Guilliman walked out of the Throne Room.
Everything in the Throne Room made him feel a sense of crisis.
Both humanity and the Emperor had been pushed to the brink by Chaos.
The Imperium was just one step away from the abyss.
Once that step was taken, eternal damnation would follow.
The Emperor was on the verge of collapsing; the moment of His ascension to godhood would be the day of His demise.
Much like those corrupted humans.
Many forms of Warp corruption lead to a specific outcome.
The true self is rejected, ultimately leaving behind only the twisted self.
The Emperor of 30k was an Emperor with a self; He was not lying when He said He was not a god.
He possessed those powers, but He was not a god, needing not to act according to a god's rules, possessing a strong personal style.
Now, after ten millennia of blood sacrifices and faith's baptism, it was hard to say how much of the Emperor's original self remained.
Annihilating everything, leaving only the obsession to protect humanity, becoming a Chaos God.
At that point, it would truly be the end for humanity.
Given the Warp's nature, an Emperor who lost His self and became a god would surely go to extremes.
To protect the concept of humanity, the twisted Emperor would do unimaginable things.
This was also why the Emperor was unwilling to become a god.
He knew very well what a god truly was.
The Aeldari's frantic pleasure and debauchery created Slaanesh.
What would humanity's suffering and protection become?
A way must be found to stop this process; only then could the Emperor's inevitably tragic fate be redeemed.
Becoming a god would be a harm to both the Emperor and humanity.
Custodian Valerius stood at the doorway, like a statue.
He had sustained many injuries during the battle with the daemons.
Those wounds had only been cursorily treated, and pain still tormented him.
But Valerius didn't care at all; he stood at the gate by sheer willpower.
Awaiting the end of the historic meeting between the Primarch and the Emperor.
"My Lord," Valerius said respectfully upon seeing Guilliman descend from the Golden Throne, "No one has ever conversed with the Emperor for such a long time as you have."
Guilliman was startled for a moment; he had only spoken a few sentences, at most a few tens of minutes.
"How long was I in there?"
"Six hours, My Lord, you have conversed with the Emperor for six hours," said Valerius, the captain-General of the Custodian Guard.
"Six hours." Guilliman was stunned for a moment, then quickly concealed his lapse.
He could not show his vulnerability to the world.
Otherwise, it would be fatal for those who followed him.
"Yes, My Lord, you have been there for six hours."
"I understand. Let's go. There are still matters awaiting our attention outside." Guilliman strode towards the door of the Throne Room.
Valerius followed closely behind him, opening the Throne Room's grand doors for him.
Outside, it was already a sea of people, countless devout believers arriving from all directions.
Their eyes held fanaticism and excitement.
As the heavy doors of the Throne Room slowly opened, they all stirred.
When they saw Guilliman step out, they all became excited, their faces flushed, some screaming wildly, venting their unquiet emotions.
The Emperor's miracle had appeared before them, alive.
Guilliman was like an ancient myth returning to the mortal world.
"It truly is him, the great Lord of Ultramar, the Holy Emperor's own son! He has not forgotten us; in humanity's most critical hour, He sent His own son back!"
A priest's eyes streamed with hot tears; he raised his withered hands and shouted devoutly.
"Great Primarch!"
"Savior!"
The people were immensely excited, shouting various slogans led by the priests.
Everyone was crying, even the children.
Wives cried in their husbands' arms.
Children nestled against their mothers, weeping.
Even men no longer cared for their dignity, letting tears stream freely down their faces.
They had endured the Blind Days, the terrifying daemonic invasions.
Everyone had thought hope was dead, that Terra would fall in blood and fire.
Just as they were about to plunge into the abyss.
He arrived.
Bringing hope and an army to destroy everything, crushing all enemies, bringing punishment down on all foes of humanity.
Powerful daemons were slain by his single blow.
The traitor primarch who had swept aside the Grey Knights and Custodians was easily suppressed by him.
No being was his match; he crushed everything, effortlessly destroying all.
The tide of battle was easily turned, without any suspense.
Was such a person not a savior?
Was this not the manifestation of the Emperor's miracle?
When Guilliman stepped out and appeared before the world.
The front row of people knelt down in awe and trepidation, leading many others to kneel in a vast expanse.
These people were immensely devout, expressing their feelings in what they believed to be the most sincere way.
