Deep within the Imperial Palace of Terra, in the command center temporarily assigned to the Regent, the atmosphere was as heavy as frozen lead.
Mountains of data-slates and parchment scrolls nearly buried the Adamantium desk. Every document represented a crisis demanding immediate resolution: resources that could not be allocated, responsibilities endlessly passed around, and deeply entrenched bureaucratic resistance.
Guilliman did not sit in the chair that symbolized authority. Instead, he stood before the vast observation window with his back to the star map, looking down upon Terra's hive cities, shrouded in industrial smog and chaotic clamor.
He had just concluded his first "official" meeting with representatives from the Ministry of the Interior, the Department of Justice, the Ecclesiarchy, and the remnants of the Senate.
It had been an utterly exhausting nightmare.
Though Voss had been cowed by Guilliman's earlier threat and had temporarily restrained himself, stepping down from his ministerial post, he still placed invisible obstacles throughout the sphere of his influence.
The representatives of the Department of Justice clung desperately to obsolete legal codes and regarded any reform touching upon their authority with hostility.
The bishops of the Ecclesiarchy fanatically preached blind faith in the Emperor, believing any change to be blasphemy against divinity.
The senile old men of the Senate cared only about their families' interests and how to divide what remained of the pie of power.
Every proposal—from requisitioning resources to support the frontline sectors, to reforming the bloated and inefficient taxation system, to restoring order in the hive cities and cracking down on the spread of cults—encountered resistance, overt or covert, soft or hard.
Time slipped away amid endless arguments and buck-passing.
"Efficiency... How can such a sluggish machine of governance withstand the catastrophe sweeping across the galaxy?" Guilliman's low voice echoed through the silent command