Time flew by amidst the tranquility and undercurrents of Macragge, and the fifteen-day deadline arrived in a blink of an eye. Fortress Hera's orbital spaceport was bustling once again, only this time, the air was no longer filled with the joy of celebration, but with the solemnity of departure and heavy responsibilities intertwined.
Inside the magnificent palace, Roboute Guilliman held his final formal meeting with high-ranking officials of the Macragge planetary government and representatives from other major worlds of Ultramar Sector. He efficiently and clearly outlined the governance policies, defense priorities, and various urgent matters for Ultramar Sector during his absence. His words were well-organized and imbued with absolute authority, ensuring that every listener understood their duties and future direction.
After the meeting, Guilliman did not linger. Escorted by the Victrix Guard and Honour Guard, he exited the palace and boarded a dedicated transport shuttle, adorned with the Imperial Aquila and Ultramarines insignia, which had been waiting for him.
Below, countless citizens of Macragge, who had learned of the Primarch's imminent departure, spontaneously gathered along the streets and in the squares. They looked up at the slowly ascending transport shuttle, their eyes filled with reluctance and blessings. There were no boisterous cheers, only silent gazes and unspoken waves; this silent farewell was all the more profound and sincere.
"May the Emperor protect you, Primarch!"
"Please return soon, Macragge needs you!"
The sporadic voices eventually converged into a low, emotional wave of sound.
Guilliman stood at the hatch of the transport shuttle, taking one last look at the land he deeply loved, the prosperous nation he had personally built, his home. A fleeting, almost imperceptible softness crossed his handsome and majestic face, immediately replaced by an iron-like resolve. He raised his hand, gave a standard military salute to the people below, then turned and stepped inside the cabin.
With the Primarch's shuttle ascending, the moment of true departure had arrived. On the various landing platforms of Fortress Hera, hundreds of transport shuttles ignited their engines and ascended, like a homing swarm, carrying the rested Ultramarines back to the massive Macragge's Honour in orbit, as well as the strike cruisers and battle barges belonging to each company.
As for the core personnel of this highly confidential operation—Gaius, Dorian, Luna, Golden, Draculas, and Ailas—they had already returned silently to Macragge's Honour under strict escort, ahead of schedule, and were placed in a more heavily guarded special area. They would await the fleet's journey to a predetermined coordinate in the central region of Ultramar, then, along with Primarch Guilliman, transfer to the Primarch's more powerful and faster personal flagship, heading directly to Holy Terra.
Inside the city-sized hangar of Macragge's Honour, the few individuals, temporarily with nothing to do, were awaiting the fleet's departure. Ailas was incredibly excited to be in such close proximity to the Primarch's flagship, especially by the Victrix Guard warriors who stood like Golden statues in key positions, piquing her curiosity immensely.
Her gaze was almost glued to the Victrix Guard Captain. While Lieutenant Golden was conversing in a low voice with Gaius, Dorian was studying the fighter jets in the hangar, and Tech-Sergeant Luna was checking equipment, Ailas, like a nimble kitten, stealthily slipped close to the Victrix Guard Captain.
She dared not get too close, merely circling the Captain, her emerald eyes unblinkingly fixed on his magnificent Golden armor, the perfectly sculpted cape, and the cold visors beneath his helmet, trying to find a gap to see what was inside.
"Captain... Your armor is so beautiful..."
"Captain... Are you tired of standing?"
"Captain... Are you exceptionally powerful? More powerful than Dorian?" She whispered, muttering to herself, unsure if she was asking him or just talking to herself.
The Victrix Guard Captain remained motionless as if he hadn't heard, only his cape swaying slightly in the hangar's airflow. But his visors seemed to shift downwards ever so slightly for an instant, sweeping over the little one flitting around his feet. He remained curious as to why this Dark Eldar girl was so trusted by the Ultramarines. This was vastly different from the Chapter's strictly xenophobic traditions he remembered. But he adhered to his duty and would never ask a question.
Lieutenant Golden quickly noticed Ailas's "transgression," was startled, and hurried forward, carefully pulling her back.
"Ailas! Don't be rude! Do not disturb the Victrix Guard while he is on duty!" Golden admonished in a low voice.
Ailas stuck out her tongue, a little embarrassed, but still couldn't resist secretly glancing at the Captain again, whispering to Golden, "But he's really handsome... And he seemed to look at me just now!"
Golden shook his head helplessly, having no idea what to do with this flighty Aeldari girl.
Just then, the last super-large transport shuttle slowly entered the hangar and docked steadily. This shuttle was not only fully loaded with a new batch of Ultramarines recruits from Macragge who had passed their assessments, but also carried the last batch of rotating guards. The hatch opened, and young, vibrant faces, filled with awe and excitement, curiously surveyed the legendary flagship, then orderly lined up and exited under the command of an officer.
With the arrival of this final transport shuttle, the boarding of all personnel for Macragge's Honour and the entire fleet was complete.
The heavy gates slowly closed, and the roar of the engines gradually intensified, like a giant beast awakening from slumber.
The massive fleet, like a coordinated whole, began to slowly break away from Macragge's gravitational orbit, adjusted its course, and sailed towards the familiar yet ever-war-torn and conflict-ridden vast star system.
After the fleet entered a stable course, in the solemn strategic conference room of Macragge's Honour, Roboute Guilliman held his final high-level meeting before his departure.
Chapter Master Marius Calgar, and the ten Company Captains—Cassius, Sicarius, Hek Hansen, Orestes, Captain Harvis Bel, Hector, Cassius (7th Company Captain), Sibilus, Talos, and Olfa—were all present. They stood like eleven blue giants around the massive star chart table.
Guilliman's gaze slowly swept over each Captain; their faces showed determination, but also a hint of loss at the Primarch's departure once again.
"My warriors," Guilliman's voice was deep and powerful, "I will depart again. The heart of the Imperium needs me, and there are also reasons why I must go to Terra. But Ultramar, our home, is equally crucial."
His finger pointed to the deep blue star system on the star chart: "This is the source of our strength, the foundation of our glory, and the most stable light of the Imperium in desperate darkness. Guard it well; it is not only our duty but also our promise to the future of humanity."
His gaze became extremely sharp: "After I leave, Marius will act as the regent, overseeing all military and political affairs of Ultramar. You must assist him with all your might, as you would assist me. Be vigilant against threats from any direction—whether it be xenos invasion, Chaos infiltration, or internal unrest. Remember, we are not just warriors, but also guardians."
"The glory of the Ultramarines, ten thousand years of tradition, must not be lost." Guilliman's voice resonated like a great bell, striking the heart of every Captain, "I expect to return and see an Ultramar that is stronger, more prosperous, and unyielding!"
Having spoken, he took a step back, his gaze calmly fixed on them.
Chapter Master Marius Calgar stepped forward first, followed closely by the ten Company Captains. All of them simultaneously knelt on their right knee, left hand on their chest, bowing their heads, and issued a unified, resonant oath:
"We obey your command, Primarch! By the name of the Emperor and Macragge!"
"We shall exert all our strength to protect every inch of Ultramar's territory! To protect the home of the Ultramarines!"
"We will never fail your expectations and trust! We await your return!"
The loud and loyal oath echoed in the conference room, filled with undeniable determination and belief. They knew how heavy the responsibility on their shoulders was, but they were fearless.
Guilliman looked at his kneeling sons, a glimmer of satisfaction and trust in his eyes. He stepped forward and personally helped Chapter Master Calgar to his feet.
"Rise, my warriors. I believe in you." His words were brief, yet weighed a thousand jin.
The meeting concluded, and the Captains bowed in turn before withdrawing, their steps steady and firm, ready to proceed to their respective posts and fulfill the sacred duty of guarding their home.
Guilliman stood alone before the massive observation window, gazing at the beautiful blue planet—Macragge—gradually receding outside.
Departure was for a better return. And the path ahead to Terra was filled with unknown challenges and hopes. Gaius's fate, Dorian's subtle omens, the future of the Imperium... countless threads intertwined, waiting for him to unravel.
The fleet was heading to its next destination.
The massive Ultramarines fleet traveled a certain distance in real space. After reaching the designated safe jump point, they began to activate their Warp engines one by one. Huge energy fluctuations tore open the veil of real space, and one after another, the colossal steel warships, like pebbles dropped into water, slowly submerged into that bizarre, color-distorted, and physics-defying dimension of terror—the Warp.
Macragge's Honour and its escort fleet were enveloped by dense, constantly surging Warp energy. The ship's external Geller field generators operated at full power, emitting a stable energy barrier, like a fragile bubble, stubbornly isolating the ship from the malevolent and insane void outside.
