As Mortarion moved, the slightly pale rope trembled.
Guilliman felt his frightened heart tremble along with it.
What exactly had The Emperor given Guilliman? Treasures weighty enough, plentiful enough—except Roboute Guilliman had never seen those treasures with his own eyes before.
Now he had.
Guilliman instinctively followed one of the thicker strands. Within his eyes, gleaming with brilliant golden light, countless fires, bright and dim alike, ignited. He looked upon those souls, and as he immersed himself in the wondrous sight before him, those souls seemed to rise and fall with the breathing of the Lord of the Imperium.
He saw every person's greed and desire, every person's capabilities, the clearly marked values, the subjects with whom contracts could be made, and the tools that could be controlled.
If he wished, he could form contracts with—and control—any human loyal to the Imperium.
At the same time, amid those countless fires, several great flames burned uncertainly, carrying different hues. They were the radiance of Guilliman's brothers, the Primarchs.
Guilliman felt his brain trembling.
He truly, tangibly understood what that treaty, forced upon the Emperor, had brought him. At first, the Lord of the Imperium had merely believed it was extremely convenient to demand that others fulfill their obligations and responsibilities according to a contract. But now he realized that contracts themselves did not need to be fair or just, because he was born with the right to control.
This was the Psychic Power at the core of Roboute Guilliman—he had previously wasted all those gifts amid paperwork, making every official take responsibility, seeing through the hearts of everyone who wrote decrees and discerning what they needed and desired.
But now, Guilliman realized that his essence was colder, crueler, and more domineering. It was not direct offensive power, not a scythe that