29 Blood of Calth (I, 7k)
004. M31, Calth Ground.
Roboute Guilliman gripped his pen and signed an order. The heavy sheet of paper was quickly taken away by a servant, and watching it and the servant disappear into the distance, Roboute Guilliman once again found the reason why he disliked paper documents.
He didn't like the fact that this matter kept popping up and reminding him, but he couldn't do anything about it.
"Too heavy," he said to Marius Gage. "Don't you think they had some ulterior motive in making the paper so thick and heavy, like a metal plate, Gage?"
"I remember we discussed this fourteen years ago, Primarch," Gage said. "You concluded then that the Imperium's system of paying by weight needed to be changed."
Roboute Guilliman chuckled. "Yes, that's true. But the Terra Administratum rejected my suggestion."
He stood with his hands behind his back in front of the office bookshelves. The wooden floor beneath his feet bore the Primarch's weight perfectly, without making a sound. But that was its limit; if Roboute Guilliman chose to wear armor, the floor would collapse without hesitation.
Everything, every living thing, even the world itself, has a threshold to withstand. Beyond that threshold, everything will collapse completely.
Roboute Guilliman keenly grasped this theory that had crossed his mind, picked it up, and skillfully tossed it into another corner.
As is well known, he writes books frequently, and some of the ideas and thoughts in those books come from such seemingly insignificant moments. True wisdom lies in keen observation, and while Roboute Guilliman neither dares nor wants to call himself that, he is indeed a keen observer.
That's why he said those words to his First Chapter Master, Marius Gage, one minute and thirty-one seconds later.
"Something's not right," said the Lord of Macragge in a tone unusually calm for him. "I've reviewed every report from Calth's investigations over the past twelve years, and there's no indication that a Ghaslakh Empire is threatening us."
Gage wisely remained silent and did not answer the question. On any other day, he would have been happy to participate in the Primarch's discussions, but not now.
This matter concerns the Warmaster, and another thing that is terrifying just to think about.
"Moreover, he sent Lorgar and the Word Bearers." Roboute Guilliman finally turned around and began pacing on the wooden floor.
His footsteps were soft, a sound unlike that of someone his size. The gold cufflinks on the Archon's uniform gleamed, and the Calth sun streamed warmly through the windows.
Gage could feel its temperature himself, but somehow, he felt no joy in it.
"Is this normal?" Roboute Guilliman asked, staring at the floor, his voice full of doubt.
He seemed to be asking Gage, or perhaps he was just asking himself.
"If only the Word Bearers had been sent, it would have been a simple military operation, and I wouldn't even have needed to show my face. But Lorgar has come too. Does Horus want me to reconcile with him?"
He looked up and finally met Gage. He still didn't ask any questions, but instead offered a conclusion. This was exactly what Roboute Guilliman excelled at—extracting the essence from the details, analyzing, and ultimately arriving at a conclusion.
This time, however, the conclusion sounds rather frightening.
"Activate the planetary weapon array of Calth, preheat the weapons, I want every Macro-cannon to be ready to fire at any time."
"The Primarch?" Gage looked at him with slight shock.
"Do as I say." Roboute Guilliman firmly waved his right hand. "At the same time, raise the security level of the starport. I want all ships to complete maintenance within the next six hours, leave the orbital dock, and line up in formation, ready to defend against any Word Bearers fleet that might leap out of Mandeville Point."
"Clear."
With a resolve that was not yet fully formed, Gage left his office with the Primarch's orders. He knew that Roboute Guilliman would issue more orders afterward.
His Primarch was to sift through data at that desk, trying to find patterns. He would read every single piece of information that came from the message processing center and was marked "Roboute Guilliman" and "highest security level."
Until things settle down, or something worse happens.
Seventeen minutes later, Gage rode in an troop carrier across the plains of Calth. The sky was still blue, and there seemed to be no problem.
The farmers were working in their fields, and some raised their hands to signal to Gage. They didn't know that the person sitting there was Marius Gage, nor did they need to know.
