Life across the entire planet decayed under the terrifying might of the virus bomb.
Even microorganisms were completely eroded.
Vast amounts of decaying matter produced a thick, flammable gas that enveloped the planet's atmosphere.
Yssar initiated the second stage of the exterminatus strike: the firestorm.
Warships receiving the order simultaneously launched lance strikes at the planet's atmosphere.
Accompanied by bright, scorching beams of light, the atmosphere, mixed with flammable gas, ignited like sun-dried cotton.
Giant fire tornadoes, formed by temperature differences, appeared on the surface, stretching from the ground to the sky, as stunning as pillars of fire supporting the heavens.
The grandeur of these fire tornadoes was clearly visible even from the deck of a warship in low orbit.
The air, mixed with flammable gas, burned fiercely, converging into a roaring storm of flames that swept away everything in sight.
Plains and mountains turned into scorched earth, and the remains of life were burned to ashes in the flames, leaving behind only barren rock formations.
The oceans also burned fiercely; the massive marine creatures and microorganisms became a sludge of blood, releasing large amounts of combustible gas.
The decaying ork corpses were reduced to ashes in the raging inferno in mere moments.
The scorching firestorm swept across the planet's surface, and deadly fire tornadoes reduced abandoned buildings to nothing.
Nothing could escape this catastrophe.
Whether flesh, buildings, or metal, everything melted and flowed in the unimaginable heat.
The remaining human building remnants and the crude ork structures collapsed and toppled in the surging flames.
The great fire burned for nearly forty minutes before slowly subsiding.
The entire planet was a fiery red, and it was a long time before the terrifying temperature slowly dropped.
It was four hours later when Argentius and the others emerged from underground.
Looking out, the entire world was a scorched black.
This was the power of the exterminatus; all signs of life would be completely wiped out, achieving a state of purification.
Trembling, with a head of silver hair, Danluns stepped onto the surface again after twenty years.
Looking up, the mountains that met his gaze were all scorched black.
Seeing that everything was gone, with only ashes swirling, his eyes also showed confusion.
"Rebuild from the ruins, Danluns," Argentius said. "This world belongs to the Imperium again. The great Lord of Ultramar, the Thirteenth lord Primarch, Lord Guilliman, has returned. You no longer need to worry about ork invasions. The Imperium will be reshaped, and your safety will be a primary concern."
Argentius used no honorifics for Danluns.
Simply calling someone an old man just because they look old is somewhat inappropriate.
In terms of age, Argentius was older than Danluns.
It was just that he had undergone modification surgery and didn't show his age.
"Lord Guilliman?" Danluns' face was puzzled; he didn't know what that name represented.
The other survivors were the same.
Their faces were blank, completely unaware of the weight of that name.
Argentius didn't blame them either.
They were just mortals, most of whom had never even left their own planet, or even the area where they lived. Many things were just legends to them.
The Primarchs were active ten thousand years ago. By now, those heroes who once walked among the stars and helped the Emperor build the great Imperium had long become untraceable myths and legends.
Even the war between the Imperium and Chaos seemed absurd and like a fantastical tale in many remote sectors of the Imperium.
Distance can always erase many things, making real events seem unreal.
Several gunships descended from high altitude. After opening their hatches, a group of tech-priests, servitors, and political officials emerged.
These were the administrators and builders Guilliman had selected for the disordered worlds.
The Imperium possessed two-thirds of the galaxy, with immense industrial and war potential.
Now, the most important thing was to unleash this potential.
Only by doing so could humanity be sure to win the upcoming wars.
Reforming every Imperial world was an absolutely necessary undertaking.
Large numbers of reformist builders and political officials were recruited into every expeditionary force.
They carried the Primarch's orders and new technology to various planets, helping with local transformation and developing their potential to provide more assistance to the Imperium.
Three weeks later, the Silver Skulls Chapter withdrew from planet Yelia.
The tech-priests, servitors, political officials, and members of Guilliman's reformed Imperial cult remained.
Their mission was to rebuild this planet, making it a world suitable for human habitation and capable of providing quality resources to the Imperium, as designed by the Primarch.
Resources were not limited to coal and iron, but also included a large number of talents, conscripts, and so on.
Argentius and the others had completed their mission; they were the sharp sword, the weapon in the Imperium's hand.
The Yelia system no longer needed weapons; it needed construction and development.
It was time for this sharp sword to be deployed elsewhere, to continue fighting for the Emperor and the Primarch.
Watching the Yelia star in his view shrink to the size of a basketball, Argentius also withdrew his thoughts, preparing to face the next battle.
"Until death." Argentius's heart was incredibly firm, completely fearless of the next war.
________________
On Macragge's Glory.
In the deep prison.
"You can't do this!!"
"No, you can't, please."
"Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"
Cherubael, being a daemon prince, screamed in despair.
Seeing the Primarch approaching step by step, he was so frightened that he tried to shrink into the corner of the cell.
"You're willing to tell me information about the Warp, and I'm happy. But I don't like your tone."
Guilliman grabbed daemon prince Cherubael, the huge Primarch's hand gripping the other's neck, "You'd better be honest, daemon. Other mortals fear you because they fear your power. But I can easily crush you and completely shatter your essence, sending you into eternal oblivion."
"Don't anger me, or I won't mind killing you."
After speaking, Guilliman threw Cherubael to the ground.
Eisenhorn stood aside, watching this scene, his eyes filled with awe.
Cherubael and he had been entangled in grievances for many years.
This daemon constantly thought about how to kill Eisenhorn.
And thus toy with his soul.
On a normal day, when Eisenhorne faced this daemon, the other was also extremely arrogant, constantly trying to tempt Eisenhorne to succumb to his inner desires.
But in front of the Primarch, the daemon prince was being brutally abused, to the point of being unbearable. Let alone temptation, even saying a few more words would result in a beating.
Just now, Cherubael had used two of the daemon's usual cackles and was immediately beaten by Guilliman.
"Great Regent of the Imperium of Man," Cherubael said respectfully, no longer daring to show any arrogance.
He didn't want to risk trying out whether being killed by the Accursed would still allow him to resurrect.
Why? Why was his life as a daemon prince so miserable.
Being sealed by Eisenhorne was bad enough, but now he was also being beaten and humiliated by the son of the Accursed.
He was also forced to become a daemon mole, performing various deceptive rituals to capture those Warp daemons.
Those Warp daemons who were summoned originally thought they could feast in the material universe and harvest a large amount of flesh and souls.
As a result, as soon as they arrived, they were brutally beaten.
Not only were they forced to provide information to Guilliman, but they were also enslaved and branded by him, signing extremely unequal contracts.
So far, twenty Warp daemons have suffered the brutal hand of the son of the Accursed.
Those daemons all crawled out of the Warp with great joy, and then ran back with grim faces.
Those Warp daemons were not under the command of the Four Gods, and after being brutally beaten and enslaved by Guilliman, no one would stand up for them or seek revenge.
"That's a much better attitude," Guilliman said, looking at the daemon host lying prostrate on the ground, who had already transformed with daemon horns and black fleshy wings, a look of inscrutable amusement on his face.
"Yes, I will maintain it, Great Regent of the Imperium of Man," Cherubael said humbly.
"How has Magnus been lately?" Guilliman asked.