"Rise, citizens of the Imperium." Guilliman stood on the high platform in front of the Throne Room's doors; his voice was firm and powerful, clear enough for everyone to hear without any equipment.
Countless servo-skulls and cherubs floated, circling the Primarch, aiming their built-in recording devices at him.
All of Terra watched the moment he emerged from the Throne Room.
People waited devoutly, awaiting a lord Primarch to bring them the Emperor's revelation.
The Primarch's voice was broadcast to the entire world through those devices.
"My mission in returning is to rescue you from the abyss of suffering and ignorance. My father has given me some hints; they are important, enough to determine the future.
But I am sorry, the time for their revelation has not yet come. The only thing I can tell you is that everything will get better, the dark years of suffering and helplessness are over. I promise you, the Imperium will sweep away all enemies."
The people listened to the Primarch's words, responding with the most excited voices.
Those who had once shamed the Primarch were now filled with unbearable shame, weeping and repenting their sins.
They had been fooled by those damnable bureaucrats, believing the Primarch to be a vile and shameless daemon attempting to usurp his father's position.
Now, they understood how incredibly wrong they had been.
The Primarch was humanity's savior, the hope for the future, the Imperium's light of redemption.
"Goodness and reason will descend once more. I will complete my father's unfinished work, expelling those monsters, dismissing those damnable bureaucrats, and restoring life and work to every planet," Guilliman said.
"I apologize for my ten-thousand-year absence, but I promise I will never be absent again in the future. We will sweep away those damnable enemies and rebuild an Imperium where everyone can find happiness. All suffering will pass."
His words elicited excited sounds from the crowd.
But Guilliman had no intention of continuing to speak; he had many things to attend to.
The problems of daemons and rioters had not been completely resolved.
There was also the reckoning of Terra's bureaucracy.
And the reconstruction of ruins, and so on.
Time did not allow him to waste it here.
He boarded the grav-boat protected by the Custodian Guard and his personal retinue.
People watched him leave, their eyes filled with hope, also wishing to hear him speak a little more.
They were too afraid, hoping for more promises.
Unfortunately, Guilliman was truly too busy; the burden of the entire Imperium rested on his shoulders.
People could only let out sounds of regret, and quietly discuss what changes the Primarch's return would bring.
Guilliman stood on the grav-boat, pondering his next plan.
His purpose for this journey was to seek the Emperor's approval and strengthen the legitimacy of his rule over the Imperium.
And also to seek the Webway technology and methods to revive the other Primarchs.
He never expected that conversing with the Emperor would be so arduous and mentally taxing; he had only spoken a few sentences, and his mind felt like it was about to explode, and six hours had passed in an instant.
Before arriving at Terra, he had imagined many scenarios for meeting the Emperor.
But he never anticipated such a scene.
Of course, he had also gained enough information.
The Emperor's lack of rebuke meant that He approved of Guilliman's rule.
Regardless of whether the Emperor had discerned the transmigrator's soul within Guilliman, the Emperor had endorsed Guilliman's rule over the Imperium.
His legitimacy to rule the Imperium would no longer be questioned.
There was another important piece of information: the Emperor was finding it very difficult to maintain His humanity.
From His final words, it was clear that the Emperor had exerted all His strength just to convey some important information to him.
This was a very dangerous sign; the old Emperor used to casually pull people into His own pocket dimension.
Now, even speaking was difficult.
Suppressing the chaotic thoughts, Guilliman stopped pondering the Emperor's condition.
Instead, he began to consider the two important pieces of information he had received.
Moloch and Mars.
The name Moloch was very peculiar.
Anyone who had carefully studied the ancient Terran myths would know this name.
Moloch was an Chaos God worshipped by many peoples in East Asia, North Africa, and the Mediterranean region, such as the ancient Canaanites, Hebrews, and Levantines.
The method of worshipping this god was very unique.
It involved believers sacrificing one of their children in exchange for the god's protection.
Naturally, there was no such Chaos God in the Imperium of Man.
The name Moloch referred to a planet.
On this planet, there was a portal that led directly into the depths of the Warp, reaching the realms of the gods.
The Emperor had used this portal to contact the Chaos Gods, and had even entered it.
It's worth noting that Warp drives could also help ships enter the Warp.
But entering the Warp using a Warp drive and entering the Warp using the portal on Moloch were not the same concept.
The Warp was vast and boundless, with shallow and deep layers, and it didn't adhere to real-world laws, making it extremely chaotic.