Perhaps thanks to Primarch Roboute Guilliman's presence on the flagship, this Warp journey was unusually smooth. The Warp whispers, eerie illusions, and malicious temptations that usually, more or less, permeated the Geller field and harassed the crew's minds, were almost completely absent this time. Although the atmosphere inside each warship remained tense, there were far fewer of the nerve-wracking supernatural occurrences typically associated with Warp travel. The crew and warriors were able to endure this tedious and dangerous journey in a relatively calm environment.
When the fleet reached a hidden coordinate in the central region of Ultramar Sector, a more elegant and streamlined vessel, yet one containing greater power and defensive capabilities—the Pride of Cato—was already waiting. This was Primarch Guilliman's personal flagship; its performance and comfort far surpassed those of large battleships, making it more suitable for fast, covert long-distance travel.
Gaius, Dorian, Luna, Golden, Draculas, and Ailas, escorted by the Victrix Guard, transferred from Macragge's Honour to this more refined vessel via a connecting gangway.
The interior decoration of the Pride of Cato still maintained the practical and solemn style of the Ultramarines, but the details were more refined, and the space was relatively more spacious. They were assigned better cabins and had a larger range of movement.
After a brief settling-in, the Pride of Cato separated from the main fleet, reactivated its Warp engines, and entered a more covert Warp route directly leading to the Solar Star System, pointing towards Holy Terra. This time, they would not stop until they reached their destination.
In an observation lounge with an excellent view on the Pride of Cato, Gaius stood alone before the massive viewport, gazing at the indescribable Warp scenery outside. Twisted color blocks, flickering strange lights, energy flows writhing like the internal organs of a giant creature... All of this should have driven one mad, but at this moment, under the dual protection of the powerful Geller field and the Primarch's presence, it appeared slightly "gentler."
However, Gaius's mood was far more heavy and complex than the scene outside the window.
He recalled Chapter Master Calgar's trusting yet solemn gaze, and Primarch Guilliman's deep eyes filled with expectation and resolve. For him alone, the Primarch had not hesitated to personally intervene in a soul-level battle, even utilizing the highest-tier resources of traveling to Holy Terra and seeking the Grey Knights Chapter's help.
He had also vaguely heard the rumors—if he had served in certain other, more extreme and less tolerant Chapters, such as the Black Templars or some groups with zero tolerance for Chaos corruption, given the mark of the Lord of Change latent within him, he would likely have been purged internally decades ago when the Grey Knights arrived, or directly handed over to the Inquisition, his fate undoubtedly extremely tragic.
But the Ultramarines did not.
They chose to trust, chose to protect, chose to save their brother at all costs. This profound bond of friendship and sense of responsibility, like a warm light, illuminated the gloom in his heart, but also transformed into a heavier burden, pressing on his shoulders.
He turned his head, his gaze falling on the entrance to the observation deck.
There, Ailas, still persistent, maintained a "safe distance" and circled the Victrix Guard Captain, who stood solemnly like a Golden statue. Her small face was filled with curiosity and adoration, and while she no longer dared to speak to him, her fervent gaze almost burned two holes in his Golden armor.
Not far away, Dorian was gesticulating wildly, bragging about something to Draculas, seemingly describing how he imagined he would display his prowess upon arriving at Terra. Draculas, meanwhile, stood with his arms crossed, his white helmet tilted slightly to the side, a posture full of silent disdain and "I don't want to listen."
On the other side, Lieutenant Golden and Tech-Sergeant Luna were huddled together, discussing more practical matters in low voices—how to hide Ailas's Aeldari identity as much as possible upon arriving at the exclusionary and fanatical Holy Terra, to avoid unnecessary trouble. Luna even pulled out a data-slate, calling up files on human supremacist extremist factions and the Inquisition's modus operandi, both their expressions extremely serious.
Looking at these, his most trusted brothers and comrades, watching them, even at this moment, caring for each other in their own ways and planning for the future, a strong current of warmth and... an incredibly firm resolve surged within Gaius's heart.
They could have remained on Macragge, enjoying the glory and rest after victory, but because of him, they had to embark on this journey to an unknown peril.
He could no longer let them bear more risks for him.
He took a deep breath, as if to completely expel all hesitation, fear, and unease from his heart. The distorted Warp light outside the window reflected in his azure eyes, but it could not shake the resolute flame burning within them.
It was time to make a complete break with the Lord of Change, that Warp God who played with fate and lies.
Not for himself, but for these brothers who protected him at all costs, for his Primarch and Chapter Master who trusted him, and for the Imperium and humanity to whom he swore allegiance.
He did not know what he would face upon arriving at Terra, nor if the rumored intense and dangerous methods of the Grey Knights Chapter could truly purify him. But he knew that he must go all out, cooperate with all treatments, resist all temptations, and completely sever all ties with Tzeentch!
This time, he would never disappoint anyone again, nor would he give that Warp God any opportunity.
His fate must be reclaimed by his own hands!
Gaius took one last look at the bizarre void outside the window, then turned and walked with firm steps towards his brothers. His face still bore the pallor of his injuries, but his eyes were clearer and more resolute than ever before.
The road ahead might be full of thorns, but he was no longer alone, no longer lost.
The moment of reckoning was approaching.
The Pride of Cato sailed through the bizarre and perilous Warp ocean like an elegant and vigilant noble. Three elite frigates followed closely in a triangular formation, like loyal hounds guarding their master's carriage. Their Gellar Fields shimmered in unison, jointly constructing a relatively stable domain of order.
However, this space, which humanity called the "Nightmare Dimension," was never calm. Outside the ships, within the twisted and churning colors and energies, countless indescribable shadows flickered in and out of sight. Some Warp daemons with vague forms, composed of pure malice and corrupted emotions, and some even more ancient and bizarre primordial creatures, filled with curiosity or hunger for living beings, were attracted by these four "anomalies" radiating strong life and order, and watched from afar like strange fish in the deep sea.
Their inhuman gazes, full of greed or malice, seemed to penetrate the reinforced viewports, falling upon the living beings inside the ship, bringing a bone-chilling coldness. Even battle-hardened Ultramarines would feel uneasy when facing such a gaze for extended periods. This also kept the alert level inside the ship at its highest.
In such an environment, Ailas's carefree optimism and vibrant curiosity became a unique kind of diversion. She seemed to lack sufficient fear of the terrifying sights outside the window, with all her attention focused on the "shiny, handsome, and powerful" Victrix Guard Captain.
She had almost become the Captain's shadow, always trying to maintain a distance she considered "safe," launching "stare attacks" with her large emerald eyes, and occasionally attempting to offer him a shiny energy biscuit she had secretly taken from the kitchen, or sharing a joke she had just heard about Dorian being instantly defeated.
The Victrix Guard Captain's will, forged through countless trials, could ignore the whispers of the Warp and face the roars of daemons, but when confronted with the continuous "harassment" of this small xeno, whom he could neither hit nor scold, who was impervious to reason, and was deeply loved by the Ultramarines, he felt a sense of almost "helplessness" for the first time.
Finally, during one instance when Ailas tried to tap his leg armor with a small wrench to hear the sound, wanting to confirm if it was pure gold, the Captain lost his patience. He maintained absolute silence, but through internal comms, he swiftly and decisively summoned a subordinate.
When another Victrix Guard warrior, similarly resplendent in Golden armor but with a noticeably less imposing aura, strode over and was ordered to accompany Tech-Sergeant Ailas and fulfill all her reasonable requests, Ailas paused.
The Captain took this opportunity, like executing a precise tactical retreat, turning and leaving with steady but exceptionally swift steps. His Golden cape flared, and he quickly disappeared down the corridor, leaving Ailas and the new, seemingly somewhat bewildered Victrix Guard warrior looking at each other.
Ailas watched the Captain's "heartless" retreating figure, her small mouth pouting, feeling a little wronged, but quickly became interested in this new "substitute," and began circling the new warrior, asking all sorts of questions. The new warrior was clearly not as "experienced" as the Captain, appearing somewhat flustered, and could only stiffly carry out the "accompaniment" order.
In the command bridge of the Pride of Cato, the atmosphere was much more somber.
Roboute Guilliman had not wasted time. He utilized the ship's powerful Warp communication array (though the signal was extremely unstable and full of interference) to begin attempting advanced contact with specific personnel on Holy Terra.
His communication targets bypassed the complex bureaucracy, aiming directly at the two most mysterious, most extreme, and theoretically most experienced organizations in the Imperium regarding the threat of Chaos—the Grey Knights Chapter and its Grey Knights, and several Inquisitor Lords representing the highest will of the Inquisition.
On the holographic projection, the signal constantly twisted and flickered due to Warp interference, but several figures could still be barely made out.
One was the Grey Knights Grand Master "Silver Shield," clad in silver-grey power armor adorned with exorcism runes, his helmet's eye lenses glowing with a cold blue light. His figure, even in projection, exuded a cold, inhuman solemnity.
