Why Do You Fight?

The Warp seethed as always, echoing with storms that never subsided.

The Garden of Nurgle, domain of the Chaos God Nurgle, lay deep within the Warp.

This bizarre space was composed of jungles, swamps, vegetation, and green fields manifested from unclean life.

The Garden's winding paths were covered in diseased mud and worms. Plague-laden clouds drifted through the air at every moment, while swarms of buzzing plague flies and laughing little Daemons fluttered about.

Within the Plague Maw Thicket, swollen fungi filled with poison gas and flowers sprouting venom sacs jostled one another, fighting for room to grow.

Evil radiance from the Warp scattered across the Plague Forest and Flesh Thorns, casting mottled patches of unclean malice.

Everywhere in the Garden were dripping viscous venom, scuttling disgusting insects, and nauseating bursting bubbles.

This was a place of absolute evil. Apart from Nurgle's followers, who were skilled at enduring pain, no living thing could survive in the Plague God's Garden.

Usually, this place was filled with laughter and cheer, seeming like one harmonious family.

Nurgle's Daemons were always carefree. Among the many Chaos Gods, they were the happiest lot.

Yet the once-lively Garden was now strangely silent.

The Great Unclean Ones most favored by Nurgle had gathered together, looking pityingly at the words on Gath the Sluggish's body.

After sensing the mockery from Anathema's son, fury rose within them.

The words on Gath the Sluggish's body contained Anathema's power. His writhing flesh could not cover them, and the wounds caused by those words would never heal.

These humiliating words would remain on Gath the Sluggish forever.

"What he did was too cruel, and equally infuriating," Ku'gath said, looking pityingly at Gath the Sluggish.

Anathema's son had humiliated all of Grandfather's servants, as well as Grandfather himself.

"Perhaps it is time to send Mortarion out. They are brothers and understand each other better," Rotigus Rainfather said. "He will make that arrogant fellow pay the price."

"Let Anathema's son know what a terrible mistake he has made."

"Let him suffer torment in pain until he breaks."

The Great Unclean Ones discussed their plans for Guilliman. They had already decided that this arrogant Primarch would pay the price.

Time in the Warp had no meaning, at least not to the outside world.

The Great Unclean Ones deliberated for half a century, discussing every detail of the plan. They would make Guilliman taste the bitter fruit of arrogance and leave him in unbearable agony over his own mistakes.

After the discussion ended, they each went to make preparations.

Mortarion also received Gath the Sluggish's message.

Guilliman's arrogance and humiliation infuriated him.

Especially the words calling him useless. They made him rage beyond measure.

Typhus had indeed escaped his control, and Typhus had personally orchestrated their surrender to Nurgle.

This matter had become a sore point for him. Whoever brought it up would incur his fury.

Jaghatai Khan had once used this very point to make Mortarion lose control in anger.

Now Guilliman had used the same trick, and Mortarion was just as furious.

"I will come for you, Guilliman. I hope you can remain as arrogant and overbearing then as you are now."

As Mortarion spoke, even his massive body trembled.

He could no longer wait to find his brother and let him know that he was no longer the same as before.

Guilliman would pay the heaviest price for those words. Mortarion swore it silently in his heart.

An immense amount of time passed in the Garden, but outside, it was still only the day Gath the Sluggish had been banished.

Time in the Warp had no meaning. Its flow depended on the masters of its various domains.

The Daemon had been banished, and the leader of the traitors had been slain.

The war on Sara Planet had ended. The Plague Warriors had nowhere to run. Having lost their warships, they were trapped on the surface and subsequently executed to the last by the Loyalists.

The Cultists were also being purged.

There were too many of them, scattered across too many places. They could not be completely exterminated so easily.

The Space Marines and Astra Militarum split into small squads to hunt them down. Results would come soon enough.

The surviving civilians had been evacuated from the plague-ridden fortress and resettled somewhere less contaminated.

The corresponding treatment efforts were underway.

The Adeptus Mechanicus was cleansing and purifying the entire city.

Some of the accompanying Ecclesiarchy Priests were also chanting hymns to the Emperor, striving to drive out the Warp's corruption.

"Destruction is always easier than creation." Guilliman stood on a balcony that had been half destroyed, looking down at the devastated Hive City and shaking his head.

The place where he now stood had once belonged to the rulers of the Hive City.

The untouched areas revealed just how luxurious this place had once been.

