Are You Heretics??14

Guilliman declined the bishops' request without a second thought.

Now was not the time.

If he met them now, how would he be able to put these bishops in their place later?

"Our meeting shall only take place on the planet Espandor, before the most sacred cathedral where the faith in the Emperor is strongest. This meeting will be conducted under the witness of my father, not aboard my flagship."

Guilliman's voice echoed across the numerous channels within the Espandor system, causing countless believers to cheer in response.

Guilliman's words meant that they had received his recognition.

The fact that the Emperor's own son considered their faith sacred filled them with immense excitement, making their blood boil and igniting a fierce flame within their hearts.

The Lord of Ultramar must surely be a devout believer of his father as well.

He was the true mouthpiece of the Emperor, the most legitimate representative of the Ecclesiarchy, and the embodiment of the Emperor's will.

Upon hearing Guilliman's words, the bishops apologized for their recklessness and personally used barbed iron whips to lash their own bodies, using this as penance for their arrogance and selfishness.

The Stormbirds they traveled in joined Guilliman's fleet, sailing majestically toward the starport of Espandor.

A grand ceremony was also being prepared.

Four hours later.

On the surface of the planet Espandor, in its largest city, the City of Faith.

Five giant horns crafted from gold emitted a sharp, hoarse sound.

The deafening sound of the horns reverberated throughout the massive city, which was filled with incense and prayers, reaching every corner to ensure every believer could hear it clearly.

The horn blasts announced the arrival of the Emperor's son, the Lord of Ultramar.

These golden horns were forged from the donations of believers and were engraved with countless scriptures.

Each horn weighed several tons and was placed atop sturdy towers and castle walls, used only during the most important celebrations.

The hoarse roar of the horns slowly faded, followed by the music played by an Ecclesiarchy band composed of countless believers.

The sounds of trumpets, horns, and bass drums converged, playing to the rhythm of an Imperial hymn composed by a musical genius.

A large swarm of flying objects emerged from the various majestic temples amidst the grand music.

Buzzing servo-skulls, cherubim resembling human infants, gene-wrought creations cloned by the Adeptus Mechanicus, and elderly priests seated on anti-grav pulpits flew over the heads of the crowd.

They appeared amidst the smoke formed by burning incense, the fragrant clouds stirred by the gilded banners they carried, forming swirling vortices.

Over a dozen different hymns were chanted simultaneously in various beautiful melodies, intermingled with the shouts of priests exhorting the believers to revere the Emperor.

Thousands of high-ranking priests emerged from their respective temples; some floated, some walked, some crawled, and others rode mounts, each face filled with fanaticism and excitement.

Their servants followed closely behind, singing the Emperor's psalms in unison to drown out their peers, proving that they were the most devout believers.

Within the crowd, auto-preachers moved forward, their mechanical limbs clanking incessantly.

These machines contained the brains of the most devout believers, which had been specially processed and programmed to continue working for the Emperor.

They used primitive loudspeakers to roar religious phrases, encouraging people to devoutly sacrifice themselves for the Emperor.

Hunchbacked flagellants were scattered among the crowd, holding censers that emitted curling blue smoke while chanting sacred Imperial hymns.

On several luxurious parade floats, bishops stood on platforms holding golden scepters, delivering highly fanatical speeches.

The heavy floats were pulled by a group of naked slaves, the heavy chains seemingly ready to crush their sin-laden bodies.

The Frateris Militia used whips to lash those sinners who refused to pull with all their might, forcing them to work harder.

The welcoming ceremony was unprecedented in its grandeur.

Every believer was expressing their joy at the Primarch's arrival in their own way.

As the planetary defense shields of Espandor were lowered, numerous warships equipped with world-ending weaponry appeared in the dark atmosphere.

The massive Macragge's Honour was particularly eye-catching.

A fleet of Stormbirds flew out from the massive warship; they were a uniform azure blue, with the edges of their wings tipped in a hint of dark green, like the color of an ancient forest.