The other side consisted of three Inquisitor Lords, cloaked in heavy black robes and laden with symbols of authority and inquisitorial marks. Their faces were hidden in shadow or beneath complex respirators, making their expressions hard to discern, but one could feel the palpable severity and scrutiny.
Guilliman did not beat around the bush. In his capacity as Lord Regent of the Imperium, he directly stated the situation and his demands: he was escorting an extremely important and loyal Ultramarines Sergeant to Terra. This Sergeant had unfortunately been marked by the power of the Lord of Change, Tzeentch, but through his astonishing willpower and... some form of the Emperor's blessing, he had resisted corruption multiple times and maintained pure loyalty. His purpose in going to Terra was not for a traditional "purification" of the Sergeant, but rather to utilize the unique knowledge and power of the Grey Knights Chapter and the Ordo Malleus of the Inquisition to completely cleanse the Mark of the Changer from his soul and save this valiant warrior.
He emphasized that this was an extremely delicate and dangerous mission, requiring the highest skill and the most profound understanding of the nature of Chaos, and he expected their full assistance.
Silence fell on the other end of the communication.
After a long pause, the cold, rigid, and emotionless voice of the Grey Knights Grand Master "Silver Shield" first came through the interference, his words carrying an ancient cadence: "Lord Regent. We, the Grey Knights, are the Emperor's daemon-slayers, dedicated to purifying Chaos defilement. However, the matter you speak of is exceedingly rare. The Mark of Chaos, especially that of the Lord of Change, is deeply ingrained in the soul and cannot be easily removed by external means. The conventional method is purification, to ensure absolute security and prevent future harm."
His words did not seem to directly refuse, but the implication was clear—in their dogma and experience, the safest way to deal with an existence marked by a Warp God was complete annihilation. He also did not explicitly agree to Guilliman's request.
The silence of the three Inquisitor Lords was even more oppressive. They exchanged glances, seemingly communicating rapidly in some way. Finally, one of them spoke in a hoarse, low voice, filled with caution and... a hint of barely perceptible doubt: "Lord Regent, are you certain of this warrior's loyalty... absolutely beyond doubt? Tzeentch's schemes are insidious, and sometimes, what appears to be the most steadfast resistance might itself be part of a plot... We must consider the worst-case scenario, for the safety of Terra..."
He did not finish his sentence, but the meaning was already clear—they suspected this might even be a play by Tzeentch, intended to send a potential Daemon Prince into the heart of the Imperium!
Just as Guilliman frowned, preparing to exert pressure with a more forceful stance—
BOOM!!!
The entire Pride of Cato suddenly vibrated violently! As if gripped and kneaded by an invisible giant hand!
Red lights flashed wildly on the bridge, and piercing alarms instantly blared!
"Warning! Encountering high-intensity Warp storm!" "Gellar Field under heavy impact! Energy readings dropping sharply!" "Navigator reports! Course lost! Unknown massive energy source in the storm!"
The communication on the holographic projection instantly cut out amidst severe interference and static, the signal from Terra vanishing without a trace.
Guilliman gripped the command console to steady himself, watching the already chaotic Warp outside the window become even more violent. Countless lightning-like energy currents lashed at the hull, and a massive, swirling storm eye was forming directly ahead!
He let out a heavy sigh, slamming a fist on the control panel, his face etched with frustration and helplessness.
He knew that dealing with these Inquisitors and brainwashed Grey Knights would never be easy. In their minds, Chaos corruption was an absolute original sin, with no room for negotiation; only complete purification was the sole "safe" option. Their dogmatism and extreme vigilance might even override his orders as Lord Regent. Even if they eventually agreed on the surface, they might not genuinely cooperate fully, and could even tamper with the process to ensure "fail-safe" purification.
This was one of the greatest obstacles on the path to Terra—not monsters from the Warp, but the rigid, fear-driven, and inflexible cold mechanisms within the Imperium itself.
"Maintain the Gellar Field at full power! Navigator, find any possible stable path! Escort ships, close ranks on me!" Guilliman suppressed his irritation and quickly issued a series of commands, his voice regaining absolute calm.
The fleet was plunged into a sudden Warp storm, its future uncertain. And the first contact with Terra was forcibly interrupted in a highly unfavorable atmosphere.
The path to Holy Terra was destined to be fraught with internal and external challenges and turmoil.
The raging Warp storm, like an invisible behemoth, frantically tore at the Gellar Field of the Pride of Cato and its escorting frigates. The ship's hull violently bucked under the impact of the energy currents, as if it could be swallowed whole by the chaotic tempest at any moment. Piercing alarms and flashing red lights filled every corridor, as all crew members and warriors held their posts, working tirelessly to maintain the ship's stability.
Guilliman stood on the violently shaking bridge, like a stabilizing anchor. His deep-set eyes were fixed on the storm's vortex ahead, which resembled the entrance to hell. He calmly issued commands, adjusting shield energy distribution, attempting to find a weak point in the storm.
However, his heart was far from as calm as his exterior suggested.
The interruption of communication with Terra, especially the almost dismissive and suspicious attitude of the Grey Knights Chapter and the Inquisition, weighed on his mind like a cold, massive stone. He had initially hoped to leverage the Imperium's official power to resolve Gaius's hidden danger in the most 'regular' way, but now it seemed this path was thorny from the start, and might even lead to a worse outcome.
Under the Imperium's current system, it was almost impossible to bypass these extremely conservative and powerful institutions. He needed help from other quarters, forces that were equally powerful but perhaps more understanding of the unique circumstances and more willing to be flexible.
His thoughts raced in the chaos. On Terra, who else could provide effective assistance?
The first to come to his mind was his brother, Lion El'Jonson, the 'Lion King', Primarch of the Dark Angels Chapter, who had only recently awakened and was equally mysterious.
Lion El'Jonson possessed ancient wisdom and immense power. Although his Chapter was shrouded in secrecy, its foundation and combat effectiveness were beyond doubt. Perhaps he could offer a different perspective or help?
Another thought immediately followed—the ancient Librarians of the Blood Angels. The Blood Angels themselves were deeply plagued by the Red Thirst and the Black Rage, genetic curses stemming from the fall of their Primarch Sanguinius. They had extensive, though often tragic, experience in dealing with 'anomalies' deeply embedded in blood and soul. Especially their Chief Librarian, Mephiston, the one known as the 'Lord of Death', whose power and control over psychic abilities even surpassed the normal scope of an Astartes. Perhaps he could find a way?
Countless thoughts, countless possibilities, countless potential allies and obstacles intertwined and collided in his mind, yet it was difficult to discern a clear and reliable path. He felt his mind was as chaotic as the Warp storm outside the window. As Lord Regent, he was accustomed to controlling the overall situation, but when it came to the schemes of Chaos Gods themselves and the deep-seated rigid Concept within the Imperium, he felt a sense of powerlessness for the first time.
Thanks to the crew's strenuous efforts and the excellent performance of the Pride of Cato, the fleet finally navigated through the most violent storm area without incident. Although the surrounding Warp energy was still chaotic, it had returned to a relatively 'stable' cruising state.
The pressure on the Gellar Field rapidly decreased, the piercing alarms subsided, and the lights on the bridge returned to normal. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Guilliman did not delay. He immediately returned to the communications room and attempted to contact Terra again. This time, he directly used the extremely secret, almost impossible to monitor or interfere with, dedicated communication line between him and Lion El'Jonson.
After a moment's wait, the holographic projection flickered, and a figure gradually coalesced.
It was a tall figure seated on a stone throne. He wore ancient and majestic dark green power armor, with the roaring lion emblem emblazoned on his shoulder pads. His face was weathered, etched with the marks of time and a deep melancholy, his eyes as sharp as a hawk's, yet with a hint of confusion as if he had just awakened from a long slumber. It was the master of the First Legion, 'Lion King' Lion El'Jonson.
"Robert," Lion El'Jonson's voice was deep and hoarse, carrying an ancient rhythm. Without any pleasantries, he cut straight to the point, "What troubles you? The Warp fluctuations have even reached my castle."
"Lion El'Jonson." Guilliman also dispensed with formalities. He briefly explained Gaius's situation, the threat of the Mark of Change, and his unsuccessful communication with the Inquisition and the Grey Knights. "...I need help, Lion El'Jonson. Conventional methods may not save this loyal warrior, and may even push him towards destruction. On Terra, do you know of any other methods, or other... trustworthy forces, that can deal with this deep-seated soul corruption?"
Lion El'Jonson listened quietly, his sharp eyes seemingly able to penetrate the distant Warp and see Guilliman's anxiety. He remained silent for a moment, his fingers unconsciously tapping the armrest of the throne.
