"I will send your opinions," Avatar Cawl said.
"Hmm, how is the optimization work on the Colossus going now?" Guilliman asked.
Avatar Cawl trembled slightly before speaking, "The optimization progress is very smooth. The Archmagos plans to build a true Colossus, not just a mass-produced product."
"Let him do as he pleases," Guilliman said, shaking his head. "Building a true Heavenfall Colossus will take at least decades, even centuries. I don't recommend doing such a thing, but if Cawl thinks it's necessary, let him go ahead and do it."
The materials required for a true Colossus are countless, no less than creating a structurally complex planet.
Guilliman did not advocate for such a practice.
War is about cost-effectiveness; blindly pursuing high performance will only drag yourself down.
If Archmagos Cawl insisted on building a perfect Colossus, he would not refuse.
There are many kinds of glory.
For fanatical followers of the Omnissiah, building an unprecedented megastructure is also a symbol of honor.
Refusing even this would be somewhat unreasonable.
"The relevant requirements have been encoded into the information. Anything else, my lord?" Avatar Cawl said.
"Form a new battlefield application technology research team; we need to enhance the survival capabilities of our warriors," Guilliman stated his idea.
"What are the specific requirements?" Avatar Cawl asked.
"Research teleportation and medical technology. I hope that humans can, like the necrons, teleport wounded Imperial soldiers back to medical stations," Guilliman said.
When necron soldiers who fall in battle hit the ground, a flash of light appears, and they are then reforged in the furnace and resurrected.
After daemons' bodies are destroyed, they are also sent back to the Warp, awaiting the opportunity to resurrect and descend into the material universe once more.
Resurrection is really a good thing.
It makes one fearless.
If humans also possessed such technology, directly teleporting severely wounded soldiers from the battlefield to hospitals, letting them recover completely, and rejoin the fight, wouldn't that be wonderful?
Such technology would undoubtedly minimize human casualties.
It could also greatly boost morale, allowing Imperial forces to fight without restraint.
As soon as a soldier is severely wounded and near death, initiate teleportation immediately.
Once healed, go back out and keep fighting.
Let the traitors and daemons attempting to attack humanity also experience this helplessness and understand the terror of humanity.
Avatar Cawl paused for a rare moment, the head in the nutrient tank used for thinking twisting incessantly, its face showing an expression of extreme pain.
It was calculating the feasibility of Guilliman's plan.
Putting everything aside, this was truly a crazy plan.
"To achieve this goal, the required research effort is enormous. Humanity currently does not have a proficient grasp of teleportation technology; we are still in the stage of learning from and imitating the necrons."
"Precisely because the workload is vast and difficult, we must start now. The sooner it is researched, the sooner it can be equipped, and the strength of the human army will be further enhanced," Guilliman said. "Also, tell Cawl about Sicarius activating the Heart of Guilliman."
"The integration of dark matter bio-editing technology is completely feasible. Tell him to continue accelerating the research speed and also to seize the time to push forward with the project for primaris space marines without Primarch-level templates."
"The relevant information has been noted and will be sent to Cawl after encoding," Avatar Cawl said.
"That's all for now. Tell him to complete the tasks I've assigned as quickly as possible," Guilliman said slowly.
Avatar Cawl's cogitator array trembled, then it said, "The Archmagos is powerful; he can easily accomplish these things."
Guilliman did not say much more.
Avatar Cawl encoded and organized all the information, and with a roar of machinery, the information was sent out.
After the information was sent, the roar of the machinery gradually subsided.
The room also became silent.
After staying in the room for a moment, Guilliman turned and walked out.
He still had a battle to fight.
The tyranids, the Hive Mind, a tendril of the Great Devourer, the Behemoth Hive Fleet, was approaching the Vitoria system.
This was one of the strongest tyranid fleets currently entering the galaxy.
Up to this point.
Humanity had observed several tyranid fleets, including the main Hive Fleets such as Leviathan and Kraken.
And Behemoth was precisely one of the first-tier Hive Fleets invading the galaxy in terms of strength.
Up to this point, humanity had generally been in a sorry state when dealing with the tyranids.
There was an Inquisitor of the Ordo xenos named Kryptman.
To prevent the Hive Fleet from attacking Terra.
He even issued exterminatus on dozens of worlds to lure the tyranids into ork territory.
This is what slowed down their advance towards Terra.
For this, he was also charged with the crime of Anathema Rebel.
He is now being hunted by the Inquisition everywhere and has not been caught yet.
Tens of billions, hundreds of billions of humans died due to Kryptman's exterminatus.
The Ordo xenos had to give an account to the Senatorum Imperialis and numerous nobles on Terra; this was not a small casualty count.
The terror of the tyranids is evident from this.
Guilliman walked towards the elevator; he needed to return to the strategy room and make a series of pre-battle preparations.
The Empire's military strength was already very powerful, but this was no reason for him to relax.
Any underestimation would cause the Imperial forces to pay an incredibly heavy price.
