Chapter 49: Guilliman's Stance

Chapter 49: Guilliman's Stance

The turbulent Warp echoed with the insatiable desires and complex, shifting emotions of all living things.

Starving entities clung to the precipices materialized from the fantasies of mortal life, watching with predatory eyes as the fleet sailed past them.

The flesh and blood and souls of humanity drove them to utter famished, ear-piercing shrieks.

Their voices mingled with the ethereal storms, reverberating through the Warp.

With the appearance of the Great Rift, humanity grew increasingly dependent on the Gellar field.

Without this mystical technology, mankind would surely never be able to cross the Warp in safety.

Those ravenous entities would devour all unprotected human vessels, dragging them into the most terrifying and profound depths of the Warp.

No one knew what horrifying fate ultimately awaited those ships lost in the depths of the Warp.

When those vessels reappeared in realspace, they were often utterly unrecognizable, and their passengers had long since suffered extreme distortion, becoming indescribable monsters.

Deep within the *Macragge's Honour*, Cherubael shrieked with excitement, sensing the aura of the Warp.

As long as he could enter the Warp, he would be free.

He had gained a comprehensive understanding of Vincenthorn's abilities and the Daemonica binding him.

Once inside the Warp, he would run far away, ensuring the other's sorcery could no longer imprison him.

Yet, unfortunately, the Warp was so close to him, separated by merely a Gellar field.

Yet to him, it was an insurmountable chasm.

The rune-carved body of the daemonhost, the shrine to the Emperor—the very object of the priests' prayers—and the lingering will left behind by Guilliman all bound him. Vincenthorn stood directly before this Daemon Prince, constantly vigilant against any attempt at escape.

"Let me go, Vincenthorn, and you shall obtain what you desire most. Do you not yearn to resurrect your friends? Bequin, Medea, Amos... As long as you help me break these bonds, I will help you bring them back."

"Master, it is me, Bequin. Have you forgotten? I am your favorite disciple."

"Why will you not save us, Vincenthorn?"

Cherubael tempted Vincenthorn, even mimicking those who had passed away, attempting to shake Vincenthorn's immensely resilient will.

He hoped Vincenthorn would immerse himself in the sorrow of the departed, thereby creating a tiny fissure in his mind.

A fissure represented weakness; it represented corruption.

Those consumed by grief were always the easiest to exploit.

Daemons were always thus: as long as they found the slightest weakness, they would magnify it infinitely until the target was thoroughly corrupted and driven into an irredeemable abyss.

"You are forever as foolish as ever, Cherubael. The names you utter only serve to remind me of how despicable you Warp-born beasts truly are. Your promises are forever fulfilled only through twisted means; the only thing you can ever grant humanity is a numbing familiarity with pain. I shall never forget my duty, Cherubael. Do not attempt to find a fissure in my soul; you are destined to gain nothing," Vincenthorn said.

"You will, Vincenthorn. No one can resist temptation forever. The Son of the Emperor leaving you here to guard me is his greatest mistake. I know your weakness; you will slowly break down. And I shall escape, regaining my freedom."

"Wait another ten thousand years, you fool," Vincenthorn said. "When ten thousand years have passed, and people have forgotten you, this pitiful Daemon Prince, perhaps no one will care about you anymore."

"Heh-heh, is that so? I do not need ten thousand years; very soon, I shall be free."

Vincenthorn replied no further. He lapsed into silence, fulfilling his guard duty like a statue.

Upon the uppermost deck of the *Macragge's Honour*.

Guilliman's office was located here.

As the Son of the Emperor and the sole surviving Primarch of the Imperium, Guilliman's workload was exceedingly heavy.

Taking advantage of the lull before war commenced, he had to finish handling related governmental affairs as quickly as possible, then have Astropaths transmit them back so that the new council members on Macragge could execute his orders.

The appeal of a Primarch was immensely powerful. More and more Chapters gathered on Macragge: the Roaring Griffons, the Storm Falcons, the Exemplars, and more. Chapters arrived from every direction, joining the Indomitus Crusade called by the Primarch.