"The Mark of Tzeentch..." the Lion King slowly began, his tone grave, "Like a cancer, it is the most difficult to eradicate. The zealots of the Inquisition and the Grey Knights... their methods may be 'clean', but they are often too... absolute." He seemed to be carefully choosing his words.
"As for help..." Lion El'Jonson paused, his gaze becoming somewhat profound, "My Angels, you can trust their swords and their loyalty. If needed, I can order them to obey your command and assist you in controlling... the situation." His words seemed to imply that the Dark Angels excelled at 'controlling' and 'handling' certain tricky, secretive problems.
But he immediately changed the subject, his tone becoming even deeper: "However, I myself will probably not be able to give you direct assistance on Terra. I have found some... important clues regarding lost lambs. Once you return to Terra, I will immediately set off to pursue them. My return date... is undetermined."
Upon hearing the phrase "lost lambs" (Fallen Angels), Guilliman's heart sank, followed by a deep sense of powerlessness.
It was like this again. It was the endless secrets and internal strife that had plagued the First Legion for ten thousand years.
He knew Lion El'Jonson's obsession with purging his Chapter and hunting down those Dark Angels who had betrayed during the Horus Heresy. This was almost the only thing the Lion King cared about since his awakening. He couldn't blame Lion El'Jonson; this was an internal affair of the First Legion, their indelible scar and shame.
But at this critical moment, when he desperately needed the wisdom and strength of a Primarch brother, Lion El'Jonson was leaving again for a betrayal that happened ten thousand years ago.
"I understand." Guilliman's voice could not hide a trace of disappointment and weariness. "The First Legion... has no secrets, only half its warriors are lost in confusion."
This statement carried a bitter sarcasm, yet it also exposed the well-known but deeply unspoken embarrassing situation of the Dark Angels—half of their brothers betrayed ten thousand years ago, and the other half spent ten thousand years hunting and covering up this fact.
Lion El'Jonson's brow seemed to furrow slightly, but he did not retort. He only remained silent for a moment, then slowly said, "Everyone has duties they must bear, Robert. Purging the Chapter is my responsibility. Saving your warrior is yours. I wish you good luck."
The communication ended there.
Guilliman sat alone in the communications room, silent for a long time. Lion El'Jonson had offered some limited military support from the Dark Angels, but he had removed himself from the situation, making Guilliman feel even more isolated.
He turned his gaze to another hope—the Blood Angels.
This time, the communication connected to the Blood Angels Chapter's outpost on Terra. After being rerouted, it connected to their Chief Librarian, the legendary 'Lord of Death'—Mephiston.
The holographic projection showed an Astartes wearing crimson and gold Librarian armor, with a pale but almost eerily handsome face. His eyes seemed to burn with an unquenchable psychic flame, and a powerful yet contained psychic pressure emanated from him. Even through the projection, one could feel that unsettling power.
"Greetings, Lord Regent." Mephiston's voice was elegant and calm, with a non-human composure.
Guilliman again explained Gaius's predicament.
Mephiston listened quietly, his burning eyes narrowing slightly, as if sensing and contemplating something. After listening, he slowly spoke: "The Mark of Change... a cunning poison that penetrates the soul. This is indeed very tricky, Lord Regent. The Grey Knights Chapter's concerns are not entirely unfounded."
His words made Guilliman's heart tighten slightly.
But Mephiston continued: "However, pure purification is not the only path. The 'curse' our father Sanguinius left us has also made us understand better than anyone that some things cannot be simply excised. They can only be coexisted with, or... a path of transformation and suppression can be sought."
He leaned slightly forward, psychic flames flickering in his eyes: "I cannot guarantee that I will successfully cleanse the Mark of Change from your warrior's body. That requires close, detailed examination, and perhaps even... some unconventional methods. But I can promise that the Blood Angels' Librarium will provide all possible assistance. We understand your predicament, Lord Regent. When you arrive at Terra, I will personally come to assess the situation."
Mephiston's reply, though not a hundred percent guarantee, was full of understanding and support, a stark contrast to the cold rejection from the Inquisition and the Grey Knights.
This was undoubtedly a ray of light in the darkness.
"Thank you for your understanding and support, Chief Librarian Mephiston," Guilliman said sincerely. "Your promise is crucial."
After ending the call with Mephiston, Guilliman's mood lightened slightly. At least, he was not completely isolated and helpless. The ancient knowledge of the Blood Angels and Mephiston's powerful strength might bring a turning point.
He walked out of the communication room, his gaze once again falling upon the ever-changing Warp outside the viewport.
The road ahead remained difficult; the various forces on Terra were intricate and complex, the Inquisition's attitude was ambiguous, and Lion's departure meant the loss of an important support. But with the Blood Angels' promise, and the companionship of his loyal warriors, his resolve grew even stronger.
No matter what difficulties he faced, he had to fight for that glimmer of hope for Gaius.
The fleet continued its steadfast journey towards Holy Terra.
Just as Guilliman had finished his somewhat comforting call with Mephiston of the Blood Angels and was contemplating how to coordinate the various forces on Terra, the communication console emitted another alert—a highly encrypted communication request, the source clearly labeled: Grey Knights Chapter, Grand Master.
Guilliman frowned slightly. He had just been almost rejected, so why were they contacting him again so quickly? Was it a reconnection after a storm interference, or... something else had changed? A hint of wariness rose in his heart, but he quickly answered the call.
The holographic projection lit up again, and the stabilized image showed three giants clad in silver-grey power armor. The one in the center was precisely the Grand Master of the Grey Knights, referred to as "Silver Shield," with his cold and rigid demeanor. On his left and right stood two other Grand Masters in similar attire, but with slightly different runes and honorifics on their armor, clearly indicating their extremely high status within the Grey Knights.
The figures of the three men were like three silver-grey icebergs; even through the projection, one could feel their uncompromising, unyielding will focused on combating Chaos.
"Your Highness, Lord Regent," the Grand Master's unperturbed voice, with an ancient cadence, broke the silence first. "After our careful deliberation, and an urgent re-consultation with the Lords of the Inquisition..."
He paused, seemingly making a final confirmation, and the other two Grand Masters nodded imperceptibly.
...Given that you, with the authority of the Lord Regent, personally vouch for the loyalty of this warrior, and as this matter concerns the continued existence of an important Imperial fighting force, we have decided to comply with your command."
The Grand Master's words were clear and firm, completely different from his previous reserved and implied attitude!
"We, the Grey Knights, and the related forces of the Grey Knights Chapter, will, upon your arrival at Holy Terra, fully assist in attempting to cleanse the Mark of Change from the depths of the target individual's soul. We will employ all necessary knowledge and means to strive for this goal."
This sudden, one-hundred-and-eighty-degree change in attitude surprised Guilliman greatly, even leaving him somewhat caught off guard. A trace of subtle astonishment and... deeper suspicion flashed in his profound blue eyes.
What made them change their minds in such a short time? Was it truly because of his authority as Lord Regent? Or had some new consensus been reached within the Inquisition? Or perhaps... there were other unknown factors at play?
The stubbornness and dogmatism of the Grey Knights and the Inquisition were legendary. To make these fanatics, who regarded Chaos corruption as an absolute taboo and would rather kill a thousand innocents than let one guilty person escape, change their established stance was no less difficult than repelling a Chaos warband head-on. Something must have happened.
Despite the numerous doubts in his mind, Guilliman showed no trace of them on his face. Regardless, obtaining the official promise and assistance of the Grey Knights Chapter—the Imperium's most elite force specifically dedicated to combating demons—was ultimately a good thing. It at least cleared a major official obstacle and provided more possibilities and resources for subsequent actions.
This undoubtedly eased a huge burden on his heart.
"I am very grateful for your decision, Grand Master, and all Grand Masters," Guilliman's voice was steady and full of authority, expressing his approval appropriately. "The Imperium needs the strength of every loyal warrior, and even more, professional and steadfast guardians like yourselves. I look forward to meeting you on Terra to collectively resolve this difficult problem."
"This is our duty, Your Highness, Lord Regent," the Grand Master nodded slightly, his tone still cold and flat, betraying no emotional fluctuation. "May the Emperor's light guide your journey. Communication terminated."
The projection extinguished, and the communication room fell silent once more.
Guilliman sat alone in the chair, his fingers unconsciously tapping the armrest, lost in thought.
The Grey Knights' sudden change of heart was absolutely extraordinary. There could be many possible reasons behind it: perhaps certain factions within the Inquisition, after weighing the pros and cons, deemed it not worth directly defying the Lord Regent over this matter; perhaps the Grey Knights themselves, through some prophecy or psychic detection, discovered Gaius's peculiarity or some... exploitable value? It's even possible... this itself was part of Tzeentch's scheme, luring them into using some seemingly "cleansing" method that would actually lead to more terrifying consequences?
