Guilliman frowned as he looked at Datch dressed as a detective, unable to resist the urge to complain. Standing over two meters tall, with knotty muscles capable of blowing a traitor's head off with a single blow, this Astartes wore a classic detective suit. The picture was truly absurdly rebellious, making everything feel out of place. Also, where did this man even get such a flamboyant outfit?
Valerian, who had been with him on the Macragge's Honour, had joined the Battle of Arraissa and submitted his report. It said that when the Nameless One fought on the surface, he transformed into the Emperor's form. He also chanted slogans like "For the Emperor's glory" and "I am Thunder God Datch."
So Datch? Is that the Nameless One's name?
…
After accepting his mission, Datch planned to head elsewhere on Arraissa, intending to follow after the others when Guilliman and his group returned to Terra. Arraissa had once been a bustling business world. According to 100% real modeling from the Warhammer world, it would be a waste not to go shopping. Datch snapped his fingers, summoning a hover bike into full view. The bike's anti-gravity engine let out a deep hum. Datch mounted it, twisted the accelerator, and vanished like a shadow before everyone's eyes.
…
"If Jaghatai were here, their relationship would be excellent," Guilliman thought, watching the hover bike vanish into the sky. He couldn't help but think of Jaghatai and his love of drag racing and speed. Unfortunately, it was just a fantasy. According to information gathered by the Inquisition, after the Horus Heresy, Jaghatai continued fighting Xenos and disappeared after chasing the Dark Eldar into the Webway. No one knows if he's alive or dead.
Guilliman withdrew his gaze, suppressing many thoughts in his mind. The top priority was to consolidate this hard-won victory. He returned his attention to the floating projection before him, preparing to issue construction orders for the Arraissa Node.
The planet's orbital void port was being rebuilt with heavy adamantium armor and multiple void shield generators. The port's interior was redesigned to hold more weapons and garrisoned troops. Numerous void mines were cast into the abyss, setting deadly minefields. The defense platforms were equipped with cannons, light spears, and torpedo tubes. Hidden detection satellites and space stations were scattered throughout the galaxy, ready for Chaos surprise attacks.
Not only the void, but the surface was also transforming. Mechanicus transport barges and engineering ships were endlessly landing, unloading countless construction machines and raw materials. The once-prosperous business planet of Arraissa was being completely reorganized under Guilliman's will, becoming a fortress world at the throat of the Terra Channel.
Priests of the Ecclesiarchy rode floating pulpits to purify polluted areas. They restored holy sites, placed relics of saints at the Emperor's feet, and worshipped, reducing the chance of Chaos corruption. Huge Mechanicus machines roared, clearing burnt ruins and broken fortresses, building military strongholds. Especially on vital strategic high ground to cover the main spaceports and landing sites, mountains of planetary defense cannons were built. These guns were powerful enough to threaten ships in orbit, powered by underground nuclear reactors—very safe and stable.
Former underground facilities, such as the pipeline area where Old Hansen once sheltered civilians, underwent massive renovation and expansion. Various deep command centers, reserve warehouses, shelters, and silos were interconnected. This way, even if the void or ground collapsed, defenders could retreat underground and hold out until reinforcements arrived.
As the defense system of Arraissa Node World was progressing smoothly, Guilliman brought Chancellor Tieron back to low orbit, received the Macragge's Honour, and prepared for the return to Terra and the Indomitus Crusade.
Outside, Datch, who had been waving, suddenly appeared. "Prepare to board the Macragge's Honour and return to Terra together."
Many Imperial heroes were already used to this and didn't mind. Datch boarded the Macragge's Honour, heading straight to the lowest cabin to play cards with the crew.
On the way to Arraissa, everyone pondered the coming war. Everyone felt like playing cards, and the bored Datch could only pass the time. Now, with victory in hand, the crew was less stressed, and various entertainments revived. Datch was full of energy, prying open crates, pocketing money, or playing cards with NPCs when there was nothing to do. After all, humans are social creatures.
…
The first thing Guilliman did upon returning to Terra was to issue the mobilization order for the Indomitus Crusade, with unquestionable authority. Armies across the galaxy withdrew from battlefields, abandoning territories that had bled the Imperium dry, and regrouped to strike back against the enemy.
Many armies carried out the order, gathering in designated sectors of the starry sky. However, there were those who, believing the Imperium's actions betrayed the people of fallen worlds, refused to withdraw and instead swore to defend their ground to the death. Guilliman understood the cruelty of this command and did not condemn those who defied him. But his resolve never wavered: only by concentrating their scattered strength could they resist the forces of Chaos. Otherwise, the bloodletting would never end, and eventually, they would fall.
Necessary sacrifices would be exchanged for greater victory.
He also commanded forge worlds and industries rich in resources to begin constructing new warships and various war machines. Mars and Jupiter's forge worlds were also included in the plan. Industrial furnaces and production lines ran at full capacity as a frenzy of mass production began.
Even more shocking was another order from the Primarch's office: the establishment of a logistics division dedicated to the Indomitus Crusade. Its authority, responsibilities, and resource allocation completely bypassed Terra's existing administrative systems. Not even the High Lords' Council could interfere with its affairs; they could only offer token support.
