Chapter 38: Operation White Glove 4/4

Amidst the roar of the crowd, another fanatic, branded a heretic of Chaos, was dragged onto the scaffold. Like the woman before him, he was bound to a metal pillar. The acrid scent of charred flesh hanging in the air filled him with terror; he had witnessed the woman’s demise, and now, it was his turn.

"I am no servant of Chaos! I have been wronged! My devotion to the Emperor exceeds all others—you cannot do this to me!"

"Then why did you slaughter those people? Why did you slit their throats and smear their blood upon your face?" the priest demanded sternly.

"I did it to save the souls of the faithless, so they might ascend to the Emperor’s realm!" the fanatic shrieked.

"Absurd! You merely used the Emperor's name to butcher those He loved. You wretched traitor of Chaos, in the name of the Divine Emperor, I sentence you for your crimes. Heretic, you shall face execution!" The priest struck the judgment table with his skull-hammer, shouting the verdict.

The priest’s judgment whipped the crowd into an even greater frenzy, their voices chanting for his death. Such fanatical trials were not isolated incidents; they were happening all over Espandor. Fires, hangings, beheadings—the people were executing those denounced as minions of Chaos, forcing them to pay the price for their horrific deeds.

Some questioned whether the Primarch’s methods were right. After all, those being executed were fanatics, and their piety had been plain to see. This sparked confusion in some, leading them to doubt the Primarch himself.

Guilliman shattered these doubts with a single pronouncement, consigning those who questioned him to the pyre as well.

"The Ecclesiarchy has been corrupted. Those heretics lurk among us, fooling you in your ignorance, just as the one once hailed as a saint, the heretic Bariuss who doomed thirty loyalist chapters, did before. They masquerade as messengers of the Emperor, deceiving and misleading us. They appear pious, but in truth, they lead us down the path of damnation."

No one could deny the crimes of Bariuss, that vile heretic who had caused the deaths of over twenty thousand Space Marines. Guilliman’s words hardened the wavering believers in the conviction that heretics were hiding within the state church.

The storm of scrutiny became even more severe and terrifying. Radical priests and believers faced harsh investigations; their books were burned, and some were publicly executed under the banner of heresy. To end the madness and extremism of the Ecclesiarchy, Guilliman had unleashed another form of madness—devotees, desperate for redemption and penance, sent hundreds of thousands to the pyre in a single day.

Seeing the situation spiraling out of control, Guilliman was forced to issue new orders. He commanded the people to target only those heretics who refused to repent, forbidding excessive violence. He reminded them to always keep the Emperor’s mercy in mind. The radicals were hateful, yes, but some had merely been misled. They were to be redeemed, not annihilated. It was fortunate his orders arrived in time, or the entire planet would have smelled of roasted meat.

While the faithful scrutinized the so-called "heretics," Guilliman was not idle. He had the bishops bring forth the current codices of the Ecclesiarchy to be revised. In the Emperor’s name, he defined the arguments and dogmas of the radicals as heretical and declared a vast number of books forbidden, prohibiting the faithful from reading them. Public libraries were permitted to keep only the texts of the moderate and redemptionist schools of thought.

Guilliman also issued new mandates to the bishops, tasking them with traveling to every planet to spread the revised teachings, purging the fanatics who had lost their reason and committed atrocities in the Emperor's name. Any who refused to submit to the revised codex would be declared a minion of Chaos. These wretched traitors would be hunted down by the new Ecclesiarchy and Guilliman himself.

Guilliman spent three weeks on Espandor, solidifying his status as the Emperor’s sole mouthpiece and confirming the creed and core doctrines of the new faith. A vast number of fanatics were purged, and the extremist ideology of the Ecclesiarchy on Espandor was forcibly corrected. With the matters on Espandor settled, Guilliman returned to the *Macragge’s Honour*. He could not remain on one planet for long; other places required his salvation.

To consolidate his gains, he required the bishops to report their progress periodically, noting which worlds were uncooperative and required him to mobilize the military to purge the heretics.

