The Plan Ran Into Trouble

Two days later, at dawn.

Chapter Master Calgar appeared in Guilliman's study on schedule to deliver his routine report.

Holding a data slate, he spoke in a meticulous tone:

"Father, under the seventeenth detailed objective of the fifteenth guideline in the Twenty-One Guiding Principles you issued some days ago—

'Accelerate the construction of Macragge's troop transport and screening channels, efficiently absorb high-quality recruits for augmentation.'

The first phase of construction has now been preliminarily completed."

He brought up the specific figures. "The mortal auxiliary system has begun its multi-tier screening process. So far, nearly twenty thousand warriors with exceptional physiques and resolute wills have passed the initial selection.

"With the recovery chambers you provided ensuring their safety, the success rate of the augmentation surgeries is expected to approach one hundred percent indefinitely.

"By then, we will have twenty thousand additional Primaris recruits. They will be given priority deployment in the coming campaign to reclaim Ultramar, where they can rapidly be tempered into steel through real combat."

Guilliman nodded in satisfaction, his gaze falling upon the star map. "For Macragge's current resources to support the augmentation of twenty thousand recruits is already highly efficient.

"Furthermore, the Ultramarines successor Chapters answering the summons are arriving one after another.

"Inform their Chapter Masters to come see me tonight.

"This 'father' of theirs should meet these other sons who carry my blood, yet have been scattered for ten thousand years."

"As you command, fa... ah, Father."

Calgar had instinctively wanted to use a more formal form of address, only correcting himself midway.

Hearing that, Guilliman laughed heartily in feigned displeasure and pointed at a nearby chair.

"Calgar, how many times have I told you? Address me by my rank when we are working, but once the work is done, remember to call me 'Dad'!

"Otherwise, wouldn't we father and son seem awfully distant?

"Sit down."

Calgar scratched his weathered hair awkwardly, smiling as he did so. "Dad, I'm just used to calling you 'Father' when reporting work. I couldn't change it right away."

As he spoke, he pulled over a chair and sat down as instructed, his movements natural.

By now, when facing this genetic father of his, he had long since lost his initial apprehension. All that remained was heartfelt closeness and respect.

Compared to those Primarchs in history who were temperamental and even cruel to their own sons—such as the Iron Warriors' decimation—

His own father was practically a treasure bestowed by the Emperor.

Powerful, wise, and, rarer still, someone who truly cherished them as sons.

He expertly picked up the warmed teapot on the table and poured a cup of delicately fragrant flower tea for both Guilliman and himself.

Being able to drink tea with his father every day and chat about trivial matters was an honor he would never have dared imagine in the past.

Guilliman lifted his teacup and took a sip, savoring it carefully before nodding in approval.

"Calgar, this is more like it.

"Your tea-making skills are improving by the day."

He set down the cup, his tone filled with an elder's concern. "Even after completing the Primaris augmentation, your lifespan will be extended by many years, but the human spirit can still grow weary.

"You cannot go without proper pleasures and diversions.

"We fight for the Imperium and humanity all our lives, but we must also think about our 'retirement life' in the future.

"You are getting on in years... well, your seniority is considerable, too. Excessive drinking harms the body. Drink more tea—it is good for calming the mind."

Calgar replied with helpless amusement, "Father, I am your son, a glorious Ultramarine!

"My metabolism and enhanced organs are enough to process any toxin. Even one-hundred-percent industrial alcohol is probably less corrosive than my saliva.

"How could I possibly be unable to drink?"

He felt that his father sometimes really treated him like an ordinary old man in need of a health seminar.

"Your dad isn't that stupid, son."

Guilliman waved a hand irritably. "What I mean is, stay away from that mead of those 'wolf pups'!

"That stuff is so strong you could pour it straight into a Land Raider's fuel tank as an accelerant when it runs out of fuel!

"You are my fine big son. I'm still waiting to enjoy retirement with you someday. Don't survive every proper battle only to drink two mouthfuls of 'wolf piss' and end up with something wrong with you."

"Don't worry, Dad." Calgar's tone was relaxed. "My stomach augmentation was extremely successful.

"To me, Space Wolves mead is at most... a uniquely flavored stimulating beverage."

"All right, all right."

Guilliman shrugged helplessly, though there was a smile on his face.

He sincerely hoped that his children could have some healthy diversions amid their harsh campaigns.

(If it comes to it, I can get them some mahjong tiles and playing cards in the future.)

He pondered it to himself.

(What sense is there in treating living people purely as weapons of war? Relax when it is time to relax, give everything when it is time to be serious—only balance can last.)

After all, Guilliman was not that trashy Emperor.

That trashy Emperor only cared about humanity's revival, placing greater importance on the grand concept.

As for how the rest of humanity actually lived?

The Emperor had always turned a blind eye.

The Emperor loved no one, yet the Emperor always loved humanity.

But Guilliman was different. He placed greater value on every individual.

Humanity's greatness should not be empty words.

If every person could live and work in peace, if every person could enjoy their own life,

Then humanity as a species would already be great.

He himself could not remain immersed in war and political maneuvering around the clock, so how could he harshly demand that his sons become emotionless killing machines?

Watching Calgar slowly savor his tea, Guilliman felt that this was what he wanted to see: the trace of being "human."

What disappointed Calgar, however, was that his father had still assigned him work.

He did not possess his father's superhuman brain or superhuman speed.

He still had to spend most of every day handling that work, and only had this brief time in the morning to be alone with his old man.

Not long after Calgar left, a distinctive ripple came from outside the bedchamber doors, carrying the sensations of machinery in motion and burning incense.

With a thought, Guilliman knew who had arrived.

"Come in, Cawl."

The Adeptus Mechanicus Archmagos's enormous body glided into the room. His multiple compound eyes first swept discreetly and swiftly over Guilliman, as if confirming something.

Guilliman understood and lightly waved a hand, signaling that he could speak plainly.

"Lord Guilliman."

Cawl's voice was lower than usual, carrying the gravity unique to a technical problem.

"Regarding the project to update your gene-seed... we have encountered some... unexpected obstacles."

"Oh?"

Guilliman raised an eyebrow. "Has my genetic material become 'impure' after ten thousand years? Or has it developed some harmful mutation?"

"No, quite the opposite, my lord."

Cawl's mechanical tendrils shifted uneasily. "The problem is that your body... has evolved too perfectly.

"It seems to possess an essential-level genetic protection mechanism that we have never documented.

"Any technical means attempting to analyze, replicate, or isolate your complete genetic sequence from living tissue, including freshly extracted blood,

"Is disrupted and obstructed by a peculiar microscopic particle field. Every attempt has failed."

The moment Cawl said that, Guilliman understood.

Smart Atoms!

One of the Viltrumites' fundamental traits was that their genetic material was tightly protected by Smart Atoms, possessing extreme exclusivity and an ability to prevent "theft."

This trait was indeed necessary in the Warhammer Universe.

For instance, it could guard against the Tyranids stealing genetic material, but he had not expected even the Adeptus Mechanicus's greatest technology to be unable to break through it.

This meant that, in the galaxy today, there was likely no natural or technological means capable of forcibly deciphering and replicating Guilliman's genes.