Chapter 35: Are You Heretics? 1/4
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Chapter 35: Are You Heretics?? 14
In response to the bishops’ request, Guilliman refused them without a second thought.
It was not yet time.
Once they had met, how would he establish his authority over these bishops?
“Our meeting should take place only on the planet of Espandor, before the holiest church, where the Emperor’s faith burns brightest. This meeting will be conducted under my father’s witness, not aboard my flagship.”
Guilliman’s voice reverberated across countless channels throughout the Espandor System, prompting innumerable believers to erupt in cheers.
His words represented their acceptance.
The fact that the Emperor’s son regarded their faith as sacred filled them with indescribable excitement. Their blood surged, and it was as though a blazing fire had ignited within their hearts.
The Lord of Ultramar was surely also a devoted follower of his father.
He was the Emperor’s true spokesman, the most legitimate representative of the Ecclesiarchy, and the embodiment of the Emperor’s will.
Upon hearing Guilliman’s words, several bishops apologized for their rashness. They even personally scourged their own bodies with thorned iron rods, punishing themselves for their arrogance and selfishness.
The Stormbirds carrying them joined Guilliman’s fleet, which advanced in grand procession toward Espandor’s starport.
A magnificent ceremony was already being prepared.
Four hours later.
On the surface of Espandor stood its largest city, the City of Faith.
Five enormous golden horns emitted a sharp and rasping note.
Their deafening calls echoed through the colossal city, thick with incense and prayer, resounding into every corner to ensure that each believer could hear them clearly.
The horns announced the arrival of the Emperor’s son, the Lord of Ultramar.
These golden horns had been forged from the donations of the faithful and engraved with countless passages of scripture.
Each weighed several tons. They had been mounted atop sturdy towers and along the massive walls of the city’s fortresses, and were used only during the most important celebrations.
As the horns’ coarse roar gradually faded, music played by an Ecclesiarchal band composed of countless worshippers rose to take its place.
Trumpets, horns, and great drums merged together, performing an Imperial hymn composed to the rhythm devised by a musical genius beyond compare.
Amid the majestic music, a vast swarm of flying craft emerged from the city’s magnificent temples.
Buzzing servo-skulls, cherubim resembling human infants, gene-forged creations cloned by the Adeptus Mechanicus, and elderly priests seated upon anti-gravitic preaching platforms all flew over the crowds.
They appeared amid clouds of incense. The scented smoke was stirred by the gilded banners they carried, forming one vortex after another.
More than a dozen different hymns were sung simultaneously to a variety of exquisite melodies, mingling with the priests’ shouts exhorting the faithful to revere the Emperor.
Thousands of senior priests emerged from their respective temples. Some floated, some walked, some crawled, and some rode mounts. Every face was filled with fanaticism and excitement.
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Their servants followed close behind, joining their voices to sing the Emperor’s hymns, each trying to drown out the others and prove themselves the most devout of all.
Among the crowd, automated preaching engines advanced, the mechanical limbs supporting them clanging incessantly.
Inside these machines were the brains of the most faithful believers. After undergoing special treatment and being encoded with programs, they continued their service to the Emperor.
Through primitive loudspeakers, they issued roars filled with religious rhetoric, urging the people to devote themselves piously to the Emperor.
Hunched, shuffling penitents were scattered throughout the crowd, each holding a censer that released thin coils of bluish smoke while chanting sacred hymns to the Emperor.
Upon several luxurious parade vehicles, bishops stood upon raised platforms, golden scepters in hand, delivering speeches of feverish intensity.
The ponderous vehicles were pulled by a group of naked slaves. Their heavy iron chains seemed almost ready to crush their sin-laden bodies.
Arbites wielding whips lashed those sinners who failed to pull with sufficient effort, forcing them to haul the vehicles onward.
The welcoming ceremony was unprecedented in its grandeur.
Every believer expressed their joy at the Primarch’s arrival in their own way.
As Espandor’s orbital defense shields disengaged, numerous warships equipped with weapons powerful enough to destroy worlds appeared within the planet’s dim atmosphere.
The enormous Macragge’s Honour was especially eye-catching.
