The torrent of heavy armor rolled slowly past. The thick plating gleamed with a metallic sheen, the massive gun barrels and exhaust carrying the scent of refined promethium assailing every mortal watching at close range.
The Auxilia soldiers in elite battle armor had long grown accustomed to fighting alongside the steel tide. Most of the time, they trained together in infantry-armor coordination, maximizing the strengths of both sides.
They proudly accepted the people's gaze. This was honor they deserved. The primarch remembered them, the people remembered them, and these forces composed of mortals were the toughest foundation of the Five Hundred Worlds.
"Dad, I want to become an Ultramar Auxilia soldier when I grow up too!"
Within the crowd, a child riding on his father's shoulders pointed at the metal behemoths belching black smoke and spoke to his father in a childish voice.
Hearing this, the man immediately lifted his child even higher. Pressed together with the frenzied crowd, he shouted himself hoarse, "Long live Guilliman!"
The tide-like cheers carried into the sky above the Titan Gate. Lox looked at Guilliman, whose expression seemed slightly awkward.
He teased, "It seems your people truly approve of you. Long live Guilliman—what an inspiring cry."
"I am the Emperor's son. Everything is for the Imperium!" Guilliman replied.
Roboute looked down proudly at the surging crowd and the troops undergoing review. This was his Imperium. Though he had never admitted it, he had always taken pride in it.
But Guilliman's response clearly failed to convince Lox. Everything for the Imperium—but which Imperium, exactly?
He could not help stroking the stubble on his chin. If he pushed Guilliman onto the throne as Emperor of the Second Imperium, would things not become even more interesting?
Clearly, everyone wanted Guilliman to take the throne and become the