In the past, three Primarchs personally visiting Macragge would have set off an uproar like an earthquake.
The officials in the Administratum would have rushed to spread the news, sprinting across thousand-year-old marble floors on their installed augmentic bodies and making an intolerable amount of noise.
Yes, you might not know this, but the officials on Macragge—especially those in the Administratum—all needed augmented limbs installed to ensure their work efficiency.
They would have thrown documents everywhere, and might even have frantically dug through those mountains of text for the things they needed. Emergency ordinances, ceremonial procedures, urgent evacuation of this district. And so on, and so on.
The enormous workload brought by an unexpected visit would likely have made some people drop dead on the spot. Then the emergency pacemakers on their hearts would have brought them back to life. They would have dragged their pale faces off to report to their superiors, and in the end, the whole of Macragge would have boiled over.
But Roboute Guilliman had no desire to let these officials experience that hellish mode of nonstop overwork. He had tried it himself, so of course he understood how annoying that sudden, completely unannounced surge of massive workload could be.
Therefore, only a small number of people knew that they had come here. To put it even more plainly, only Calgar knew.
In other words, Calgar was now bearing a tremendous pressure whose source even he himself did not know. Fortunately, the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines had a fairly good mentality—of course, it was also possible that he had gone numb.
"To the east is the Bridge of Glory. It was restored four hundred years ago. Master craftsmen devoted everything they had learned in their lives to this great bridge. It is exquisite, majestic, and