They brought more fleets and warriors.

At this moment, these warriors were undergoing upgrade procedures led by Tech-Priests.

In a short while, Primaris Space Marines endowed with four additional organs would be put into service.

They would be even more powerful than the Primaris Space Marines of the original timeline. They possessed the Heart of Guilliman—built with dark matter bio-engine integration technology—alongside three brand-new organs researched by Archmagos Cawl over ten thousand years.

They would be indestructible, crushing all enemies who sought to subvert the Imperium, sweeping away all foes of mankind.

New warfleets were also being forged, with more Forge Worlds requisitioned by Archmagos Cawl to manufacture brand-new vessels at full capacity.

To improve efficiency, and with Guilliman's endorsement, Cawl utilized a novel method of modular assembly, causing the cost and time required to build warships to plummet dramatically.

The Imperium's creation of warships traditionally relied on STC—Standard Template Construct technology modules, a lost tech from the Dark Age of Technology.

Cawl completely abandoned the use of STCs, utilizing data-blueprints to have different Forge Worlds produce distinct components, which were then assembled together.

This method drastically reduced the construction time of warships.

Naturally, warships built using this method would be slightly inferior in performance, but their construction speed increased tenfold, or even twentyfold, while costs plummeted in a straight line.

The sheer magnitude of numbers was enough to make up for that negligible difference.

The actions of Cawl and Guilliman provoked dissatisfaction among other members of the Adeptus Mechanicus, who strongly demanded that Guilliman abandon this blasphemous practice against the Omnissiah and severely punish Cawl.

Guilliman placated these Tech-Priests, stating that he would find an opportunity to handle the matter. At the same time, he elevated Cawl's clearance once again, allowing him to mobilize more resources to accelerate the forging and deployment of warships.

Aside from the enhancement of military strength, Guilliman's awakening and various commands had likewise stirred up wave after wave of turbulence.

Those worlds not ruled by hereditary dynasties responded to Guilliman's proposed reforms, constructing more academies to cultivate the technical personnel required by the Primarch.

A massive number of youths of suitable age were screened and sent into various academies, preparing to become the gears of Guilliman's crusade machine.

Supported by the Primarch, the William Mercantile Consortium, the Nancy Mercantile Consortium, and other Rogue Trader factions that had once sworn fealty on Macragge, rapidly rallied those Rogue Traders willing to support the Primarch.

They gradually squeezed out those Rogue Traders unwilling to undergo reform, compressing their living space, and even selectively suppressing those dynastic trades, causing them to lose massive amounts of trade volume and rapidly decline.

This was likewise a war, devoid of gunsmoke yet equally cruel.

Guilliman received reports of numerous assassination events.

Some Rogue Traders loyal to him had been assassinated as a challenge to him.

Those dynasties and merchant houses whose toes had been stepped on entered a frenzied state; they no longer hesitated to use despicable means to defend their interests.

Guilliman scrutinized this intelligence, extracting crucial information and constructing a mental map of the current situation in his mind.

He was well aware that these stubborn conservatives wanted to know his stance.

They wanted to know just how far the Primarch would go for the sake of reform.

Guilliman would let them know his stance—right there in the Natalis System.

He would have Astropaths transmit the events transpiring in this system across the entire Imperium, including Terra.

He would show those people what fate awaited those who obstructed his reforms.

Comply with reform, and they would live.

Resist reform, and they would die.

There was no third path.

Footsteps sounded outside the reception room, followed by a sequence of elegant knocks, each rhythmic.

"Enter," Guilliman said.

The door opened, and a woman dressed in a simple emerald-green gown stepped inside, holding a data-slate and a stylus, with a buzzing, hovering servo-skull trailing behind her.

"My lord," the woman bowed in salute. "The Sulimannion family extends its most pious regards to you."

"There is no need for such excessive formalities, Yassili. I require your assistance."

"It is my honor, and the honor of the Sulimannion family."