All kinds of precious artworks had been displayed everywhere, while the Adeptus Mechanicus's advanced technology had also been perfectly applied to provide this place's masters with the most comfortable life possible.

The gap between rich and poor in the Imperium had reached a truly terrifying degree. The nobles of the upper Hive City could enjoy food, fruits, and vegetables shipped from other Agri-Worlds.

They controlled the distribution of the Hive City's wealth, making their lives exquisitely extravagant beyond imagination.

Yet the workers and scavengers of the middle and lower levels lived in utter misery.

Those in the middle levels could still enjoy some artificial synthetic meat or various livestock raised through accelerated growth.

To ensure industrial output, the guilds and powerful elites also established certain regulations and laws to maintain order.

As for the lower levels, it was hard to say whether they even counted as human.

They ate Corpse Starch and the garbage discarded by those above them.

Order did not exist there at all.

Gangs ran rampant, alongside mutants, wild Psykers, and monsters living in the darkness.

All that awaited them was endless slaughter for survival.

Honestly, with such a terrifying disparity between rich and poor, it was no wonder Cultists who believed in Chaos kept emerging.

The lowest levels of the Hive City provided fertile soil for Chaos to corrupt humanity.

Countless people at the bottom, unable to endure their suffering, chose to betray the Emperor of Humanity and surrender to Chaos.

It was not only Chaos. Even Tyranid infiltrators had established many cults within the Imperium.

Under banners of equality and freedom, they could often deceive vast numbers of people into serving them with utter devotion.

"This situation must change. Otherwise, humanity can only sink into endless internal strife." Guilliman knew well that the Imperium's greatest problem lay within itself. No matter how Chaos invaded, it could not hide the fact that many traitors had chosen Chaos because they had no hope and suffered oppression.

Institutions such as the Ecclesiarchy, the Inquisition, and the Council of Terra maintained the Imperium's integrity to some extent, but their chaotic and bureaucratic rule also supplied Chaos with vast numbers of recruits.

If the Imperium's own chronic ailments could not be crushed, there would be no future.

The sound of footsteps echoed.

Sicarius walked in. "My lord, Sara Planet's representatives have arrived."

"Bring them in." Guilliman drew himself from his thoughts and headed toward the hall that had just been cleaned.

The corpses had been removed, and the bloodstains had been washed once, but the shell craters and scorch marks remained glaringly obvious. The traces of war were not so easily erased.

Guilliman did not care about such things. Whether his workplace was simple or luxurious would not affect his decisions or thoughts.

A group of people dressed in luxurious clothing entered. To welcome this important occasion, some had even sprayed on perfume and dug out their cleanest, most lavish garments.

"Honored Lord Primarch."

They bowed respectfully, their deferential manner dripping with flattery.

"I am the Planetary Governor of Sara Planet. Thank you for coming, Lord Primarch. You saved us. By the holy and great Emperor, this must be the reward for our loyalty to the Imperium and loyalty to the Emperor."

A fat man stepped forward. His body was so bloated that layers upon layers of burdensome flesh piled over one another. Splash some green paint on him, and he could play a Plague Warrior on the spot.

Guilliman frowned slightly as he swept his gaze across the group.

They were fair-skinned and plump, without a single wound in sight.

Their clothes were luxurious and expensive, and several of them even possessed finely crafted mechanical prosthetics. These were not things ordinary people could own.

Guilliman turned to Sicarius, confusion in his gaze. These were the representatives of Sara Planet he wanted?

Sensing his lord's confusion, Sicarius hurriedly explained, "They are the Planetary Governor of Sara Planet and members of its most influential families. I found them deep within a fortress and brought them to see you."

"Sicarius, this is the first and last time. I will not be angry with you because I never clearly told you the true reason we fight." Beneath Guilliman's calm words lay anger.

"Hundreds of billions died on this world, yet they are alive and well. They do not even bear a single wound, and even their clothes remain spotless. Is that something to be proud of?

"They accepted positions that should have protected civilians, yet used that authority to protect themselves. They abandoned their duties. Is such conduct worthy of encouragement?

"Those who suffered are healing their wounds alone, while these shameless people usurp their credit. Do you think that is fair?

"Sicarius, why do you fight? Do you defend a pack of maggots, or do you fight to protect the citizens of the Imperium?

"Throw them out. Find a true representative to see me, Sicarius."