All the civilians in the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar trust the Ultramarines. In Gage's words, this relationship is not the traditional "superior-subordinate trust" or the trust between protector and protected, but a complex emotion that has been mixed together by respect, love and mutual dedication over the years.
Gage looked up and saw the massive shadows of the warships looming behind the clouds. The assembled legion fleet awaited the gathering of the Seventeenth Legion's warriors, who would then discuss how to slaughter the Orks.
Veterans would take the time to teach new recruits what tactics and methods to use to deal with these filthy, despicable beasts, and Gage himself enjoyed doing so, but he didn't have the opportunity to do so now.
In fact, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to do it.
Thirteen minutes later, he arrived at the ground communications center. This matter didn't have to be so complicated, but there were just too many warships anchored above the Calth, a sight Gage had seen during his landing.
The Macragge's Honour was anchored not far from the starport, along with eighteen other fully armed battleships. Among them were countless troop transports, twenty-five cruisers, and fifteen Mechanicum ships.
Some have already been maintained, while others are still docked in the Starport's shipyard. Shuttles and small ships shuttle back and forth between them endlessly, transporting supplies, intelligence, personnel, or anything else people need.
The electromagnetic signals and information disturbances generated by these ships make direct communication with a particular ship from the ground nearly impossible, so he has to come to the ground communications center to do it.
It took Gage three minutes to enter the main communications center. Under the blue and white U-shaped flag and the Imperium Aquila, he relayed Roboute Guilliman's words completely to Calth's planetary weapon array and all starports.
Meanwhile, among the Cogitator array in the communications center, communications officer Meredith Farrell observed an unusual communication signal disturbance. She reported it to security chief Sorock Baron.
The latter examined the signal for five minutes and drew a conclusion.
"Just some static," the man said with a smile, leaning against Meredith Farrell's desk. "Nothing to worry about, although it does sound a bit like singing."
"Oh, it's working hours now, don't give me that." Meredith looked away, unwilling to look at his smile any longer.
"But perhaps after get off work?" Sorock Baron asked tentatively. "I've booked a nice restaurant in town; we can have some drinks and get a good night's sleep tonight. I've sent the kids to my father's; he'll enjoy his grandfather's stories of his military service. What do you think, wife?"
"I already told you it's work hours now—" The communications officer glanced at him, but still smiled and agreed. "--Okay, husband."
They ignored the communication noise, just like the other communicators who noticed it. Space is always like this, filled with indescribable howls and whispers. Mere singing, what's the big deal?
In the early years of their careers, these people would get used to hearing all sorts of strange noises, and this singing wouldn't even rank among them in terms of how bizarre they were. But it happened so often that it was observed eight times in two hours.
Eight times the singing occurred, and eight times the disturbance occurred. The ground communications center then notified various departments about the matter, hoping to find out the cause.
They couldn't find the reason, because those who should have received the message didn't.
Eight times of singing, eight levels of Tao.
This could have been a clue or an omen, but the Thirteenth Legion failed to grasp it—they failed because they simply didn't know what kind of signs they should be looking for.
Everyone was fulfilling their duties and working hard. According to the post-investigation report, there was no one to blame.
Roboute Guilliman knew about this much later.
He also knew he had issued the order, he had made preparations in advance, he had anticipated it, but that wasn't enough, far from enough.
To deal with those things, you need something more decisive. But that's alright, he has plenty of time and opportunities to regret it.
Lifelong.
--
004. M31, Calth, Weapon Array Control Center.
Server Master Urkhahurst began his 18,244th check of the day, his movements swift and precise.
His first inspection focused on the 250,000 surface weapon launch sites—you could pick any high-destruction weapon from the Imperium standard military manual and then dump it behind the launch sites, such as missile silos, plasma cannons, and Autocannon.
Whatever you want, anything is fine, Calth has it all.
Then there is the massive unified Void Shield control system that covers all the major cities and residential areas of Calth, manufactured by Conno of the Forge World, with technical support from Mars.
Some jokingly call this system the most grand and selfless sharing within the Mechanicum. Urk Hahurst doesn't like this description, but he accepts it.
