Crown of Deceit
The Titan's Gate slowly opened amidst the earth-shaking roar of machinery, revealing the most magnificent parade ground of Hera Fortress under the starlight.
The square was already a sea of people, with towering Gothic buildings and metal viewing platforms all around.
More than ten million Astra Militarum soldiers, Planetary Defense Force, native Macragge residents, and representatives from all over Ultramar.
Like a surging tide, it filled every available space.
They craned their necks, their eyes burning with almost fanatical anticipation, and the air was filled with continuous, deafening cheers!
"Guilliman! Guilliman! King of Ultramar! Imperial Regent!"
The sound was so loud it almost shook the heavens.
On either side of this sea of people, an even more breathtaking sight unfolds:
Dozens of Imperium Titans —from swift War Hounds to mountain-like Imperator-class Titan —stood silently like metal behemoths from mythology.
They were freshly painted, steam swirled around their joints, and their weapon systems gleamed coldly in the sunlight.
The deep pulsation of the engine, like the heartbeat of a giant beast, resonated strangely with the cheers of the crowd.
And guarding the Titans array and the crowd were three hundred thousand Ultramarines.
They were like a deep blue steel forest, their Power Armour gleaming like mirrors, their helmet visors flashing a cool red light in the shadows, and their Bolter pressed tightly against their chests.
They formed an indestructible, silent wall that exuded boundless pressure.
All eyes and all voices ultimately converged on the towering giant reviewing stand at the north end of the square.
Suddenly, a clear, melodious sound, like crystal shattering, came from the sky.
A golden-blue meteor fell from the direction of the Macragge's Honour, landing precisely and lightly in the center of the reviewing stand.
Robert Guilliman arrives.
He was clad in the legendary "Destiny" armor, its deep blue Adamantium armor shimmering with the faint glow of energy circuits, and the ancient Macragge emblem gleaming on its breastplate.
Behind him, a heavy, blood-red robe hung down like a battle banner, its edges embroidered with the Imperium eagle emblem and the insignia of the Ultramarines in gold thread.
Most striking was the pristine white scarf around his collar; its flawless whiteness created a striking contrast with his short black hair and blue eyes.
It not only highlights the sacredness and nobility of the Primarch, but also strangely carries a touch of classical elegance.
His appearance was like flipping an invisible switch.
The thunderous cheers reached their peak in an instant, then vanished into a solemn silence.
Splash--
Like wheat fields bent by the wind, millions of people in the square knelt down in unison.
Heads bowed, they greeted their ruler, savior, and hope with the utmost reverence.
Guilliman raised his hand, the movement calm yet carrying an air of absolute control.
Following his gesture, the crowd slowly rose to their feet again, but the fervor in their eyes remained undiminished.
Just then, the newly appointed Planetary Governor Arabel Wayne, stepped out from a carefully arranged queue on one side of the viewing platform.
He was dressed in the most magnificent governor's uniform, his face radiating impeccable excitement and glory.
He quickly walked a few meters in front of Guilliman and then knelt down deeply in the most standard posture.
"The Great Lord Regent! The Supreme Master of Macragge and Ultramar!"
His voice, amplified by the loudspeaker, echoed throughout the square, possessing a dramatic and captivating power.
"Your radiance dispelled the gloom that shrouded the Five Hundred Worlds, your power cleansed the filth of Chaos, and your wisdom and benevolence brought us unprecedented abundance and hope!"
Today, we gather here not only to admire your majesty, but also to witness the beginning of a new era!
You will Emperor's will, lead your troops to Terra, and accomplish the great task of saving all mankind!
His words were highly persuasive and once again drew cheers from the crowd.
Governor Arabel raised his hand at the opportune moment to signal for quiet, and then solemnly picked up a tray that had been prepared beforehand and was covered with deep purple velvet.
He took a deep breath and shouted in a trembling voice:
"However, words and cheers are insufficient to express even a fraction of the gratitude and respect we, the hundreds of millions of people, feel for you!"
Therefore, under the common expectation of everyone--"
He abruptly pulled back the velvet.
That "perfect" Laurel Crown revealed its full splendor under the starlight.
The veins of the golden laurel leaves seem to breathe, and the gemstones, like fragments of starlight, refract a mesmerizing, enchanting light.
An ancient and noble aura, even faintly carrying a sacred aura, seemed to emanate from it.
"We urge you to wear this ' Holy Laurel ' that symbolizes supreme glory and embodies the legacy of Old Terra and the faith of all people!"
May it accompany you on your glorious journey to Terra, and may it witness you in every victory you achieve to reclaim the future for humanity!