Protests and suspicions spread rapidly through the palace corridors and official documents, with countless voices criticizing them openly or in secret. As Terra's political world churned and undercurrents surged, Chancellor Tieron received his first visitor: Irthu Haemotalion, one of Terra's twelve High Lords and Master of the Administratum.
The meeting place was an old, remote chapel chosen by Irthu. Long abandoned, not used for daily rituals, it exuded a somewhat desolate atmosphere. The statue of the Emperor stood solemn in shadow, stone walls covered in moss and dust spreading like cobwebs. Only faint lumen lamps provided weak light, dyeing the air a murky amber and especially accentuating the deep lines of fatigue on Irthu's face.
Tieron carefully used a portable scanner to check the surroundings before entering.
"It's hard to see you, Chancellor," said Irthu candidly, his voice echoing through the empty corridor.
"Sorry, Master Irthu," Tieron yawned lightly, speaking cautiously. "I've been too busy lately—too many affairs, I admit I've neglected you."
Tieron knew Irthu's intentions. Power is an intoxicating wine, a secret drug that brings deadly illusions. Too many people in high positions succumb to fatal delusions. They believe all their achievements are theirs alone, then try to control the mechanisms that grant everything.
Tieron had an advantage—he'd always remained sober, never daring to forget the source of his power. The unparalleled might of the Astartes came from the genetic seed of the Primarch, created by the Emperor's infinite wisdom and knowledge. The destructive power of the Imperial Fleet and Titans came from the lost knowledge preserved by the Mechanicum. All power has a source; nothing is born from nothing, especially authority, which comes from the system the Imperium has built over millennia.
From the legal system set by the Emperor and the nine loyal Primarchs, to the vast sea of laws and regulations holding each other in check. Tieron could summon the Astartes and speak as an equal to the Custodes only because he was recognized by the Imperial system and was at the heart of law enforcement. What the Custodes and soldiers respected was not him, but the legal authority recognized by the Emperor and the original institutions. Even if someone else sat in the Chancellor's seat, they'd be respected all the same. Forgetting this and imagining oneself as the true ruler of the Imperium? That kind of ending never ends well. They always try to seize what isn't theirs out of greed.
"No need to apologize. It's not your fault," Irthu replied flatly, getting to the point. "In these turbulent times, Parliament needs unity more than ever."
"I completely agree," Tieron nodded. "So, what do you think of our Regent?"
Irthu's gaze sharpened in the darkness. "Many of his actions deeply wound the Imperium's traditional foundations."
"He is the Emperor's son and the legitimate Regent of the Imperium," Tieron reminded Irthu, tactfully.
"This Imperium does not belong to him!" Irthu's voice suddenly carried a note of disdain. "The High Lords' Council has governed the Imperium for ten thousand years—this system has been tested and survived countless disasters." He stepped forward, lowering his voice but growing more excited. "Don't forget that dark history—his brothers were the ones who rebelled and nearly burned all of human civilization to the ground!"
"Now, he's launching an unprecedented crusade, once again filling the galaxy with fire and blood, draining the last of the Imperium's men and material!"
Tieron remained silent, not refuting him. As Chancellor, one of his main responsibilities was to objectively listen to and present the views and truths of all parties to the High Lords' Council.
"Do the other High Lords share your view?" he asked cautiously.
"I've persuaded several key figures," Irthu's eyes flashed with confidence. "We cannot let him act as he pleases. We must stop him before things spiral out of control. Chief Trazann of the Custodes is key—he commands the Emperor's bodyguard." He said something in front of Tieron. "You've done plenty of foolish things, Tieron. According to your earlier proposal, the Custodes almost got sent to the purgatory of Cadia."
Before the Great Marauder launched the Thirteenth Black Crusade, Tieron had hoped the Custodes would leave the Palace to support the Cadia front. Just as it went to a vote, Cadia collapsed, the Great Rift tore the galaxy, and the proposal was not passed. When the Primarch returned, he tried again to order the Custodes out of the Palace. Irthu eloquently recounted that he had voted against it at the time, believing it was absolutely the right decision.
"Imagine if the Custodes had been absent, and the Lion's Gate battle resulted in severe damage. The Lion's Gate would surely have fallen, and the enemy would have attacked the Inner Palace. Tieron, you almost lost holy Terra."
His words shifted again. "But your decision to return Chief Trajann to the Council was wise."
"Trajann is already a High Lord. What he must understand is that the Council has its own rules and he must follow them as a member."
"The Custodes aren't ours to command," Tieron stated calmly. "Chief Trajann made it clear: the Custodes are not part of the Imperium. They will intervene only when it aligns with the vision of the Master of Mankind. Otherwise, they will simply observe."
"Then your actions are enabling tyranny!" Irthu suddenly became agitated, grabbing Tieron's shoulder so forcefully that the Chancellor felt pain. "The Primarch is not a god, just a relatively powerful transformer! To say the Imperium is just a rotten corpse, an empty shell of the past, is to slander and erase the High Lords' Council's ten thousand years of achievements!"
