Macragge.
The ruler of the Five Hundred Worlds, the most powerful man in the Imperium's Eastern Fringe, was currently in a private office within Hera Fortress.
More than a hundred Victory Warriors clad in finely crafted power armor and radiating lethal intensity stood meticulous guard outside the room. They watched every blind spot and patrolled back and forth.
If necessary, they could use power swords and boltguns to utterly eliminate any hostile target in less than a second.
The heavy solid-wood door blocked the transmission of sound. Even with Astartes' extraordinary hearing, they could only vaguely make out the sounds of an argument from within.
The loyal Victory Warriors caught words such as "security" and "rest assured," along with the helpless sighs of their genetic father.
Yet Guilliman's honor guard chose to turn a deaf ear to the argument.
Lady Yottun, theoretically the highest-ranking mortal in all Ultramar and a woman who radiated reason and elegance, was far from composed at the moment. Her words were sharp, and her face was filled with concern and affection for Guilliman.
Contrary to the vast difference in their sizes, Guilliman, nearly four meters tall, was slightly hunched over. His astonishing talent for debate and oratory was utterly useless now, and he could only listen helplessly to Lady Yottun's admonitions.
"My lord, I have no objection to you changing today's schedule and wishing to visit Mustafar in a private capacity, but you must bring Auguston and the Victory Warriors with you. That is non-negotiable."
"Do not try to persuade me with your eloquence again. You know that I taught you a great deal of that rhetoric myself. It will not work on me."
The worries of Guilliman's adoptive mother, and Macragge's chamberlain, were practically written across her face. She had unusually voiced her dissatisfaction with Guilliman, something exceedingly rare over her long life.
Ever since the primarch's adoptive mother had seen Guilliman return from Calth covered in wounds, that direct anger and unease had never subsided. No matter how often Roboute assured her that he was fine, Lady Yottun remained deeply terrified that her son had nearly died.
Whatever their identities, no mother would have reacted more calmly than Lady Yottun upon realizing her son had just escaped death.
"Madam, I am merely going to Mustafar beside Macragge. It is only a half-hour flight, and besides, what on Macragge could possibly threaten a primarch?"
Guilliman attempted to persuade the chamberlain, but her stance did not waver in the slightest. If anything, Guilliman's words only pushed her toward an increasingly extreme position.
"Yes, the invincible primarch. I heard Gage and Hill say that at the very beginning of the war, psychic power blasted you from the bridge into space."
Lady Yottun's tone was cutting as she jabbed at Guilliman. "You were not even wearing a helmet, so you survived in space for twelve hours on a single breath?"
"That was an accident!" Guilliman waved a hand, inwardly blaming his sons for reporting every last detail from the battlefield to the lady.
If they could have kept quiet—well, no Ultramarine could keep quiet before Lady Yottun.
That was not merely because of Lady Yottun's special status, but because she was Macragge's chamberlain.
She oversaw nearly all court affairs. Her capabilities surpassed those of most Ultramarines, and the primarch's adoptive mother had always quietly supported her son through her political skill.
No one dared offend her authority, Guilliman included.
"There is an old Terran saying: success comes through secrecy, failure through loose talk. You are the ruler of Ultramar, the core of the Five Hundred Worlds. This is wartime. Your brothers will stop at nothing to kill you. How can you conduct yourself with such lax negligence?"
Lady Yottun's words were like blades, piercing through the little gestures Guilliman used to conceal himself. He held a glass of Macragge's local wine and took a small sip to ward off the lady's gaze, which hurt more than any sword.
"My officials have reported the anomalies on Mustafar more than once. I can understand your choice not to discuss them, but I must intervene if you intend to go to that planet personally."
Guilliman could no longer maintain his composure. Under Lady Yottun's words, he could not remain calm.
"Auguston! Come here!"
Lady Yottun directly called out to Auguston, who was standing guard outside the door.
"All right, all right, madam. I will bring my guard. You win." Seeing Auguston outside about to push open the door, Guilliman immediately waved a hand in surrender.
An almost imperceptible smile flashed across Lady Yottun's face, though she kept her expression stern.
"I believe I also need to know what is happening on Mustafar. Planetwide thunderstorm conditions—what exactly has happened to that mining and death world? If something beyond control is taking place so close to Macragge, I will not be able to sleep at night."
"What could you possibly need to hide from me? You should know that when you were little, you wet—"
Before Lady Yottun could utter the next word, Guilliman's large hand covered her mouth, stopping his adoptive mother's prattling.
Macragge's battlefield commander, the XIII Legion's mighty warrior second only to Marius Gage and a strong contender for First Captain, had already pushed open the heavy door after hearing Lady Yottun call for him.
Yet when he entered, he found his genetic father and the chamberlain sitting properly in their chairs, both staring at him. It made the invincible battlefield warrior's scalp prickle.
Lady Yottun seemed to wear a teasing smile, while his genetic father showed the faintest hint of embarrassment. Auguston could not make heads or tails of it.
Had something happened?
Forget it. That was not something he should be considering.
Unlike Marius Gage, who excelled in both martial and civil matters, Auguston's strengths were almost entirely invested in combat prowess and battlefield command. As a result, he often came across as rather slow-witted.
"Make the arrangements, Auguston. Assemble my honor guard. We will visit Mustafar at once."
"As you command."
The battlefield commander did not waste a moment and immediately organized the Victory Warriors stationed outside.
"Madam, please leave me some dignity in front of my sons."
Lady Yottun covered the corner of her mouth and lifted the teacup from the table to hide her smile.
After all, not every mortal had the chance to see a great primarch wet the bed.
Remembering how one-year-old Roboute had awkwardly tried to hide the evidence of his crime, Lady Yottun could not help but feel happy, as though she had returned to those wonderful days.
Unfortunately, he had grown too quickly. By the age of three, Guilliman had already surpassed her, and she had not even had the chance to properly enjoy her son's childhood.
Konor had long since passed away, and Guilliman had grown into the king of the Five Hundred Worlds. Lady Yottun would never allow any danger to threaten her son.
Never!
Thanks to reader Sanjie Abei for the reward, and thanks to everyone for your votes and continued reading support.
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