Don't Run to the Wrong Place

Guilliman's tone even carried a hint of "thoughtful" advice:

"After returning to the Sea of Souls, remember... head towards the Emperor's territory."

Don't go to the wrong place, you've gone to the Four Chaos Gods.

He tilted his head slightly, thought for a moment, and then revealed a faint smile that utterly shattered the governor's composure:

"Otherwise... I'll have to kill you again."

"Trouble."

Then, Guilliman raised his right hand and made a fist.

There was no charging up, no dazzling light, just the simplest and most direct straight punch, gently swung out towards the Planetary Governor's fat head.

Puff--!

A muffled thud.

There was no earth-shattering explosion, only the crisp, clean sound of a watermelon being smashed by a hammer.

The governor's head was filled with terror, despair, and disbelief.

Along with his sordid thoughts about power, pleasure, and "hereditary privilege."

It vanished instantly, transforming into a uniform mixture of red and white splashed across the magnificent throne and the murals behind it.

The headless, obese corpse swayed before collapsing heavily onto the throne.

Guilliman withdrew his fist and shook off non-existent dirt from his hands.

He turned and walked out of the banquet hall, ignoring the terrified musicians, dancers, and servants who filled the hall.

Outside the palace, Calgar and the Ultramarines stood in solemn silence, waiting.

Guilliman soared into the sky, followed closely by the Ultramarines, rising like a blue cloud of steel to the center of the Anvil -IV's greyish-yellow sky.

Guilliman received a huge blue flag with gold trim from a soldier. It featured the Ultramarines insignia and the Mark of Macragge's Glory.

With a flick of his arm, the flag shot like a javelin towards the top of the highest tower of the Planetary Governor's Mansion!

Duh!

The flag was deeply embedded in the spire of the alloy structure, fluttering in the wind that carried the smell of industrial exhaust, proclaiming the change of dominance over this planet.

Guilliman hovered in the air, his gaze sweeping over the massive, steel behemoth-like cluster of factories and the densely packed Hive City city districts below.

He called out in a deep voice:

"Grace, Raphael, Torgal... step forward!"

Ten of the most powerful and resolute Ultramarines, their company commanders, stepped forward, flew to Guilliman, and knelt in salute while hovering in mid-air.

"My children,"

Guilliman's voice was clear and authoritative:

"From this day forward, the ten of you will form a provisional governing council to represent me and govern this planet until a new and proper system of governance is established."

Ten soldiers roared in unison, "We are willing to share our father's burdens!"

Guilliman nodded and emphasized, "Governance is not the same as fighting."

You must make good use of the 'four-character strategy' I taught you."

Without hesitation, the ten Space Marines charged at Guilliman with all their might.

They also roared furiously towards the city below, where a faint unease was beginning to stir. The sounds converged, like a declaration:

We will always remember the principles you taught us, Father!

Base! Mud! Lift! Beauty!

"Well said!"

Guilliman smiled with satisfaction and nodded firmly.

Then, he raised his head and puffed out his chest, using the Primarch's powerful voice.

With an epic, chanting tone, the four-character policy was transformed into powerful, rhythmic verses, which were then recited aloud.

His voice, as if empowered by some force, resonated clearly throughout every workshop of the factory and every street of the Hive City.

"Rooted in the grassroots, we build a solid foundation; with our feet on the ground, we understand the real situation!"

"Striving to improve people's livelihoods and remove bottlenecks, we will continue to build a beautiful and effective governance!"

Four lines of poetry, twenty-eight characters in total, each word carrying immense weight, conveying a powerful will and clear guidance.

Like a resounding bell, it echoed above the Anvil -IV, drowning out the factory's roar and piercing through the clamor of the Hive City.

Countless workers looked up in astonishment from beside the roaring assembly line;

Countless skilled workers emerged from the deep maintenance well;

Countless poor people emerged from the crowded, filthy alleyways...

They looked up at the sky blankly, and then they saw—

The figure hovering beneath the gray-yellow sky, clad in azure divine armor and wielding a holy sword ablaze with golden flames, resembled a giant straight out of mythology.

