Thank You for Your Return
This "ocean" is not gloomy with an impending storm, but vast, calm, and contains infinite depth and power.
What shook Moloc even more was the fleeting gentleness deep in those eyes, a gentleness not directed at him, yet one that he could clearly sense.
That is not weakness, but an inclusive majesty that stems from absolute strength and a clear sense of mission.
With just a glance, the cold, lingering question in Moloc's heart, the question of "what am I?" that had haunted him for millennia, seemed to be gently brushed away by this gentle and magnificent "sea".
Although no answer was given immediately, the biting chill strangely dissipated by more than half.
No introduction or logo is needed.
Existence itself is the loudest declaration.
Moloc, the ancient being who lived through the ages of Thunder Warriors, slumbered for millennia, and founded the Chapter, is the Tauren Lord known for his arrogance, brutality, and pragmatism.
At that moment, he made an instinctive and unhesitating move.
He broke free from the Primarch's support, dragging his battered and nearly broken body, staggered backward, and then knelt heavily on one knee.
He lowered his head, a head that had never truly bowed to any High Lords, nor even to the Emperor in his inner illusion.
The iron-gray helmet pressed against the ground, which was covered with rubble and demonic debris.
His voice was hoarse and cracked, yet sincere and resolute. "Thank you for your return... my lord."
Only the word "thank you" could express Moloc's feelings; he couldn't bring himself to say "welcome" to the Primarch in this cold world.
He genuinely felt that if the Primarch remained dead, it might be a good thing.
But the Primarch returned, and he felt it was the Emperor's protection. He was sincerely grateful that the Primarch was willing to come to this cesspool-like world ten thousand years in the future.
Not the "Primarch," not the "prince," but the most simple yet profound "adult."
This word contains the meaning of acknowledgment, following, and the determination to entrust one's Destiny to the Chapter.
Almost at the same moment Moloc knelt down, an invisible but vast ripple of power swept across the area one last time, centered on Guilliman.
Those surviving, lower-ranking demons who were briefly bewildered by the death of Slaaneshi Daemon, whether they were Khorne, Nurgle, or a few scattered Tzeentch creations.
The moment the ripples of power touched them, they vaporized and dissipated silently, like ice and snow exposed to intense heat, without even a final cry of agony.
The battlefield fell silent.
The surviving minotaur warriors struggled to their feet or raise their heads from behind cover, beside piles of corpses, or beside wrecked, still-smoking vehicles.
They saw the Chapter Master kneeling before the blue giant, and the battlefield around them instantly purified.
They also felt the magnificent presence that permeated the air, calming their raging souls and giving them a sense of belonging.
These warriors, known as the Imperium's coldest hounds and considered to know only killing and profit, were even internally admonished to be wary of their loyalty—members of a "problem Chapter."
At that moment, a new flame ignited in his eyes.
The sound of metal scraping against the ground rang out one after another.
One, two, ten, a hundred... all the minotaur warriors who could still move, regardless of the severity of their injuries, did the same thing as the Chapter Master —facing Guilliman, kneeling on one knee, and bowing their heads in respect.
Even those who were too badly injured to move tried their best to put down their weapons and turn their helmets in that direction.
There were no cheers, no vows.
There was only a heavy, silent worship, a testament to steel and unwavering will.
This is the awe earned by power, and even more so, the instinctive conversion triggered by a path that has been lost for a long time and has finally been found.
A king should receive this honor.
Guilliman calmly accepted this silent pledge of allegiance.
His gaze swept over these wounded but rejuvenated warriors, and he nodded slightly.
"Rise, warriors!"
His voice carried clearly to everyone's ears. "I have witnessed your bravery."
He looked at Moloc: "There's no need to hold this place any longer."
My offspring will arrive soon and take over the defense of this area."
He raised his hand and pointed to the direction from which more intense explosions and roars were coming from. That was the intersection of the core civilian refuge area of Hive City and the main road leading to the palace, where the battle was clearly more brutal.
"The demons in the vicinity have been eradicated."
"Take those who are still able to fight and go to support other defensive nodes on Terra, helping the guards and civilians who are still resisting."
His instructions were concise and clear. "The Emperor's warriors should not merely guard the towers."
"As you command, my lord!"
Moloc responded in a deep voice, without hesitation.
He struggled to his feet, supporting himself with the broken spear, and immediately began issuing commands through the Chapter's internal channel, organizing the remaining warriors who could still move.
Just then, the heavy Adamantium door of the "Tower of Eternal Loyalty" was suddenly pushed open a crack.
Duke Mengsk, the High Lords who had previously been in charge of shipping, actually rushed out despite the danger.
His obese face was filled with terror and anger as he shrieked at Moloc's retreating figure, "Moloc! Stop!"
You can't leave! Your duty is to protect us! That's an order! You took the resources! You..."
His shouting stopped abruptly.
Because Moloc didn't even turn his head.
The tall, iron-gray figure, covered in wounds and grime, paused only slightly before continuing to stride resolutely in the direction Guilliman had indicated.
A clear and calm voice came through the external speaker, devoid of any emotional fluctuation. "You are not worth it."
Those five short words were like five cold daggers, piercing through all of Duke Mengsk's arrogance and wishful thinking.
He stood there, stunned, his face turning from red to white, then from white to green.
Moloc's voice continued, this time with an almost devout firmness:
"If the Minotaurs Chapter is destined to perish today... then I hope we will break as that great man's spear, rather than rot as the watchdogs beneath your towers."
As soon as he finished speaking, he quickened his pace.
Behind them, the surviving minotaur warriors silently gathered and lined up, following closely behind.
Not a single person turned to look at the tower they had been ordered to guard, and not a single person responded to the High Lords's shouts.
The tattered flags rose amidst the smoke of battle, and the iron-gray torrent resolutely turned towards the real battlefield.
Loyalty needs no words, only actions.
Duke Mengsk was trembling with rage and wanted to shout insults, but he was held back by several other High Lords and nobles who had rushed out.
"Calm down! Lord Duke, calm down!"
Vitali, the clerk from the Ministry of the Interior, lowered his voice, but a strange sense of relaxation crossed his face. "Didn't the Thirteen Primarch say so?"
He will send his offspring— the Ultramarines —to protect us!
That is the truly reliable power!
"Yeah yeah,"
Another nobleman chimed in, "The Ultramarines are disciplined and their loyalty is beyond question; they are far more reliable than these barbaric minotaurs!"
Let's go back quickly, it's safer in the tower!