Ordinary people simply couldn't find the way into the gods' realms.
The Moloch portal could directly enter the gods' realms, an area that Warp ships couldn't reach.
Trying to enter the gods' realms using a Warp drive would be like someone taking a sailboat from the South world Sea and sailing towards the Pacific Ocean, expecting to reach America.
It's likely that the sailboat would be swallowed by the countless dangers of the deep sea before it even got there.
There were some rumors that the Emperor, using the portal on Moloch, entered the Warp and made a secret deal with the Chaos Gods.
The Emperor obtained forbidden sorcerous knowledge and special materials necessary for creating the Primarchs from the Chaos Gods.
It was said that He forcefully seized a portion of the Warp Gods' power.
After completing the deal, the Emperor unceremoniously, and shamelessly, chose to renege on the agreement, and sealed the Warp portal on Moloch.
To be safe, He even dispatched an immortal and a massive army to guard the portal, embodying the style of a complete scoundrel.
For this, the Chaos Gods regarded the Emperor as a cheat, a rogue, and their lifelong arch-enemy.
This then led to the Horus Heresy.
Judging by the constant infighting among the Four Gods.
Dealing with the Emperor was probably the most united the Warp had ever been in history.
Aside from the destructive threat posed by the Emperor.
The Emperor's glorious past deeds of trickery, deception, and forceful seizure in the Warp probably also filled the Warp's inhabitants with immense hatred.
Besides the Emperor, Horus had also visited Moloch, where he received the blessings of the Four Gods.
But his blessings and the Emperor's power were fundamentally different.
One was power obtained through struggle, the other was power obtained through subservience; the two were completely incomparable.
After receiving the blessings, Horus' flagship, the *Vengeful Spirit*, slowly began to be corrupted.
Horus was completely unaware of this, smugly believing himself to be the new lord of the galaxy.
The result was that he was manipulated by the Four Gods to travel to Terra for the decisive battle with the Emperor.
Moloch.
Guilliman repeated the name in his mind.
This was one of the revelations given by the Emperor.
The Primarchs are hybrid creations of the Warp and reality. To recall and awaken them, the problem must be solved at its source.
Mortarion is the source of everything.
Only by going there himself can he find the answer to the problem.
After a moment of thought, Guilliman included the planet Mortarion in his future plans. He then pondered another of the Emperor's revelations: the mysterious underground palace on Mars.
Guilliman guessed that the Emperor was trying to tell him about the Noctis Labyrinth, the place where the Void Dragon was imprisoned.
The Void Dragon is a C'tan who possesses knowledge of countless real universes.
It can harness the raw energy of unrefined blackstone.
It played an important role in the War in Heaven.
The Void Dragon, imprisoned in the Noctis Labyrinth, is also considered the origin of the Mechanicum, a plan the Emperor had been preparing since humanity's medieval period.
The Webway technology he needed might be found within the Noctis Labyrinth.
The Void Dragon participated in the War in Heaven, and the Old Ones were masters of the Webway and the Warp.
The Void Dragon must have had a deep understanding of the Old Ones' creations, otherwise, it would have been impossible to fight them.
Guilliman suspected that the Emperor's technology also came from the Void Dragon, at least in part.
Perhaps, he could also trick some technology out of this fellow.
To survive in this universe, one must be adept at deception, fraud, and plunder; good people find it very difficult to survive.
Mortarion and Mars are both essential destinations.
Recalling the other Primarchs and constructing the Webway are both crucial tasks.
They are vital to his next step.
There's no room for error.
Guilliman mentally reviewed his plan, considering how to fill in the details or what to do to mislead the Warp, preventing it from guessing his true intentions.
Information is the most important thing in war.
Deception and counter-deception are essential lessons for any ruler.
Only by deceiving oneself can one deceive the enemy.
Now, Guilliman somewhat understood why the Emperor liked to be an enigma.
Some plans are best kept to oneself.
Revealing them, while possibly gaining some allies, would also expose his true hand, allowing enemies to devise more lethal plans.
By the time he returned to the Lion's Gate area, the battle was largely over.
Inquisitors and servitors were clearing the battlefield, incinerating the bodies of the soulless, cleaning the ground, and restoring order.
Guilliman glanced a few times before looking away, instructing the airship to continue, to observe the situation beyond the Lion's Gate.
