At the same time, the apex of Kent Hive.
The crimson and gold Thunderhawk gunship, Holy Word, slowly descended onto the hastily cleared landing pad, the heat radiating from its thrusters warping the air around it.
The assault ramp lowered.
Sanguinius was the first to step out.
His pristine white wings unfurled beneath the illumination of the hive's artificial dome, pale golden psychic light flowing across every single feather.
He wore his renowned, resplendent artificer armor. The majesty of a Primarch caused everyone present to hold their breath in awe.
Thirty Sanguinary Guard Terminators followed closely behind.
The heavy footfalls of their blood-red artificer plate thudded rhythmically against the metal decking.
But very quickly, Sanguinary Guard Commander Azkaellon noticed something was off.
This place was... a little too normal.
It wasn't a facade thrown together at the last minute; it was the genuine, orderly state of an effectively managed hive.
The landing pad had clearly been recently refurbished, the cracked rockcrete surfaces patched and smoothed over.
The rusted guardrails had been replaced with new ones, and every single lumen-globe was shining brightly.
In the distance, massive propaganda banners hung from the exterior walls of the hive structures. They didn't display the typical Imperial slogans like "Loyalty is Its Own Reward" Instead, they read:
"Labor Creates Value; Dignity Stems from Struggle."
"A Ten-Hour Workday is a Fundamental Right of the Worker."
"Public Hospitals Offer Low-Cost Care; Medicines Provided at Cost."
The banners were written in clean, legible Low Gothic. Next to the text were simple illustrations: a miner raising a pickaxe, a teacher holding a book, a doctor supporting a patient...
Azkaellon's brow furrowed slightly.
These slogans... they didn't sound wrong, but something about them felt incredibly jarring.
Did the Imperium advocate for labor? Yes, very much so.
Did the Imperium protect workers' rights? Theoretically.
But to hang these slogans so bluntly on the exterior of a hive city, complete with illustrations... it was as if...
"...as if they actually intend to enforce them," Sanguinius said softly, starlight swirling in the depths of his amber-gold slit pupils.
He had seen the banners, too.
And he perceived far more than just what was visible.
In his psychic vision, the entirety of Kent Hive was enveloped in a faint golden aura of hope.
The emotional field was weak, but for a hive city on a fringe industrial world, it was nothing short of miraculous.
Because on the vast majority of Imperial hive worlds, the emotional field of the lower-class citizens typically consisted of:
Apathy, Despair, Terror, and Hatred.
But here...
There was actually hope.
Though it was still heavily intermingled with the anxiety of poverty, uncertainty about the future, and the physical weakness born of chronic malnutrition, the core of it was undeniably hope.
In all his years of life, having seen countless worlds, Sanguinius had only ever witnessed this kind of emotional field in one other place.
Macragge.
The heart of the Five Hundred Worlds, ruled by Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Thirteenth Legion, the Ultramarines.
The people there universally shared a similar emotional field due to just laws, comprehensive welfare systems, and a genuine belief in their future.
But this was not Macragge, the crown jewel of the Five Hundred Worlds.
This was Aurelian IV—a decaying mining world that had just been saved from a Warp heresy by the Iron Hands, a world that had been ruled by savage local factions for eighty long years.
Theoretically, this place should have been far more despair-ridden than the average hive city.
"Fascinating," Sanguinius murmured to himself.
Right then, the welcoming delegation approached.
There were over thirty of them, all wearing matching grey uniforms adorned with an insignia on their left breasts: a cogwheel and a stalk of wheat supporting a rising sun.
Leading them was a man in his thirties, wearing a dark grey formal suit. His right eye was a mechanical implant, and both of his arms were obvious cybernetic augmetics.
Yet his movements were smooth and natural, indicating a highly mature level of augmentation technology.
The man stopped five meters away from Sanguinius, placed his right hand over his heart, and offered a crisp, standard Aquila salute.
"Cage Lawrence, Governor of Kent Hive. On behalf of Crimson Dawn and the ninety-eight million citizens of this hive, I welcome Lord Sanguinius, Primarch of the Ninth Legion, on your inspection tour."
His voice was steady, neither overly humble nor arrogant.
Cogboy raised his head, the blue light of his mechanical eye flickering faintly. "Your arrival is our utmost honor, my Lord. We have already prepared the administrative reports for your review. If it pleases you..."
"There is no rush," Sanguinius interrupted, his gaze shifting to the people standing behind him.
He was actively perceiving them.
