Kunbis watched everything outside the window. Those who had been checked formed labor teams, working hard to rebuild their homes.
As the car carrying Kunbis passed by, smiles were on their faces. Officials in Ultramar uniforms were distributing food to them and even willing to communicate with them.
This was a rare sight.
A glimmer of hope couldn't help but rise in Kunbis' heart. Perhaps the arrival of the Imperial Regent truly brought some positive changes.
Changes that could bring a little brightness to his poor and miserable life.
Kunbis looked up, fantasizing that perhaps he could leave this hive city in the future and see other worlds in the Imperium.
His ancestors, his father's generation, were all trapped in this hive city.
They had never seen the scenery outside, let alone visited other worlds.
They hadn't even been to the nearest moon.
For generations, they didn't even know what it was like outside the hive city.
Without any accidents, his descendants would share the same fate.
Kunbis felt a sense of despair about such a life. Perhaps the arrival of the Primarch could change something.
Numerous public vehicles distributed the checked survivors to various locations.
Kunbis' residential area was assigned to the seventh level.
According to the upper, middle, and lower divisions of hive city architecture.
The seventh level was a bottom level within the bottom level.
Terra's hive cities were chaotic and multi-layered, a very complex place.
Nobles lived in the upper levels, merchants and stewards with some money lived in the middle levels, and workers with nothing lived in the bottom levels.
Numerous fringe groups unwilling to obey Imperial orders were active in the bottom levels of the hive city.
The bureaucracy turned a blind eye to this.
After all, it was somewhat counterproductive to expend such vast manpower and material resources to deal with the matters in the depths of the hive city.
It was better to leave it to the gangs to manage, only requiring them to pay a certain fee on time.
Kunbis had some reservations about this, but he knew he was powerless to resist.
The authority of the Imperium was above all else, and the citizens could only choose to obey.
Even if the commands of the Imperium were full of injustice, they had to grit their teeth and endure.
Any form of resistance would be considered treason against the Imperium, leading to the strangulation by the Adeptus Arbites.
Two hours later.
"Hurry up and get down, you scum."
As the public vehicle stopped, a man in the uniform of the Terran Adeptus Arbites shouted outside the door.
He held a crackling shock maul in his hand, and his tone was extremely harsh.
The public vehicle unloaded all the passengers and then left.
Kunbis surveyed the surrounding environment. This should be a residential area for a factory.
The air was very foul, mixed with the stench of something burning.
"Line up, get your tools, and start today's work. Don't waste any time."
The Arbites man frowned and said in an unkind tone.
"Shouldn't we eat? When we came, they said we would eat with our labor team." Kunbis raised his hand and asked, puzzled.
Along the way, he had seen many labor teams eat first and rest for a while.
Why was it that when it came to them, they had to start working immediately?
Hearing this, the Arbites man furrowed his brow.
It seemed that Kunbis' words had severely challenged his authority.
He strode over and raised the shock maul in his hand.
"Are you the one with the most to say? Are you a traitor? Why are you talking so much?"
"Sir, I'm just starving." Kunbis said submissively, somewhat fearful of the other party's identity and the shock maul in his hand.
The man kicked Kunbis, causing him to fall to the ground.
"No one else is talking, only you. Be honest, or I'll kill you. Finish the work here as soon as possible so I can go back and have some fun early, otherwise, you can all starve to death here."
These words were vicious, and the man made no attempt to hide it.
For people like him, there was no need to show any mercy to these fools.
He was born to enslave these fools.
His ancestors worked for the Adeptus Arbites, his father's generation worked for the Adeptus Arbites, and now he also worked for the Adeptus Arbites.
Without any accidents, his children and grandchildren would also work for the Adeptus Arbites.
Every life here would be trampled underfoot by his family for generations.
Those foolish colleagues in the expeditionary fleet even talked about fairness and being gentle to these people.
Did these people deserve it?
These people were destined to toil their whole lives.
I stand on their heads and show off my power, and later my son will stand on their sons' heads and show off his power.
Do these wastes dare to resist?
If they dare to resist, kill them, shoot them with a lasgun.
Hearing the man's malicious and domineering words, everyone's faces showed a hint of despair.
But seeing the uniform on the other party, they still chose to endure.
Any resistance would not end well.
"We just want something to eat." A child said softly, "We've been working all day, and we're really hungry."
