An Invitation

The Ultramarines spread his ideals and policies far and wide, and in doing so, they also unconsciously forged a collective will that transcends the stars.

These thoughts are pure and fervent, and because he refuses to be deified, he has less of the frenzy of blind obedience and more of rational gratitude and expectation, which in turn makes them clearer and more stable "beacons".

Guilliman captured a particularly strong and pure sense of gratitude within it.

The thought came from an Agri World, filled with the joy of a bountiful harvest, contentment with a peaceful life, and the deepest blessings for the "Primarch" who brought it all.

He used this "thread of faith" as an anchor, focused his will, and imitated Yvraine's techniques.

But instead of using a "key," he used his own immense Psionic Energy to "weave" a stable passage in the Chaos of the Warp, following the direction indicated by that "thread."

"Hiss--"

A rift, its edges flowing with a golden-blue aura identical to Guilliman's Psionic Energy, suddenly unfolded before him.

On the other side of the rift, instead of the chaotic scene of the Warp, lies a breathtaking panorama of the real world:

An endless, azure "forest".

That was a sea of crops formed by giant Blue Corn, some reaching ten meters in height.

The plump fruits hang like golden pagodas, and the broad leaves rustle in the breeze, forming a vibrant blue wave.

The sun shines brightly, the air is fresh, and in the distance, automated agricultural machinery can be seen working orderly in the fields, while further away, the outline of a neat residential area can be seen.

A genuine smile spread across Guilliman's face.

He could even see the shade of a giant corn plant not far from where the crack opened.

An elderly farmer with dark skin, a wrinkled face, but bright eyes, is holding a healthy and lively grandson and pointing to a huge ear of corn.

His lips moved as if telling a story about harvest and gratitude.

Just now, the old man felt a surge of simple gratitude and blessings for the Lord Regent, whom he had never met but who had changed their Destiny.

And this, precisely, became Guilliman's most accurate coordinate.

"It's a success."

Guilliman said to Yvraine, his tone tinged with a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction.

He not only successfully performed Warp teleportation.

I also personally experienced the profound connection between myself and the people of Ultramar, a connection built on hope and gratitude that transcends physical distance.

This connection, perhaps, is itself a power—a power more precious than many weapons in the ocean of consciousness of the Warp.

This is the anchor of humanity, which can greatly prevent the Chaos Gods in the Warp from corrupting him.

Guilliman bowed gracefully, his movements so fluid as if he had rehearsed them a thousand times.

He extended his hand to Yvraine, his posture resembling that of the elegant gentlemen of the court in ancient Old Terra legends.

"May I have the honor of inviting you to visit this... the most unique 'landscape' under Macragge's rule, irrigated by the sweat of my people?"

His voice was gentle, tinged with amusement, as he gazed at the boundless expanse of azure and gold beyond the crevice.

It may not have magnificent mountains or dreamlike starry skies.

But it shelters from the scorching sun, casting its cool shade, and gleams like gold in the sunlight, providing my people with the strongest protection and hope."

As he spoke, the Primarch's imposing body, over three meters tall and resembling a mobile fortress, began to undergo subtle changes.

It is not an illusion, but rather the subtle manipulation of material forms by Psionic Energy.

Just as his brother Magnus, who was skilled in Psionic Energy, once transformed himself into a mountain-like giant, Guilliman is now doing the opposite.

His bones and muscles underwent extremely subtle "folding" and "compression" at the dimensional level, and his body gradually contracted, eventually stabilizing at around 2.5 meters tall.

Although it still stands out from the crowd, it no longer appears to mortals as if a mythical creature has descended directly to earth.

At the same time, his simple training clothes were also reshaped by the flow of Psionic Energy.

It transforms into a well-tailored, deep blue trench coat made of seemingly ordinary yet subtly shimmering fabric, with a simple white lining.

This makes him look more like a distinguished scholar or nobleman from a prosperous world, rather than a war god who conquers battlefields.

A hint of appreciation flashed in Yvraine's eyes, and she chuckled softly:

"At least, this makes us look much more coordinated."

Standing at approximately 2.3 meters tall, she certainly looked more proportionate next to the "shrunken" Guilliman.

"Then, I would be more than happy to accept your invitation."

The Eldar Archon smiled slightly and also began to use his exquisite Psionic Energy.

A faint purple glow emanated from her body, and her battle-fitting purplish-black armor faded and reformed like flowing water.

It transforms into a simple yet extremely elegant evening gown.

The color was the violet of her eyes, and the hem of her skirt swayed gently in the invisible breeze.

She even conjured up a pair of exquisite high heels out of thin air, making her figure appear even more upright.

She took a few steps forward, and naturally reached out to take Guilliman's outstretched arm.

Their movements were so practiced that it was as if they were about to step into a grand ball, rather than passing through a Warp Rift leading to farmland.

The two smiled at each other, like the most tacit partners, and stepped side by side, passing through the crack where the golden and blue light flowed.

The sunlight and breeze of reality instantly replaced the Chaos and Whisper of the Warp, and they silently set foot on that vibrant Agri World.

Guilliman's Psionic Energy powers enveloped them, making them invisible to mortals.

Like a gentle breeze, their arrival ensured that mortals were not affected by the people who passed by.

Not far from where they appeared, an old farmer, his skin etched with the marks of time and sunlight, was holding his sleeping grandson, telling his story in the most simple and honest local dialect.

His words lacked the rhythm of poetry and the passion of a speech; they contained only the simple contrast between a lifetime of hardship and a sudden surge of happiness.

"... Child, you must remember this: the place where your grandfather lived most of his life was like a living hell compared to now."

Back then, I was always working from the moment I opened my eyes, and completely exhausted when I closed them. My belly never really swelled up.

Hungry?

That's no big deal, because everyone's like that, they think living is all about being close to home...

The old man's rough hands gently stroked his grandson's delicate cheeks, his gaze fixed on the swaying Blue Corn cornfield in the distance, filled with unbelievable gratitude.

"... Grandpa didn't know back then that a person could actually get a full eight hours of solid sleep in a day."

We worked until we passed out, then the foreman would prick us awake with a needle, give us some stuff, and we'd keep working... It wasn't sleeping, it was like we were dead for a while."