He Even Threw a Party in Commorragh
He stood there with Mortarion in one hand and Emperor's Sword in the other.
Those blue-gold eyes scanned every warrior passing by him, occasionally nodding, occasionally patting their shoulders, and occasionally saying "Well done."
Soldiers would slow down when passing by him.
Some lowered their heads slightly, some put their clenched right hands on their chests, and some said nothing, just looking at him with those murderous eyes.
There was admiration, awe, and a lingering feeling of "I can cut ten more" in that look.
On the other side of the rift, the starry sky of Material Universe is slowly rotating.
Guilliman was the last one to step into the rift.
He stood on the scorched earth of Nurgle's Garden and looked back at the dark green cloud that was still burning.
Nurgle didn't say anything more, the cloud just hung there silently, like a piece of dried bacon.
Plaguebearer no longer screamed, they huddled in the corner of the ruins, shivering, their green bean eyes reflected golden flames, shining brightly, as if they were crying.
Guilliman withdrew his gaze and stepped into the gap.
The crack closed behind him, and the last ray of golden flame flashed in the crack, like a red-hot iron bar inserted into the water, making a hissing sound, and then completely extinguished.
Material Universe In the void, a huge fleet is waiting for them.
Not a battleship.
It is a transport ship, a medical ship, and a logistics fleet filled with hot food and clean beds that came all the way from Terra.
Those ships were arranged in a neat square array in the void, and the portholes on the ships revealed warm yellow light, like strings of glowing pearls in the cold starry sky.
The moment Guilliman walked out of the rift, the communication channels of all ships lit up at the same time.
It's not an order, it's not a report, it's the same sentence, coming from countless throats at the same time, deafening--
"Welcome home!"
Sound cannot be transmitted in the void, but the lights on those ships flashed at the same time, as if they were blinking, as if they were applauding, as if they were saying "Your kid is finally back."
Guilliman was stunned for a moment.
He didn't expect there would be a welcome ceremony. He thought he was just crawling out of the cesspit with a group of red-eyed soldiers, then boarding the ship silently, silently returning to Terra, and then continuing to deal with the never-ending pile of government affairs.
But the flashing light told him that wasn't the case.
They know what he did.
They know that he burned Garden of Nurgle, they know that he killed a Greater Daemon, they know that he brought back Mortarion, and they know that he made the kind and loving father so angry that he couldn't even hold a spoon.
Mortarion was caught in the arms of Guilliman, with his head lowered, not looking at the flashing lights.
His ears could hear the noisy cheers in those communication channels, and he could hear the unfamiliar voices belonging to the crew of Imperial Navy shouting "Long live Lord Regent", "Long live Imperium" and "Long live Guilliman".
Those sounds felt strange to him, and he had long forgotten the last time he heard such cheers.
Guilliman patted Mortarion on the shoulder.
"Don't bow your head. You haven't bowed your head yet."
Mortarion didn't speak, but his shoulders relaxed slightly.
The boarding process went smoothly.
Adeptus Custodess lined up neatly into the hangar of the transport ship, their golden armors shining under the light, like a guard of honor that had just stepped off the parade ground.
The Ultramariness were carrying Power Sword, patting each other on the shoulders, and reviewing the battle just now as they walked.
One Smurf said to another Smurf, if your sword had been three inches off target, Plaguebearer's head would not have fallen off, but would have been cut in half.
The other smurf retorted and cut off his horn by just three inches. His horn was stronger than his head.
Blood Angels next to me interrupted, could you guys stop talking about this? I want to know what to eat in the cafeteria tonight when I get back.
Black Templars's soldiers walked at the back, silent.
They lined up in a single column, walking in unison and swinging their arms at exactly the same amplitude, like a precise machine.
Their Power Armour was covered with the remains and ashes of Plaguebearer, and the golden lines were particularly eye-catching on the black armor surface.
No one spoke, no one looked back, they just stared straight ahead, at the hangar door that was slowly closing, and at the warm yellow light coming from the crack in the door.
Guilliman stood on the bridge, watching the last batch of soldiers board the transport ship.
At his hand is Mortarion, and next to Mortarion are two Adeptus Custodes--not guards, but guards.
Guilliman's original words are "Take good care of my brother, don't let him bite his tongue."
Adeptus Custodes nodded expressionlessly, Mortarion remained expressionless and silent, and the people around them expressionlessly pretended not to hear.
The transport ship's engine began to warm up, and the low roar spread through the ship's hull to the soles of everyone's feet, with a slight tremor.
Outside the portholes of the bridge, against the background of the starry sky, the lights of the logistics fleet began to go out, one after another, as if someone was extinguishing candles one by one.
Guilliman leaned on the armrest of the command chair and rubbed his brows tiredly.
Several Ultramarines officers beside him were whispering to each other, the excitement on their faces could no longer be suppressed, their voices were getting louder and their speaking speed was getting faster and faster.
One said, "There will definitely be a big parade when we go back. I heard it's ready. I'm just waiting for Lord Regent to return."
Another one's eyes were bright. "I heard from the brothers in the logistics department that Terra has prepared 100,000 barrels of Ultramar craft beer, 100,000 barrels! Enough for us to drink until next year."
The third one pushed their shoulders, pretending to be serious. "What are you drinking? No more patrolling? No more standing guard? I think about drinking every day."
Guilliman listened to them arguing, the corners of his mouth raised slightly.
He remembered that when he was just resurrected, every time he returned to Macragge after a battle, the soldiers would make such noises.
At that time, he thought it was noisy, but now it sounds a bit cordial.
That was proof that they were alive, whole, and still with him.
He didn't want to hear silence, he didn't want to hear condolences, he didn't want to hear those cold reports of "so-and-so died in battle."
He wanted to hear them arguing, making noise, and grabbing drinks.
That's what he wants to protect.
The transport ship began to accelerate.
The background of the starry sky was stretched into slender light filaments, and those light filaments swept back quickly outside the portholes, like a backward flow of Milky Way.
The lights in the bridge were dimmed, the navigator was reporting route data in a low voice, the communications officer was waiting for Terra's reply, and the logistics officer was counting supplies.
Everything is going on step by step, as if this war never happened.
But the mutterings of the officers in the corner of the bridge became louder and louder.