The fighting in the hive city had not yet ended; low-level daemons lingered in dark corners, and gunshots occasionally rang out, echoing through the empty city buildings.
Everywhere lay charred wreckage.
Soldiers were gradually clearing the blasphemous markings and banners from the buildings.
The rioters had used various methods to leave their messages on the buildings.
They called on people to resist tyranny, overthrow the Corpse-Emperor, and pursue freedom.
Guilliman expressed some disdain for these slogans.
Chaos' promises are always beautiful, but the ultimate outcome is so cruel.
These cities were heavily scarred, with ruins everywhere.
Many buildings bore the scars of war, scattered with dense bullet holes and shell craters.
A hot, dry air carried a stench like a mixture of burning corpses, blood, and the unique foulness of Warp entities.
Along the roadside lay countless disfigured corpses.
If they belonged to humans, they were simply placed aside.
Those severely mutated and twisted bodies were incinerated by flamethrowers into charred remains, casually piled up to await further processing by the logistics department.
Many personal belongings were placed by the roadside: various furniture, handbags, clothes, kitchen and bathroom items, all recovered from the ruins.
Contaminated items had already been incinerated; these were evaluated as usable.
The sound of loudspeakers echoed through the streets and alleys.
These voices announced the arrival of Imperial forces.
They urged rational survivors to emerge from their hiding places to receive treatment and assessment.
Some Imperial citizens had been contaminated by the Warp without realizing it.
As Guilliman's airship swept across the streets, he saw a disfigured woman kneeling on the ground, weeping.
Her face had melted like burning wax.
This was a characteristic sign of human contamination by the Warp.
But the woman herself was unaware; upon hearing the Imperial propaganda, she had rushed out from her hiding place, hoping for salvation.
However, the soldiers were terrified by her appearance.
They shouted 'Monster!' and raised their guns, firing at the woman.
"Why are you shooting me?" the woman cried, demanding.
It wasn't until she saw her reflection in a broken mirror that she belatedly realized she had become a hideous monster.
She was torn apart by gunfire amidst her screams.
This was a sad affair.
Everyone suffered due to the Warp.
Confused, fearful citizens were gathered by soldiers in one place.
According to previous procedures, all beings who had come into contact with the Warp would be executed or sterilized.
Now, men and women across Terra had all witnessed it.
If such procedures were still enforced, the entirety of Terra would be empty, this holy world would fall silent until a new generation of citizens filled it.
Guilliman naturally would not choose such an approach.
He had already drawn his sword against Chaos and called on people to resist it.
Sometimes, overly protecting certain things leads to neglecting humanity's own adaptability.
Those poisoned by Chaos would always be poisoned, but those brave enough to resist Chaos would also grow stronger.
Humanity had endured many crises.
But humanity had resiliently pulled through.
Facing Chaos was a difficult task, but also an unavoidable one.
Many people needed to know what they were fighting against; only then could they firmly grip their weapons.
Guilliman planned to use Terra as a testing ground, establishing his Warp firewall, then expanding it step by step to eventually encompass the entire Imperium.
This was a massive undertaking, and he had to take it slowly to succeed.
The airship entered a survivor camp.
Their faces were pale, they looked malnourished, and their clothes were very dirty.
Mechanic servitors, whips in hand, were urging them to build their temporary shelters.
"Let's go down and take a look," Guilliman said to the pilot beside him.
The pilot nodded nervously, maneuvering the airship to descend slowly.
Once it landed steadily, Guilliman stepped off the metal platform onto the hard ground.
Seeing him approach, the people spontaneously gathered from all directions, their eyes filled with fear and a hint of fanaticism.
"Savior."
Someone shouted the first word.
Others followed suit, shouting.
Many of them were weak, but still tried their best to shout along.
"Do not use such a title," Guilliman said gently. "I should have done better, to spare you from suffering. Unfortunately, I failed to do so, and I am sorry."
These words made the already emotional believers weep.
No high-ranking official had ever spoken so gently, nor had anyone apologized to them.
Those officials would always remain aloof.
"Do not weep, for that would make me feel even more guilty. I have come here to ask what I should do for you. I cannot merely listen to the officials' reports; I must know your thoughts."
The common people exchanged glances, then a shabbily dressed man stepped forward.
"Great Lord of Macragge, esteemed Imperial Regent, our only allegiance, thank you for listening. We need food. We are too hungry. Even before the riots, there was already a shortage of food, and after the riots, there is no food at all to fill our stomachs."
