Watch Me Play Dumb

Guilliman sometimes thinks it's outrageous.

But that's not all.

Besides people, you also need equipment.

He pushed the mining efficiency of various mineral planets to its limit.

He brought various material synthesis techniques to their peak.

The production of Power Armour has increased many times over in the past few years.

The current inventory is enough to fight a hundred apocalyptic wars.

One hundred matches.

What is an apocalyptic level?

It's the kind of battle where the entire star system is ravaged, hundreds of fleets are fighting simultaneously, dozens of Chapter groups are involved, and the fighting goes on until the sky darkens and the sun and moon lose their light.

In the past, even a single war of this magnitude would have been enough to cause serious trouble for Imperium.

Now, he can play a hundred games.

Looking at the data report in his hand, Guilliman felt an indescribable surge of pride.

Ten thousand years ago, he led the Ultramarines to conquer the Milky Way. Every battle required careful planning, every soldier was precious, and every charge required weighing the pros and cons.

Ten thousand years later--

He threw a thousand-man Chapter onto a battlefield from ten thousand years ago, and it became an apocalyptic war.

One Chapter, a thousand people.

To break through a star system.

Just thinking about it is thrilling.

"The Tyranids should understand me, right?"

He muttered to himself, a wicked smile playing on his lips:

"It takes them one or two months to hatch a brood of insects, but it only takes me fifteen minutes to launch a Chapter."

Anyone would go crazy in that situation.

He thought of the Hive Fleet that had been slaughtered by the Blood Angels in the Imperium Nihilus, and a subtle sense of sympathy welled up in his heart.

But it was only a trace.

Who gave them the right to eat people?

Speaking of being hacked to pieces, crying and screaming for his parents, Guilliman recalled another incident.

Abaddon.

That leader of the Black Legion, the Chaos Warmaster, the man who launched thirteen Black Crusades, the ruthless figure who once boasted of challenging the Primarch—

I've been having a really tough time lately.

It was terribly tragic.

How bad was it?

So terrible was that he hid inside the Eye of Terror, too afraid to come out.

Guilliman heard the story from Dante.

At that time, Dante was patrolling the Imperium Nihilus with ten thousand Blood Angels.

They had just finished a battle and were looking for a place to rest when they ran into Abaddon's fleet.

Abaddon was so excited.

Ten thousand Blood Angels?

Isn't this a victory delivered right to our doorstep?

With a wave of his hand, the Black Legion's fleet charged forward.

Then--

And that was the end of it.

Dante, leading his ten thousand Blood Angels, charged forward and pierced through Abaddon's flagship.

It's through!

That's the Vengeful Spirit! Horus's flagship! The most powerful warship in the Chaos Fleet!

It was just blasted through like that!

Abaddon was stunned.

But he disagreed.

He's Chaos Warmaster, how could he lose to a mere soldier of a Blood Angels?

So he found a lone Blood Angels and charged at him for a one-on-one duel.

At first, things went quite smoothly.

Abaddon's health bar is ridiculously thick.

The blessing of the Four Chaos Gods granted him near-infinite vitality.

With the addition of the Talon of Horus and the two great artifacts, Drach'nyen, he was able to suppress the Blood Angels for a time.

The Blood Angels was forced to retreat step by step by him, and it looked like he was about to give up.

Abaddon was so smug.

"That's it?" he grinned maliciously. "Is this all the Blood Angels are capable of?"

Then--

The Blood Angels began to glow.

Golden light.

Abaddon's smile froze on his face.

He remembered a long, long time ago, there was a guy named Sigismund.

That was the Emperor's Champion, one of the Imperium's strongest warriors, someone who had once fought him to a standstill.

And the aura emanating from this Blood Angels before them—

Exactly the same as Sigismund.

No, it's stronger.

Abaddon's pupils suddenly contracted:

"Emperor's Champion--?!"

Before he could finish speaking, the Blood Angels had already moved.

That speed was more than ten times faster than before.

That power was more than a hundred times stronger than before.

The killing intent was a thousand times stronger than before.

Abaddon didn't even see what the other person was doing before he felt his body being torn apart by something.

One sword stroke severed half of his shoulder.

A sword pierced his chest.

With one sword stroke, his left leg was severed.

With a single sword stroke, his helmet was cleaved open.

In that instant, Abaddon seemed to see his great-great-great-great-grandfather, Kaine.

The Bloodthirster who was killed by Sanguinius' sword.

It is said that Kaine saw endless phantoms before he died.

Abaddon has seen it now too.

He saw himself being cut into pieces.

He saw his heart being ripped out.

He watched as his iron lungs were torn apart.

I watched as my health bar—that thick bar that could withstand any attack—decreased rapidly.

Eighty percent.

Fifty percent.

Thirty percent.

Ten percent.

percent--

"Warmaster!"

A gasp pulled him back from the brink of death.

The warriors of the Black Legion finally arrived.

They used their own bodies to block the crazed Blood Angels.

Abaddon was towed back to the rescue ship.

He lay on the ground, panting heavily, covered in blood.

Two hearts, one and a half of which were removed.

Three iron lungs, gone in an instant.

The blessings bestowed by the Four Chaos Gods were shattered into pieces.

Almost there.

It was so close.

He really died.

Afterwards, someone asked the Blood Angels:

Why were you so aggressive back then?

The Blood Angels scratched his head:

I don't know either.

Suddenly, a thought popped into my head— Horus, die! And then I charged forward."

He paused, then said in a low voice:

"Actually, my Black Rage has been gone for a long time, I've just been suppressing it."

"But watch me play the sweet card and trick him!"

If Abaddon knew the truth, he'd probably be so angry he'd vomit blood on the spot.

But when Guilliman found out, he laughed so hard he slapped his thigh.

"Good!" he slammed his hand on the table. "What a brilliant scheme to trick him!"

He immediately ordered that the Blood Angels be awarded a medal of honor.

He also wrote a letter to Dante himself:

"Bring more warriors like these 'Perineal Warriors' in the future, and leave a deep impression on that bastard Abaddon."

Dante replied:

"Yes, sir."

From then on, Abaddon never dared to challenge the Blood Angels alone again.

No, he didn't even dare to approach the Blood Angels ' warships.

Every time he saw the red figure, his wound would start to hurt.

The psychological trauma is immense.

Guilliman put down the parchment in his hand and stretched.

Outside the window, the setting sun is slowly sinking.

Golden rays of light bathed the city, casting a warm glow over the white buildings.

In the distance, he could see countless soldiers training.

That's Ultramarines.

They are his offspring.

It is his pride.

Today, Macragge's defenses are second only to Terra.