101 Burning of Five Hundred Worlds (Eleven, 35k)

Valentus Dorro hurriedly walked to a side door. In his right hand, he was holding two Mechanicus data tablets that had just been rushed to him, and in his left hand, he was holding a stack of heavy documents from Robert Guilliman's office. ✎🎉 🎃💜

This side door is composed of two enormous blocks of marble, so enormous that even for Astartes, it is enormous.

It's hard to say what the ancient people who built them were thinking. Could it be that some of them were prophets who could foresee the future? Did they know about the existence of the Astartes in advance, and therefore specially built such a huge reception hall?

Two Victrix Guard pushed open the door, and the clamor of voices that rushed out from behind it made Invictarii pause in his steps, and also made him sigh involuntarily.

It's worth noting that this reception hall hasn't been used for a long time, and although it is indeed incredibly large and magnificent—which is precisely why Roboute Guilliman had some reservations about it.

The Lord of Macragge was so stubborn that he believed his court did not need a reception hall with a thousand columns, and he complained about this many times.

"This is too extravagant," he once sighed to everyone. "It's utterly wasteful. Look at all those gold and silver decorations. What do I need them for? To flaunt my status? It's laughable. Only incompetent rulers need such things."

He originally wanted to demolish the place, but couldn't bring himself to do it because of its ancient history. In the end, he had to take all the decorations and paintings out for a charity sale, leaving the hall empty. This made Roboute Guilliman dislike the place even more.

But now, if he could, Valentius very much wanted to ask his Primarch a question.

Are you sure you really don't need it, sir?

Invictarii chuckled for a few seconds at his clumsy joke, then composed himself and strode into the hall. Two Death Guard who were talking to each other saw him; one gave him a serious look, while the other extended his right hand in a friendly gesture.

"Do you need help, Lord Invictarii?"

"No, that's unnecessary," Valentius said. "Please continue your discussion, Company Commander Garro, Lord Kefa."

One of Mortarion's personal guards, Kefa Morag, whose face was somber and still tinged with sadness, nodded. His old MK2 armor was well-maintained and complemented his pale, short hair.

Even today, it's not uncommon to see warriors in various legions still choosing to wear older models of Power Armour. The reasons are varied: habit, honor, or simply an unwillingness to change. Which category does Kefa Morag belong to?

Valentius didn't know the answer, but he made a note of it and planned to inform the logistics department after tonight to prepare more replacement parts and repair materials for the Death Guard's Power Armour.

Compared to his brother, Seventh Company Garro appeared more rational. He wasn't as silent as Kefa, but he did seem emotionally conflicted. He forced himself to speak a few words with Valentius, the Aquila insignia on his forearm armor gleaming.

"In short, we haven't come to any useful conclusions yet. Defensive warfare isn't our forte, Lord Invictarii. Perhaps we're not good at anything at all."

Valentius pursed his lips, unsure what to say, but Garro had already let him off the hook. The combat company commander, realizing his slip of the tongue, gave a wry smile, raised his hand, pulled his still grieving brother aside, and cleared a path for Valentius.

Oculus's Invictarii nodded gratefully and passed through.

However, navigating through this crowded hall is no easy task.

The large slabs of stained glass reflected dazzling light, casting a mesmerizing glow on everything he saw, including people, objects, and things. The black and white checkerboard floor, which should have been an unremarkable canvas, was instead enhanced by its exceptionally well-maintained state, resulting in an even more dazzling reflection.

It's visually torturous, physically torturous, and the smell is even worse.

With the Throne on the throne, at least a thousand Astartes crammed together wouldn't produce a pleasant smell. A pre-battle assembly is fine, though; even the strongest scent of maintenance oil is tolerable.

But things are different now. Everyone in this hall, except for the Ultramarines, has been through battle and has just returned from the battlefield. Some of them even have blood on their faces, and Servitor are constantly moving around them.

To make matters worse, almost everyone Valentius encountered wanted to chat with him.

He had barely met with the Salamanders and answered the Firewood Guards' question about the location of the Forge Hall in Macragge when he was about to address the Iron Warriors' questions about Macragge's terrain. They wanted to know if it was possible to establish a defensive outpost on Macragge's renowned Crown of Hera.

"That's certainly possible; there are wartime regulations," Valentius told them. He then decided to discuss the matter with Lady Euten later—he knew Euten would agree, but he and the Chief Steward still needed to persuade Roboute Guilliman's court staff.

It is well known that Macragge has a large population, in every sense of the word.

Thus, the journey of a few hundred meters took Valentius half an hour, an extremely grueling experience. The only consolation for him was that when he arrived in front of Perturabo and Vulkan, covered in sweat, they both looked up from the projection on the tactical table and looked at him.