Countless conjectures swirled in his mind. Dealing with Chaos, especially with the Lord of Change, any seemingly smooth progress could hide deeper traps.
He could not fully trust the Grey Knights' promise and had to maintain the highest level of vigilance. The support of Mephiston and the Blood Angels now seemed even more precious; they were at least more trustworthy, and their motives purer.
But no matter what, on the surface, the biggest obstacle seemed to have been removed. He had official support and the private promise of assistance from the Blood Angels. The next focus was to safely reach Terra and ensure that Gaius received the most appropriate treatment throughout the process, while strictly guarding against any possible accidents.
He took a deep breath, temporarily suppressing the chaotic thoughts. As a leader, he had to look forward, utilizing every available resource to achieve the ultimate goal.
He stood up, left the communication room, and went to the bridge. The Warp outside the window was still bizarre, but the fleet's journey had returned to normal.
"How's the course?" he asked.
"Reporting, Primarch, the course has been re-stabilized. We are expected to exit the Warp and enter the Solar Star System's boundary in seventy-eight standard hours," the navigator immediately reported.
"Very good," Guilliman nodded. "Maintain vigilance. Report any anomalies immediately."
"Yes!"
His gaze swept across the busy and orderly bridge, and his plan gradually became clear. Upon arriving at Terra, he needed to immediately take control of the situation, place Gaius under absolute safe protection, and only then gradually introduce the forces of the Grey Knights and the Blood Angels. Golden, Luna, and the others must accompany him throughout, both for protection and supervision.
And that little girl, Ailas... her existence was also a problem; she had to be properly hidden.
A myriad of tasks, but every step had to be cautious.
Meanwhile, in the passenger quarters.
Ailas finally lost interest in the new, somewhat dull Victrix Guard warrior, mainly because no matter what she asked, he only had three answers: "Yes," "No," and "No comment." She ran back to Luna's side to watch her adjust equipment.
Dorian, feeling a bit sullen from his earlier "disfavor," insisted on arm-wrestling Draculas, with an unsurprising result. Lieutenant Golden, meanwhile, was studying maps of Terra and some codes of conduct manuals, his brow furrowed as he pondered how to deal with the complex environment there.
Gaius sat quietly by the viewport, watching the distorted light streaming outside. He could feel that the fleet seemed to have experienced a fluctuation but quickly returned to calm. He did not know what kind of struggle and pressure the Primarch was enduring for his sake, but all he could do was maintain his unyielding will and await his fate.
The spark of hope, though faint, had been ignited. Yet, around this hope, invisible mists and dangers from the Warp and within the Imperium still lingered.
The Pride of Cato and its escort ships, like an ark carrying hope and the unknown, steadfastly sailed towards the heart of the Imperium of Man's power and faith—Holy Terra. The ultimate test awaited each of them there.
The hull of the Pride of Cato emitted a low, almost relieved hum as it violently tore itself free from the bizarre, color-distorted realm of the Warp, returning to the cold, silent, and physics-abiding reality of the universe.
Outside the viewport, the unsettling chaotic colors rapidly receded, replaced by the familiar, star-studded black velvet curtain of space. Navigators quickly pinpointed their location, confirming the fleet was currently at the outer reaches of the Solar Star System.
Almost simultaneously with their exit from the Warp, the ship's sensors and communication channels were inundated with dense identity verification queries and navigation instruction signals from all directions. The space here was covered by a strict monitoring network; any unauthorized intruder would be met with devastating force in an instant.
However, the Pride of Cato's identity had already been transmitted in advance via encrypted channels. Upon confirming the Lord Regent's flagship status, all weapon lock signals targeting it were swiftly disengaged. Defensive platforms and patrol fleets on the orbits of various planets along the route, as if receiving a silent command, neatly parted to either side, clearing an unobstructed path for this vessel, which represented the Imperium's highest authority.
Gaius, Dorian, Luna, Golden, Draculas, and Ailas were all gathered in the observation lounge, looking out at the scene through the massive viewport. Even the well-traveled Draculas and the composed Golden were awestruck by the sight before them.
The Solar Star System, the absolute core of the Imperium of Man, possessed a defensive might far surpassing any other star system.
What first caught their attention were the colossal warships, patrolling at key nodes like mobile fortresses. They were uniformly a steadfast, heavy bright yellow, with square hull lines emphasizing firepower and protection; almost every inch of armor seemed to speak of 'steadfastness.' The ships were emblazoned with a distinct symbol—a clenched fist.
"It's the Imperial Fists," Lieutenant Golden whispered, a hint of reverence in his tone. "The Seventh Legion, sons of Dorn. They are the cornerstone of the Solar Star System's, and indeed the entire Imperium's, defense system."
As he spoke, and as the fleet delved deeper, they witnessed even more breathtaking sights. Almost every inhabited or strategically valuable planet had been transformed beyond recognition. Planet surfaces were covered with dense defensive fortifications, macro-cannon arrays, laser launch silos, and energy shield generators. Orbiting them were countless space stations, shipyards, and heavily armed defensive platforms. Some larger moons had been completely hollowed out or reinforced, becoming deadly orbital fortresses and firing points.
The entire Solar Star System seemed to be an immense, layered super-fortress. The Imperial Fists and their successor Chapters had taken Rogal Dorn's almost paranoid defensive philosophy to its extreme. Here, every planet was a fortress, every shipping lane a corridor of fire, and any enemy attempting to invade Terra would be smashed to pieces against this iron wall.
"Good heavens…" Dorian gaped, smacking his lips. "This place… it's too tough! How many cannons must there be?!"
Even the usually silent Draculas' white helmet rotated slightly, meticulously observing the intricate and deadly defensive arrangements, seemingly assessing their strength and weaknesses in his mind.
Ailas, meanwhile, flinched at the pervasive, cold military atmosphere, instinctively leaning closer to Luna. This purely war-oriented environment was starkly different from the orderly yet vibrant feel of Macragge she was accustomed to.
The fleet continued its journey, and a unique planet gradually came into view—Mars.
This planet presented a peculiar appearance, a blend of rust-red and metallic-grey. Its surface was covered with colossal factory complexes, refineries, energy towers, and bottomless mining pits. Countless massive pipelines and orbital networks, like veins and nerves, covered the land, transporting resources to every corner of the planet. In orbit, shipyards and space stations, far exceeding the scale of other places, were densely packed like a beehive, with countless transport ships and the Adeptus Mechanicus' unique, strange vessels constantly shuttling.
This was the home of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the absolute core of Imperial technology, and the center of the Cult Mechanicus. At the same time, it was the single most heavily defended planet in the entire Solar Star System! The advanced nature of its orbital and surface weapon platforms and their fierce firepower made even the Imperial Fists' warships nearby seem somewhat 'austere.'
The Martian Tech-Priests' fanaticism for knowledge and their wariness of outsiders were as famous as their pursuit of technology. Forcibly breaching Mars would be no less difficult than a frontal assault on the Terra Palace.
After passing Mars, the destination of their journey, the planet with an irreplaceable position in human history, finally appeared at the edge of their vision.
Holy Terra.
However, those seeing it for the first time might feel a touch of… disillusionment.
This mother-world of the Imperium of Man, the abode of the Emperor, had long lost its original azure hue after countless years of war, over-exploitation, ecological collapse, and an unimaginable accumulation of population. From space, it appeared as a somber, lifeless dark gold. The entire planetary surface was almost completely covered by unimaginably grand urban structures; no natural oceans or green spaces were visible. Massive domes, spires reaching into the clouds, residential modules as dense as an ant's nest, and crisscrossing aerial transportation networks formed the planet's primary appearance.
Though still distant, they could already vaguely discern the iconic, miraculous architectural complexes: the towering, mountain-like Terra Palace, the location of the Emperor's Holy Throne and the core of Imperial power; the gigantic Administratum fortress, representing the ruthless majesty of Imperial law; the magnificent Schola Progenium, training countless Imperial officers, Inquisitors, priests, and technical personnel; and the awe-inspiring black spires of the Inquisition, as well as the Grey Knights Chapter's fortress, hidden in an unknown corner of the planet.
Holy, grand, majestic… but also crowded, oppressive, and undoubtedly, in the shadowed depths of the underhives and lower levels, countless commoners lived in misery, struggling with poverty, oppression, and despair. Faith and suffering, power and lowliness, formed the most extreme contrasts on this planet.
Gaius and his companions silently watched the approaching dark gold planet, their hearts filled with complex emotions. They felt the weighty history, the supreme authority, and the suffocating religious sanctity that Terra embodied. But equally, they sensed the heaviness, rigidity, and even… a hint of decay hidden beneath its glorious exterior.