After speaking, the man looked at Guilliman with some apprehension.
He knew his own status, and he knew Guilliman's status.
One was in the holy heavens, the other in the defiled depths.
The gap between them was unimaginable.
The man was very uneasy, greatly doubting whether the other party would truly listen to his words.
"This is a problem I overlooked. Food has already been transported to Terra's low orbit with the arrival of the expeditionary fleet. The enemy's affairs made me forget this issue," Guilliman said with a slight apology, making the man's face flush, almost unable to breathe.
Guilliman opened his communicator and contacted the officials loyal to him.
"Arrange for food to be distributed as quickly as possible. Do not let the survivors wait hungry."
"Received, Lord Regent."
The official's voice came through the communicator.
Seeing that Guilliman would truly solve the problem, the crowd immediately stirred.
A woman excitedly rushed out before the Custodes and Honor Guard could react.
She knelt before Guilliman, reverently kissing his boot, which was larger than her waist.
"I beg you to deliver justice, my lord, for the persecuted souls. We have suffered greatly at the hands of the Administratum officials; they often detain people on trumped-up charges, demanding bribes. My husband was forced into hard labor until death because he could not pay their fines. I hope to receive justice."
Two children, five or six years old, also squeezed through the crowd. They hugged their mother, their eyes filled with fear and unease as they looked at Guilliman.
Guilliman knelt and helped the woman to her feet.
This action was quite difficult for a giant like him.
The woman's delicate, small shoulders felt weightless; Guilliman had to be careful enough to avoid harming her.
"I will help you," Guilliman said after helping the woman stand. "My arrival is for this: reason and fairness."
After saying this, Guilliman looked at the others, "The same goes for you. If you have grievances or needs, you can speak them, and I will listen to each one."
Upon hearing this, another man also stepped forward.
Then more people followed.
They detested Terra's bureaucracy, having suffered greatly from it.
And today, perhaps with the help of the Primarch, they could catch those corrupt individuals in one swoop, making them pay for their past crimes.
Standing amidst the charred ruins, Hastur's face showed an indescribable sadness.
The once luxurious Imperial Prime Minister's office was destroyed; the opulent sculptures, famous paintings, and various symbols of wealth had all been ruined or plundered.
Hastur wandered through the ruins like a soulless corpse.
He had been received by Tieron here many times.
Each time, Tieron would swirl a glass of red wine, savoring fresh fruit sent from other agricultural worlds, and discuss the situation on Cadia with him, as well as the help he could offer.
Tieron was not a good man.
To rise in power, he would conspire against rivals or use various despicable means to suppress political opponents.
He was adept at all the tactics of shameless politicians, and even more so.
But Hastur knew that Tieron was absolutely a loyal servant of the Emperor.
He diligently navigated Terra's top echelons of power, striving to restore humanity to its former glory.
After becoming Imperial Prime Minister, Tieron had consistently worked on Cadia's issues, and had also several times proposed lifting the ban on the Holy Ordos and the Custodes.
Hastur found it deeply ironic.
In the past, every time Tieron proposed lifting the ban on the Holy Ordos and the Custodes, the High Lords would retort by citing the inviolability of what the Imperial Grand Marshal—Guilliman—had left behind.
When Guilliman truly returned, Tieron, who had always sought to break the rules set by Guilliman, became Guilliman's loyal supporter.
However, those High Lords who used to constantly praise the Imperial Grand Marshal and claim that Guilliman's rules were infallible, now had completely changed their tune, even orchestrating the Beta-Garmon incident.
Hastur caressed the charred ruins, his heart growing heavier with grief.
If Tieron were still alive, he would undoubtedly be the Primarch's right-hand man, capable of achieving great things in the new era to come.
But fate was so dramatic, allowing an idealist to fall on the eve of victory.
He had held on for so long; just a few more days would have been enough.
Just a few days, and it would have been the era Tieron had always dreamed of.
The glorious age when humanity would return to its former splendor.
Hastur was immersed in sorrow, sitting disconsolately on a charred ironwood chair.
He didn't care even if his uniform was stained with black marks.
He could imagine Tieron's fear before his death.
Tieron was a man of great righteousness, but he wasn't a tough guy; any soldier could make him scream in pain.
Facing those frenzied rioters, the portly Tieron would likely have been scared out of his wits.
