Harvest

Hilling Star, inside the luxurious Big House

Hua Wei stared fixedly at the astronomical figure on the system interface—[Available Emotion Points: 2,143,850]—and felt his very soul tremble along with it.

He sprang upright like a carp, smashing his head hard against the edge of the bed with a dull thud. Clutching his head, he gently rubbed it.

"Guilliman! You're amazing! Even getting cursed at brought in this much! You really are my lucky god of wealth!" He happily hummed a tune around the house.

The satisfaction of cursing Guilliman had an especially powerful aftertaste.

"Serves you right for charging in like an idiot! Feels great!" He flipped the ceiling off, imagining Guilliman being cursed speechless by Carter over the communications channel.

After the surprise came the question of how to distribute these Emotion Points.

More than two million Emotion Points had to be turned into material support for the "Hilling Empire"!

"System! Daddy System!"

Hua Wei instantly put on an utterly fawning expression, rubbing his hands as he leaned toward the system screen. "Look, this order of ours is huge! An unprecedented procurement deal! More than two million Emotion Points! That makes me a VIP among VIPs in any universe, right? Isn't there some... wholesale price? Group-buying discount? Buy one, get one free? Anniversary gift pack?"

The system interface did not budge. Its cold blue light reflected Hua Wei's ingratiating face.

"Don't be like that!" Hua Wei began wheedling. "Look, Tencent gives out bonus credits when you top up 648! Taobao has discounts during Singles' Day! This is a genuine major deal! Can't you... make an exception? Give me a discount? Round it down? Or... throw in some extra gifts? Like a basic production line or something?"

[...The system has no such function. Material exchanges use fixed rates.]

"Fixed rates? How boring!" Hua Wei's eyes spun as he continued pestering it. "Rules are dead, but systems are alive! Look, getting this many Emotion Points proves my 'business ability,' doesn't it? There'll be plenty of chances to work together in the future! Think of it as... a gift for long-term cooperation? Or... a clearance sale? Do you have any nearly expired—uh, I mean, well-stocked military biscuits in your warehouse? Compressed energy bars would work too! As long as there's enough to fill our stomachs!"

The system interface showed a rare flicker, as though Hua Wei's shamelessness and noise had overloaded its calculations. The words on the screen flashed and rearranged before finally settling.

[Special proposal under review...]

[Based on the scale of the host's Emotion Point acquisition this time (extremely large-scale) and the total material demand (enormous)...]

[Special authorization: one-time exchange plan.]

[2,000,000 Emotion Points → 500,000 Basic Survival Supplies Packs.]

[Warning: This exchange rate is available only once and cannot be replicated. Final interpretation rights belong to the 10086 System.]

"Five hundred thousand packs!" Hua Wei's eyes lit up. It still hurt to spend that much, but it was far better than the original price!

"Deal! Long live Daddy System!" Afraid the system would change its mind, he mentally slammed the confirmation button like a starving tiger pouncing on prey.

[Exchange successful. Materials have been secured in an independent storage space. The host may control the delivery time and location.]

[Remaining Emotion Points: 143,850.]

Looking at the remaining hundred forty thousand or so, Hua Wei curled his lip. "What a cheapskate... Still, know when to quit while you're ahead. Know when to quit while you're ahead."

He happily lay back down on the bed, feeling that life was full of hope.

On the way back to the fleet, inside an Imperium transport craft

The atmosphere was oppressive as lead, with the engine's rumble serving as the only background noise.

Several members of the Honor Guard sat ramrod straight. Smoke and grime from the battlefield still clung to their blue ceramite armor. They tried their best to maintain an unwavering military posture, but the tense muscles beneath their helmets and their subtly shifting gazes revealed just how uncomfortable they were.

Because Captain Carter, seated opposite them, was in an... extremely unstable low-pressure state.

He had removed his helmet. Dark clouds covered his battle-worn face, and his gaze was sharp enough to scrape iron filings loose.

