As soon as Guilliman finished his speech, the hall erupted like a stone plunging into a calm lake—waves of protest surged forth in an instant.
Delegates and envoys rose to their feet, faces flushed red with rage, shouting at the top of their lungs.
"You are blatantly trampling on the laws of the Imperium!"
"We absolutely refuse to accept such unjust terms! What we desire is independence and democracy, not dictatorship!"
"Protest! The Imperium has its own traditions and laws—even a Primarch has no right to change them at will!"
The accusations and doubts whipped around Guilliman like a blizzard laced with icy shards, as if trying to drown him completely.
As soon as their power was truly threatened, these people forgot all awe and respect for the true gene-sons.
They had sworn loyalty, but now not a scrap of it was on display.
The corruption of power was so complete that it made people forget their original loyalty or devotion, and led them down the path of betrayal.
"My family has served the Imperium for three thousand years! Is this the thanks we deserve?"
"My father's title was bestowed upon me by His Majesty the Emperor! You have no right to strip what has been inherited for generations!"
"Never compromise—fight to the end!"
"..."
Guilliman stepped forward, eyes cold as blades, slowly sweeping his gaze over those excited and furious faces.
Do you think I am here to debate with you on this matter?
The Primarch's voice wasn't loud, but it cut through all the surrounding noise, and people felt something was off.
"No, this is merely an announcement. I am exercising the absolute authority granted to me by His Majesty the Emperor, not in the name of the High Lords of Terra."
"Before this assembly, the Courts and the Department of Internal Affairs conducted a thorough investigation and obtained decisive evidence."
Guilliman raised a hand, and a cold, gleaming data panel appeared in mid-air—a long list of many names.
"Some hereditary rulers have used the Emperor's name for excessive exploitation. The blood and sweat of the people of the Imperium have been used solely to line your pockets, and all the blame is pushed onto the Emperor."
"Such behavior is intolerable. If loyalty is only about serving your own interests, then I would rather see no loyalty at all."
At these words, some delegates blanched, obvious panic across their faces.
A few turned to leave, but noticed that at some point, all exits had been silently blocked by fully armed guards.
The arrests began according to the list, and even those not listed would be detained by the courts.
This time, Guilliman was determined to deal with these villains with an iron fist.
If these corrupt officials were not thoroughly purged, how could Ultramar rise from ashes and once again become the beacon of the Imperium?
"I have achieved great feats for the Imperium, shed blood for the Emperor, and was wounded on the battlefield! This is an outrage—I must see His Majesty, I demand an audience with Him!!"
Those dragged off by the guards screamed desperately, begging the Primarch for mercy.
"Roboute… damn you!"
Some shouted, but a quick-thinking guard silenced them with a blow.
Most of the rest grew pale, led away by the guards.
Except for a handful of stubborn resistors—who would likely be dealt with on the spot.
Most of the corrupt officials were not executed immediately.
Instead, they were escorted to the Courts, where they would face fair trials under Imperial Law.
As the group of convicted notables were led away, the assembly fell silent, the atmosphere thick with anxiety and tension.
Guilliman glanced at those remaining, softening his tone a little.
"Gentlemen, the purpose of these reforms is ultimately to benefit all people and complete the transformation of the Imperium. If everyone only pursues their own selfish interests, humanity's future will be very bleak."
"Through these reforms, I hope Ultramar can become a model for the Imperium, a beacon of hope. May all of humanity across the galaxy build a bright future together."
"Are you planning to remain here alone?" Alvaro, the Chapter Master of the Howling Griffons, asked in a low voice.
"No," Guilliman shook his head. "For now, I have no choice but to stay. When I have defeated my corrupted brother and completed the initial reforms here, we must return to the vast galaxy—there are countless worlds waiting for salvation."
The Primarch's eyes turned to Calgar. The Chapter Master of the Ultramarines looked tense, guilt and worry showing on his face.
"Calgar, although the Four Heroes have formed, you are still the Guardian Lord of Grand Ultramar. You bear the responsibility to lead the Four Heroes and govern this land."
Sensing his son's emotions, Guilliman softened his tone.
"There's no need to be so nervous. I am a Primarch, the Emperor's son; you are not. You don't have to hold yourself to my standards."
"You're doing well. Keep working like this, and you'll be perfect."
"I will listen to your teachings." Calgar felt a surge of pride at the Primarch's approval.
Seems my situation isn't so bad after all.
"Alright, there's no rushing the reforms of Ultramar. It takes time to sweep away corrupted forces." Guilliman shifted the topic, his tone calm again. "Now, let's return to the main subject of this war—what do we do about the invading traitor armies?"
"What are our main objectives?" one battle group commander asked.
"Go where we are most needed," Guilliman replied, activating the holo-projector. He displayed a recording that mixed the warnings given by the Eldar seer Natase with intelligence gathered by the Inquisition.
"Mortarion is using evil rituals and a psychic network to keep corrupting Ultramar, gnawing away at people's minds. This, at the root, has caused the constant outbreaks of rebellion across many worlds."
