The Emperor was still as decisive and swift as ever. Freshly freed from the Golden Throne, he immediately began issuing orders without pause, setting everyone inside and outside the Throne Room into motion.
The Captain-General of the Custodes was ordered to purge the remnants of Alfreda and completely eradicate the Dark King's followers on Terra.
For Valdor, this task could not have been more familiar. After all, when the Thunder Warriors had been purged, the Custodes had also served as the primary executioners, with the first Astartes participating as support.
Meanwhile, Malcador and Guilliman, one old and one young, were dispatched by the Emperor to seize the High Lords' authority.
From this moment onward, the High Lords, once exalted above all others and wielding immense power, were about to fall from the clouds.
The legitimacy of their power came from the Emperor. When the Emperor was no longer silent and openly declared his stance, that legitimacy had already reached its end.
The facts had proven that the High Lords' Council was suited to working under someone's leadership, not to holding final decision-making power in its own hands.
The limited vision and selfish desires of mortals would cause this vast political machine known as the Imperium to make mistakes it never should have made, and those mistakes would continue to escalate, bringing even worse consequences.
Dorn remained behind with Perturabo. Though the Emperor had said nothing, the two primarchs still followed at his side with boundless enthusiasm.
Rogal Dorn appeared calmer, his stone-like face revealing neither joy nor anger.
Perturabo was different. The smile at the corner of his mouth was harder to suppress than the muzzle of a twin-linked bolter.
The overly imaginative Olympian had even begun imagining that the Emperor might be about to entrust them with some important