He sent His angels to save us? He didn't save Daddy or Mommy either." The girl, trembling with terror, looked toward the Ecclesiarchy believers kneeling in prayer in the distance, then turned back to the old woman holding her, asking in a fragile, childish voice.

The old woman looked at the girl, doing her utmost to suppress the fear in her heart, and offered a gentle, loving smile as her skeletal, withered arms pulled the child tightly into her embrace.

"Grandma doesn't know either, child. Perhaps... perhaps the Emperor's angels are simply too busy."