Behind the Stormbirds was a landing fleet composed of Thunderhawks, troop transports, and heavy gunships.

They were orderly and perfect, crossing the atmosphere and entering the spaceport of the City of Faith.

Those troop transports docked at the spacious spaceport, the sound of their air vents drowning out even the cheers of the believers.

Accompanied by the soft hiss of high-pressure gas, the troop transports slowly opened their hatches.

Five hundred Space Marines wearing crested helmets stepped out of the cabins, their cloaks snapping behind them.

They lined up in two rows, gripping their bolters tightly, standing on both sides of the red-carpeted walkway, scanning their surroundings for any potential threats.

Amidst the expectant gazes of the masses, a living god finally appeared before the world.

He wore armor of azure blue and bright gold, with a simple, practical white cloak fluttering behind him.

In the center of his breastplate was the golden emblem of the Imperial Aquila, and on his flawless brow rested a green laurel wreath.

Countless believers erupted into cheers at the appearance of this living god, like a surging sea, magnificent and deafening.

Guilliman smiled and waved at the crowd, inciting even more frantic cheering.

He stepped onto the anti-gravity hover platform docked nearby, moving along the wide avenue paved with red carpets.

Amidst the cheers, Guilliman and his retinue arrived before the largest cathedral in Espandor.

A statue of the Emperor, hundreds of kilometers tall and piercing through the atmosphere, stood towering over the massive plaza in front of the cathedral.

Bishops stood at the entrance of the cathedral, waiting for the Primarch.

As he stepped down from the hover platform, they walked up one by one, bowing to show their respect.

"Such a ceremony is truly grand."

Guilliman looked at the bishops, a smile appearing on his face as he spoke.

He knew the Ecclesiarchy was wealthy; after all, as the only designated religion of the Empire, they could collect the religious tithe.

Yet, having traveled along the way, the sheer wealth of the Ecclesiarchy still left Guilliman astonished.

The decorations of those cathedrals and their daily expenditures were enough to sustain a sizable army.

And this was merely a single missionary planet; if one were to account for all the other church worlds, they could likely support a powerful army capable of sweeping away any xenos.

"To propagate the glory of the Emperor, a little waste is necessary," one bishop stepped forward, explaining in a respectful tone.

"Very well. If the Emperor were to awaken and see such piety from you, I fear he would be quite gratified," Guilliman said with a smile, uttering words that would have earned him a slap to the face from the Emperor himself.

The Emperor hated religion more than anything in his life, wishing he could tie every priest to a stake and burn them.

During the early stages of the Great Crusade, wherever the Emperor went, he would even pour boiling water into ant hills near temples; one could imagine what kind of attitude the Emperor held toward religion.

Back then, Lorgar had merely built a city of faith, yet even he, a Primarch, was forced to kneel and admit his mistake, and his city of faith was burned directly to ruins.

The current Ecclesiarchy was far more fanatical than Lorgar ever was; if the Emperor of the Great Crusade were to travel to this era, the Ecclesiarchy would likely be the first thing he would wipe out.

Hearing these words from Guilliman, the bishops were filled with excitement, their bodies trembling.

To receive the recognition of the Emperor's son was, for the Ecclesiarchy, an absolute boon.

Before these fellows could finish their excitement, Guilliman shifted his tone, his voice rising significantly.

"However, while you are pious, you have not fully understood my father's original intent, and have even distorted it. Confusion arises in my heart, and I wish to know whether you have been misled, or if you are, in fact, heretics."

After saying this, Guilliman placed his hand upon the Emperor's Sword.

This was the absolute manifestation of the Emperor's will, and it also highlighted Guilliman's status as the Emperor's own son.

The faces of the bishops, which had been flushed with excitement just moments ago, turned pale in an instant.

A few were so terrified that their legs gave way, and they collapsed onto the ground.

Please provide data, dear readers, please boost the follow-up reading.