Sir, please take this with you!
"Take this supreme honor, which belongs to you and to all your loyal followers!"
Holding the Laurel Crown, Arabel bowed her head deeply, her posture so humble it was almost insignificant.
Guilliman's gaze lingered on the Laurel Crown for a moment.
Then, he slowly stepped forward and looked down at the kneeling governor.
His expression was calm, even carrying a hint of gentle approval.
But as Guilliman's gaze met Arabel's lowered eyes, the governor couldn't help but glance upwards.
The moment of contact--
Arabel Wayne felt as if he had been stripped of all pretense and thrown into the coldest depths of the Macragge Ocean!
A bone-chilling cold suddenly erupted from his tailbone, spreading instantly to the top of his head, causing him to tremble uncontrollably.
Primarch, in the depths of the Primarch's eyes, a deep blue like a clear sky, was there any gentle approval?
That was clearly an extremely cold, sharp golden light that seemed to pierce through the very essence of the soul!
The golden light was like the most precise scalpel, seemingly seeing through every inch of his skin, every thought, and even the twisted purple filth deep within his soul!
Time seemed to stand still.
Governor Arabel felt his heart was about to jump out of his throat, and cold sweat instantly soaked through the lining of his magnificent dress.
He discovered it?
He found out?
No... impossible!
That Laurel Crown was perfect, my performance was perfect, even the most sophisticated Psionic Energy detection...
However, the expected thunderous wrath did not materialize.
The golden glint in Guilliman's eyes was fleeting, so quick it seemed like an illusion.
His expression didn't change much, only the gentleness seemed to have faded, becoming more calm, almost indifferent.
"Since it is the people's high expectation..."
Guilliman finally spoke, his voice, steady and calm, carrying far and wide through the loudspeaker, "Then, I shall accept."
He reached out and took the dazzling Laurel Crown from Arabel's trembling hand.
Under the watchful eyes of millions, amidst the roar of Titans and the shadows of warships.
Guilliman slowly and solemnly placed the "Holy Laurel" on the top of his black hair.
The Laurel Crown fit perfectly with the headband of his "Destiny" armor, its golden leaves and jewel-like brilliance intertwining with the faint energy glow of his armor, the blue of his eyes, and the white scarf around his neck.
This made him appear like a god-king who stepped out of a classical epic, majestic, glorious, and flawless.
"Boom--!!!"
A louder cheer erupted, and the crowd erupted in jubilation at this symbolic moment.
And at the very moment the Laurel Crown was placed on top.
Deep within Guilliman's consciousness, an indescribable, sweet torrent of Pleasure, like a cosmic sea bursting its banks, overwhelmed him!
The illusion, an incredibly real and magnificent illusion, unfolded rapidly before his eyes and in his mind:
Clad in even more magnificent gold and blue armor, and wielding Emperor's Sword engulfed in raging golden flames, he stood tall in the center of the battlefield, amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
Beneath their feet lay Xenos and traitor corpses.
Orks, the Tau Imperial Fleet, the Eldar Craftworld, Chaos Space Marines, and even the ferocious Tyranids...
All enemies that stood in the way of humanity vanished before him and his endless, ever-growing army of offspring.
Planets were "purified" under his will, and then reshaped under a grander blueprint, transforming into a paradise world more beautiful and prosperous than Ultramar.
In the capital city of every planet stands a colossal statue of him, thousands of meters tall.
Every day, countless beings pray devoutly to the statue, and the pure, heartfelt power of faith, like golden rain, crosses the galaxy and gathers upon him.
As the illusion shifted, he stepped onto the red carpet leading to the Imperial Palace.
Those kneeling on both sides of the red carpet were no longer ordinary mortals, but densely packed, silent and solemn Adeptus Custodes!
The Emperor's most secretive guards all bowed their heads, paying the highest respect to him—their new master.
He traversed the long halls and finally arrived at the Golden Throne.
On the throne, the emaciated Emperor, tormented by endless suffering, slightly raised his head, which had been bowed for millennia.
On that broken face, there was no anger, no rebuke, only a deep, relieved approval.
Those approving glances seemed to represent the recognition and entrustment of the entire human collective consciousness.
Then, amidst the illusions of countless loyal followers, he even saw the resurrected Sanguinius, Lion, and others nodding and smiling at him.
Representatives from all Imperium Chapter, the Archmagos, the Ecclesiarch...
Amidst the worship of the most powerful beings in the entire Milky Way, he, Robert Guilliman, walked step by step toward that radiant Golden Throne.
He turned around and sat down.