Finally, he inspected the 962 orbital platforms near the starport, which were another layer of weapons that could fire in an instant if necessary.
But this must be inspected by Urkhahurst, as well as all the high-ranking technicians and servants of Calth, and by the first order from Roboute Guilliman or a Chapter Master.
However, this does not mean they are without threat.
In fact, every ship movement, entry into port, resupply, etc., inside and outside the starport will trigger the automatic targeting of the weapon array. Their requests will be uploaded to the server administrator's brain, and they will then begin to manually reject all firing requests.
So now you know the firepower and protection that Calth possesses.
So why didn't it work when Calth needed it most?
The answer is a string of invalid data. Yes, it's that simple.
Any information system will eventually become obsolete due to internal data degradation, and Calth's weapon array is no exception. But this one is different. What makes it different?
First, we must assume that someone can trace things back to the source, and then he will see the truth.
He would see that the S-0-999-2 Macro-cannon of the Calth Weapon Array generated this invalid code at 1:24:31 PM that day.
According to the information system's programming, the S-0-999-2 Macro-cannon sent it to the Calth Space shared by the server engineers, the obsolete code sinking unit. It was nothing special, except that it could not be recognized by binary code.
Actually, it's not a data language; it's just a simple word.
Eight.
Further Expansion: The Eightfold Path.
The servant Urkhahurst discovered it two hours and twenty-three minutes later, and by then, it was too late.
--
004. M31, Calth Ground, Imperial Army Assembly Point, Rude Province.
Herlock of the Numinas 61st Company placed his hand on his hip and awkwardly pulled out a cigarette. He placed the crumpled little thing between his rough index and middle fingers, then had another private light it for him.
A few seconds later, he exhaled a satisfied breath; the smell of tobacco from his hometown always brought the soldier satisfaction. Unfortunately, this was the last one.
He smoked a cigarette, standing in the shade of the tree canopy with his men, glancing sideways at the camp two hundred meters away on the other side. A group of ragged men stood sparsely there; they were the "Auxilia" who had followed the vanguard of the Word Bearers to Calth.
Please forgive Sergeant Herlock's contemptuous tone; he truly didn't want to use that word to refer to these men. They were pale-skinned and thin, completely unrelated to the word "soldier."
More importantly, there was absolutely no discipline among Herlock. These primitive-looking guys didn't even know how to line up, which already annoyed the Herlock sergeants, not to mention they were singing.
Singing, damn it? We're about to board the ship and assemble to fight the Orks, and you barbarians who just came off the troop transport are still singing? By Macragge, if possible, these bastards should stay on their troop transports and not come down.
Calth didn't welcome these filthy bastards. Astartes already had far better Auxilia; why should the Word Bearers need this kind of force?
Please forgive Sergeant Herlock's thoughts again; he didn't mean to be so harsh, he just couldn't help it.
The singing of this group was not pleasant to listen to; it neither uplifted the mood nor brought joy. It lacked rhythm and sounded more like thousands of people shouting at the top of their lungs.
More importantly, Herlock disliked the premature arrival of these Auxilia throughout Calth. He would have welcomed a group of disciplined Imperium soldiers, but these barbarians?
Forget it.
Herlock stared at them for half a minute, then put down his cigarette, stubbed it out, and put it in his breast pocket.
He had to find the commander—or rather, the leader—of these barbarians and have a talk.
He walked 180 meters, and amidst the songs of the savages, he smelled blood. He turned his head and saw seven corpses lying inside a blue tent provided by the army assembly point.
Sergeant Herlock drew his gun.
--
004. M31, Calth Orbit, Macragge's Honour.
Roboute Guilliman took off his jacket and put on another uniform overcoat. He straightened his cuffs and collar, then walked out of his locker room and used the elevator to reach the bridge of the Macragge's Honour.
His officers had been waiting there for a long time, all of them fully armed.
Gage approached him and said in a low voice, "As you instructed, the disciplined officer, Ionid Hill, is already waiting in the anteroom on the fortieth deck."
"His company commander Taroni, has already met him?"
"Yes."
"His Chapter Master Antoli, has already met him?"
