10 Times Faster?

"I have an idea about Webway. Originally, I took Webway just to speed up the passage.

Then why not make the traffic faster? It doesn't take much, how about making it ten times faster?"

Guilliman was completely stunned.

Ten times.

Originally, the Webway is many times safer than the normal Warp, and its speed is far superior.

If it's ten times faster, what's the concept?

That means that he can start from Macragge in the morning, take Webway to Terra to work, handle government affairs, and then take Webway back to Macragge to sleep in the evening.

There is no need to navigate Astropaths, no need to risk being torn apart by demons, no need to float around in Warp for months or even years.

All it takes is a cup of tea.

"Ten times?" His voice was a little dry.

Silent King's mouth corners rose slightly.

If Necrons had a corner of his mouth.

"Ten times is actually just a preliminary calculation. With our scientific research level, and you have Webway Key, just let me do a little more research - fifty times. I will set this number first. First, speed up fifty times. When the understanding becomes more thorough in the future, a hundred times will not be a problem."

There was silence on the bridge.

Guilliman opened his mouth and closed it again.

His brain was running wildly, calculating and deducing.

Fifty times.

One hundred times.

What does this mean?

This means that Imperium can project its troops to any corner of Milky Way within one day.

This means that supply lines are no longer a problem, reinforcements are no longer a luxury, and expeditions are no longer a gamble.

"Deal." He said.

Silent King did not respond immediately.

He stood there, his pair of green eyes shining with a light that Guilliman had never seen before.

It was not the cold light of calculation, nor the sharp light of strategy, but something softer and warmer.

"Necrons will transform into a physical body next."

His voice suddenly lowered, not deliberately lowered, but a kind of relaxation after some heavy burdens were lifted:

"Then the transmission method we are using now is not good for your health. Therefore, we also plan to use Webway.

When the time comes, I will ask the Aeldari Gods king for some control rights."

Guilliman looked at him and suddenly understood.

This Silent King has already begun planning for the future life of his race.

From the moment he showed off his ability to pinch the flesh with his bare hands, from the moment he said "Law of Eternity can help Necrons recover his soul", Silent King was already thinking about it.

Once the body is established, the next step is the soul.

With the recovery properties of Law of Eternity and the fuel of Psionic Energy, Necrons can obtain a complete soul.

All this has been calculated countless times in the logic matrix of Silent King, and the result every time is "feasible".

He cried.

It's not a metaphor, it's real tears.

The tears were dark green, seeping out from his eyes, sliding down his cold metal cheeks, and condensing into a small, luminous crystal in the void.

"Thank you." His voice was hoarse.

Guilliman didn't say "you're welcome".

He just stretched out his hand and patted Silent King on the shoulder.

The movement was very light and natural, as if he was comforting an old friend.

"We will all be a family from now on," he said.

At this point, Necrons has completely joined the human camp.

When the news spread, the whole Milky Way was shocked.

It's not a physical vibration, but the kind of "it's over, this game can't be played anymore" vibration.

Four Chaos Gods fell silent, Tyranids's tentacles shrank, and those neutral races that were still waiting and watching began to reassess their positions.

Guilliman stood on the bridge of Macragge's Honour, looking out the window at the slowly rotating sea of stars.

There was a smile on the corner of his mouth, which contained fatigue, satisfaction, and a hint of relief that "I can finally take a breath."

"If there are conditions now," Silent King's voice came from behind him, "I would like to match two female Phaeron to be your wife."

Guilliman's smile solidified.

"No, thank you." His voice was dry, "I have a mother."

Silent King was silent for a moment, and then made a sound that should be "laughter".

The sound didn't sound like laughter, more like metal rubbing, but Guilliman could hear the sincerity in it.

At this happy moment, two Primarchs were not happy at all.

As I said just now, the two regiments that are best at dust removal are responsible for the repair of Webway.

Roge·Dorn stood at the corner of the bridge, arms crossed, looking out the window expressionlessly.

His Power Armour is yellow, and the emblem of Imperial Fists is shining brightly on the left shoulder plate.

His face was expressionless, his eyes were emotionless, and his lips were pursed into a straight line.

Perturabo stood opposite him, with his arms folded across his chest and his expression expressionless.

But his bald head glowed under the light, and the veins on his forehead popped out one by one, as if he was engaged in some kind of fierce inner struggle.

"This face really disgusts me." Perturabo spoke, his voice was not loud, but every word seemed to be sharpened on the edge of a knife. "He was captured by a collector in Necrons and imprisoned for ten thousand years. What a failure! Roge·Dorn."

Dorn glanced at him.

There was no emotion in that look, just a pair of amber eyes looking at Perturabo calmly.

"That's better than you." His voice was also soft, but every word was like a nail. "After staying in Warp for ten thousand years, the number of legions is still not as high as it was at its peak. You make me doubt your leadership ability, Perturabo."

Perturabo's forehead veins bulged again.

Dorn's mouth had no curvature, the muscles on his face did not have any fluctuations, and his eyes were still as calm as water.

But the words he spoke were like a knife wrapped in velvet - he stabbed it in softly and then turned it sharply.

If Sanguinius were here, they would definitely applaud Dorn's performance.

The archangel's evil ways finally have a descendant.

Perturabo I didn't know whether I should be angry or happy for a moment.

Angry because Dorn is mocking him.

Happy, because this is the feeling he has been dreaming about for ten thousand years - this tit-for-tat confrontation between him and Dorn, the feeling of refusing to give in and wanting to press each other's face into the concrete.

He was in Eye of Terror, in Garden of Nurgle, in those rotten, dark corners where even the air was laughing at him. He missed this feeling and went crazy.

"You..." Perturabo's voice was a little tight.

"Huh?" Dorn tilted his head.

Perturabo took a deep breath, and a fiery light burst out from those gray eyes that Guilliman had never seen before.

"This time." His voice was low, "I will defeat you fiercely. Then I will mock you fiercely."

Dorn's mouth finally moved.

Not a smile.

Just the muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

But for Dorn, that is equivalent to screaming to the sky.

"Try it." He said.

On the bridge, the air became sharp again.

Guilliman looked at the two Primarch who looked at each other and wished they could fight now, and sighed.

"Webway hasn't been repaired yet, so don't fight yet." His voice was helpless, "When the repair is completed, you can fight as much as you like."

Perturabo didn't look at him.

Dorn didn't look at him either.

Their eyes were still locked on each other, like two magnets, with the positive pole facing the negative pole, neither attracted together nor separated.

The first shovelful of dirt in the new era will be made jointly by the two Primarch who are the best at breaking dust.