Three Sons
When the foundation of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar is thoroughly solidified, when hope shines like an inextinguishable star in every corner.
Guilliman's gaze was set on a more distant and fundamental future.
The military might of races, the sword and shield of civilization.
Over the past two standard months, an unprecedented selection process, with standards so stringent as to be almost brutal, has been simultaneously unfolding in every inhabited corner of the Five Hundred Worlds.
Target: Children around ten years old whose genetic purity and physical and mental potential meet the new benchmarks, as well as ordinary veterans who have been tested by war and whose will is as strong as steel.
The best among them will have the opportunity to undergo a transformative change.
The implanted gene seed is a "new gene seed" optimized from the bloodline of Kiriman Wittrum.
This is no longer the painful and lengthy process fraught with the risks of change that characterized the old Imperium era.
Instead, it incorporates advanced biotechnology obtained through system redemption.
Vitruum's energy adaptability and Guilliman's own Psionic Energy- guided, more efficient, and more powerful "Ascension Ritual."
Successful people will transcend their mortal bodies and become true "Superman".
Their bone density is comparable to that of warship armor, their muscle fibers are like Adamantium cables, and their nerve reaction speed surpasses the limits of physics.
Its metabolism and self-healing abilities have reached an incredible level, and it can even begin to mobilize the Smart Atoms contained within its body, making its vitality even stronger than that of the Orks.
Strictly speaking, the basic qualities of these "new human warriors" have already surpassed the standards of the old Space Marines.
The elite among them will emerge from the recruit training camp, officially don the deep blue Power Armour, and join the Ultramarines Legion, which is striving to regain its former glory.
Today, Guilliman's military forces have swelled to a scale that any Imperium Chapter must look up to.
The flagship of the "Glory Queen" class, a modernly modified ship resembling a mobile Star Fortress — the Macragge's Honour —serves as its core and symbol.
Surrounding it were countless capital ships, cruisers, and frigates of all types, enough to fill the entire star sector, though their numbers were difficult to count precisely.
The foundation of the legion consists of 300,000 fully armed Ultramarines have undergone "Superman" transformations.
If we were to use a concept from Guilliman's memory as a comparison, their basic combat strength would be enough for a single soldier to easily "flatten" a modern metropolis.
On average, a modern Ultramarines recruit is as effective in combat as, or even surpasses, a thousand ordinary Space Marines from the old era.
This is a terrifying force capable of reversing the course of Milky Way warfare; it is the sharpest and heaviest sword in Guilliman's hand.
At this moment, on a desolate planet that had been deliberately cleared out and used as a high-intensity combat training ground, a gale churned up iron-gray dust.
In the center of the arena, four figures crisscrossed and collided at supersonic speeds, each contact unleashing a deafening roar and a shockwave that tore the earth apart.
Imperial Regent Robert Guilliman, and his three most distinguished sons:
Chapter Commander Calgar, Sword Saint Company Commander Cato Sicarius, and the newly appointed Chief Think Tank, Digris.
This is a test, a lesson, and a clash of titans between father and son, mentor and student.
At the outset of the battle, the chief think tank member, Digglis, launched the first attack.
His eyes were tightly closed, and his body surged with Psionic Energy like a storm. His hands formed complex hand seals, and he suddenly pressed forward—
"Psychic Shockwave!"
The invisible Psionic Energy shock, like the pressure of ten thousand tons of water, attempted to squeeze and imprison Guilliman's actions and will from all directions.
Guilliman chuckled lightly, without even adopting a noticeable defensive stance.
He merely flashed a faint blue-gold light around him, a psionic pressure Psionic Energy enough to shatter the spirits of ordinary Psyker and warp and deform heavy vehicles.
It's like hitting an absolutely smooth mirror; the image is easily refracted, deflected, and vanished into nothingness.
The vast, star-like amount of Psionic Energy within him, combined with the "Myriad Law Adaptability" derived from the Vitruum bloodline, rendered such Psionic Energy attacks virtually ineffective.
Just as Guilliman neutralized the Psionic Energy attack, Calgar's figure approached like a ghost!
He gripped the Psionic Energy sword, named "Loyalist's Glory," which Guilliman had repeatedly "cared for and upgraded" it with.
On his right hand, he wore the "Iron Resolve," Power Fist personally modified by Guilliman to perfectly resonate with the "Smart Atoms" within his body.
Driven by Calgar's will, countless "Smart Atoms" within his body...
Those nanoscale Vitruum creations capable of enhancing the physical body, simulating energy, and adapting to the environment—instantly flooded into his right fist.
The gauntlets burst forth with a blinding blue-white light, accompanied by a piercing shriek that tore through the void, and slammed straight into Guilliman's face without any fancy moves!
"Bang--!!!"
A deafening roar, so deep it seemed like stars colliding.
Guilliman didn't dodge or evade; he took the punch—enough to pierce the frontal armor of Imperator-class Titan— right to his cheek!
The immense impact jerked his head to one side, his neck muscles bulging like a dragon, and the ground beneath his feet cracked and sank several meters.
But he immediately turned his head and gave Calgar, who was standing close by and slightly stunned by his full-force attack, an approving smile.
The next moment, Guilliman's right hand shot out like lightning, his five fingers gripping Calgar's wrist, which he hadn't managed to retract before he could strike.
"Not bad, my son."
Before he finished speaking, he twisted his waist and his arm unleashed unimaginable force.
He actually swung the heavily armored, mountain-like Calgar up and hurled him like a hammer throw at a rocky mountain hundreds of meters away!
"Boom!"
The mountain collapsed, sending plumes of smoke and dust billowing into the sky.
Just as Guilliman flung Calgar away and a slight gap appeared in his body due to the force of the attack, a silver figure faster than lightning cut into the battle!
It's Cato Sicarius!
What he held in his hand was just the Legion's most ordinary standard-issue Power Sword, but in the hands of him, the Legion's recognized swordsman, the ordinary weapon shone with the sharpness of a divine weapon.
There were no dazzling Psionic Energy or shadows, only sword light that was extremely fast, extremely accurate, and extremely refined!
In an instant, countless deadly sword shadows wove into a net, enveloping Guilliman's vital points.
The shrieks of the swords cutting through the air blended together, like the Whisper of Ynnead.
"Good timing!"
Guilliman's fighting spirit intensified, and he drew the "Emperor's Sword," a symbol of the supreme authority and power of the Imperium of Man, from his waist.
Golden flames rose from the sword, mingling with Guilliman's blue-gold Psionic Energy.
He didn't use any fancy sword techniques, but only the most basic and precise blocking, parrying, and thrusting to meet Sicarius's storm-like attacks.
"Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang--!!!"
The two swords clashed wildly at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye, each strike unleashing dazzling sparks of energy and deafening metallic clangs!
A clash between pure strength and ultimate skill.
The space around them distorted and vibrated.
The earth beneath our feet was as if it were being repeatedly plowed by an invisible giant plow, turning the stones into powder, which was then blown far away by the shockwave.
Sicarius could clearly feel how vast and irresistible the power emanating from the Emperor's Sword was!
Guilliman's seemingly simple sword moves contained variations and predictions that were so exquisite that even this sword saint felt breathless.
But he gritted his teeth and pushed his lifelong swordsmanship and combat intuition to the limit, making the sword light even more refined and swift.
In a short period of time, he managed to make up for some of the absolute difference in strength with skill and barely managed to hold off Guilliman's offensive!