A new command center was established on the remaining Orbital Platform. The urgently assembled Ultramarines and mortal staff hurried into action around the Primarch's orders.
The route from the docking bay to the Primarch's command room was not far, requiring only about twenty minutes.
Lox followed Ventanus across the Orbital Platform. The low-gravity environment allowed him to cover greater distances with every step.
Astartes armed with phosphor flamers were everywhere. They incinerated every corpse and object left behind by the Word Bearers, after which dedicated Servitors gathered the burnt ashes for centralized disposal.
"This is one method of eliminating Warp contamination. Based on the information we know, if mortals come into contact with objects they left behind, unknown corruption incidents can easily occur."
"The war on Calth showed us far too many things that could not be explained by the Imperial Truth. We must continue learning and revising our views."
As Ventanus spoke, Lox noticed that the unyielding company captain seemed more relaxed than before. Perhaps it was because the large-scale battle had ended, or perhaps because he had been injected with copious amounts of sedatives and healing drugs.
"How is the situation on the ground?"
"Everyone is retreating underground. Solar radiation on the surface is rising sharply. Unprotected mortals would not even survive a minute." Ventanus sighed.
"Living underground is still better than dying in agony."
The two soon arrived at Guilliman's temporary command post. Several Honor Guard still carrying the scent of gunpowder stood watch outside the door, their gazes sharp and their weapons ready at all times.
After their identities were confirmed, Lox entered the command center, which had been converted from the command tower of an orbital dockyard.
Having removed his armor and bared his chest, the lord of the Ultramarines sat in an iron chair while Legion Apothecaries treated the Primarch's wounds—terrifying injuries caused by psychic power.
"You have arrived."
Even seated, Guilliman stood far taller than Lox. He had recovered his usual calm and approachable manner, nodding to him in greeting.
"It seems you have achieved victory. Congratulations."
Lox carefully studied Roboute, who wore a laurel crown of victory. His facial features were as sharply defined as though carved by axe and chisel, while his pair of azure eyes were sincere and candid, allowing one to see what lay within his heart.
The lord of the Ultramarines had traces of scorch marks in his hair, but the laurel crown only lent him an even more heroic air.
"My friend, not you, but us. It was you who brought those veterans from Isstvan V and delivered crucial intelligence, buying us our most precious time to react."
Guilliman shook his head and pointed out the error in Lox's words.
Lox immediately gave a helpless laugh. It seemed this Primarch truly valued an unknown nobody like him.
He recalled the records he had found in Calth's database. The gene-sire of the XIII Legion had been born on Macragge, a world with a senate and two consuls.
Moreover, the Primarch's adoptive father, Konor, had been assassinated by the other consul.
History had replayed itself with astonishing coincidence ten thousand years later, leaving Lox somewhat amazed.
"Has anyone ever told you that you look like a space Roman? Forgive my bluntness, but this really is very similar to the Rome I remember."
Lox stared at Guilliman for so long that even the gene-sire began to wonder whether something had gotten stuck to his head. Then Lox suddenly laughed.
"Your father must have modeled you—and your Legion—after Rome."
"If you mean that ancient nation that existed in Terra's distant past, then I should know something of it." Guilliman did not become angry because Lox had mentioned the Emperor. "Can you tell me about your origins?"
Lox, male, age unknown. He had first been sighted on Isstvan V, where he piloted a starship seemingly from the Dark Age of Technology and saved those veterans.
These were the reports Guilliman had obtained from the Iron Hands and Raven Guard, and those warriors had not concealed them.
Humanity had long since lost too many records of its distant past. Even Guilliman knew little of that glorious age. Only the surviving historical texts of Macragge, along with those extraordinary technologies, offered a glimpse of it.
Now, facing a living person who had likely come from that era and stood before him in the flesh, Guilliman displayed both patience and tolerance.
"I am merely a remnant from the distant past. Back then, humanity had not yet gained the ability to leave its homeworld and could only imagine what the universe and stars truly looked like." Lox sighed, recalling those bygone years.
Humanity of that time knew nothing of the darkness of the universe. They had even been naïve enough to repeatedly send signals into the stars, hoping to find traces of other life.
And when humanity truly found those extraterrestrial lives, brutal war followed. Only through unceasing expansion did humanity gain sufficient living space and territory spanning more than half the galaxy.
"Then what do you intend to do? Having come from the past into the future, you must have your own mission." Guilliman continued questioning him.
He observed the subtle expressions and body language of the person before him. His ears could even distinguish the sound of a heartbeat and discern truth from falsehood within it.
"I am merely the executor of a plan. You need not worry that I have ulterior motives. My only mission is to prevent humanity's extinction. I must ensure that human civilization endures."
He was telling the complete truth. Guilliman affirmed it inwardly.
"You mean that humanity has already reached the brink of destruction?" the Primarch asked in return.
"Yes. I slept within a stasis field for ten thousand years. During that time, humanity's Dark Age of Technology ended, and the era that followed is what you call the age of the Iron Men."
Before speaking with those Space Marines, Lox had assumed that humanity's Dark Age of Technology referred to the Dark Age of Technology. But after comparing and analyzing the evidence, he became certain that the era he had come from was absolutely not the so-called age of the Iron Men.
Human civilization during the Dark Age of Technology was enlightened. It still possessed the pioneering and enterprising spirit it had held since first colonizing the stars, and humanity as a whole remained rational and progressive.