Standing on the deck of the *Macragge’s Honour*, Guilliman looked out at the shrinking orb of Espandor and sighed. "How fickle the ways of the world. Once, I was the one who burned the City of Faith; now, I am the one who claims to be the sole mouthpiece of the Divine Emperor."

It was fortunate that Lorgar, Primarch of the Word Bearers, could not emerge from the Warp, or he would surely have coughed up blood at these words. The Seventeenth Legion had been the Empire’s first missionaries, and Lorgar had penned the *Lectitio Divinitatus* to proclaim the Emperor’s divinity. In the early and middle stages of the Great Crusade, the Word Bearers were arguably the most loyal of all legions. Every world they conquered was subjected to proselytization to ensure its piety toward the Emperor.

The irony was that when the Word Bearers turned traitor, the worlds they had once conquered became the Emperor’s most loyal defenders. The traitors often had to pay a heavy price to conquer those very worlds. During the Great Crusade, to promote the Emperor’s divinity, the Word Bearers had constructed a perfect City of Faith. It was filled with statues of the Emperor, hymns praising Him, and various scriptures. This act deeply annoyed the Emperor, a staunch supporter of atheism. To teach Lorgar a lesson, the Emperor dispatched the Thirteenth Legion—the Ultramarines led by Guilliman—to erase the City of Faith with orbital bombardment. Furthermore, He used His immense psychic power to force Lorgar and his hundred thousand warriors to kneel before Him, Guilliman, and the Imperial Regent Malcador.

After that, the Word Bearers and Ultramarines grew hostile, leading to the retribution at Calth, where the Word Bearers slaughtered two hundred thousand Astartes of the Thirteenth Legion, to say nothing of the countless ordinary soldiers and civilians.

Who could have imagined that ten thousand years later, the Emperor would sit upon the Golden Throne, the traitor Primarchs would hide in the Warp, and the loyalists would be dead or missing? As the only active Primarch in the Empire, Guilliman had become the most legitimate mouthpiece of the Emperor, transforming into the very embodiment of the Emperor’s divinity. It was truly a twist of fate.

"My Lord, will this not cause problems? Differences in religion are extremely prone to igniting war," Sicarius asked his master, looking somewhat uneasy.

"There will likely be some turmoil, but the issues should remain manageable. If the cancer of the Ecclesiarchy is to be treated, there must be pain," Guilliman murmured, keeping his voice low to ensure it would not spread. Such words could only be shared with his absolute confidants like Sicarius. If they leaked, it would surely cause a massive disaster. To be the Emperor’s mouthpiece while calling the Ecclesiarchy a cancer would cause countless believers to collapse, triggering widespread chaos across the Empire.

"If you dislike the Ecclesiarchy, my Lord, why not set about dismantling it?" Felix asked, puzzled.

"The foundations of the Ecclesiarchy are embedded in every field of the Empire. To forcibly excise it would cause the already precarious Empire to shatter instantly," Guilliman explained. "We must move slowly. By the way, send word to Captain Breher to adjust our course. We are heading to the Thalassa Prime."

"My Lord, why there? We have received no distress signals from Thalassa Prime; that world should still be functioning normally. The power of the Inquisition is formidable enough that demons dare not enter their fortress worlds lightly."

"I am not going to support them; I need to make contact with the Inquisitors," Guilliman said. "I have a plan that requires their assistance. Of course, I may not find suitable candidates, but I must understand the current state of the Inquisition and screen for those who might serve my interests."

Guilliman had not forgotten his need for a "white glove." He needed a few radical Inquisitors to help him develop a network of demonic spies. His requirements were not high—he only needed a general understanding of the Dark Gods’ movements. To be constantly blind, waiting for the enemy to make a move, was far too passive.

*Lorgar: You are magnificent, you are high-minded. You burned my City of Faith, called my work trash, and let Father force me to my knees to admit my error. Now you shamelessly call yourself the mouthpiece of the Emperor and use my own words to hoodwink those bishops? As a Primarch, have you no shame?*