The man in the Terran Adeptus Arbites uniform stood up, glanced around, and saw the child who had spoken.
It was a girl, only about eleven or twelve years old, gaunt, and clearly malnourished.
The man walked up and slapped the girl hard.
He looked incredibly fierce, like a War God reborn, enough to make even daemons tremble.
The crisp sound echoed in everyone's ears.
The girl's face immediately became red and swollen, and she fell to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.
The man showed no mercy, slapping a little girl with all his might.
He hit the poor little thing so hard that she was disoriented, and her ears were ringing.
"What right do pieces of trash like you have to bargain? It's already the Emperor's grace that you're alive, yet you're not working hard and talking nonsense here. Do you believe I'll immediately call the troops and have all of you dealt with as cultists? A bunch of trash dares to bargain. By the Emperor, hurry up and work, or you'll all be treated as rebels."
The man withdrew his hand, glaring fiercely at those people, his eyes filled with mockery and malice.
To be honest, hitting these people felt beneath him.
How pathetic, couldn't they just listen obediently?
They just had to force him to act.
No one dared to meet the man's gaze, fearing that they would be the next to be hit.
This small Adeptus Arbites official was already an insurmountable mountain for them.
One had to know that behind the other party was the entire Imperium, countless Astra Militarumrum and Emperor's Angels, and the God-Machines capable of unleashing destructive power.
There would be no benefit in opposing the other party, only endless trouble and the risk of death.
Once declared a traitor, the Imperium would send many powerful forces to hunt them down until there was no way to escape to the sky or enter the earth.
Kunbis stopped talking. He received a pickaxe and began to work with his head down.
The others did the same, enduring silently under the man's threatening gaze.
Suffering never passed.
What was the difference between daemons and those bureaucrats who considered themselves superior?
One was hell, and the other was also hell.
Kunbis looked up at the hanging portrait of the Imperial Regent, revealing an ugly, mocking expression, and then continued to labor with his pickaxe, head down.
*******
Terra, within the spacious hall of the Senatorum Imperialis.
Guilliman paced back and forth, rapidly digesting the information he had gathered from the low-level individuals.
Depravity, decay, greed—human language could hardly describe the wickedness of the Terran bureaucracy.
Those low-level officials were no longer his father's loyal servants but leeches, vultures feeding on decaying corpses.
They inflicted countless sufferings upon the citizens of the Imperium, overwhelming them, making them live as if in hell.
"We have always walked on the wrong path."
Guilliman said, looking at Valerian, the captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, who was standing nearby.
"They are too weak; they cannot bear these sufferings." Valerian said, having just finished receiving treatment.
"No, you are wrong, Captain-General. We exist precisely to protect them, not to oppress them. We cannot turn the place we protect into hell in order to fight another hell." Guilliman said, "Your master, my father, once said this. We brought them reason and science, allowing them to live happily under the protection of the Imperium. Now everything is messed up."
When discussing the one he served, Valerian no longer spoke to refute.
He lived in an era when the Emperor no longer spoke.
The Ten Thousand were still loyal.
But they could no longer receive inspiration from the Emperor like their predecessors of the Mark I.
Humans who could live for ten thousand years were exceedingly rare.
Even the Custodes could not live that long.
They lived longer than ordinary people, some of the long-lived ones even living for several thousand years.
But the Ten Thousand had a very clear rule: they only accepted the service of Custodes whose bodies were in their absolute prime.
Once a Custodian's physical functions declined, they would be directly retired to do other work.
The Ten Thousand would choose the next successor to fill the vacancy.
The selection of Custodes was extremely strict.
They began receiving bio-enhancements before they even had a full understanding of the world.
Every Custodian received countless augmentations to ensure they were the best in all aspects.
At the appropriate opportunity, they would replace their predecessors and continue to fulfill their duty of protecting the Emperor.
The retired Custodes would shed their golden armor and be active throughout the Imperium.
In the deep vaults of the Imperial Palace and throughout the galaxy.
They were still carrying out some unknown secret missions.
They didn't even know the true purpose of those missions, only that they were the Emperor's final arrangements before sitting on the Golden Throne.
Valerian did not live in the era when the Emperor still walked the world. He could only learn many of the Emperor's teachings from the notes and diaries left by his predecessors.
Guilliman, as a Primarch, had fought alongside the Emperor.
