For the Regent

"Roar--!!!"

"For the Lord Regent --!!!"

"For the Primarch --!!!"

A deafening roar!

Deafening!

It was a wave of cheers, a fervor, excitement, and pure power, formed by the convergence of thousands upon thousands of voices!

The sound waves, like tangible shockwaves, pounded against his body, piercing through the temporary visual barrier and directly shaking his soul!

Angron forced himself to adjust to the bright light, trying to open his eyes wide.

The scene before me gradually became clear.

He was standing in the center of a colossal building, as magnificent as an ancient Ancient Rome amphitheater!

All around were towering, tiered stands, which were now almost submerged in a deep blue ocean!

Those are countless Ultramarines!

Thousands upon thousands, perhaps more!

They were like the most devout spectators, crowding every tier of the stands, holding up Power Fist or Bolter, and letting out deafening cheers and shouts!

Their gazes were all focused on the center of the field.

There, Guilliman, shirtless, smiled and waved to his sons.

In the center of this blue ocean, near the best viewing area in the front row, there is a small patch of a completely different color.

They were a group of exceptionally tall and robust Space Marines, with an estimated height of 2.5 to 2.7 meters, far exceeding that of ordinary Astartes.

Their Power Armour wasn't painted in the deep blue and gold of the Ultramarines, but rather... a white base with dark red and bronze trim and emblems!

That emblem... that style...

Angron's pupils suddenly contracted to their maximum size!

His breathing stopped.

My heart felt as if it were being gripped tightly by an invisible hand!

That's clearly... the paint scheme of the World Eaters!

Simple, rugged, and brimming with the wildness of gladiators and raiders!

Although there are slight differences in the details, he would never mistake the core color scheme and feel!

The number is not large, approximately two thousand people.

Compared to the Ultramarines numbering in the tens of thousands, they were just tiny patches of color.

But at this moment, in Angron's eyes, this small patch of white and red was more dazzling and more... unreal than the stars in the entire Milky Way!

Is this... real?

Angron's voice was dry and hoarse, like the grinding of sand. He stared intently at the group of warriors, his lips trembling.

"Is... is this really true?!"

He doesn't just see with his eyes.

It originates from the mysterious, distance-transcending bloodline connection between the Primarch and its offspring.

At this moment, it was as if a circuit had been reconnected, transmitting a faint yet incredibly clear and pure resonance and throbbing!

There was no Chaos filth, no frantic screech of the Butcher's Nails, only the resilient and loyal life force of the Astartes warriors!

"My... offspring?"

Angron's voice was almost a delirious murmur, filled with unbelievable ecstasy and a deeper fear, "Not corrupted? Not contaminated by Khorne?"

Why... why... how can there still be... pure World Eaters?!

He abruptly turned his head to look at Guilliman, who stood calmly not far away, his eyes filled with urgent, almost pleading questioning.

Guilliman met his gaze, smiled easily, as if he were talking about something trivial:

"Oh, you mean them?"

"I 'borrowed' it from that Cawl."

He shrugged. "That guy, you know, after he got his hands on ' Primaris ' technology and 'Original Blood Seed' samples collected from various legions..."

My hands were itching to make copies, so I secretly replicated the ' Primaris templates' for all twenty legions...

Of course, it's a cleaned and optimized version.

"Your child is naturally included in this."

He pointed to the group of giants painted in white and red. "Look, these are them."

The ' Primaris ' is taller, stronger, and more powerful. Most importantly, it has pure genes, unwavering will, and flawless loyalty.

I've temporarily incorporated them into my personal guard; I haven't had time to come up with an official name yet."

Guilliman walked back to the center of the field, stretched his wrists and ankles, and his fighting smile returned to his face:

"As for today... this is a competition."

A competition between you and me, brothers.

A... match for gladiators.

He surveyed the boiling blue ocean around him, his voice somehow carrying throughout the entire venue:

"Since it's a gladiator competition, how can you not have your own supporters and cheerleaders?"

So, I brought them along too.

Angron listened blankly, watching the group of "Pure World Eaters" casting complicated glances at him.

Looking around at the sea of Ultramarines cheering wildly for Guilliman, and finally at the brother before him who smiled like a big boy yet controlled everything...

He didn't understand.

He really didn't understand.

Why would Guilliman go to such lengths for this "damned traitor," "butcher," "coward," and "Chaos lackey"?

Repair his armor, give him familiar clothes, bring him his "pure offspring," and even... build him such a grand, bright, and "glorious" arena?

Just to "relieve boredom"?

To "beat him up"?

This price, this intention, far exceeded the comprehension of Angron's simple mind, which had been tormented by pain and anger for millennia.

Guilliman seemed to see through his confusion, his smile fading slightly as he became more serious.

He walked up to Angron, looked him straight in the eye, and spoke in a low voice, yet with an undeniable force:

"Listen, Angron."

Even if you really want to die... even if you feel you're unforgivable and only want to die... you have to die with honor!

He pointed to himself, then to Angron, and to the warriors in the stands:

"You're not just a symbol of the individual ' Angron '!"

We, these ' Primarch,' symbolize the possibilities of humanity.

It is part of the faith and expectation of 'demigods', 'saviors', and 'extraordinary leaders' accumulated in the collective consciousness of mankind over millions of years!

Even if you fall into depravity, a part of this symbolic meaning still clings to you in a distorted way!

Guilliman's tone was resolute:

"Therefore, I will not treat you like a dirty prisoner, pinning you to a dark execution platform to be executed by an executioner or Inquisitor."

That is a defilement of that 'symbol,' a blasphemy against all the human emotions that once held expectations of you."

He paused, a sharp glint in his eyes:

"If there must be an end... if Destiny ultimately decides that your sins must be paid for with death... then the place of the end is this very arena!"

Right before all the witnesses!

Guilliman's voice suddenly rose, as if delivering a verdict:

"I will use my fists, my blade, and, as a warrior, pierce your heart with my own hands!"

I'll personally rip your head off!

I'm giving you a straightforward ending befitting a warrior!

"And after that..."