This was so different from their familiar, rational, and orderly Ultramar.
The Pride of Cato began receiving detailed guidance instructions from Terra's spaceport control tower.
Guilliman stood on the bridge, personally confirming the landing request. His gaze swept over the familiar yet strange sight of Terra, his eyes deep. Each time he returned here, he felt more profoundly the heavy shackles that this Imperium bore.
"Follow guidance, prepare for landing," he commanded.
The Pride of Cato adjusted its attitude and, accompanied by three escort frigates, began its slow descent towards the colossal, metal-scarred designated spaceport on Terra's surface.
Inside the ship, Lieutenant Golden took a deep breath and looked at the others: "Get ready. We are about to set foot on Holy Terra. Remember the instructions from before: be cautious in your words and actions, especially you, Dorian, and Ailas."
Dorian, uncharacteristically, didn't retort, merely touching the laurel wreath on his head, his expression somewhat serious. Ailas nervously clutched Luna's sleeve.
A Victrix Guard Captain led a squad of Golden-armored guards towards them, silently gesturing for them to follow.
The hatch slowly opened, and a scent, a complex mixture of ancient dust, industrial exhaust, ozone, and an indescribable aroma generated by billions of lives, rushed in.
Holy Terra, was beneath their feet.
The massive hull of the Pride of Cato settled steadily into a mountain-sized berth at the Terra spaceport. Before the hatch fully opened, a dense, indescribable mixture of ancient dust, pungent industrial exhaust, the ozone smell of energy leaks, and the heavy aroma generated by billions of human lives surged in, assaulting the senses of every newcomer.
This was the scent of Terra: ancient, heavy, crowded, carrying an almost suffocating sense of sanctity and oppression.
Just as Ailas wrinkled her nose slightly, choked by the unfamiliar scent, and instinctively tried to retreat behind Luna, a Victrix Guard warrior strode forward. In his hands, he held a neatly folded, thick, dark-colored greatcoat with a wide hood.
Without a word, the Victrix Guard warrior draped the trench coat directly over Ailas's petite frame. The coat was too large for her, its hem almost dragging on the ground, and the wide hood fell, instantly hiding her face and distinctive short hair in deep shadow, revealing only a delicate chin.
"Wear it, and do not take it off," the Victrix Guard Captain's steady voice rang out from the side, with an undeniable tone of command. "Stay close to Lieutenant Golden or Tech-Sergeant Luna. Absolutely, under no circumstances, should you ever separate from them. Terra is unlike any other place; if your identity is exposed, the consequences will be dire, and no one will be able to protect you in time."
His words were cold and direct, without the slightest exaggeration. Through a gap in the hood, Ailas could see the Captain's cold eye-lenses under his Golden mask staring at her. For the first time, she truly felt the deep malice this place held for outsiders, and her face paled. She quickly nodded vigorously, her small hands clutching the oversized trench coat tightly, as if it were her lifeline.
Lieutenant Golden stepped forward, pulling Ailas to his side, and nodded to the Captain: "Rest assured, Captain, we will watch over her."
Just then, neat and heavy footsteps echoed from outside the hatch. A squad of figures was walking along the connecting passageway, heading towards Guilliman, who had just stepped out of the hatch, and the others behind him.
The one leading them was tall and burly, almost on par with Guilliman. He wore an ancient and majestic dark-green master-crafted power armor, with roaring lion insignias on his shoulder pads, and a green cape swaying gently behind him. His face was weathered and etched with the marks of time, his eyes sharp as an eagle's, yet carrying a profound weariness and melancholy. It was none other than the Primarch Lion El'Jonson, who had just communicated with Guilliman.
Behind him followed a squad of guards, also clad in dark-green armor, but more ornate and exuding a more dangerous aura—these were his Lion Guard, akin to the Victrix Guard among the Dark Angels, his most trusted personal bodyguards. And on either side of the Lion Guard, like Golden specters, stood two even more imposing giants, clad in incomparably magnificent Golden armor covered in intricate reliefs—the Emperor's Custodian Guard!
The Custodian Guard! The Emperor's personal bodyguards, legendary beings said to be even more powerful and ancient than the Astartes! Simply by standing there, they exuded a chilling aura of power and a nearly perfect combat posture. Their Golden armor still shimmered with a sacred and cold luster under Terra's dim light.
Lion's gaze first met Guilliman's; the two Primarch brothers exchanged a slight nod, everything understood without words. Then, the Lion King's sharp eyes swept over Gaius and his group behind Guilliman.
Gaius, Golden, Luna, and even Draculas, instinctively straightened their backs the moment they saw Lion, an indescribable surge of excitement and reverence welling up within them. They had seen this legendary Primarch with their own eyes over thirty years ago, on Macragge, and had personally heard him deliver the news of Elisa Cole's sacrifice. That scene was still vivid in their memories.
However, they also knew that for a being of the Lion King's stature, they, as ordinary warriors, were but insignificant members among countless others, likely long forgotten amidst the passage of time and countless more important matters.
Indeed, Lion's gaze only lingered on them for a fleeting moment, showing no special meaning, as if merely scanning a group of unfamiliar attendants, before returning to Guilliman.
"Robert, you have returned," Lion's voice was still deep and hoarse. "I am aware of the situation. My Angels are ready, awaiting your command at any time. As for me..." He paused, his gaze fixed on the gloomy sky far in the distance of the spaceport, "...the journey to seek the lost lamb is about to begin, so I cannot stay long."
His words were concise and direct, once again emphasizing his intention to depart.
Guilliman nodded: "I understand. I will handle things here on Terra."
After the two Primarchs exchanged a few brief words about Terra's current situation and defensive matters, Lion did not linger. He glanced at Gaius and the others once more, gave a slight nod to Guilliman, then turned and, escorted by his Lion Guard and two Custodian Guard, departed with heavy, resolute strides, quickly disappearing into the bustling crowd and machinery of the spaceport.
The welcome from the First Primarch was so brief and restrained, it brought a measure of calm to Gaius and the others, yet also a faint sense of disappointment.
"Let's go," Guilliman's voice brought their thoughts back to reality. Escorted by the Victrix Guard, they followed the Primarch into the unimaginably vast, yet incredibly busy and oppressive, internal passageways of the Terra spaceport.
Riding in specialized high-speed transport vehicles, they passed through layers of heavily fortified gates and checkpoints, finally entering the miraculous, indescribably colossal Terra Palace area.
The sight here once again stunned everyone. More than a palace, it was a gigantic city built upon mountains, composed of countless magnificent buildings, fortresses, temples, and monuments. Soaring domes pierced the sky, Golden walls were carved with ten millennia of Imperial history and mythology, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and cold metal.
Most striking, however, were the ubiquitous patrolling guards.
Squads of tall, gold-armored Custodian Guard, like moving sacred statues, patrolled every corridor and courtyard with precise, silent steps. Their numbers were far beyond imagination, as if every inch of the palace grounds was under their watchful eyes. Their magnificent armor and powerful aura created an unparalleled deterrent, causing people to instinctively hold their breath and feel awe.
As they followed Guilliman and the Victrix Guard down an incredibly wide corridor, flanked by colossal statues of the Emperor, the scene ahead made everyone's breath catch.
Three Custodian Guard were slowly walking towards them.
These three Custodian Guard were slightly different from those seen before. They wore an older, heavier, and more intricately carved Aquilon pattern Terminator Armor, covered with more complex reliefs and sacred markings! This type of Terminator Armor was usually only issued to the most seasoned and powerful warriors among the Custodian Guard, truly symbolizing the Imperium's peak fighting force!
Their weapons were also extraordinary—massive Guardian Spears gleamed with dangerous energy, and one of them carried a huge Storm Shield inscribed with the Imperial Aquila on his back. Their steps were as steady as mountains, each landing seemingly carrying immense force. Their Golden armor, illuminated by the eternal flames along the corridor, shone brilliantly, exuding a sacred majesty that was impossible to look at directly.
The target of these three Aquilon Custodian Guard did not seem to be Guilliman, but rather another direction down the corridor. However, the immense aura and cold gaze they unintentionally projected still caused Golden, Gaius, and the others to feel immense pressure, as if being stared at by three prehistoric behemoths.
Dorian instinctively clenched his fists, but then immediately relaxed them. For the first time, he felt that his own strength and Terminator Armor seemed somewhat... inadequate in front of these true apex guardians of the Imperium. Draculas's white helmet lowered slightly, showing silent respect. Luna instinctively pulled Ailas even tighter behind her, the wide trench coat completely shielding the girl.
Even the Victrix Guard accompanying Guilliman subtly adjusted their posture, showing respect for the Emperor's personal guard, the Custodian Guard.