Thinking of this made Hastur even sadder.
Without Tieron, the Beta-Garmon system's trajectory would definitely have been different.
Tieron, by his own efforts, protected the Imperium, saving it from being torn apart by civil war and preserving countless lives.
Yet he died at the hands of rioters, isolated and helpless, tortured to death, his body not even fully recovered.
"Sir, there's an entrance here; it seems like there's someone inside."
A Cadian soldier's voice rang out.
Hearing this, Hastur sprang up with a sudden burst of energy, like a carp leaping.
A glimmer of hope suddenly appeared in his heart.
Perhaps Tieron wasn't dead; only his servants had died.
How could a coward like the Imperial Chancellor possibly die? He must have hidden somewhere.
Hastur quickly walked towards the entrance the soldier had discovered.
It was a very secluded underground chamber.
It was cleverly designed, containing a small life support system capable of running for a year.
But the person found inside disappointed Hastur.
Hastur saw no miracle, no portly Chancellor with a big belly extending his hand to him, offering a greeting full of bureaucratic politeness.
Inside, there was only a dazed old man on the verge of madness.
He was dressed in servant's clothes and appeared to be in a very poor mental state.
He was curled up in a corner, repeating a few delirious words.
"Murder, must remember, must remember, Iltu, remember."
A disappointed Hastur stood beside the old man, and as he listened to these words, his gaze grew serious.
He knelt down in front of the old servant.
After days of riots, the old man's mental state was on the verge of collapse.
Hastur reached out and pushed aside the old man's disheveled, dirty hair that covered his face, causing the other party to scream in terror.
He seemed utterly terrified.
He had been frightened by the terrifying whispers and omnipresent shadows.
Even as the old man struggled, Hastur managed to get a clear look at him.
The old man was Tieron's loyal servant; his entire family had served Tieron for generations.
"What are you saying?" Hastur sensed something amiss in the other's babbling.
"Murder, Iltu, murder, Iltu," the old man cried out.
"What about Iltu?" Hastur pressed.
"Murder, murder, blood, poison, murder!" the old man shrieked in terror; his sanity had collapsed, and only these scattered words were firmly etched in his mind.
"Are you saying Tieron was poisoned by Iltu?" Hastur's heart churned with shock; if such words got out, he would be in big trouble.
Regardless of whether it was true or false, it would cause a huge ripple, even a storm, on Terra.
"Murder," the old man wept.
His consciousness briefly recovered a little.
He spoke a complete sentence to Hastur.
"My master was murdered."
Hastur stood up.
Countless thoughts, like lightning, surged through his mind.
Murder.
Was Tieron not killed by rioters, but murdered by someone else?
The Imperial Chancellor's identity was extremely special, one of the few top powerful figures on Terra.
For such a person to have his residence breached by rioters and be killed in his own home was undoubtedly an incredibly unbelievable event.
Hastur stood up; he realized that the truth behind this would be terrifying, very likely involving the High Lords.
After the Beta-Garmon incident, the rule of the High Lords' Council was essentially declared over.
The Primarch would certainly not keep them.
However, Beta-Garmon involved many, almost all the powerful figures on Terra.
And these Terran elites had close ties with other regions of the Imperium, even acting as spokesmen for those regional families.
Any noble who could establish a foothold on Terra had their own power base, meaning the star systems or sectors managed by their family.
To move against Terra would undoubtedly implicate the entire Imperium.
Abolishing the High Lords' Council meant abolishing the subordinate House of Commons and the Outer Council; the entire Imperium would undergo a massive transformation.
This reform would take at least ten years, or even twenty to thirty years, to show initial results.
However, once Tieron's death was exposed, the High Lords' Council would likely be disbanded prematurely, and Terra's bureaucracy would face a purge under the angry public opinion.
Those planets that had not embraced the Primarch's reformist ideas and were still ruled by nobles would also face a political earthquake.
This was no joke.
When the Imperium faced a crisis, the High Lords and many powerful elites still thought about preserving their own power, ignoring humanity's plight.
The unexploded civil war in the Beta-Garmon system had already caused widespread discontent.
Once the news of Tieron's murder by Iltu, the head of the Departmento Investigates, was exposed, even the most foolish person would no longer advocate for the current bureaucratic system.
"Protect him well," Hastur said, looking at his aide, "Have the troops outside dispatch a Chimera transport, and don't let anyone communicate with him. I'm going to see the Primarch now, and find two trustworthy doctors for him."
