It took three full days.
For three days and nights, the Ultramarines attempted to persuade the residents of the Perfect City to evacuate.
They pleaded, reasoned, explained—yet the efforts were almost entirely futile.
The citizens of the Perfect City were utterly devoted.
Their minds were filled with one word alone: loyalty.
They refused to believe the Emperor—their Emperor—would ever order the destruction of a city comprised entirely of His most devout followers.
No matter what the Ultramarines said, no matter how many warnings they issued, the faithful remained unmoved.
In the end, only a tiny fraction agreed to leave.
The rest—more than 99.9%—chose to stay.
---
Seeing this, and having been pressed repeatedly by the Emperor himself, Roboute Guilliman looked down at Lorgar and the Word Bearers—still kneeling after three days and nights.
With a weary sigh, he issued the command he had hoped never to give.
"Commence firing."
A heartbeat later, the sky ignited.
Tens of thousands of munitions erupted from the Ultramarines' fleet in a single coordinated salvo—
a deluge of blazing scarlet firestorms streaking downward like a rain of burning meteors.
Under Lorgar's horrified gaze,
under the Word Bearers' frenzied, despairing struggles,
the bombardment struck the Perfect City.
Explosions blossomed into towering crimson mushroom clouds.
The earth convulsed with thunderous shockwaves.
Screams filled the air—shocked, panicked cries from citizens who had never once doubted the Emperor's love.
Lorgar froze.
He knew every resident of the Perfect City by name.
Every single one had been personally approved by him.
He had looked into each of their faces—
and sworn to them:
"The great Emperor will surely protect His faithful."
Yet now—
The Emperor had ordered their destruction.
---
The Word Bearers, forced to kneel by the Emperor's psychic pressure, struggled with all their might to rise and stop the bombardment.
But even united, their efforts were meaningless.
The Emperor's power dwarfed them utterly—
an ocean compared to raindrops,
a titan compared to insects.
Even Lorgar, a Primarch, was barely the equivalent of a wolf before a thunderstorm.
Buildings fell one after another.
Screams dwindled to silence.
Ash—once living, praying souls—drifted across the ground and sky like dying snow.
The Word Bearers, centuries-old servants of the Emperor, felt something for the first time:
Doubt.
Confusion.
Loss.
They had loved their god.
Worshipped Him.
Sacrificed for Him without hesitation.
But their god… did not love them in return.
--
The bombardment lasted several days.
When it was finally over, four-fifths of the planet's surface lay bare.
The brilliant, magnificent Perfect City had become rubble and blackened dust.
Only a few charred fragments of the grand architecture remained.
Even after the Ultramarines, Custodians, Emperor, and Malcador departed, Lorgar and his warriors remained kneeling in the ruins—silent, hollow-eyed, lost.
And among them, Erebus watched.
As a master deceiver, he instantly sensed the shift.
Their once-unbreakable faith had cracked—
shattered by the very god they worshipped.
Erebus kept his posture humble, motionless among the kneeling masses,
but inside, he was elated.
His moment was coming.
--
Several days later, after much coaxing from his subordinates, Lorgar managed to regain a sliver of composure.
But he no longer carried himself with calm confidence.
His entire demeanor had turned dark—shrouded in a heavy, oppressive melancholy.
The Word Bearers, watching their primarch fall into despair, were deeply distressed.
Then—an unexpected report arrived.
A survivor had been found in the ruins.
A living human.
The moment Lorgar heard this, his expression snapped into sharp focus.
He ordered every available resource be used to save the survivor.
To him, this was more than compassion.
It was guilt—raw, suffocating guilt.
He had vowed to protect them.
He had failed.
He owed them this.
When he arrived at the site and saw the survivor, he recognized her at once:
Cyrene Valantion.
Her family had been one of the earliest to embrace the Word Bearers' teachings.
They had worshipped the Emperor for over five centuries.
And Lorgar himself had personally invited her to live in the Perfect City.
She lay broken and pale, barely clinging to life.
Without hesitation, Lorgar poured his psychic power into her, reigniting failing organs and stabilizing her ruined body.
After a convulsive cough, dark blood spilled forth.
The Word Bearers surrounding her brightened—relief and hope returning to their faces.
Slowly, painfully, Cyrene opened her eyes.
Her expression was empty at first—fogged by trauma and shock.
Only after several long seconds did her memories rush back.
Her hands trembled as she grasped Lorgar's armor.
Tears ran down her blood-streaked face.
"Lord Lorgar…
My husband and children are dead…
Was it truly the Emperor who ordered the destruction of the Perfect City?"
Lorgar froze.
So did every Word Bearer around him.
Silence smothered the ruins.
Only the drifting ash—what remained of their faithful—continued to fall like dead snow.
In the face of their wordless stillness,
Cyrene Valancian's face turned ashen.
She could not comprehend it.
She had worshipped the Emperor above all things.
She would have gladly given her life for Him.
So why—
why had the god she loved
chosen to destroy His own faithful?
..
🔥 Can't wait for the next chapter? Read ahead! 🔥
If you're loving the story, you can unlock 90+ ADVANCE CHAPTERS right now for just $4/month on my Patreon! Not only do you get a massive backlog to binge-read, but you also directly support my daily translation work. ❤️
👇 Grab your early access here:
🔗 [patreon.com/user?u=79514336]
(Or simply search for Translator-Sama on Patreon!)