Faster, Stronger, Bigger!?

The "First Primaris" answered the summons and entered the workshop.

He wore a plain suit of power armor devoid of any Legion insignia or paint.

Yet the armor's lines and seams revealed the distinctive precision and minimalist aesthetic far ahead of its time that belonged to Cawl's workshop.

Clearly, this was not standard-issue equipment, but something custom-made for the Archmagos's special "creation."

He was immensely built, standing an astonishing 3.2 meters tall in armor.

He had already entered the physical range of the Adeptus Custodes, possessing one of the finest bodies in the Imperium of Man aside from the primarchs.

In this universe, size was often directly linked to strength.

Yet what seized Guilliman's attention before that magnificent physique—

was the spotless, gleaming bald head visible through the helmet lenses under the workshop lights!

(...A bald head?!)

If there had been a Blood Angel here, he would probably have succumbed to the Black Rage and charged immediately.

After all, ten thousand years ago, one bald man had turned their father into Warhammer-style angel-flavored minced meat.

From that point onward, that black fury had been rooted in the genes of every Blood Angel.

Even Guilliman as he had once been would probably have felt his heart tighten at the sight of a bald head.

After all, it had been one bald head that had caused the Imperium to lose its former glory.

To any Loyalist primarch, Horus was the ultimate traitor, someone whose very existence could drive them into a rage and make them charge forth without regard for anything else.

Fortunately, this man was not that man.

Guilliman's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly as an instinctive vigilance, born from memories buried deep within ten thousand years of time, suddenly surfaced.

The last "bald head" upon whom great hopes had been placed—and who had brought the gravest disaster—

had been personally annihilated in body and soul by the Emperor wielding the burning Emperor's Sword...

He quickly suppressed the absurd association and maintained a suitably appreciative smile. "What... a magnificent physique. He can nearly stand shoulder to shoulder with my father's Adeptus Custodes.

And he bears faint traces of the traits of all twenty of us brothers. I believe his strength should surpass that of an ordinary Adeptus Custodes."

"You flatter him, Primarch."

Cawl hurriedly took over, his tone carrying an experimenter's caution and a trace of pride:

"After all, he is the 'First Primaris.' He received the most thorough modifications, and his body incorporates a great many rare biological components and stabilizing systems.

Assessments indicate that at peak condition and fully equipped, he might be able to contend with two or three Adeptus Custodes, perhaps even trade lives under extreme circumstances.

This is already the closest we can come to the theoretical limit of combat power beneath a primarch."

Guilliman instantly understood the meaning behind Cawl's modest words.

This was not about sparring. It was about fighting to the death.

This Alpha Primus was an existence capable of being used as a strategic weapon on the level of the Adeptus Custodes.

At that moment, Guilliman's expression shifted slightly.

He stared at Alpha Primus, and a strange resonance rose from deep within his genes.

He raised a hand, signaling the "First Primaris," who was preparing to salute, to wait.

"Interesting..."

Guilliman spoke slowly, his voice carrying a trace of inquiry. "I can sense an aura within you that shares my origin.

Not merely the faint echoes belonging to the twenty of us brothers, originating from the Sangprimus Portum...

There is also a part of you that resonates clearly with my own traits."

He stepped forward, his gaze sharp as fire, as though he wished to see through the power armor.

"That is the reason of order, planning, and cold calculation...

It is the essence my father imprinted upon me when he created me, hoping I would become a ruthless warlord.

I can clearly 'see' it within both your body and mind.

Of course, the outstanding faint traits of my other brothers have also reached some form of harmony within you, making you seem... exceptionally stable."

Guilliman's words were like a stone cast into still water.

Cawl's mechanical compound eyes flickered, as though he were rapidly cross-checking data.

Lord Guilliman's personality was better than it had been ten thousand years ago. He was easier to communicate with, and even his thinking had become more open-minded.

Yet Cawl felt afraid whenever he interacted with the current Guilliman.

It was not that Guilliman placed too much pressure upon his subordinates. This fear was mainly rooted in the gap between their strength.

No matter how amiable or benevolent he was, his subordinates understood that if this lord wanted to kill them, all it would take was a single punch.

It was reverence for strength.

Cawl felt exactly this way now. He feared that Guilliman might consider his finest creation a heretic.

If Guilliman threw a punch then, the work of several thousand years would be destroyed in an instant.

Alpha Primus, meanwhile, remained in his half-finished salute. Only after Guilliman had finished speaking did he complete the gesture and kneel on one knee.

His voice emerged from his helmet, steady, clear, and utterly without fluctuation:

"Your insight is unparalleled, noble primarch, Lord of Macragge.

That you can perceive my connection to you is my greatest honor.

The purpose of my existence is to carry out orders and achieve objectives.

Serving you and the Imperium is my highest priority."

Guilliman carefully considered both these words and the other man's reaction.

The fusion of minute traits from all twenty primarchs had not made him confused or extreme.

Instead, he seemed to have been deliberately shaped into an absolute "tool of reason," stripped of emotional interference.

Such excessively perfect "stability" left the vigilance stirred by that bald head lingering in Guilliman's heart, even as he admired Alpha Primus's immense potential.

I hope this normality is not merely superficial, but genuine.

Especially in this current era, Guilliman truly did not dare trust these Astartes who appeared normal on the surface.

Judging by the current atmosphere among the Chapters, many Astartes who looked polished and proper were secretly far wilder than anyone else.

"An outstanding creation, Cawl. Your skill is astonishing."

Guilliman first nodded in approval at the Archmagos, then turned to Alpha Primus. "However, data assessments and genetic resonance are ultimately less direct than actual combat.

I am very curious about your true combat ability.

Would you be willing to have a friendly match, stopping short of harm, with one of my gene-sons?

It would help us better understand you, as well as the potential of the Primaris."

"It would be my honor, my lord.

I shall obey your will." Alpha Primus accepted without hesitation, his bearing flawless.

Naturally, Guilliman would not enter the field himself.

He knew full well the monstrous strength of his current body, infused with the mighty power of Vitruum—a single punch could smash through a Thunderhawk. If he fought in earnest, he might not be able to hold back.

What he needed was a suitable "testing standard."

"Calgar."

Guilliman called softly through psychic communication.

Before long, Chapter Master Calgar's distinctive blue figure appeared at the workshop entrance, his power gauntlets humming.

He had been very relaxed lately. He no longer needed to shoulder the duties of Chapter Master, nor did he need to worry about affairs on Macragge.

His father had spent a week rooting out every hidden Chaos tin can on all of Macragge.

As a result, Calgar had been exceptionally relaxed during this period. He got to see his own father every day, and there were no tedious affairs to deal with.

His days had been positively delightful.

Even the wrinkles on his face had faded a little.

Calgar knelt on one knee. "Father, you summoned me?"

"Come, my son. Behold our future new brother, as well as the gift Archmagos Belisarius has prepared for us."

Smiling, Guilliman briefly explained the Primaris Space Marines project and the three new organs to Calgar.

After hearing it, Calgar's eyes lit up beneath his helmet. He had keenly caught the key words:

"Faster, stronger, bigger?!

That is truly wonderful, Father!

For the glory of the Emperor and yours, we will gladly accept any enhancement that allows us to slaughter heretics and traitors more efficiently!

As for the risks...

The Ultramarines have never feared sacrificing themselves for a lofty cause!

If we die upon the path of enhancement, then we shall return to the Throne in glory!"