"You told us war was inevitable. You said the Necrons wanted to exterminate our entire species."
"But what was the truth? As everything you showed us with that idiot from the Assassinorum's ring proved, they did not want war. It was the Talon who provoked them into starting one. It was the Talon who rejected every possibility of peace!"
"Either you were stupid enough to be deceived, or you were entirely biased toward the Talon. You were never on our side at all!"
The five High Lords took turns questioning Guilliman.
Faced with their accusations, Guilliman merely sat in his chair, his eyes fixed on the polished floor of the High Lords of Terra's chamber.
Then, as everyone waited for his response, Guilliman spoke slowly and steadily.
"I am indeed biased toward the Talon."
"If there were no external enemies, I would have refused to show myself to the public after awakening. I would have gone to Talon."
"I would have bought a plot of land on an agri-world, bought farming machinery, and grown premium crops that had to be cultivated in soil—tobacco, for example, or raw ingredients for pharmaceuticals."
Guilliman stared directly at the floor.
"Under the blazing sun, I would sit bare-chested in the cab of a bipedal farming machine, with a white towel draped around my neck."
"As the machine hauled several tons of turf along the edge of the fields, I would look up at the sun overhead, then take a great gulp of fizzy drink from the cooler beneath my seat."
"All year round."
When the Primarch spoke those shocking words, only those who truly knew him understood that he meant every one of them.
Guilliman's dream was not quite the same as the Emperor's.
He wanted to spend his life contentedly on a world