The era in which technology had been abused, technological madmen ran rampant, and humanity's genetic sequences were altered with abandon was the true age of the Iron Men. Though the Gold Men, who could modify even themselves without restraint, had raised human civilization to its peak, they had also lost the most important thing: their humanity.
"According to some information I obtained, at the end of the age of the Iron Men, the most dependable Iron Men rebelled. After that rebellion was ended, humanity entered an Age of Strife where communication between worlds was severed. Yet I still did not awaken."
"The Red Alert's computing power was enough to calculate the general direction of the future. It concluded that humanity was currently experiencing a catastrophe even more dangerous than the rebellion of the Iron Men."
"That truly is bad news." Guilliman did not appear too dejected. Or rather, his grief had already been exhausted by the war.
Three Legions had been utterly destroyed. The Word Bearers had largely accomplished their objective. The XIII Legion had suffered devastating losses, with more than half its fleet destroyed. The Legion the Warmaster feared most had lost more than half its strength. On this day, Guilliman had lost far too much.
"What are your plans from here? Will you continue to Terra, or remain in the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar?"
Guilliman watched Lox and realized this was an excellent opportunity. That starship possessed backups of vast quantities of ancient technology. He could use those technologies to build an even more terrifying army.
"I trust my Cogitator's projections. Humanity has reached a desperate predicament beyond words. I had intended to leave after delivering the information to you. Every second spent on a battlefield carries danger."
"Although the destructive power displayed in this war is not enough to pose a threat, that possibility still exists."
Lox's words sounded extremely harsh. Guilliman realized that this man possessed almost no sense of identification or belonging toward the Imperium of Man.
Or perhaps, Lox was not entirely the same as humanity as it now existed.
The reason he had been willing to lend a hand during the Battle of Calth was likely because both sides were human.
"I will continue carrying out my task of preserving human civilization. Perhaps I will go to Earth and see my homeland once more. Then I will move far from the fires of war—perhaps even leave the galaxy. In any case—I must ensure my ship remains in a safe environment."
Lox could hear the attempt to persuade him to stay in Guilliman's words, but he had to consider the risks of remaining here. The Ultramarines' Five Hundred Worlds lay in the eastern galaxy, not terribly far from humanity's homeworld.
If the Warmaster Horus intended to betray his father, he would inevitably need to conquer Terra and then destroy every force of resistance in the galaxy.
If Lox remained in the Five Hundred Worlds, then once Horus achieved final victory, everything he had built here would be reduced to ashes.
In the vast universe, an individual's strength was far too insignificant. Even if he recreated the technology stored aboard the Red Alert, he lacked the confidence to oppose a galaxy-spanning human empire—especially when this newly born human empire was a puppet of certain malicious entities within the Warp.
Behind them stood malicious Warp gods, and no one knew just how terrifying their power was.
Could the madness and eventual collapse of the age of the Iron Men have been inextricably linked to those Warp wills?
"Do you truly believe that the sacred mission entrusted to you—preserving humanity's spark—means fleeing in this ship that carries miracles of human wisdom? Fleeing the galaxy, fleeing humanity's homeland?"
Guilliman's tone was grave as he voiced an entirely different opinion.
"I cannot agree. What you are doing is actually evading your responsibility."
"Perhaps your ship can navigate without relying on the Astronomican's light, allowing it to sail beyond the dark edge of the galaxy. If you are fortunate enough, you may settle in some undiscovered star system and rebuild human civilization."
Guilliman rose to his feet. He stood nearly four meters tall, and Lox felt as if a wall stood before him.
"But what of the billions of humans suffering throughout the galaxy? Are they to be your sacrifices? If everyone dies, leaving only that tiny spark you protected, what meaning would that have?"
"Ancient Terra had a saying: 'Without the hide, where can the hair attach?'"
"Humanity may have erupted into civil war, but things have not yet worsened beyond recovery. Please have some faith in humanity. You know that you have the power to help."
The pressure the Primarch exuded was immense. Lox felt Guilliman's voice buzzing inside his skull.
"What right do you have to condemn me? I know you hate and fear artificial intelligence, yet most of the technology aboard my ship relies on artificial intelligence to function. Why should I trust you? Why should I believe that, after gaining enough technology, you would not turn around and destroy my ship?"
Hearing Lox's response, Guilliman understood why the other man was so resistant to cooperation.
The Imperium's absolute vigilance toward artificial intelligence made it impossible for Lox to lower his guard.
He knew words alone would make it difficult to erase the divide between them, but he had to try. He needed to earn Lox's trust.
Guilliman waved a hand as he spoke. "My friend, perhaps you can no longer leave now. A rapidly intensifying Warp storm is approaching, and the entire Five Hundred Worlds has lost contact with the outside. I believe that even your ship from the Dark Age of Technology will find it difficult to depart before a storm of this magnitude."
The Word Bearers had not merely crippled the Ultramarines. They had also used this opportunity to perform a massive ritual. A Warp storm was raging, making both long-distance Warp travel and communication impossible.
"Give me some time. I will prove that the Five Hundred Worlds can tolerate your presence, including that of your ship." Guilliman spoke solemnly. "I swear it in the Emperor's name, and in the name of the lord of the Five Hundred Worlds."
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