When he said it was what the Emperor said, Valerian truly couldn't find any excuse to refute.
He couldn't exactly go ask the Emperor!
Valerian could only acquiesce, not daring to refute the words spoken by his liege.
"Then what do you plan to do? The Imperium is now in ruins, needing a large number of talents. If we reshape a system, the turmoil and consequences it would cause are unbearable for us." Valerian said, "We can proceed slowly, gradually using the talents we have to replace those who are unwilling to comply, transitioning slowly."
"That is too slow; humanity does not have that much time. We must bear these consequences; we cannot build without breaking." Guilliman's attitude was firm, "The rectification of the Terran bureaucracy will be put on the agenda very soon. We must cut the Gordian knot; I do not want the Custodes to be an obstacle to me."
Guilliman paced back and forth, "I will start with the High Lords of Terra. Even if the Imperium is severely weakened, it will be able to recover its health and accumulate strength again to fight against our great enemies."
"We serve only Him." Valerian said, "Moreover, the Terran nobility is deeply involved and connected to all sectors of the entire Imperium."
The High Lords of Terra had led the Imperium of Man for ten thousand years. Valerian felt that the system only needed to be improved, not completely abolished.
If Guilliman's plan went wrong, the consequences would be unimaginable, causing severe turmoil.
"My will is His will. Have you been received by Him? No, you have not. Only I have been received by Him and can communicate with Him." Guilliman said.
Valerian still wanted to say something.
At this moment, a Shield-captain entered and knelt before Guilliman.
"My lord, a Cadian general wishes to see you. He says he has new evidence regarding the Imperial Prime, suggesting the Prime was not killed by rioters, but died at the hands of the Imperium's own people."
Guilliman was stunned, and so was Valerian.
Assassinating high-ranking Imperial leaders was something that only happened during the War of the Beast and the Age of Apostasy.
During the War of the Beast, Vandire murdered the other High Lords, seized control of the Imperium, and established a dictatorship.
He was eventually killed by the returning Lord Commander of the Imperium, Sebastian Thor.
The second was the Age of Apostasy, also known as the Reign of Blood. During this time, Ecclesiarch Vandire controlled the Ecclesiarchy and the Administratum, using assassination to gain dictatorial power, and was finally ended by the Black Templars.
These two eras have clear records of assassinations of high-ranking Imperial officials.
After this, the Imperium began to take strict precautions against such incidents.
Stringent protective measures were implemented for high-ranking Imperial personnel.
At the same time, important organizations like the Officio Assassinorum and the Inquisition issued warnings multiple times, forbidding assassination games among high-ranking officials.
Once discovered, such acts were to be treated as treason against the Emperor and attempts at dictatorship.
Assassinating the Imperial Prime.
Such a crime had crossed the line.
"Let him in," Guilliman said.
Valerian remained silent. If the news brought by the Cadian general was true...
...then Terra would face a storm of reform that no one could escape.
The Primarch would definitely initiate a purge, from top to bottom, without exception.
The Honour Guard rose and walked out.
After a moment, a man walked in, wearing a Cadian uniform. His resolute face, weathered by time, showed signs of apprehension and unease.
The newcomer was none other than Castor.
The Primarch's Honour Guard had told him that the Primarch was willing to grant him an audience.
But time was short, and he had to be concise, getting straight to the point to explain the entire matter.
"Kastur? Are you the one who said Tieran wasn't killed by rioters?" Guilliman looked at the Cadian general, searched his memory, and retrieved all the man's information.
Kastur had defected to the Expeditionary Fleet on Beta-Garmon V.
This fellow had even placed a large number of generals under house arrest, paralyzing the Imperial chain of command and allowing the Expeditionary Fleet to achieve victory without firing a single shot.
Guilliman had an excellent memory. Even with his extensive duties, he could still spare some mental capacity to remember the more outstanding generals.
"Yes, my lord." Kastur was slightly apprehensive, knowing what kind of storm his words would stir up.
But for Tieran, for his friend, he decided to go all out.
Justice had to be served for Tieran.
"This is memory information extracted from the mind of an old servant at the Imperial Prime Tieran's residence, my lord."
Kastur handed over a data-slate containing the memories read from the old man using a mind-reader.
Guilliman took the data-slate, examined it, and then placed it into the holographic projector in the hall.
