Guilliman's Stance

The turbulent Warp echoed with the endless desires and ever-changing emotions of all living beings.

The hungry Unliving clung to cliffs made manifest from the fantasies of life in reality, staring greedily at the fleet sailing past them.

The flesh and souls of humans drew hungry, piercing shrieks from them.

Their voices mingled with the Warp storms and echoed through the Warp.

With the emergence of the Great Rift, humanity had become increasingly reliant on Geller Fields.

Without this mysterious technology, humanity would never have been able to cross the Warp safely.

Those ravenous Unliving would devour every unprotected human vessel and drag them into the most terrifying, deepest reaches of the Warp.

No one knew what dreadful fate ultimately awaited the ships lost in the depths of the Warp.

When those vessels reappeared in realspace, they were often utterly unrecognizable. Even their passengers had long since been warped beyond measure, transformed into indescribable monsters.

Deep within Macragge's Honour, Cherubael shrieked excitedly as he sensed the presence of the Warp.

As long as he could enter the Warp, he would regain his freedom.

He had already gained a complete understanding of Eisenhorn's abilities and the Daemon Grimoire binding him.

Once they entered the Warp, he would flee far away and ensure that Eisenhorn's sorcery could no longer imprison him.

Sadly, the Warp was so close to him, separated only by a Geller Field.

Yet to him, it was an insurmountable chasm.

The rune-covered body of the Daemonhost, the Emperor's Shrine worshipped by the Chaplains, and the will Guilliman had left behind all restrained him. Eisenhorn stood directly before the Daemon Prince as well, ever vigilant against his escape.

"Release me, Eisenhorn, and you will gain what you have always dreamed of. Do you not long to revive your friends? Bekun, Midia, Amos—help me break these bonds, and I will help you bring them back to life."

"Master, I'm Bekun. Have you forgotten? I was your favorite disciple."

"Why will you not save us, Eisenhorn?"

Cherubael tempted Eisenhorn, even imitating those who had passed on in an attempt to shake Eisenhorn's incomparably steadfast will.

He hoped Eisenhorn would become immersed in grief for the dead, allowing the tiniest crack to appear in his heart.

A crack represented weakness. It represented corruption.

Those consumed by sorrow were always the easiest to exploit.

Daemons were always like this. As long as they found even the slightest weakness, they would magnify it without end until their target was completely corrupted and fell into an irredeemable abyss.

"You have always been such a fool, Cherubael. The names you speak only show me how vile you Warp beasts truly are. Your promises will only ever be fulfilled in twisted ways. The only thing you can give humanity is an acceptance of pain. I will never forget my duty, Cherubael. Do not try to find a crack in my heart. You are destined to find nothing," Eisenhorn said.

"You will, Eisenhorn. No one can resist temptation forever. Anathema's son made the greatest mistake by leaving you here to guard me. I know your weakness. You will slowly break down, and I will escape and reclaim my freedom."

"Wait another ten thousand years, idiot," Eisenhorn said. "After ten thousand years, when people have forgotten a pathetic Daemon Prince like you, perhaps no one will care about you anymore."

"Hehehe, is that so? I do not need ten thousand years. Very soon, I will be free."

Eisenhorn did not respond. He sank into silence, fulfilling his duty as a guard like a statue.

On the highest deck of Macragge's Honour.

Guilliman's office was located here.

As the Emperor's son and the Imperium's sole surviving Primarch, Guilliman's workload was immense.

Before the war began, he had to deal with the relevant governmental affairs as quickly as possible, then have the Astropaths transmit them back so the members of Macragge's new council could carry out his orders.

The Primarch's call was immensely powerful. More and more Chapters were gathering on Macragge—the Howling Griffons, Storm Falcons, Paragon Warriors, and others. Chapters came from every direction to join the Indomitus Crusade called by the Primarch.

They brought more fleets and warriors.

At present, these warriors were undergoing upgrade programs led by the Tech-Priests.

Before long, Primaris Space Marines with four additional organs would be deployed.

They would be even more powerful than the Primaris Space Marines of the original timeline. They possessed Hearts of Guilliman forged with Dark Matter Bio-Engine integration technology, along with three entirely new organs that Tech-Priest Cawl had researched over ten thousand years.

They would be unstoppable, crushing every enemy that sought to overthrow the Imperium and sweeping aside all foes of humanity.

New warships were also under construction. More industrial worlds had been requisitioned by Tech-Priest Cawl and were working at full capacity to build new vessels.

To improve efficiency, with Guilliman's endorsement, Cawl had adopted a new method: modular assembly. This drastically reduced both the cost and time required to build warships.

The Imperium's warship construction usually relied on STC Standard Template Construct modules, black technology inherited from the Golden Age.

Yet Cawl had completely abandoned the use of STCs, using data schematics to have different Forge Worlds manufacture different components before assembling them together.

This method greatly reduced the time needed to build warships.

Of course, warships built this way were somewhat inferior in performance, but construction speed had increased tenfold, even twentyfold, while costs had plummeted.

Sheer numbers were enough to make up for that negligible difference.

Cawl and Guilliman's actions had stirred dissatisfaction among other members of the Adeptus Mechanicus. They strongly demanded that Guilliman abandon this blasphemous practice against the Omnissiah and punish Cawl severely.

Guilliman placated those Tech-Priests, saying he would find an opportunity to deal with the matter. At the same time, he once again expanded Cawl's authority, allowing him to mobilize more resources and accelerate the construction and commissioning of warships.

Beyond the increase in military strength, Guilliman's awakening and his various orders had also stirred wave after wave of unrest.

Worlds not ruled by families responded to the reforms Guilliman had proposed, building more academies and preparing to train the technical personnel the Primarch required.

Large numbers of youths of suitable age were selected and sent to various academies, ready to become cogs in Guilliman's war machine.

With the Primarch's support, merchant groups such as the William Trade Guild and the Nancy Trade Guild, which had once sworn loyalty on Macragge, rapidly courted those merchant groups willing to support the Primarch.

They gradually pushed out merchants unwilling to reform, squeezed their room for survival, and even specifically suppressed family-run trade, causing them to lose vast amounts of trade volume and rapidly decline.

This was also a war, without the slightest whiff of gunpowder, yet no less cruel.

Guilliman received many reports of assassination attempts.

Some merchants loyal to him had been assassinated, serving as a challenge to him.

The families and merchants whose interests had been threatened had entered a state of frenzy. They no longer hesitated to use despicable means to defend their interests.

Guilliman reviewed this information, extracting the important details and constructing a mental map of the current situation.

He knew very well that these stubborn conservatives wanted to know his stance.

They wanted to know how far the Primarch was willing to go for reform.

Guilliman would let them know his stance—in the Natal System.

What happened in that system would be transmitted by Astropaths throughout the entire Imperium, including Terra.

He would tell those people what awaited anyone who stood in the way of his reforms.

Submit to reform, and they would live.

Refuse reform, and they would die.

There was no third path.

Footsteps sounded outside the reception room, followed by a refined knock, every rap measured and rhythmic.

"Come in," Guilliman said.

The door opened, and a woman in a simple emerald-green gown stepped inside, holding a Data-slate and a memory stylus. Behind her floated a humming servo-skull.

"My lord." The woman bowed. "The Sulimanien family offers you its most devout greetings."

"No need for such formalities, Yashiri. I need your help."

"It is my honor, and the honor of the Sulimanien family."

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