The Invictarii of Oculus straightened their chests and cleared their throats: "Honorable Primarch— "

"Give me those documents now," Perturabo said impatiently. "I've already spotted you, why did you cough before speaking to deliberately remind me of your presence?"

"Thank you, Invictarii." Vulkan awkwardly raised his right hand to him. "Please forgive me, my brother is currently in a rather peculiar state of mind. Uh, I mean, he's not very polite, nor does he really want to be."

→

Valentius shrugged, handed over the documents, and also gave the Dataslate to Vulkan, while speaking in a low voice.

"That's alright, Lord Vulkan, I'm used to this. I mean, our Primarch can be even more outrageous than Lord Perturabo at times."

The Lord of Drakes stared at him in shock.

"It's true," Valentius said. "It's certainly reasonable for someone bearing such a heavy responsibility to lose their temper at times. However, our Primarch will apologize to us after careful consideration."

"And I am not him." Perturabo replied coldly to Valentius while engrossed in reviewing the documents.

His tone was quite authoritative, yet it elicited a strange expression from Vulkan beside him. The Lord of Drakes' hesitant expression was quite obvious.

"Let me tell you, Invictarii, I dislike red tape and I absolutely hate beating around the bush. Being straightforward is in my nature. Bringing these documents is your job, so do you expect me to thank you for it? Impossible. But you did a good job."

Valentius frowned, his mouth agape, staring at him in silence. His expression was quite similar to Vulkan's; both wanted to say something, yet found themselves unable to utter a word.

Perturabo looked up from the documents and beckoned him over. "Come here now, I have a lot of questions for you—how many similar documents are there in Roboute Guilliman's office?"

"It depends on how much you need," Valentius replied as he approached. "I mean, if you need them, I can bring over all those filing cabinets and Dataslate."

"Give me—" Perturabo lowered his head again and pulled out a thick document. "—This kind, I want this kind of document that's specially marked with your Ultramarines' insignia."

"Clear."

"The same old rule applies. You can decide for yourself which documents should be hidden and which are readable. I only need the data."

He handed the document to Valentius, looked at him seriously, and waited for his reply.

"Of course." Oculus's Invictarii nodded resignedly. "And there are no secrets in wartime; I'll bring all the documents over. I hope my Primarch won't be angry about it."

"He knows what's important and what's urgent." Perturabo lowered his head again, his voice deepening and carrying a hint of mockery. "You underestimate your own Primarch, Invictarii."

Valentius's eyes twitched twice, then he turned and left without a word—was he angry? Not really, but he was definitely resentful.

To put it bluntly, he simply couldn't understand how the Iron Warriors had followed such a Primarch in his campaigns and battles for so many years. Did they have no temper at all?

Filled with resentment and admiration for Perturabo's immediate dedication to his work, Valentius Dollo left the reception hall once more.

This time, he called in five moving Servitor, intending to move all the documents from Roboute Guilliman's office directly there, saving him two more trips.

After he left, Vulkan carefully bent down and offered Perturabo a suggestion.

"Brother, don't you think you were a bit too rough with Valentius Invictarii?"

"He'll get used to it, and he already is," Perturabo said without looking up, then asked a question. "Tell me, how many barracks are there in the city of Macragge?"

"Twelve." Vulkan glanced at a Dataslate in his hand and quickly found the data the Lord of Iron needed.

"But," the Lord of Drakes gestured, "He is, after all, Ultramarines, and Roboute must be heading back to his hometown."

"So what?"

If you continue like this, you'll probably have an argument with him.

No, it won't.

"What makes you so sure?" Vulkan frowned. Perturabo's behavior finally made him a little angry.

"Because Roboute Guilliman can become an absolutely rational man when he needs to, and now is that time. Just watch, Vulkan, he will only thank me for guarding his Macragge so well, and will not utter a single complaint against me as to the secrets I have seen—"

The Lord of Iron raised his head, reached out and took the Dataslate from Vulkan's hand, his expression a half-smile.

"--It's not classified at all. He's as naive as ever, actually marking those things as classified. Also, you're wrong about the thirteen military camps in Macragge."

"What?" Vulkan asked, puzzled. "But I checked the Dataslate!"

"I just looked at the map, and there's an error in the comparison between one data point and the city's floor plan. Based on my calculations, I believe it's a hidden military camp, not marked on any documents. That's probably one of Roboute's little secrets."

Vulkan looked at him and sighed, "Sometimes you display qualities that truly send chills down my spine."

"Try to get used to it, Vulkan," Perturabo told him calmly. "Just like you got used to war."

There's another 4.5k chapter coming up, don't wait, go to sleep early.