The displayed images extinguished any thoughts Valerian had of supporting the High Lords of Terra.
Valerian had only one thought in his mind: the High Lords were insane.
In the footage, the Head of the Administratum, Iltus, along with death squads, slaughtered every living being in the Prime's residence.
He then personally injected the Imperial Prime, Tieran, with a neurotoxin, destroyed all recording equipment, and left.
And all of this was witnessed by an old servant who had miraculously escaped death.
Had it not been for this variable, no one would have suspected the immense secret hidden behind Tieran's death.
The plan was too perfect.
Everything was utilized with great cunning.
After the murders, those individuals then used the pretext of military redeployment to divert the defense forces.
They secretly aided the frenzied rioters in attacking the Prime's residence, destroying all evidence of their own actions.
Ensuring there were no witnesses left alive.
Guilliman was silent for a moment, then looked at Kastur. "Who else has seen this?"
"Only the tech-priest responsible for the reading and I have seen it, Lord Regent," Kastur said.
"Then we must prepare a gift for those individuals. I will sign a writ of authorization for you. Go and investigate the troop movements during that period and find out how many High Lords were involved in this matter.
Iltus couldn't possibly have done this alone; he wouldn't dare, nor does he have the authority to redeploy the troops who were loyal to Tieran."
"There must have been others involved, perhaps even military personnel. Only they could have bypassed the Imperial Prime to move the troops away."
As Guilliman spoke, he took out his seal, signed his name on a command writ, and affixed his bio-seal.
Kastur smiled, took the writ, and left to investigate the full extent of the conspiracy behind Tieran's death.
He secretly vowed to pursue anyone involved in Tieran's death to the end.
Guilliman watched the Cadian general leave, then turned his gaze to Valerian.
"As you have seen, the High Lords of Terra system is corrupted. It must be changed, reshaped, otherwise, we will all suffer from its poison."
Valerian remained silent.
Guilliman continued, "Some old regulations have reached the point where they must be changed. The Custodes should not hide behind high walls, ignoring the Imperium. That will only invite countless disasters.
This assault by the Blood God is a warning. If you cannot keep disaster outside the Sol System, you will not be able to defend the high walls of the Imperial Palace either."
"This was just an anomaly. In ten thousand years, it has only happened once. It is not the norm." Valerian attempted to defend the Ten Thousand.
But Guilliman interrupted him again. "War is never the norm. This time, we stopped them, but what about next time? Who knows if another anomaly will occur? We need to strike out. The best defense in this world is offense. We must prepare for war against the warp."
"Of course, you might think I am delusional. You might think your master couldn't confront the warp head-on. What right does a Primarch have to say such a thing? But I am sorry, I do have that right.
Before formally confronting the warp, I must put the Imperium of Man in order. Only then can we strike back hard against the warp. To achieve this goal, the Custodes must obey me."
"We only obey Him." Valerian showed some displeasure at Guilliman's statement that they must obey him.
After the Horus Heresy ten thousand years ago, the Custodes no longer trusted any Space Marines.
Any contact was maintained at a safe distance, ensuring they had the reaction time to eliminate the other party.
Now, a Primarch was demanding that the Ten Thousand obey him. This was preposterous.
"My word is His word, Valerian. You were created for a greater vision, but unfortunately, that future was not realized. Therefore, now you must do different work," Guilliman said.
"You need to send people to Pluto, protect a few individuals, and capture some assassins. Perhaps we will have an unexpected surprise."
Valerian looked at the Primarch. From his gaze, he knew he had no choice but to obey.
"I understand." He nodded, rose, and walked out.
A place of chaotic disorder, eternal, without past or future.
Here, there was only endless war.
Crimson clouds emitted a pungent smell of blood, roaring as they drifted across the battlefield stretching to the horizon.
Occasionally, mountains rose from the crimson plain, rugged and treacherous. Upon closer inspection, they were entirely formed from melted blades and axes, filled with a chilling aura of slaughter and war.
The vast plain was littered with shattered bone-armour and blades.
Blood gathered into small rivers flowing into vast lakes.
Everything here was related to war.
Even the rare flora and fauna carried the rage and killing intent to destroy everything.
This was the realm of the Blood God, Khorne.
The Blood God's realm was completely different from the realms of the other Chaos Gods.
In its realm, there was only slaughter, only combat, only bloodshed.