A formation of Stormbirds flew out from the vast warship. They were all painted a uniform azure, their wing edges adorned with touches of dark green, like the colors of an ancient forest.
Behind the Stormbirds came a landing fleet composed of Thunderhawks, troop carriers, and heavy gunships.
They maintained perfect formation and order as they crossed the atmosphere and entered the aerial harbor of the City of Faith.
The troop carriers settled onto the broad landing field, the roar of their engines and exhaust even drowning out the cheers of the faithful.
With a soft hiss of pressurized gas, the troop carriers slowly opened their hatches.
Five hundred Space Marines wearing crested helmets stepped out, their cloaks snapping in the wind behind them.
They formed two lines, gripping boltguns tightly as they stood along both sides of the red-carpeted path, sweeping their surroundings for any possible threat.
Amid the expectant gazes of the masses, a living god finally appeared before the people.
He wore armor of azure and bright gold, while a simple, practical white cloak streamed behind him.
At the center of his breastplate was the golden sigil of the Imperium’s double-headed eagle. A green laurel wreath rested upon his flawless brow.
Countless believers erupted into cheers at the appearance of the living god. The sound surged like a mighty sea, grand enough to shake the heavens and deafen the ears.
With a smile on his face, Guilliman waved toward the crowd, provoking an even more frenzied roar.
He stepped onto an anti-gravitic platform waiting nearby and proceeded along the broad avenue lined with red carpet.
Amid the cheers, Guilliman and his entourage arrived before the largest church on Espandor.
A colossal statue of the Emperor, hundreds of kilometers tall and piercing through the atmosphere, towered over the enormous plaza before the church.
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The bishops waited at the church entrance for the Primarch.
When he descended from the hovering platform, they approached him one after another and bowed in respect.
“What a magnificent ceremony,” Guilliman said with a smile as he looked toward the bishops.
He knew that the Ecclesiarchy was wealthy. After all, it was the Imperium’s only officially sanctioned religion and possessed the authority to levy a religious tithe.
Yet even so, the wealth of the Ecclesiarchy astonished Guilliman as he passed through the city.
The decorations on those churches, along with their daily expenses, would have been enough to support an army of considerable size.
And this was merely a single missionary world. Taking the other church worlds into account, the Ecclesiarchy might well have possessed enough wealth to maintain a powerful army capable of sweeping aside the xenos.
“To spread the Emperor’s glory, a little extravagance is necessary,” one of the bishops stepped forward and explained respectfully.
“Very good. If the Emperor awakens and sees how devout you are, he will surely be gratified,” Guilliman said with a smile, uttering words that would have earned him a resounding slap from the Emperor on the spot.
The thing the Emperor had hated most throughout his life was religion. He would gladly have tied every holy man to a stake and set them ablaze.
During the early years of the Great Crusade, wherever the Emperor went, even the nests of ants in temples were doused with boiling water. That alone made his attitude toward religion perfectly clear.
Back then, Lorgar had merely built a City of Faith. Yet even as a Primarch, he had been forced to kneel on one knee and admit his error, while the City of Faith itself was burned to ruins.
The Ecclesiarchy of the present was countless times more fanatical than Lorgar had ever been. If the Emperor of the Great Crusade were to travel through time into this age, the Ecclesiarchy would surely be the first thing he destroyed.
Upon hearing Guilliman’s words, the bishops became tremendously excited, their bodies trembling.
For the Ecclesiarchy, receiving the approval of the Emperor’s son would bring benefits beyond measure.
Before they could finish savoring their excitement, however, Guilliman changed his tone, raising his voice considerably.
“Yet although you are devout, you have not fully understood my father’s intentions. Indeed, you have twisted them. I cannot help but wonder whether you have been deceived by others—or whether you were heretics from the very beginning.”
After speaking, Guilliman placed his hand upon the Emperor’s Sword.
It was the absolute manifestation of the Emperor’s will, and a symbol of Guilliman’s identity as the Emperor’s son.
The bishops’ faces, flushed with excitement moments before, turned deathly white in an instant.
Several of them were so terrified that their legs gave way, and they collapsed limply onto the ground.
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