Continuing to Approve Documents
No, it doesn't have to be the Four Gods; any Chaos Gods will do.
Even Nurgle will do.
He'd be happy to drink Ku'gath's thick soup every day, as long as he didn't have to face those damn parchment papers anymore.
He was willing to fight the Bloodthirster in Khorne's arena, as long as he didn't have to edit documents anymore.
He was willing to be dragged into the Palace of Desire by Slaanesh, as long as—no, that wouldn't do.
Absolutely not.
His fingers started moving again.
The sound of a quill pen gliding across paper echoed in the empty office, like an endless, monotonous, maddening elegy.
Since the Webway became more and more accessible, and since those nobles who had been hiding on remote planets and pretending to be dead became more and more diligent in their internal affairs under the "urging" of various Space Marines, all sorts of government affairs began to pile up on Terra.
Each planet that reconnected with the Imperium sent a box of documents—census reports, resource reserves statistics, tax assessments, summaries of legal cases, and minutes of local council meetings.
Every document required the Lord Regent's personal review, approval, signature, and seal.
It wasn't because he wanted to, but because those nobles only recognized his signature.
Without his signature, those documents are just waste paper.
He had tried to get Malcador to help share the burden.
Malcador glanced at him, then smiled.
"I'll help you? Sure. But are you sure you want to hand over the highest power of the Imperium to me?" Malcador's voice was gentle, but his young eyes gleamed with a "you dare, I dare" light.
Guilliman thought about it and decided it would be safer for him to do it himself.
He also tried to get Sanguinius's help.
Sanguinius glanced at him, then smiled gently.
"I'll help you? Sure. But aren't you afraid I'll over-allocate 30% of the Ultramarines ' budget?"
Guilliman thought about it and decided it would be safer for him to do it himself.
He also tried to get Lion's help.
Lion glanced at him, then said expressionlessly, "Okay. But you have to agree to one condition."
"What are the conditions?"
"Don't make me attend these kinds of meetings again."
Guilliman thought about it and decided it would be safer for him to do it himself.
He also tried to get Perturabo's help.
Perturabo glanced at him, then burst out laughing.
"Do you know when the last time I approved a document was? The Siege of Terra. I approved Dorn's defense map as if it were scrap paper."
Guilliman thought about it and decided it would be safer for him to do it himself.
In the end, he had to do it himself.
one person.
A pen.
A complete set of documents for Terra.
He hadn't slept for ten whole days.
If Ms. Euten knew this, she would absolutely explode.
She would gather all the Ultramarines in the palace square and have them stand in line.
Two hundred and fifty thousand people, lined up in neat square formations, stretched from the palace gates all the way to Triumph Avenue.
She won't scold them.
She would speak calmly, her voice not loud, but every word would be clearly heard by every Ultramarines.
"Your father is reviewing documents. And what are you doing? You're bringing him even more documents. Good heavens, what are you making my son go through? Are you really my son's children? Why don't you give him a moment's rest?"
Her eyes will be very gentle.
That gentle "I'm disappointed" is more devastating than any anger.
Honestly, if the Ultramarines were questioned like that by Ms. Euten right now, I guarantee that within an hour of the questioning, countless Ultramarines would hang themselves.
The accountability of the Gene-Father can still be considered, explained, and corrected.
But if it's about accountability for the genetically modified milk—then this is the only way they can apologize.
This is probably the biggest weakness of today's Ultramarines.
Other Space Marines Chapter couldn't even see their Gene-Father, let alone their Gene Milk.
But the Ultramarines not only have the Gene-Father, but also the Milk of Genetics.
It's alive, it can talk, it can curse, and it can make you so ashamed that you'd commit suicide.
"Did your Gene-Father have a mother? No, right?" An Ultramarines stood in the bar, holding a glass of wine, a "I've already won" smile on his lips.
"Our Gene-Father was the Second Emperor of the Imperium of Man, the Great Regent of Humanity, Lord of Macragge, and King of Ultramar. The only Primarch with a mother. A true Emperor offspring loved and embraced by humanity."
The Iron Warriors opposite him had a livid face, and his glass was being gripped so tightly it made a cracking sound.
"You dare to preach human love before me? Damn heretic, I bet you've been corrupted by Chaos. I'm about to judge you with the Emperor's Wrath!"
The Iron Warriors drew his Chainsword.
The Ultramarines draws his Power Sword.
The bar owner sighed, took a new glass from under the counter, and continued wiping.
The Space Marines from the other Legions sat in a corner, watching this scene, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside them.
It wasn't jealousy, nor anger, but a sense of powerlessness that "they even have more leverage to argue than we do."
They have no Gene-Father, let alone a mother.
Some of the Gene-Father have even betrayed their own beliefs.
Some of the Gene-Father are still locked up in dungeons.
Some of the Gene-Father have just been released from the dungeon and are still adjusting to the sunlight.
The Iron Warriors gritted his teeth, the serrated teeth of his Chainsword whirring and humming.
"So what if you have a mother? What's so special about that?"
The Ultramarines raised his head, his smile shifting from "I've already won" to "I've won completely."
"So what if you're so great? You don't like it? Go talk to your mom then."
The warriors of the Iron Warriors fell silent.
His Chainsword stopped spinning.
He lost again.
Guilliman paused again with his quill pen.
He raised his head, his bloodshot eyes gazing out the window.
Outside the window, the sunset in Terra was slowly setting, and the golden sunlight shone on the palace dome, giving the golden reliefs an even richer golden hue.
In the distance, a group of Eldar were queuing up in the square outside the palace, waiting to enter the side hall to pay homage to Asuryan's holy countenance.
Their faces wore devout smiles, and they held flowers and offerings in their hands.
Guilliman looked at them, a strange thought rising in his mind—perhaps joining Slaanesh wouldn't be so bad.
At least in Slaanesh's temple, there's no need to edit documents.
He shook his head, banishing the thought from his mind.
Then he lowered his head and continued grading.
The sound of a quill pen slicing across paper rang out again in the afterglow of the setting sun.