Guilliman carried the vicious-looking assault boat, crammed full of Chaos trophies, in one hand.
As though carrying a slightly oversized piece of luggage, he passed through Macragge's orbital defense network.
He landed precisely in the massive experimental workshop complex on the edge of Glory Port, designated for Adeptus Mechanicus Archmagos Cawl.
The huge hatch slid open, and he gently set the vessel down on the empty landing pad, as carefully as if placing down a fragile model.
"Welcome back, my lord."
Having received notice long ago, Belisarius Cawl—his complex body composed of an ancient torso, precision machinery, and bionic tissue—
glided swiftly over like a mobile mechanical shrine, surrounded by humming servo-skulls and clusters of multifunctional mechanical arms.
His "face," a fusion of flesh and metal that forever bore an expression of rational inquiry, looked at the assault boat before turning to Guilliman.
"Primarch, you summoned me?"
Cawl's voice blended smooth electronic synthesis with a trace of ancient throatiness.
"Archmagos Cawl."
Guilliman pointed at the assault boat. "The thousand 'raw materials' you wanted.
There are over a hundred that are still relatively intact here. Together with those I 'collected' from several other planets earlier, the total should be about enough.
Take a look. How is their 'quality'?"
"My lord's power has once again surpassed my understanding." Cawl smiled.
One man had flown out from a planet and, within merely three hours, swept through three planets.
Then captured more than a thousand Chaos Space Marines and dragged them back to Macragge with one hand.
It was practically a miracle.
Even Cawl now felt that Guilliman's current strength was likely no less than that of the Emperor ten thousand years ago.
The Emperor's power had been comprehensive: terrifying psychic might, formidable leadership, and a body far beyond human limits.
Guilliman's power, meanwhile,