He had just finished another "review" of Guilliman's charge, his tone so cold that the temperature inside the transport seemed to have dropped several degrees.

"...Completely incomprehensible!" Carter's voice was not loud, but every word struck the deck like an ice pick. "Did a dog eat your tactical training?! Where was your most basic awareness of the battlefield situation?! A supreme commander treating himself like an assault trooper?! Is his brain full of shit?!"

"Captain... calm down. This isn't our Imperium..." one of the men tried to soothe him, speaking cautiously.

"That is not an excuse!" Carter cut him off sharply, his gaze sweeping over everyone. "No matter which Imperium we are in, a commander's core duty is command! Coordination! Achieving strategic objectives at the smallest possible cost! Not indulging in personal heroism! What he did today directly crippled at least three Ultramarines Tactical squads and nearly wiped out two Astra Militarum armored companies! Those were living soldiers! Not backdrops for him to prove his bravery!"

The more he spoke, the angrier he became. He pulled up Guilliman's previous evaluation file and issued an order.

"Record this. The target possesses major flaws: severely insufficient battlefield self-control; an uncontrollable tendency to advance alone deep into enemy territory; highly susceptible to falling into tactically blind action due to personal emotions. This flaw can easily be exploited by the enemy to lure him away from his command position and into prepared traps, creating fatal gaps at the campaign level. Add risk coefficient to the overall evaluation rating: extremely high."

Bright red text jumped across the screen in time with Carter's words, and the file was soon completed.

The Honor Guard warriors sat even more stiffly, their helmets dipping slightly, as though they were bearing this harsh scrutiny on behalf of their gene-father.

On another transport craft, Inquisitor Greyfax lightly ran her fingertips along the edge of her data slate.

She had just received the complete audio record of Carter berating Guilliman, along with footage from the Honor Guard's perspective of Carter continuing his "output" inside the cabin.

For once, her rigid, stern face showed neither its usual contempt nor anger, but rather an... inscrutable, complicated expression.

"Heh..." She gave a meaningless snort and shut off the data slate. "He certainly has guts."

Though she still believed these Hilling warriors and their Imperium were filled with unknown dangers, the courage... or perhaps recklessness, to openly and mercilessly rebuke the Imperium's regent over his tactical errors in front of an entire army and all the Ultramarines truly made her see them in a new light.

In an Imperium filled with fanatical worship and rigid hierarchies, such a thing was simply unimaginable. That "courage" itself represented an entirely different system of power and cultural logic, and it also made her begin to believe that they truly came from an Imperium.

Inside Guilliman's personal transport craft, there were only him and Calgar.

The Primarch sat silently in a broad seat, his blue-and-gold Armor of Fate seeming somewhat dim beneath the cabin's low lighting.

The communicator in his helmet had not shut off a particular encrypted channel connected to the internal communications of the neighboring transport craft.

Carter's cold, stern voice, carrying an absolutely military-rational criticism, rang clearly in his ears. Every word was like a whip striking his heart.

Those casualty figures, those crippled units, that assessment of a "major flaw"...

Guilliman remained silent.

He did not argue, nor did he justify himself with grand strategic objectives.

He merely listened in silence, his imposing face beneath the helmet filled with an inescapable heaviness and weariness.

His long fingers unconsciously stroked the cold hilt of the Emperor's Sword. Calgar could see his knuckles turning slightly white from the force of his grip.

The transport's engines rumbled continuously as it traveled alone through the Void.

That immense noise had become the only backdrop to the heavy silence inside the cabin.

Guilliman's gaze turned toward the endless black Void beyond the viewport, as though he were staring into the curse buried deep within his soul, one he could never escape—the curse called "warrior instinct."

Carter's assessment was like a cold, clear mirror, reflecting the bloody crack beneath Guilliman's magnificent armor and glorious achievements—a crack that could not be ignored.