The three Aquilon Custodian Guard noticed Guilliman's group. They gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, their movements precise and elegant, but did not stop their pace. Like three moving Golden mountains, they passed by them, their heavy footsteps gradually fading into the distance.
It was not until their figures disappeared at the end of the corridor that the suffocating, invisible pressure slowly dissipated.
Everyone subconsciously let out a sigh of relief.
Ailas even couldn't help but lightly pat her chest under the trench coat, her small face pale with fright. She finally understood why the Captain and Lieutenant Golden had repeatedly emphasized the danger here. The oppressive feeling those three Golden-armored giants gave her even surpassed facing a Tyranid swarm!
Guilliman seemed long accustomed to all of this; he did not stop, continuing forward.
"Keep up," the Victrix Guard Captain's low voice reminded them.
Gaius took a deep breath, suppressing the shock and trepidation in his heart, and stepped forward. He knew this was only the first step into the Terra Palace. The real challenges and the fate-determining "Purification" ritual had not yet begun.
This dark-Golden Imperial Capital was both the sacred heart of the Imperium and potentially a vast labyrinth that could bury them. Every step had to be taken as if walking on thin ice.
Walking through the grand, labyrinthine corridors of the Terra Palace felt like traversing a living epic of the Imperium. The ancient dust and eternal incense in the air, mixed with the faint vibrations from the cold metal underfoot, constantly reminded one of the millennia of weight and supreme authority carried by this place.
Guilliman did not linger long at the spaceport. He ordered the Victrix Guard Captain to settle Golden, Dorian, Luna, Draculas, and the tightly wrapped Ailas, arranging for them a secluded and safe residence near his own palace, and instructing them not to leave without permission.
Afterward, he personally led Gaius, accompanied by a squad of Victrix Guard and several Custodes who silently appeared and joined the escort, deeper into the palace.
This was the rule of the Terra Palace: any non-Custodes personnel operating in the core areas must be accompanied by Custodes.
The further they went, the more solemn and majestic the environment became, and the more frequent the Custodes patrols. Their armor also grew more ancient and ornate. The murals and bas-reliefs on both sides of the corridors gradually shifted from depicting general Imperial achievements to more sacred scenes, closer to the core of Imperial faith.
Gaius silently followed behind Guilliman. He could feel the energy field of the surrounding environment changing. An indescribable, vast psychic fluctuation, like a sea of stars yet also like a flickering candle in the wind, permeated the air like background radiation, becoming clearer the further they advanced. This fluctuation contained both supreme majesty and the warmth that guides all beings, but also endless suffering and an almost solidified eternal struggle.
He knew what it was.
They passed a huge, plaza-like intersection. One end of the intersection led to an incredibly vast, tightly closed grand gate, seemingly constructed from pure Golden light. The psychic fluctuations emanating from behind that gate were so intense that merely glimpsing it from afar made one's soul tremble, compelling one to kneel and pray.
That was where the Emperor's sacred Golden Throne resided.
The Emperor's broken body, sustained by inhuman will and ancient technology, sat upon that throne. With his sole power, he suppressed the damaged Webway entrance beneath him, preventing terrifying demons from flooding into the real universe. At the same time, his burning soul lit the guiding light for human navigation in the Warp—the Astronomican—navigating countless Imperial ships through the dark void.
This was the cornerstone supporting the entire Imperium's existence, and the greatest sacrifice and miracle for humanity's continued survival.
And now, outside that Golden gate, a larger squad of Custodes stood guard solemnly. Their posture was more grave than any Custodes seen before, like Golden statues integrated with the gate. Even more notably, beside the Custodes formation stood two figures clad in silver-grey armor, covered in complex anti-daemon runes, their helmet visors gleaming with cold blue light—Grey Knights.
Gold and silver, the Imperium's two top fighting forces, now stood quietly outside the Throne Room, seemingly engaged in some form of handover or joint guard. Their very presence indicated the extreme importance and potential danger of this location.
Gaius's gaze swept over the two Grey Knights. He could feel a cold aura emanating from them, distinct from the sacred guardianship of the Custodes, an aura focused on combating and purifying Chaos. These were the ones who would perform the "purification" ritual on him. His mood became even more complex.
Guilliman's steps did not pause before that great gate; he didn't even glance in that direction, as if unwilling to witness the eternal torment of his father beyond the door. He turned with Gaius into another corridor.
Not far along, an extremely magnificent indoor monument appeared before them. The monument was constructed from black basalt and inlaid with white jade, inscribed with Golden text and lifelike bas-reliefs that recorded a great battle that determined humanity's fate.
Upon the bas-reliefs, three towering Primarch figures stood out most prominently: one with vast wings, holding a holy spear, with a perfect face tinged with pity and resolve—that was the "Great Angel" Sanguinius; one with a resolute face, holding a Power Fist, his stance like an insurmountable fortress—that was "the Rock" Rogal Dorn; and another with a wild and unbridled aura, like a falcon about to charge—that was "the Eagle of Chogoris" Jaghatai Khan.
The bas-relief depicted the most brutal and crucial Chapter of the Siege of Terra, ten thousand years ago. These three loyal Primarchs, leading their sons and Imperial armies, fought a desperate battle against their traitorous brothers and their Chaos hordes on this sacred ground, ultimately protecting the Emperor, safeguarding Terra, and preserving the last spark of humanity for the Imperium of Man.
Gaius stopped, gazing up at the monument, his heart filled with infinite reverence. This was the history glorified by the Imperial authorities, the heroic epic every Imperial citizen grew up hearing. Sanguinius's sacrifice, Dorn's steadfastness, Khan's charge—these formed the core narrative of loyalty, courage, and sacrifice in Imperial faith.
However, his gaze was soon drawn to another area opposite the monument.
There, nine immensely tall statues of Primarchs, sculpted from the most precious materials, stood in orderly rows. Each was lifelike, displaying their unique stances and temperaments.
Gaius could identify the names and deeds he had learned only after joining the Ultramarines, from Chapter archives and the accounts of veterans. From left to right, they were:
"Lion King" Lion El'Jonson – Lord of the Dark Angels, steady and mysterious.
"Eagle of Chogoris" Jaghatai Khan – Lord of the White Scars, swift as the wind.
"Wolf King" Leman Russ – Lord of the Space Wolves, wild and straightforward.
"The Rock" Rogal Dorn – Lord of the Imperial Fists, unbreakable.
"Great Angel" Sanguinius – Lord of the Blood Angels, perfect and sorrowful.
"Lord of Iron" Ferrus Manus – Lord of the Iron Hands, will like steel.
"Lord of Ultramar" Roboute Guilliman – Lord of the Ultramarines, wise and rational.
"Lord of the Fire Drakes" Vulkan – Lord of the Salamanders, benevolent and powerful.
"Raven Lord" Corvus Corax – Lord of the Raven Guard, secretive and deadly.
The nine loyal Primarchs. In official Imperial records, the only nine gene-Primarchs created by the Emperor.
As Gaius looked at these statues, his heart grew heavier. When he was just an ordinary youth on an Imperial world, before undergoing transformation into an Astartes, all the education he received, all the propaganda he heard, unequivocally told him: the Emperor had only nine sons, these nine great, loyal gene-Primarchs. The other nine? They did not exist; they were heretical lies, false histories fabricated by Chaos to sow discord.
It wasn't until he joined the Ultramarines, becoming a Space Marine, that he gained the privilege to vaguely learn the other side of the truth from the Chapter's veterans and from those dusty records inaccessible to mortals: the Emperor did indeed create eighteen Primarchs. The other nine, during the Horus Heresy ten thousand years ago, betrayed the Emperor, turned to the Chaos Gods, and became terrifying Daemon Princes.
Their names, their achievements, even their former existence, were systematically and thoroughly erased and expunged from official Imperial records. Only Astartes Chapters, especially the ancient First Founding Chapters, secretly passed down vague memories and lessons about these traitors internally, as a warning to future generations that the temptation of Chaos was everywhere.
This schism between the official narrative and the internal truth had once left Gaius feeling confused and uneasy. Now, standing before these statues representing the "only true orthodoxy," that feeling resurfaced.
The Imperium preferred to weave a perfect myth of "only nine Primarchs" rather than acknowledge the cruel reality that the rebellion was initiated by the other half of the "brothers." This was a necessary measure for governance, to prevent faith from wavering, but it was also a castration and forgetting of history.
Guilliman also stopped before the nine statues. His gaze slowly swept over each brother's statue, lingering for a moment especially on the statues of Sanguinius, Dorn, and himself. His eyes were complex, filled with nostalgia, sadness, and an indescribable weariness.
He saw the expression on Gaius's face and seemed to understand his thoughts.