"To truly end the problem of revolt, we must destroy this ritual."
"At the heart of this chaotic rite is a dark artifact called the 'Hand of Darkness'…"
The Hand of Darkness was first obtained centuries ago by Abaddon. Its origins are ancient, dating back to hundreds of millions of years ago, to humanity's first dawn.
With this artifact, its owner can easily manipulate vast amounts of warp energy.
Later, Abaddon used the artifact to curry favor with Mortarion, seeking support from the Death Guard for the completion of the 13th Black Crusade.
After the war began with Ultramar, Mortarion became the focal point, gathering his forces around this ancient relic.
They then created numerous secondary devices based on this principle, deploying them to various worlds, spreading a web of corruption to cover all of Ultramar.
"So Mortarion only invaded these worlds to set up such devices?" the Nova Chapter's leader demanded.
"Exactly. With the power of the Hand of Darkness, he can not only mass-produce undead legions, but also use the corruption network to send daemons directly into Ultramar."
"Among them, the formerly medical world of Axes is now the most corrupt, a diseased hell overrun with daemons."
"So the first battleground is the world of Axes?" Calgar asked.
"No," Guilliman shook his head. "That place is the most corrupt, filled with the thickest warp energy and the strongest daemon presence."
"A rash assault would be a bloodbath. We should first capture the world of Espand."
"This is the closest place to the initial disaster, the first place war erupted. Crucially, loyalists to the Imperium are still holding out there, but the situation is dire."
"We must not abandon them—we need to provide aid as soon as possible, seize the chance to retake all of Espand, and cut off the enemy's retreat and supply lines."
"..."
Just as Guilliman and the commanders were discussing how to take Espand, Datch burst in, having just completed tests on his new equipment. The masked Dancer and the Changeling appeared beside him.
He slid smoothly up next to Guilliman, accidentally bumping into Calgar and sending Calgar two steps back.
Calgar: "...…"
Is he targeting me? This is outright harassment, blatant workplace bullying!
Even if I have to take it to Terra, I will file a complaint. I want justice!
Guilliman gazed at Datch with a troubled look, ready to speak a word of justice to comfort his son Calgar.
"Your Highness!" Datch spoke up first, hopeful. "Is there a new mission for me?"
Guilliman swallowed the words he was about to say.
Calgar, you'll have to bear with this a bit longer. Saving Ultramar comes first.
Workplace bullying? What is that? It's just a trial from the great anonymous Ones. Endure it patiently, and you'll succeed.
"We are about to attack the Espand System and need a safe transit route."
"Nameless One, please help us establish a stable FTL corridor directly connecting to Espand, and ensure smooth passage for the Imperial fleet."
Datch's system notification appeared before his eyes.
[Mission: Assist Regent Roboute Guilliman in constructing a Star Trail to Espand]
Mortarion has begun a full invasion of Ultramar. To defeat him, the supply lines and corruption network must be destroyed.
The Espand region is now the top priority. Retaking it will cut off the traitors' escape and supplies and make a prolonged war impossible.
At the same time, it may deal a severe blow to the corruption network spanning all of Ultramar.
[Rewards: 1500 XP, 1500 points, 200 reputation points, 1 Power Spear]
"So this means I need to create a Star Trail?" Datch checked the mission details, then nodded to Guilliman. "No problem—I accept."
Guilliman frowned slightly at Datch's words.
The FTL corridors they built were called "Star Trails," and it was little wonder they looked like trains.
That name is quite good.
To distinguish from the Eldar's webways, let's call them the Star Trails from now on.
Datch withdrew his teleport gun from his inventory, setting the coordinates for the Star Trails.
He pulled the trigger, opening a teleportation portal.
Passing through, he arrived beside Pam.
"Welcome back, honored Nameless One. Are you setting out on a new journey?" Pam bowed to Datch.
"Yes. This time, I'm headed to Espand." Datch opened an interface and typed in Espand's coordinates.
The train system calculated for several seconds, then projected a detailed jump plan and required integral values onto the screen.
"Alright, let's proceed with this plan," Datch confirmed.
"Very well, noble Nameless One. Then let us embark for the future and the unknown. Someday, these train tracks will cover the entire starry sky, and humanity will march toward its true destiny."
Pam piloted the Star Train, jumping to the given coordinates.
For Pam, this was just another routine task.
Soon, the Star Train traveled infinite distance, arriving at the outer edge of the Espand star system.
A Star Trail linking Macragge and Espand now lay open.
At that moment, the Imperial fleet, following the Primarch's command, immediately pursued, transiting through the trail to Espand.
Perhaps the traitors believed that by staying behind, they could observe or even monitor the movement of the Imperial fleet.
But the traitor fleet in Espand was caught completely off-guard; when the Imperial fleet appeared, their commanders were left utterly dumbfounded.
There was no daemonic warning, no warp disturbance— just the sudden appearance of the Imperial fleet. How was this possible?
The two fleets clashed, plunging immediately into battle.
Hatred ran so deep between the sides that only the total destruction of the other could quench their rage.
"Open fire! For the Emperor, for the Nameless Ones, for Guilliman!"