"Yes."
"Very well, so it'll be my turn soon." Roboute Guilliman shrugged humorously. "I know you're going to start complaining about me doing everything myself, Gage."
"I'll reserve my opinion for now," Gage said, leading his Primarch to a state-of-the-art holographic projection device.
Several representatives of the Mechanicum raised their hands—or tentacles—to greet the Primarch, while a high-ranking technician began to explain, "As per your instructions, the holographic projection system is ready."
"Which operator is working for me today?" Roboute Guilliman asked with a smile.
Among the ranks of Cogitator to the side, a thin man raised his hand, his cheeks flushed.
"Thank you, Tali," Roboute Guilliman said. "Now, may I ask that you all leave for a while? I wish to be alone with my brother for a while, if he would like to see me beforehand."
The officers began to salute, the senior technicians from the Mechanicum greeted them again, and the staff, crew, and even the Servitor left the bridge.
Within minutes, only Roboute Guilliman remained. He stood there, his previous cheerfulness and smile vanishing in an instant.
Although he shouldn't have, he lied to Tali and the others, saying he didn't want to be alone with his brother; he came to question them, to confirm whether blood should be spilled on the land of Calth.
Moreover, he wasn't even sure if the person on the other end of the holographic projection communication system was actually his brother.
But he had to try.
Two minutes later, the holographic projection system was activated. Light began to gradually bloom around Guilliman, and with the distorted light, Lorgar Aurelian's face appeared before him. There was no body, only a face; this was one of the optional communication modes.
That's far from respectful.
"Lorgar, it's a pleasure to meet you," Roboute Guilliman said with a smile, telling yet another lie.
He carefully observed Lorgar's face through the image, and then he noticed that, compared to the fleeting glimpse he had at the last Council of Nikaea, Lorgar's skin was now completely covered by tattoos. The tattoos were messy and disordered, no longer arranged in an orderly fashion as before.
They glowed on his skin and writhed in response to the changes in the Primarch's expression.
"Me too, brother," said Lorgar Aurelian, but he didn't smile. "If you're trying to urge me, then I ask you to wait a little longer. We'll be there in eight and a half hours at most. My captain assured me of that number, and he will."
"No, that's not what I meant, brother. I just wanted to ask why your advance troops are so thin?"
Lorgar looked at him for a while before continuing the conversation.
"You mean those, the Auxilia?" he said slowly. "Ah, that's how they are, you don't need to worry about them."
"I'm afraid I have to take this to heart."
Lorgar remained silent for a moment, his face gradually becoming shrouded in a thoughtful expression. A few seconds later, the holder of the mantra laughed.
"You know, don't you?" he asked.
Roboute Guilliman closed his eyes.
"Gage." He lowered his head and called out to his First Chapter Master through the communicator built into his collar. "Notify all standby companies to begin the purge. I want to see all Auxilia belonging to the Seventeenth Legion executed within half an hour."
"Good plan, good reaction, brother." On the other end of the holographic projection, Lorgar Jia praised repeatedly. "Indeed, Horus was right. With your preparations, you are indeed the most difficult to deal with among us. But are you prepared enough?"
"If you dare show your face, you'll know," Roboute Guilliman said coldly.
Lorgar burst into laughter, but it wasn't the "Lorgar Aurelian" kind of laugh; it was a completely distorted laugh.
His teeth were exposed, as were his black gums. His eyes began to blink incessantly—blinking while laughing; what could be more eerie than that?
Roboute Guilliman stared coldly at him, his hands slowly clenching into fists. Before Lorgar could speak, he preemptively asked a question.
"I know the person I'm talking to isn't the one I know. In fact, I'm not even sure if you're human," Roboute Guilliman said, a boiling rage rising in his eyes, turning his deep blue eyes into a burning ocean.
"I know what you're all capable of, but since I was able to break free, I'm sure Lorgar can too."
"I am Lorgar," the man said. "As for you, brother, to be frank, a deity is very unhappy about your escape, but that's alright. Hey, since we're about to start a war, can I ask you a question?"
"Ask away, you scum."