Ever since entering Kent Hive, his precognitive abilities had fallen into an abnormal state of absolute calm. Paradoxically, this made him suspicious.
Sanguinius's psychic power unfurled silently, blanketing the entire Upper Hive like a gentle net.
He sensed the obvious mechanical augmentations on Cogboy, as well as the slight physical enhancements to his frame. He was roughly on par with an elite Solar Auxilia trooper—which was considered top-tier among the bureaucrats of fringe worlds.
He sensed the young man standing behind Cogboy, wearing a similar uniform and clutching a notepad. He possessed psychic talent, roughly at the Official tier. His emotional state: nervous, excited, and harboring a certain... reverence?
Sanguinius spared the young man a second glance.
Meeting the Primarch's gaze, the young man's face instantly flushed crimson, and he nearly dropped his notepad.
Meanwhile, In the [Regional Channel], things were absolutely exploding:
[Blood Angels' Second Emperor]: HOLY SHIT! My idol looked at me! Lord Sanguinius looked at me! AHHHH I'M GONNA DIE! I want to scream 'By the Blood of Sanguinius' so bad right now!
[I'm the Emperor's Dick]: Calm down, bro! You're an administrative minute-taker right now! Don't blow our cover!
[Slaaneshi Champion in Training]: Honestly, this character model is way too top-tier. The face, the build, the aura... Where in reality can you find a perfect handsome guy like this? No wonder Blood Angels won't shut up about him.
[Hong Kong Teaches Slaanesh]: And did you guys see those wings?! The feather details, the lighting, the flowing psychic particle effects... How many graphics cards would you have to melt to render this on a PC?!
[I Want to be Sanguinius's Dog]: I'm dripping. I can't even walk.
Sanguinius obviously couldn't hear the players' chat channel.
But his psychic perception told him that the young minute-taker's emotional fluctuations were abnormally violent, far exceeding the standard nervousness of meeting a Primarch.
Sanguinius continued his sweep.
He sensed the rest of the welcoming delegation. Their baseline physical attributes weren't weak. A few had weak psychic potential, but their general emotional state was a mix of nervousness and curiosity.
He sensed the PDF soldiers standing guard in the distance. Their wargear consisted of standard lasrifles and flak armor, but their spirit and morale were noticeably higher than the PDF he had seen in other hive cities. Their posture was rigid, and there was light in their eyes.
He sensed even further out—the hive citizens peeking from behind the windows of the buildings. The sallow and emaciated were still sallow and emaciated. But there was indeed a light in their eyes. It wasn't the dead, apathetic stare of the hopeless; it was... expectation?
Everything here was perfectly fine.
It was too perfect. Too perfect to be a hive city that had just had its warehouses robbed and suffered the loss of a colossal amount of supplies.
"My Lord?" Cogboy's voice pulled him back to reality.
Sanguinius retracted his psychic perception, his gaze refocusing on the governor standing before him.
"Lead the way, Governor Cage," he said mildly. "Let me see how you have managed to make a hive city... regain its hope in just one short month."
With that, he stepped forward. His pristine white wings folded naturally behind him. Yet, every step he took radiated the unique, majestic authority of a Primarch.
Cogboy bowed and stepped aside to clear the path, then quickly followed. Schrödinger Bro, Blood Angels' Second Emperor, and the other players roleplaying as administrative staff followed closely behind.
Blood Angels' Second Emperor sneaked glances at Sanguinius's back as he walked. He hadn't actually written a single word in the small notepad in his hand; he was too busy staring.
[Blood Angels' Second Emperor]: "I can die happy now. Seriously, if a Slaaneshi daemon dragged me away right this second, it would still be totally worth it..."
[I Want to Eat Nurgle's Sour Stinky Little Feet]: "A Slaaneshi daemon? Bro, there is something seriously wrong with you."
[Fugitive Cogboy of the Mechanicus]: "Everyone, get serious! The mission isn't over yet! Paul gave strict orders—we have to fool Sanguinius! Stick to the plan. Are the report materials ready?"
[Schrödinger's Loyalist]: "Ready. Thirty percent truth, seventy percent acting."
The procession advanced toward the Governor's Palace. Sanguinius walked at the very front, the tips of his wings lightly brushing the ground.
He couldn't shake the feeling that something about this hive was off. Everything was too perfect; even he couldn't find a single flaw...
Is this how you successfully earned the trust of my brother?
The corners of Sanguinius's mouth curled up into a faint smile.
Fascinating.