Do You Take Me for an Idiot?

Malcador listened quietly to Guilliman's explanations, those tales of slumbering for millennia, spiritual transformation, and physical ascension, like a string of incredible fragments of mythology.

His eyes, sharp even after ten thousand years of silence, remained fixed on the Primarch, capturing every subtle change in expression and weighing the possibilities and absurdities behind every word.

"So, during your 10,000 years of slumber, you were also constantly battling in the spiritual world, ultimately transcending the limits of the human body and reaching a new level?"

Malcador combed through:

"This transformation extends directly from the mind to the body, reaching a complete change at the genetic level, making you a thoroughly evolved... ' Superman '?"

Moreover, this ' Superman ' isn't the kind of enhancement like Astartes in the conventional sense; it's someone capable of traversing star systems with their bare hands and destroying planets with a single punch?

It can be described as the pinnacle of physical form in the Material Universe.

"Even more powerful in a purely physical sense than those legendary C'tan who require a specific vessel to unleash their power?"

Even he himself thought this summary was so absurd it sounded like the ramblings of a third-rate psychic.

"That's right, teacher, that's basically the situation."

Guilliman affirmed Malcador's silent deduction, his face displaying a calm acceptance that "it's that simple."

Malcador didn't speak, but slowly stepped forward and offered a hand that looked young and strong because of his resurrection.

He gently pressed his hand on Guilliman's broad shoulders, which were covered in blue-gold Power Armour.

A smile of satisfaction slowly spread across his face, like that of an elder seeing their most promising junior.

Then--

"Thirteenth Brother, do I look like an idiot, teacher?!"

His smile vanished instantly, replaced by a mixture of annoyance at being tricked and a fierce determination to prove it wrong.

Without warning, he kicked Guilliman's shinbone with all his might!

This kick even carried some of his recently recovered Psionic Energy energy, which he subconsciously activated, as a "test"!

"Crack!"

A sharp, teeth-grinding cracking sound rang out.

"Awooo--!!!"

The screams came from Malcador.

At that moment, he looked like Slow Sheep who had sprained his ankle while playing basketball; his pained expression seemed to transcend the two-dimensional plane!

Returning to one's true self is what truly matters.

A piercing pain, far beyond his expectations, exploded from the foot he had kicked out.

He felt as if his soles and shinbones had struck the surface of an extremely dense neutron star.

The reaction force caused him to lose his balance and fall backward.

Clutching his right leg, which had instantly deformed and was throbbing with excruciating pain, he curled up on the floor, his brand-new robe instantly soaked with cold sweat.

Guilliman was startled and immediately squatted down. "Teacher!"

"Don't... don't touch it! It's broken! It's definitely broken!"

Malcador grimaced in pain, but the excruciating agony also kept his mind exceptionally clear.

God the hell 'evolution'!

Even if such an absurd evolutionary path truly existed, it shouldn't manifest in this way!

This hardness... this recoil... is this some kind of property that a living, fleshy body should have?

His heart was screaming wildly, but his gaze towards Guilliman was even more suspicious and... burning?

If this is true...

Helpless, Guilliman's palm emitted a barely perceptible white light, which he gently placed over Malcador's twisted wound.

The manipulation at the atomic level is precise and swift; fractured bones are forcibly reset, microstructures are repaired, periosteum regenerates, and blood clots are broken down and absorbed...

Almost instantly, the pain disappeared, and his legs regained full mobility.

Malcador stared blankly at his leg, which was completely intact and even felt a little "stronger" than before, then looked up at Guilliman, who had an innocent look on his face.

He's not treating... he's 'reconstructing'?

The thought sent a chill down Malcador's spine, yet also made him tremble with excitement.

He jumped to his feet, disregarding his appearance, pointed at Guilliman's nose, and blurted out angrily:

"Do you think I'm immune to your temper just because you're my teacher?! Are you treating me like an idiot?! Huh?!"

"Please calm down, teacher."

Guilliman took a half step back, shrugged, and said, "That's the situation, that's the reality."

"If you don't believe me, there's nothing I can do."

"Good, good! You've really made something of yourself! I was so naive!"

Malcador, grumbled as he straightened his disheveled robes.

But the anger came quickly and went quickly.

Or rather, beneath that anger lay a shock that overturned one's understanding.

And after the shock, a tsunami of euphoria swept in, belonging to top politicians and strategists.

There's no point in asking further questions.

Guilliman also had real secrets he didn't want to talk about, or couldn't talk about.

But... the result is clear.

Malcador's mind was already working at full speed, like the most sophisticated Cogitator.

The key information lies in the fact that "Guilliman possesses incredible personal strength" and "he can 'produce' or 'enable' a certain type of super soldier on a large scale."

Like the most precious jewel, it was embedded in his vision of the Imperium's future.

This is a good thing.

This is fantastic news!

This is even better than the Emperor finding all the Primarch combined!

The anger on his face vanished completely, replaced by an almost dreamlike, obsessive smile, his lips uncontrollably stretching upwards.

With Old Thirteen's operational skills, coupled with the outrageously high compatibility and stability between the Ultramarines genes and the human foundation...

If he then fully implements the Ultramarines modification program within the Imperium...

Malcador's thoughts had already jumped to the distant future, as if he could see the Milky Way transforming at his fingertips.

So... hehehe...

A dark, gleeful laugh escaped his lips.

Have those four so-called "gods" of Chaos, squatting in the cesspool of Warp, ever seen Limit Breakers swarming like locusts, each capable of traversing the void with their physical bodies and sending Adeptus Custodes Ultramarines flying with a single punch?

No, the kind that can blow up a small ship with a single punch!

Listen to what the thirteenth prince said; if his descendants train for another one or two hundred years, they will be at least three times stronger than they are now!

Do you know what three times means?

They could punch a hole through the wall belonging to the Adeptus Custodes!

Those were the Adeptus Custodes! They were personally trained by Emperor of Mankind, and it took them 500 years to gather just 10,000 of them!

Guilliman's genetic offspring numbers are a testament to his operational capabilities.

If they only produce 10,000 units a year, Guilliman could lie down in Terra Plaza right now and wait for the U-23 to crush him.

A swarm of blue locusts... Ultramarines!

Just imagining that scene brings out a sense of pent-up frustration and powerlessness that has been suppressed for millennia, originating from the depths of my soul.

Cool!

That was fucking awesome!

He felt his Psionic Energy resonating slightly with excitement.

I, the old prime minister, have never fought such a rich battle in my life... no, in both my previous and current lives combined!

He drew parallels to certain ancient metaphors from the lost era of Terra.

This feeling is like what?

Just like when Zhuge Liang borrowed the east wind, what he ended up with was the Dongfeng-5C intercontinental ballistic missile!

Red Cliffs?

Cao Cao was still pondering the chained ships when he looked up and saw the sky filled with reentry missiles trailing fiery exhaust plumes...

Malcador seemed to see the blank, utterly resigned expression on the villain's face.

What's the point of conquering the world?

He might as well write some poetry, have some fun with married women, and indulge in the "Jian'an spirit" to leave his mark on history...

What King of Wei?

I, Cao Cao, was born a man of the Han Dynasty, and I will die a ghost of the Han Dynasty!

He even imagined Prime Minister Zhuge Liang, clad in a feather fan and silk turban, gently patting Zhang Fei Guan Yu on the shoulder, smiling and saying, "Yun Chang, Yi De, let's see today, I too can be a match for ten thousand men."

That's right!

That's the feeling!