The Blood God only worshipped violence; in its immortal mind, there was room only for war, rage, and slaughter.
Its realm fully displayed its inner nature and characteristics.
An endless scorched plain stained red with blood, where there was only blood, only war.
In every corner, unprecedentedly massive wars were taking place.
In this eternal conflict, sometimes the Blood God's servants clashed with each other in close combat, fighting to the death to please their master.
At other times, it was the invasion of servants of rival Chaos Gods, met with fierce resistance by the Blood God's followers.
As long as it brought war and slaughter, the Blood God Khorne did not care about the reason.
It only demanded the pleasure of intense combat.
This blood-red plain was covered in skeletons.
In some places, they were piled up like mountains.
Scattered across the crimson plain were numerous massive, naturally formed pits.
Every so often, the roar of warhorns would sound.
Streaks of blood-red light would appear, and warriors driven by rage and slaughter would manifest here again.
There was no communication; the only thing they did was raise their weapons and slaughter each other under the crimson sky.
Only one warrior would survive in each pit.
That warrior would receive a boon, regaining a physical form capable of action.
The Blood God was a very fair deity; it loved blood and combat.
There were no hidden agendas, no privileges; everything was decided by strength.
As long as there was fierce and outstanding combat, it would pay attention and grant blessings to the victorious side.
It never cared who shed the blood.
Enemies or servants, it was all the same to it.
It despised the weak and those who sought pleasure, and it disdained beings who only resorted to trickery.
The gladiatorial pits were where daemons and followers defeated and killed in the material universe were reborn.
They had to fight in the pits until they emerged victorious.
Only then could they be reborn again.
Otherwise, they would have to continue fighting in the pits until eternity.
In a crimson pit, Angron let out a roaring bellow.
His twin axes were burning with raging black flames that coiled around him, making him look like a world-ending daemon. His unyielding battle-lust made his opponents tremble.
At his feet was a mountain of corpses, his slain enemies, torn apart by the most brutal means, serving as stepping stones for his return to existence.
The last bloodthirsty monster fell, and Angron used its corpse to climb onto the edge of the pit, gaining a new body and reappearing in the world.
Looking around the crimson plateau, Angron's gaze immediately fell upon the towering, immensely majestic Brass Citadel.
The Brass Citadel was located at the heart of Khorne's bloody realm.
At the highest point of the citadel was the Brass Throne of the Blood God Khorne.
It sat upon it, overlooking the battles in the gladiatorial pits, bestowing blessings upon the warriors who pleased it.
The sheer size of the citadel was unimaginable to mortal life; it stretched endlessly, with stars merely tiny specks against it.
The citadel's existence was also the best proof of the War God's power.
It was invincible.
The massive walls of the citadel were spattered with blood, and the spires of its high towers pierced the blood-red clouds spewing from Khorne's foundries.
Outside the walls, raging braziers beneath iron hooks illuminated the surrounding crimson plain.
The citadel walls were like blades, covered in countless iron scaffolds and brutal steel spikes.
Hung upon these terrifying structures were the cowardly warriors who had failed in the pits of fear and dared not continue fighting.
They were bound hand and foot, flayed alive, their blood flowing down the horrifyingly twisted walls to form the moat of the Brass Fortress.
Within the walls was even more horror.
When the Blood Legion is not slaughtering in the Skull Lands or the Real Universe, the Brass Fortress is the best place for them to unleash their endless rage.
In the Blood God's domain, there are no unwritten rules, no favors, and no consideration for past achievements.
Even Khorne's Great daemons need to constantly fight and kill to maintain their status and earn the Blood God's blessings.
Regardless of status, no servant of Khorne can receive blessings without cost.
They must earn their position through combat and bloodshed.
At the center of the fortress is a mountain piled high with skulls.
These are offerings presented by the followers of Khorne.
With every slaughter by the Blood Legion, this colossal skull mountain slowly grows taller.
And at the very peak of the skull mountain sits Khorne's exclusive Brass Throne.
He sits upon it, watching every gladiatorial combat in the Bloody Wastes, every slaughter within the Brass Fortress, and every massacre in the Real Universe.
Selecting individuals worthy of notice, guiding them onto the Path of Blood.
He saw Angron crawl out of the gladiatorial pit, a place that could never truly hold him.
Every time he was killed in the Real Universe, he could quickly resurrect through the pit.