"Did you hear the singing?" Lorgar Aurelian asked with a smile.
Roboute Guilliman wanted to say no, but he couldn't Deceit himself. He heard it—and not just the singing.
There were also screams.
Roboute Guilliman jerked his head toward the porthole on the left side of the Macragge's Honour. To the right of the Calth Orbital Weapon Array and the starport, the stars were distorting, and Mandeville Point began to chant and scream.
Six battleships bearing massive eight-pointed star markings surged forward side-by-side, their engines revving in a manner that utterly defied any safety manual, and began to accelerate. Roboute Guilliman stared at the six ships for five seconds, then grabbed his collar.
"Gage!" he roared. "Order fire! On my command, Orbital Weapon Array, open fire immediately!"
"Fire, if you can," Lorgar told him gently. "Just being prepared isn't enough, brother. Do you know what's going to happen next?"
He smiled and turned off the communication.
Roboute Guilliman knew because Gage told him, in an almost screaming voice, that the weapon array was not working, but he didn't want to say it; he had to see it.
From the bridge of the Macragge's Honour, he witnessed in its entirety how the six ships struck Calth's ring-shaped weapon platform, and how the chain explosions destroyed all the ships in the starport and dock that hadn't yet evacuated.
Battleships, troop transports, cruisers, shuttles, orbital floating workshops, docks, mooring platforms. Then came the Mechanicum's floating foundry, foundry ships, and finally the entire starport. The six ships that activated their Void Shield and arrived ahead of time, rushing out of Mandeville Point at maximum speed, killed a portion of Calth.
He watched with his own eyes as they vanished into nothingness, without a sound, only increasingly violent flashes of explosion, like the sun exploding, flames engulfing everything. But this was not the end, because the Mandeville Point continued to twist.
A dozen or so ships bearing the emblem of the Word Bearers roared out from among them.
Roboute Guilliman ripped off his uniform, tore it to shreds, and then threw it away.
"Gage," he called out. "Prepare to kill."
--
004. M31, Calth, Soul of Night.
Three hours and fifty-one minutes into the voyage from Calth, Van Cleef, standing on the bridge, witnessed the flash. He was certain he hadn't misread it; the buzzing of the Cogitator and the electromagnetic signals he received confirmed it.
Then he told the second company commander, Dar Vanolarus, the third company commander, Fel Zalost, and the fourth company commander, Karl Delasok: "Go and prepare the weapons."
"What's going on?" Dahl asked.
"I don't know," Van Cleef said. "But that's the point. Send word that everyone in the four Dalian fleets should be ready. Tell our escort fleet to be prepared to board at any time. Captain Djoko!"
A somber male voice answered him, "Yes, Company Commander?"
"Turn the main engines up to maximum power," Van Cleef told him, his hand on his sword. "I want to reduce three hours and fifty minutes to under three hours. Can the Soul of Night do that?"
The captain, dressed in a dark blue trench coat over a scarlet shirt, bowed elegantly. "Easy peasy, Company Commander."
Twelve minutes later, Angron Te arrived at the top bridge.
At this moment, the flash still lingered in the vacuum. It remained on everyone's retinas, a reminder that something was happening, like a scar on a face, so obvious that unless you were blind, you couldn't possibly miss it.
Van Cleef held out his hand and pointed to the flash. "You saw it?"
Angron Ty took a deep breath and nodded.
"Don't worry," the company commander said, his eyes, perched high on his cheekbones, were calm, as if this were just an ordinary voyage.
"On the bright side, we haven't determined exactly what's going on yet. Maybe it's not the Word Bearers attacking the Ultramarines, but rather the Ultramarines attacking the Word Bearers?"
Is this a joke?
"No, I just wanted to comfort you." Van Cleef chuckled, a rare occurrence. "But you don't seem to need it, okay?"
He shook his head, his expression turning serious. "Are you and your brothers ready?"
Wearing greyish-white painted armor, Angron Tai contorted his face as he put on his helmet. Half a second later, his hoarse voice came from the breathing grille.
"The Aurelian's Sons is at your service."
Long chapter, 7k, updated.