A month later, Lox finally returned to the Macragge system.
News of the victory had long since been relayed to the capital of the Five Hundred Worlds through short-range astropathic communication. Though the Ruinstorm still raged, as long as a sufficient price was paid, the systems could still maintain at least the most basic communication.
Of course, that price meant burning Psykers like firewood. Overcoming the interference of Warp storms required vast numbers of Psykers to transmit astropathic messages at the cost of their lives.
Such were the cruel rules of the universe. To maintain communication within the Five Hundred Worlds, sacrifices were unavoidable.
Though the enemy had already been routed, the Macragge system remained on high alert.
Countless minefields had been laid along the system's borders. Starforts and armed space stations stood ready to fire by default; should the command center fail to send its confirmation signal every twenty minutes, those arsenals would automatically enter a state of war.
Groups of destroyers and cruisers roamed the Macragge system, filling the gaps between the stellar defenses.
The fleet led by Macragge's Honour passed through the dense defensive lines. The capital world's spaceport and Orbital Platform were already prepared.
"A grand triumph awaits us." Guilliman still wore his power armor, though it had gained several ornate decorations. He wore no helmet; in its place was a laurel crown of Macragge.
"They'll be thrilled when they see you," Lox said with a smile.
The primarch and his victorious Honor Guard returned to Macragge aboard a gunship. When the cobalt-blue vessel descended from the skies, everyone crowded around Hera Square erupted into cheers.
Everyone had left their homes and taken to the streets, cheering and shouting toward the direction where the primarch had landed.
The city's security forces struggled to maintain order, forming