In the past, he would have marched towards the Brass Fortress to vent his eternal rage.
But this time, he didn't.
The Blood God watched him, wanting to see what his favored son would do.
Angron could feel the Blood God's gaze, but he didn't care, only roaring incessantly, venting his boundless fury.
"You are just a coward, Angron, you only dare to swing your axe at ordinary people, you can only bully them. You don't even have the courage to resist the Emperor, to resist the Blood God, you only know how to rage impotently, Angron. Lorgar fooled you, treating your gladiator companions as slaves, yet you dared not say a word, dared not do anything."
Guilliman's voice echoed in his mind as if imbued with magic, again and again, tormenting him to the brink of madness.
Angron looked towards the direction of the Brass Throne, filled with fury, but he still turned and walked away.
Facing the invincible Blood God, Angron felt perhaps he should first settle scores with others who had betrayed him.
"Lorgar."
Angron let out an angry growl and headed in another direction within the realm of Chaos.
Lorgar had deceived him.
Becoming a slave to the Blood God, losing all reason, Angron could endure such a fate.
But he would never allow the souls of Nuceria's gladiators to become slaves.
They died with free will.
Then they should have freedom.
He would never allow anyone to profane this.
This was the most sacred thing in his heart, the thing he most wanted to protect.
Angron felt endless fury surging within him; he would seek out Lorgar.
If the other truly enslaved the souls of Nuceria's gladiators, Angron would let him know what the nobles of Nuceria felt just before they died.
He would tear that bastard apart piece by piece.
Using his eternal life, he would constantly find the other, hack him down again and again, and then tear his body apart little by little.
Until the other collapsed and was no longer willing to resurrect.
The Blood God's omnipresent gaze watched Angron's departure.
Khorne's eyes could see everything happening simultaneously; he showed no reaction to Angron's leaving.
The blood of another daemon Primarch was also something to look forward to.
Let blood flow.
No matter whose blood it is.
The victor will receive blessings.
The First Lord of the High Lords of Terra and Master of the Administratum, Iltus, sat at the head of a long table, dressed in a custom-made luxurious robe.
He had summoned the Ecclesiarch, the Master of the Lex, and several other important High Lords to his private residence to discuss future political changes.
It was a very luxurious mansion, with gardens, fountains, sculptures, and various entertainment facilities.
The grounds were also vast.
Just the garden alone covered dozens of acres, planted with precious flowers from across the galaxy.
The luxurious estate was a symbol of status and wealth.
An ordinary person couldn't afford even a handful of dirt from the mansion's garden in their entire life.
One must know that all this soil was transported from the native habitats of those flowers.
How many people on Terra have never even left Terra in their lives? How could they imagine the immense cost of transporting this soil to Terra, and the immense power needed to make the inspectors along the way look the other way?
Iltus had a top-tier great family backing him.
Even before he became a High Lord, his family already controlled hundreds of star systems and had political tentacles reaching into several sectors.
It was precisely with the help of his vast family power that he was able to ascend to the position of High Lord in one go.
Iltus was completely unashamed of displaying his family's wealth.
The elites of the Imperium should naturally enjoy more.
More than the foolish and useless lower classes.
In this world, a person's destiny is predetermined.
A worker's child is destined to be a worker.
A slave's child is destined to be a slave.
For someone like him, with a superior background and generational heritage, it was only right to rule the Imperium.
Only with such rules can the Imperium prosper and flourish.
Iltus was quite proud of the achievements he had made since taking the position of Master of the Administratum.
The Imperium was prosperous and flourishing, the Imperial armies swept across the galaxy, pacifying many alien races.
The citizens of the Imperium lived in peace and contentment, and everyone sang praises to the Emperor.
Isn't this a golden age??
Think back ten thousand years ago, when humanity had no Imperium, that wicked Age of Strife, when people couldn't even get enough to eat, that was truly tragic.
Now look at the citizens of the Imperium, they are truly too happy.
Although they have to work over ten hours a day, with no holidays throughout the year, those fellows can at least eat their fill, and the Imperium even allocates housing to them. Shouldn't they be eternally grateful??
If not for the fall of Cadia, Iltus felt he could certainly have delivered a satisfactory report card, making his career as a High Lord perfect.
As for some troublemakers who didn't know gratitude and didn't know how to serve the Emperor properly, Iltus chose to ignore them.