The aide paused, "Is it really that serious, sir?"
"A storm is coming," Hastur said with a grave tone, "He will be the source of the storm."
Obedience, Loyalty, Order.
These titles were carved on every wall, every pillar.
The servo-skulls and drones also repeated these slogans.
Kunbis was incredibly tired, standing in line.
This was a relief station, responsible for pulling those unfortunate souls who hadn't fallen or died back from the brink of hell.
Soldiers' shouts were everywhere; they dragged out the bodies of the rioters and piled them up.
Hundreds of men and women were conscripted as laborers, cleaning bloodstains and shattered limbs with crude tools.
"Please, I am loyal to the Emperor," a man cried, begging the inspection personnel.
"A mark of Chaos has been found on you; this is a shameful betrayal," the inspector pushed him away.
The man knelt on the ground in despair, hoping to live.
But the soldiers maintaining order had no sympathy or pity.
Two soldiers came out, dragged the man aside, and made him kneel on the ground.
Accompanied by the sizzling sound of a laser gun.
The man collapsed.
A smell of burning flesh wafted over.
The body was carried by the laborers and thrown into the pile of rioters' corpses.
"Continue the inspection, maintain order," a soldier pushed the curious people, making them return to their lines.
"Take off all your clothes, undergo inspection and showering."
A male inspector said.
Kunbis took off his stained clothes, placed them in the designated spot, and continued to queue naked.
The inspectors showed no mercy; they would use instruments to examine every person who passed through, then distribute new clothes to them.
Such measures were to prevent Chaos corruption.
The man just now was an example of someone corrupted.
Every corrupted person would be executed without any mercy.
Naked, Kunbis walked wearily to the designated spot, where a servitor aimed a hose with a mixed disinfectant solution at him.
Cold disinfectant water washed over Kunbis's body, cleansing the filth from him.
Kunbis shivered involuntarily.
It was too cold.
After rinsing, he was dripping wet and walked to the inspector, extending his arms for examination.
"Stand over by the machine," the inspector said.
Kunbis glanced at the arcing muzzle of the soldier's gun nearby and, with trepidation, followed the order.
If the indicator light turned red, the soldiers would immediately drag him away.
The pile of corpses, like a small mountain, would gain another unfortunate soul.
Fortunately, it didn't.
The indicator light turned green.
"Congratulations, my friend, all hardships are over," the inspector offered him a slight smile.
"I hope so," Kunbis thought.
He returned the inspector's smile, then followed the line into the purified area, which had been cleaned numerous times to ensure no rioters or daemons remained.
He received a set of clean clothes, then was shuffled into a new line that was forming.
Everyone had work, and Kunbis was no exception.
After queuing for three hours, almost fainting from hunger, it was finally Kunbis's turn.
"Name, citizen ID number?" the clerk asked without looking up.
Kunbis stated his number and name; the other person looked down, inputting the information and checking relevant details.
"Third-class worker, originally residing in C-451 residential area. That area has been destroyed; you will go to a new residential area. Here are your subsidy credit vouchers and food vouchers. You will be assigned to a work team. Your original welfare benefits will be restored after the relevant departments are rebuilt."
The clerk looked up and handed Kunbis a document, which still smelled of ink, the golden two-headed eagle particularly striking.
Kunbis took it and walked away.
Public vehicles were constantly leaving this place.
Following the instructions on the document, Kunbis boarded the designated public vehicle, heading to his assigned new residential area.
The Imperial Daily news was playing on the public vehicle.
The handsome host had disappeared.
That guy often passionately hyped the Primarch threat theory, portraying the Primarch as a world-destroying daemon, a despicable usurper of his father's position.
The person who replaced him was an older, more seasoned host.
"The Supreme Imperial Regent arrived on Holy Terra yesterday, and the people of Terra lined the streets to welcome him. Officials at all levels expressed that the Imperial Regent is the most suitable leader in their hearts to guide humanity, and they will unite closely around the Primarch to create a new glory for the Imperium and achieve the great rise of humanity."
Kunbis scoffed at this, no longer paying attention to such empty news, and turned to look out the public vehicle's window.
Tents lined the wide streets; these were temporary shelters for people, as many houses had been destroyed and needed to be repaired before they could be occupied.
Therefore, the refugees could only live on the streets and participate in labor until everything returned to normal.