Guilliman looked down at the countless faces below, stained with oil and dust, etched with weariness and astonishment, all looking up at him.

He raised the Emperor's Sword high, letting the golden flames on its blade become the most dazzling light source in this gray world.

His voice, like the most solemn vow, resounded once again throughout the heavens and earth:

"Citizens of the Imperium!"

"Workers of Anvil -IV!"

"I heard someone say that you are not citizens, but slaves!"

I, Robert Guilliman, the thirteenth son of the Emperor, absolutely disagree!

His gaze seemed to warm people's hearts.

"In my opinion, it is you who turn the gears with your hands, it is you who forge steel with your sweat, and it is you who support the assembly line with your backs."

It is you, together with all the loyal warriors, officials, and scholars of the Imperium, who together form the true cornerstone of the Imperium!

You are contributing to the Imperium!

His voice suddenly turned sharp, like a sword drawn from its sheath:

"And those who treat you as slaves, as parasites to be deceived, exploited, and bullied at will... I feel sorry for them!"

"Therefore, I have sent them to meet the Emperor in person and explain their 'achievements' to Him personally!"

Finally, Guilliman pointed the blade of the Emperor's Sword firmly at the earth beneath his feet, and at those who looked up at him.

His voice was like a clarion call announcing a new era, filled with undeniable power and hope.

"This is my oath, Robert Guilliman, King of Macragge, Lord of the Ultramarines!"

From this day forward, no one will be able to trample on your dignity again!

No one can stand above you and act like a tyrant anymore!

He paused for a moment, gathering all his faith and strength, and uttered his final cry towards the Milky Way, towards humanity:

"Long live humanity!!!"

"Long live the Imperium!!!"

The sound waves swept across the planet.

After a brief silence, there were first sporadic cries, then bursts of sounds, and finally, a tsunami-like roar of shouts and sobs filled with both wailing and ecstatic joy.

Emerging from factories, from Hive City, from every corner of the planet, it intertwined with the golden and blue radiance in the sky.

Hope, like the burning sword in the Primarch's hand, was real for the first time.

The light shone into this industrial planet that had been enslaved for far too long.

[You have reclaimed the Anvil, and the people have the heartfelt faith in you. The greatness of your regency needs no further explanation.]

[Governance Points +1000]

After hearing the system notification sound again, Kiriman nodded in satisfaction.

Guilliman returned to the magnificent, palace-like bridge of the Gloriana-class Battleship, the Macragge's Honour.

He had just left ten of his protégés, whom he had personally taught and transformed, to serve as Archon on the liberated Industrial World "Anvil -IV".

Ten.

This number doesn't sound like much.

But Guilliman knew very well that these ten were new-era Ultramarines who had been reshaped by the Divine Gene-seed, inherited the Primarch's new powers, and were instilled with governing wisdom and absolute loyalty by him.

Their combined effectiveness lies in suppressing rebellions, eliminating threats, enforcing orders, and maintaining order.

Ten thousand Space Marines, completely equivalent to the old version and not upgraded from the Primaris!

This is not an exaggeration.

A newborn "Sons of Guilliman," possessing exceptional individual combat skills, battlefield survivability, tactical reaction speed, and sustained combat endurance.

Compared to past Ultramarines, the improvement is exponential.

They can fly, their skin is strong enough to withstand direct Bolter, they have the strength to be measured in hundreds of tons, and they possess super regenerative abilities.

Deploying them on the battlefield or using them to guard key nodes has a strategic value far exceeding simply piling up their numbers.

Ten thousand veteran soldiers need to be dispersed and coordinate their operations to control the area and deal with the threats.

Now, these ten soldiers, with their exceptional individual qualities and the new command and coordination network, can perfectly cover, and even more easily handle, the situation.

With these ten "humanoid strategic weapons" in command, along with their local defense forces which will inevitably be reorganized and purified, any threat from within or outside the planet will be crushed instantly.

As for politics, Guilliman is even less worried.

Every Ultramarines is an excellent political worker.

Loyalty, strength, and clear principles—these three qualities combined make these warriors the most stable and reliable planetary administrators.

Efficiency is the standard of the new era.