Irthu's voice echoed in the chapel, taking on a fanatical tone of defense. "We are stronger than the past. The trials before us are no different from those our ancestors overcame. The High Lords of Terra have survived countless crises—Ork war moons floated in Terra's orbit during the War of the Beast, the Age of Apostasy nearly destroyed the Imperium, Vandire's heresy left billions dead..."
"Each time, people thought it was the end, but the High Lords' Council, with wisdom, led the Imperium through disaster after disaster to this very day!" He fixed Tieron with a gaze, word by word. "The age of the Primarchs is over. The Imperium of Man no longer needs them. The High Lords' Council is enough to lead the Imperium through any hardship and will defeat Abaddon and set things right."
"Guilliman can go on his crusade, sure. There were always crusaders like Koorland in history. But his delusions of altering the foundation and authority of the Council of Terra are an unforgivable usurpation! Guilliman must not become the new 'Lord of Terra.' Chief Trajann of the Custodes must stand with us and help stop this."
Irthu's gaze was burning, almost paranoid. "Tell me, Chancellor of the Imperium, do you still possess loyalty?"
Tieron met his gaze and replied, as always, in a calm tone, "I have always sworn loyalty to the helmsman of the Imperium and never had the courage to go against the original intention."
The anger on Irthu's face vanished instantly, replaced by a satisfied smile. Yes, he still firmly believed that he and the High Lords' Council were the true helmsmen of the Imperium.
"Then don't let me down, Tieron." He let go, regaining his composure.
"The prestige of the Primarch is unshakable," Tieron said. "What do you plan to do?"
Irthu smiled. "Don't worry. Political maneuvering is our forte. We just need to persuade the Custodes to prevent the Primarch from using force when the time comes."
With that, Irthu turned and disappeared through the door, deep in the chapel's shadows. Tieron watched the other man leave, sighed softly, and prepared to depart.
...
Back on Terra, Datch immediately began his mission. Determined to become a player who would strike terror into the hearts of bosses in the Warhammer world, he wanted to grind and work hard. Donning his detective suit, a question mark appeared on his minimap. This meant these places contained clues about villains plotting to destroy the Indomitus Crusade.
Step by step, he could find enough clues and use his "deduction space" to piece together the truth. The first place he headed was the Hive City in the capital on Terra, to investigate a gang called the Scavengers.
The air in the lower Kobol Hive was thick and turbid, stained a sickly dark yellow by petrochemicals and pollutants. The flow of people was like a slow tide of corpses—mechanical, numb, dull, and exhausted, with intermittent coughing. There was a slight toxin in the air; those with some money bought filters. Most, however, couldn't afford them and stoically endured the poisonous fumes, inevitably dying of lung rot.
People here had long grown numb to such conditions. In the Imperium, human life was cheap, whether you were a gang thug, an honest wrestler, or a vigilante loyal to the Imperium.
Above the crowd, the hive's spires towered like gloomy minarets. The spires were armed with heavy armor plating, with long guns and short cannons protruding from jagged mouths, grinning like giant beasts. These weapons were designed to counter alien invaders, but most were now used to suppress the unrest of an ever-growing population.
The upper hive's transport lines connected many regions, weaving a fake sky above the heads of those below. Old maglev trains shuttled back and forth, carrying passengers to their destinations.
Datch, riding his hover bike, was like a splash of vivid color suddenly appearing in a dull black-and-white painting, attracting astonished stares from all around.
"Such a cool flying machine, even biomechanically modified—you look like a rich gambler from one of the hive families," someone muttered.
"Let's do it!!" In a corner, several gang members from the Summer Hive stared at Datch as he dismounted. They were all outlaws, capable of anything for money.
"Tell the boss a big fish has arrived in the nest. Set up a trick, rough him up first, and do it quietly."
"As always, let someone talk to him first."
"Send Lina. The young master who went to the nest liked her best—a little wildcat who could spin a tale."
"Add some drama, and then take out this big shot."
…
Datch packed away his hover bike and strolled around the lower hive, buying two barbecue skewers along the way. They were somewhat toxic, but tasted pretty good.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted. A short-haired, pretty young girl dashed out, chased by a gang of tattooed thugs. The people around had long grown numb to such scenes and pretended not to see.
As the girl ran past Datch, she lost her balance and stumbled into his arms. Before Datch could react, the gang surrounded him, their cybernetic limbs clicking menacingly.
"Help me," the girl pleaded, clutching Datch's arm.
A burly man with a robotic left arm and a bear-like build pushed through the crowd and stood before Datch.
"Hey, bastard, what are you doing?"
Datch looked at the strong man before him, a bit puzzled, but when he saw the question mark above the man's head, he instinctively clicked the information bar.
[Frank, mid-level member of the Lower Hive gang, violent and domineering personality]
Does this mission have a special plot? First, the hero arrives to save the beauty, fights the villains, and the rescued girl gratefully gives information about the Scavengers. Sis, I've seen right through your plan!
Datch looked up at the gang NPC, then reached out and wrapped his arm around the girl right in front of everyone.
"She's my little sister. I'm taking her with me now. Let's see who can stop me!!"
…...