"History is written by the victors, Sergeant Karl," Guilliman's voice resonated deeply, breaking the silence, yet he did not look at Gaius, still gazing at the statues. "But the truth is often buried beneath the halo of victory, needing those capable of bearing it to guard and remember. Remember what you know, but also understand why the Imperium needs such 'stories.'"
With that, he said no more, turned, and continued forward.
Gaius took a deep breath, casting one last look at the nine glorious statues and the brutal battle recorded on the monument opposite. Glory and darkness, remembrance and forgetting, loyalty and betrayal... all intertwined and settled within this vast palace on Terra.
He quickly caught up with Guilliman's pace.
The path ahead led to Guilliman's temporary palace within the Imperial Palace, and also to the unknown that would decide his fate. Behind him, forgotten names and histories, like ghosts, silently lingered in this sacred hall.
Guilliman, accompanied by Gaius, and under the strict escort of the Victrix Guard and Custodes, finally arrived at the palace area deep within the Terra Palace, allocated for the Lord Regent's use. This palace was equally magnificent, but compared to the ancient sanctity of the Imperial Palace as a whole, it had more of Guilliman's personal Ultramar style, emphasizing efficiency and order.
However, the atmosphere inside the palace was far from relaxed.
In the grand hall, used as a temporary strategic room and furnished with a massive astrogator table, several figures were already waiting. Their presence seemed to solidify the air in the entire hall, filling it with an indescribable aura of power and scrutinizing gazes.
Guilliman entered the hall, his gaze sharply sweeping over everyone present.
First to catch his eye were the three Grey Knights, clad in silver-grey Power Armor, standing like three icebergs—the one in the center was "Silver Shield" Grand Master, flanked on either side by a Grey Knight Grand Master whose aura was equally unfathomable. They stood in silence, their cold visors seemingly able to pierce souls, and the psychic fluctuations specifically for combating Chaos subtly flowed around them.
Next were three Inquisitor representatives, cloaked in black robes and adorned with symbols of authority and judgment. They hailed from the three most dreaded factions of the Imperium's Inquisition:
One was a representative of the Ordo Malleus, his gaze the sharpest, as if constantly searching for any trace of Chaos corruption. His very presence exuded an oppressive sense of purification.
Another was a representative of thedo Hereticus, his eyes filled with extreme vigilance against internal decay and disloyalty. Any impurity in faith could invite his ruthless judgment.
The third was a representative of thedo Xenos, who, although primarily focused on alien threats, was present here, clearly because the matter involved the intervention of non-human forces (the Lord of Change) and required an assessment of all potential risks.
These three Inquisitor Lords stood like three black statues of judgment; their silence was more threatening than words.
In subtle contrast to the cold and grim aura of these three parties was a figure standing slightly further away, clad in a scarlet and gold Librarian's robe. His face was pale but extraordinarily handsome, his eyes burned with calm yet powerful psychic flames, and a restrained yet vast sense of power emanated from him. It was Mephiston, Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels, the "Lord of Blood." He nodded slightly to Guilliman, his posture elegant and confident.
This was a collection of the Imperium's most elite, yet also most extreme, forces against supernatural threats. Their mere assembly indicated how severe and unique Gaius's condition was assessed to be.
Guilliman offered no pleasantries. He walked directly to the head of the astrogator table, his gaze like a torch sweeping the room, and spoke directly, his voice steady and filled with unquestionable authority:
"Gentlemen, thank you for coming. You are already aware of the situation. This individual beside me is Sergeant Karl Horn of the Ultramarines' Third Company. A loyal and fearless warrior, who unfortunately has been marked by the power of Tzeentch, the Lord of Change."
He gestured towards Gaius, and all eyes instantly focused on him. In those gazes, there was cold scrutiny, psychic probing, judicial assessment, and a hint of curiosity and evaluation. Gaius felt as if he were under a magnifying glass, every cell being dissected. He forcefully suppressed the tremor in his heart, straightened his spine, and faced them calmly.
Guilliman continued: "His willpower far surpasses that of an ordinary person. He has repeatedly resisted Tzeentch's corruption and whispers, his loyalty is beyond doubt, and the Emperor's great power has even manifested to help him repel a Great Daemon. However, the Mark of Change is deeply embedded in his soul, difficult to eradicate by conventional means, and Tzeentch will never give up."
His tone grew heavier: "The purpose of summoning you all this time is not for a traditional 'purification.' My demand is clear: I need to leverage the deepest knowledge and most powerful abilities from each of your respective fields to thoroughly cleanse the Mark of Change from his body, but at the same time, his soul's integrity and autonomy must be preserved as much as possible, preventing any new form of erosion or control."
He specifically emphasized "cleansing" rather than "purification," and the importance of "preserving the soul." This directly set the tone for the operation—not simple destruction, but a high-difficulty, high-risk "soul surgery."
A brief silence fell over the hall.
The Grey Knight Grand Master spoke first, his voice still rigid and cold, devoid of emotion: "Lord Regent, your will is our mission. Cleansing the poison of Change and preserving a loyal soul is a formidable challenge. However, the Grey Knights will do everything in our power, employing all forbidden knowledge and rituals. Nevertheless, I must state upfront that the cunning of the Lord of Change is beyond imagination, and any attempt carries immense risk; failure, even, is to be expected." His words conveyed both obedience and a pre-emptive disclaimer of responsibility, full of caution and conservatism.
The Ordo Malleus representative then uttered a hoarse voice: "Lord Regent, we can provisionally accept your guarantee of the warrior's loyalty. But we must monitor the entire process. Any sign of loss of control, any attempt that deviates from the 'cleansing' objective towards 'transformation' or 'containment,' will be considered a potential spread of corruption, and we will not hesitate to activate... emergency measures." His words were filled with undisguised threat; the "emergency measures" were self-evident.
The Inquisitor representative coldly added: "His thoughts, his memories, everything about him will be subjected to the strictest scrutiny. Any trace of contact with Chaos, no matter how subtle, must be recorded, evaluated, and if necessary... isolated or excised. Ensuring absolute purity of faith is the primary prerequisite."
The Ordo Xenos representative stated: "We will assess any form of Warp or Xenos energy fluctuations that might be triggered during this process, ensuring they do not pose additional risks to Terra."
The attitudes of the three Inquisitors remained unyielding, full of distrust and stringent limitations.
At this moment, Mephiston elegantly stepped forward. His burning eyes looked at Gaius, as if sensing something, then he slowly spoke, his voice calm yet carrying a strange, soothing power: "Scars deep within the soul, like the Red Thirst and Black Rage we bear, cannot be solved by fire and blade alone. The grace of Father Sanguinius has taught us that some powers need guidance, not mere expulsion. Lord Regent, the Blood Angels Librarium will offer our knowledge and psychic support, attempting to soothe and fortify this warrior's soul-barrier, and during the 'cleansing' process, protect his core consciousness from severe damage as much as possible. But we cannot guarantee whether Tzeentch's Mark has intertwined more deeply with the essence of his soul."
Mephiston's support was relatively gentle and more constructive, but he also acknowledged the difficulty of the task.
Guilliman listened to the various statements, his face serene. He knew this was the best situation he could hope for—the Grey Knights providing technical expertise and power, the Inquisition providing oversight and restrictions, and the Blood Angels offering additional protection and a different perspective.
"Very well," Guilliman concluded. "Since our objective is aligned, then next, I need you all to jointly formulate a detailed and secure plan within the shortest possible time. The Grey Knights will be responsible for proposing the primary framework of the cleansing ritual, Chief Librarian Mephiston will provide advice on soul protection, and the Inquisition will be responsible for setting safety boundaries and monitoring procedures. I want to see every detail of the plan, to assess its risks and feasibility."
He looked at Gaius, his tone softening but remaining firm: "Sergeant Karl, you need to be prepared for everything, physically and spiritually. This will be a war far more perilous than any external battle."
Gaius heavily thumped his chest, his voice resolute: "Understood, Lord Primarch! I am ready!"
The meeting then commenced. The Grey Knights, Inquisitors, and Mephiston began intense technical discussions. Obscure psychic terms, ritual names, and forbidden knowledge were constantly proposed, debated, and revised. Guilliman sat at the head of the table, listening calmly, occasionally posing critical questions or making decisions.
Gaius stood to the side, feeling as if he were at the center of a storm, yet temporarily isolated from it. He watched these top figures of the Imperium debating his fate, a myriad of indescribable emotions filling his heart.
Hope and danger coexisted. The Imperium's strongest forces had gathered, but the checks and balances, suspicions, and extreme nature of their methods themselves could bring immense risks. And Tzeentch, lurking in the shadows, would surely not stand idly by and watch them successfully cleanse his Mark?
The true test had not yet begun. But the undercurrents within the Terra Palace were already surging.