Behind every one of his decisions were millions of human soldiers; he had to be extremely cautious.
"We will all die."
"We will eventually be forgotten, just like those who have passed away; no one will remember us anymore."
"Our hearts were once filled with passion, but one day, they will turn cold."
On the troop transport, a poet was reciting a new poem he had written to the soldiers.
Hawk and the others sat on their bunks, watching the poet awkwardly yet emotionally recite his poem, without much feeling.
They came from the hive city.
They didn't need much knowledge there, only to numbly contribute to the Emperor and the nobles.
Guilliman's arrival changed things there, bringing justice and goodness back to them.
But Guilliman was not an omnipotent god.
He couldn't change the accumulated drawbacks; the workers' educational level was a significant issue.
The expeditionary fleet also didn't have the manpower to change people's attitude towards knowledge and reason.
Guilliman could only find some intellectuals, let them accompany the troops, subtly influence them, and let them understand the mysteries of truth and knowledge.
The poets were also part of his plan to transform human civilization.
To defeat Chaos, one needs more than just powerful weapons.
One also needs a strong soul.
Only by knowing what is right and wrong can humanity be prevented from falling into the abyss.
The poet's earnest efforts caused many soldiers to burst into laughter.
They didn't care about the poet's verses, only found him slightly comical.
"Hey, can't you save your breath? I can't understand anything you're writing," a soldier said.
"Are you just writing nonsense, trying to fool us grunts?"
The poet was clearly a novice, and the soldiers' teasing made him look embarrassed, standing rooted to the spot, unsure what to do.
Since the Indomitus Crusade began, a large number of chroniclers and scribes have accompanied the army.
After reclaiming all the worlds of Ultramar and expelling the forces of Chaos from that sector.
Guilliman signed an important proposal.
This proposal clearly defined the identity of the chroniclers.
Scholars with artistic creative talent were selected from various worlds and joined the main expeditionary fleets traversing the stars.
These scholars, dusty and weary, took up their pens and artistic tools and dedicated themselves to this crusade to save humanity.
Many officers expressed their inability to understand Guilliman's actions.
But Guilliman did not care about this lack of understanding.
He ordered all fleets to comply with the proposal.
To provide convenience for the chroniclers; otherwise, he would punish anyone who violated this decree.
Giving poetry readings for the commanders was also one of the items.
However, the soldiers didn't pay much attention to this.
They felt the Primarch was doing something unnecessary.
Seeing that the situation was about to get out of hand, the poet also felt uncomfortable facing numerous questions, having an urge to turn and run.
A chronicler nearby walked up to the young poet and said with a smile, "Keep going, Kakar, your performance is excellent."
After speaking, the old chronicler looked at the jeering soldiers.
"As a supplement, perhaps I should change the content of my lecture later. Perhaps I should tell a story about a crude Space Wolf warrior and a hive city noblewoman. I even gave this story a very nice title: The Story That Must Be Told Between the Wolf and the Beauty."
As soon as he said this, many soldiers burst into laughter.
Even Hawk laughed, "Old Jorn, if this story of yours reaches the ears of the Space Wolves, they'll be furious and throw you into a star."
"Let this young man finish his lecture. He came with the passion to serve the Primarch; you must not treat him like this anymore," said the chronicler known as Jorn.
After this little interlude, the young poet's poetry reading was able to continue.
To be honest, the poet did have some ability.
He was just a bit naive and didn't know how to use words to capture people's hearts.
Jorn did not break his promise.
He told that story that must be told between the wolf and the beauty.
Unfortunately, his story was not what people imagined.
The Space Wolves Chapter found a spaceship in space, and the woman on board told of the tragic fate of her homeworld.
So they crossed the stars, saved a world from the hands of Chaos traitors, and then left.
This caused everyone who was full of anticipation to express their disdain.
"You tricked us again," Hawk said with a laugh.
The days during the journey were just this dull and boring.
The barracks hall in the troop transport was filled with bunks, covering several square kilometers, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Excretion could be handled in the restrooms on either side, and food would be delivered and distributed by servitors.
As a Colonel, Hawk could go to the exclusive mess hall, but he rarely did.
He always mingled with his comrades.
The 502nd Regiment, like many other regiments, was assigned to the Vitoria system; they needed to resist the tyranids until the Primarch arrived with reinforcements.
The Primarch will always be victorious; this was everyone's consensus.
As long as they could hold out until his arrival, that meant victory would come.
The troop transport docked in low orbit, and landing craft took them to the surface.
Inside the landing craft.
Jorn the chronicler was also among them.
As a chronicler, he didn't have to go to the surface.
But he was very insistent.
Everyone could only let him board.
"You shouldn't be so impulsive; the surface is very dangerous," Hawk said, looking at the chronicler beside him, Jorn, and shaking his head.
"I am a chronicler; I record your stories for posterity, so I must go to ensure the authenticity of these stories," Jorn said.
"Have it your way. I just hope you don't get killed by bugs while ensuring the authenticity of the story."
Hawk shrugged.