Complaining that their earned credits are too little??
Complaining that they have never been able to leave Terra to see other worlds in their entire lives??
Complaining that their lives are spent like puppets!!
Listen, is that even human speech??
To utter such ungrateful words under the glorious light of the Emperor, it truly shames the Imperium.
They have no virtue of enduring hardship and working without complaint.
All they think about all day is enjoyment; they are not qualified citizens of the Imperium.
The Inquisition should arrest all these people who maliciously refuse low wages, maliciously refuse overtime, and maliciously refuse elite rule, convict them of treason against the Imperium, and execute them all.
As a warning to others.
The secret meeting was held in an ancient chapel within the mansion, where holy relics of the Imperial cult were enshrined.
A large raw wood table was placed here.
Some of the most powerful people in the Imperium sat here.
For ten thousand years, the Imperium had been ruled by a single body composed of twelve men and women.
Throughout history, the High Lords of Terra have borne the responsibility for making all major decisions for the Imperium.
The world often cursed the High Lords of Terra for their incompetence and inefficiency.
But it cannot be denied that the High Lords of Terra also guided humanity through many trials and challenges.
In the past, there was no power on the political level of Terra stronger than the High Lords of Terra.
Unfortunately, everything is different now.
Guilliman has returned, once again becoming the Regent of the Imperium, taking all the power from the High Lords of Terra.
"We must find a way to retreat as safely as possible," Iltus said in a low voice. "If possible, we should try our best to support people from our conservative faction to rise, or people who can be influenced by us, to occupy the seats on the High Lords of Terra."
After the events in the Beta-Garmon system, Iltus and the others understood clearly that their political careers were over.
Once the Primarch finished dealing with the daemon invasion, he would move against them.
What they needed to do now was find a way to preserve their last shred of dignity, so they could live out their remaining years in peace.
They generally did not believe that Guilliman would directly abolish the High Lords of Terra.
But the Imperium had immense inertia; after all, for ten thousand years, the Imperium had been ruled by the High Lords.
Furthermore, not a single battle occurred in the Beta-Garmon campaign.
This also proved that various factions within the Imperium generally did not wish for a large-scale civil disturbance or civil war to break out.
The High Lords had lost everything, but they were still the nominal acting rulers of the Imperium.
This system was originally created by the Emperor and refined and left behind by Guilliman.
Abolishing the High Lords of Terra would damage the Primarch's prestige and undermine the Imperial system.
In addition, the High Lords were not isolated individuals.
The twelve High Lords represented twelve forces powerful enough to determine the future of the Imperium.
Iltus and these people were just spokesmen pushed forward.
Dissolving the High Lords of Terra would break the balance between the twelve factions and dismantle the fundamental system the Imperium had long relied upon.
It would be like the United States of America, which claims to be founded on democracy, suddenly being declared by a certain family to be under their dictatorship.
That would truly be a tumultuous storm.
"There's not much he can do, at most we plead guilty and offer some justification, saying it was a misunderstanding caused by our excessive tension. At most, we'll lose our positions and be imprisoned. According to the unwritten rules, others will definitely have to protect us at all costs."
Said Fabricator-General Dandara.
"This is the best course of action right now. Someone must be held responsible for the Beta-Garmon system incident. We will all take the blame and give the Primarch an explanation. He cannot possibly move against such a massive bureaucracy on Terra, because once he does, the entire Imperium could be paralyzed. The final outcome will be nothing more than us being handed over, and the forces behind us pledging allegiance to the Primarch in exchange for forgiveness."
Master of the Lex Draco also spoke.
"Supporting our people is no longer possible. Guilliman will not let us succeed. For a long time to come, he will be wary of us. My opinion is not to interfere with those matters, wait for a while, until the Primarch leaves Terra, and then slowly regain our former influence." Said Lord Commander Militant Mereda. "We must pay a price to satisfy the Primarch. We cannot ask for too much; at most, we can ensure that our families are not completely removed from the political scene. As long as we can still influence politics, we still have a chance to start over."
"Guilliman wants to change everything, but he is destined to fail. No matter how good the intentions, power will eventually be bound by chains of interest, returning to the starting point, becoming a game of negotiation hijacked by families and interest groups. Bad money driving out good money is the true essence of politics. We just need to wait patiently; there is no need to be overly anxious."