The commanders' roars echoed across the comms.
With a single command, thousands of guns thundered as one.
Cannons roared, sending countless spears of light slicing through the void.
Violent gunfire and deadly beams fell like a storm, engulfing the traitor fleet in a net of fiery death.
Rebel void shields flickered under constant bombardment, soon overloading and collapsing.
Without their protection, the thick armor yielded easily to building-sized missiles, internal structures falling to chain detonations.
Across the vast void, explosions flared like one supernova after another, briefly illuminating the cold hulls and scattered wreckage.
Though there was no sound in the vacuum of space, the tremors through the hull and blinding light through the portholes made every Imperial Navy officer and sailor's blood boil.
For the Emperor and the Nameless Ones—the traitorous forces of Chaos deserved nothing but death.
When Guilliman himself arrived at Espand at the head of his fleet, the void battle was nearly over.
The rebel fleet was entirely destroyed, reduced to wreckage burning in the black.
Only one thing survived: a huge space station, cloaked in pus-green corruption and bloated like a giant abscess, fighting desperately to stay in orbit.
As the Macragge's Honour drew near, the bridge officers discovered that the tainted station was sending a comm request to the flagship.
"Lord, shall we connect?" the communications officer looked at the Primarch.
Guilliman frowned slightly, considering a moment, then nodded.
"Connect. Let's see what tricks these degenerate scum try before they die."
Receiving a signal from a corrupted station was highly risky; viral codes could easily infect their systems.
But with the Nameless One's help, a little recklessness was acceptable.
Guilliman's faith in the Nameless One was now absolute. Even if the Plague God Nurgle focused his gaze here, the Nameless One could surely shield him from such evil.
As for whether the Nameless One would act—
Guilliman bore the burden of five major Imperial star systems and millions of worlds. He couldn't afford a misstep.
Mysterious friend, you can't want the Imperium to fall and humanity's dawn to be lost, right?
A harsh hiss of static rang out, then the connection stabilized, and amidst the rot and decay, a face was just barely recognizable in the flickering hologram.
"It's been a long time, brother, Roboute Guilliman."
Mortarion's voice bubbled up like toxic froth from a swamp—raspy, sticky, each word laced with boundless malice and mockery.
"Do you think this is the end? How naive. The real entertainment starts now."
Guilliman couldn't hide a contemptuous snort, gripping the Emperor's Sword and pointing it directly at the rotting face on screen, his voice cutting.
"And who do you think you are, daring to shout at me?"
"Bring me Typhon, the commander of the Death Guard Legion, and let me speak to him."
No sooner had Guilliman spoken than Mortarion, in the projection, froze as though an invisible hand grasped his throat.
The next moment, that decaying face twisted in fury, a hoarse scream echoing out. "I am the Death Guard—"
"Beep—"
Guilliman cut the transmission without hesitation.
The signal vanished abruptly, Mortarion's unfinished roar swallowed by the void.
Such underhanded tactics… are oddly satisfying.
Guilliman's lips curled; for a moment, he almost burst out laughing.
Finally, he understood why the Nameless One took such pleasure in these games of words. Even when victory is certain, you must destabilize the enemy's pride and defenses through psychological skirmishing. The feeling was exquisite—almost addictive.
Guilliman could well imagine Mortarion's anger.
And indeed, events unfolded just as predicted.
…
Far from Espand, deep within the corrupted flagship, Mortarion stared at the suddenly blank screen and shrieked with rage.
He'd sacrificed many lives just to connect this call.
He'd wanted to taunt Guilliman, but got nothing but insults—then the line was unilaterally cut.
How dare he do this?!
After such heated debate, should they not agree to a duel?
How dare he cut off contact after hurling abuse!
Mortarion, growing angrier, slammed a massive fist on the nearby control panel. A daemon fused to the machinery wailed in agony, its pus-filled eyes brimming with hurt and resentment.
It's ridiculous—if you cannot out-argue them, why take it out on me? What kind of tactic is this?
Lately, even being a daemon feels undignified!
I am filled with both rage and coldness. When will the warp start to respect imps?
After a time, the swirling toxic clouds faded. Mortarion calmed himself, voice brimming with hate.
"Roboute Guilliman, let's see if you can win with words alone."
"I swear, when you fall into my hands, the first thing I'll sew shut on you will be your mouth."
…
Back in the Espand system, the Imperial fleet had encircled the last corrupted orbital station.
Guilliman raised his hand and gave a forward wave, ordering all ships.
"Concentrate fire—destroy that accursed thing."
Multiple Imperial warships turned their main batteries; light lance arrays reloaded as barrel muzzles glowed with red energy.
In the next instant, a torrent of bombardment engulfed the station shrouded in rotting flesh and spores.
A chain of explosions tore through its inner decks, armor ripped layer after layer, foul creatures within shrieking as they were vaporized in cleansing fire.
After only a few salvos, the former bastion of corruption collapsed completely, reduced to twisted drifting metal in the void.
Now was the time to deploy troops and begin the cleansing of Espand's worlds.