Emperor's Bane

Chapter 758 Compiègne Forest

"Order, rules, compromise, cooperation."

"Is this the future we need to face in your eyes?"

Ten hours after the private conversation between the two Primarchs ended, the whispers of the Wolf-God still plagued the Macragge people.

Guilliman began to think, and the thinking soon turned into trouble, spreading like cancer cells in his mind, bringing with it countless wild thoughts and unnecessary worries: the old problem of the Lord of Five Hundred Worlds.

This dilemma continued until the Primarch's Stormbird fighter arrived near the Bucephalus, and it was not completely resolved: the accompanying Ultramarines saw all of this, but only thought that the Primarch was worried about Badab's failure.

It's no wonder they think so, because facing the current situation of the Thirteenth Legion, even the most optimistic people cannot find the slightest sign of victory.

However, a few months ago, the Ultramarines and their army, who had rushed out from the Five Hundred Worlds with great momentum and confronted the most powerful military regime in the galaxy on a front spanning the entire Maelstrom region, are now like old wolves that have been driven off the throne, shrinking dejectedly back to their true borders.

Thousands of worlds were hastily abandoned: they once shed blood for these lands, made promises to the people who lived on these lands, and then proudly raised their flags, declaring that this was the new frontier of Ultramar.

But now, the proud military flags were randomly gathered up, and the bloody land and allies were abandoned: enduring the confused or sad gazes behind them, Guilliman's descendants gritted their teeth and left the land they had defended without looking back.

The Thirteenth Legion did not shed a drop of blood or lose a single battle-brother on the battlefield of Badab, but they suffered the most tragic and humiliating defeat since their founding: a defeat that would change their souls forever.

In the past, the XIII Legion had experienced heart-wrenching defeats: long before they met their Primarch again, the Legion had suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of psychic aliens in the First Osiris War. Even the then Legion Commander had been killed in the melee, and the loss of a large number of Terran veterans and heavy machinery almost brought the entire Legion to its knees.

But it didn't matter. After the return of Primarch Guilliman, he not only pulled the Ultramarines back from the abyss, but also helped them complete their sacred revenge: the Second Osiris War, acting together with the Dawnbreaker Legion, completely crushed the entire psychic race, and the tragic defeat of the past became the most glorious chapter in the Legion's history.

Revenge is so sweet that it haunts even the most determined people.

While tasting the sweetness of revenge, the Ultramarines can raise their heads and remember in front of the younger generations of the Legion how the first commander of the Legion sacrificed his life. In the glory of successful revenge, these stories will become legends and become the inner soul of the Legion, which will be passed down from generation to generation.

……

That's how it should be.

But this time, that was not the case.

How should they explain their failure at Badab to their successors?
How could they describe the dark cloud that had loomed over the entire history of the Legion?

Unlike the Osiris Alien, the defeat at Badab was bloodless but unforgettable, humiliating and painful, but destined to never see the day of revenge: this is a completely different situation, a Möbius strip that no Astartes warrior who values legion and glory can get out of.

Because this time, their opponent is Holy Terra, the orthodoxy of the empire.

He is the agent appointed by the Emperor.

It is the one that can never make a mistake.

With its vast army, arrogance, and the Emperor's Bucephalus, Terra arbitrarily placed the cage of failure on the heads of every Ultramarines: the material losses alone were not enough, they had to repeat the process once again in terms of dignity.

Terra needs victory, needs prestige, needs to use the humiliation of a legion in exchange for the awe of all the villains: and now, the Ultramarines are the sacrificial rams chosen by the priests of the Senate.

They were placed on the altar and shed their blood in front of the entire galaxy.

Struggling like an animal, but being treated roughly like an animal.

From the Primarch to the warriors, everyone's situation is no different.

As the forlorn Sons of Guilliman stood in the cold night, watching their flags being ruthlessly torn down from the land, with their blood and brute force only but tears of humiliation behind their helmets, thousands of miles away, their Gene-Father also lowered his head, and went to meet a group of mortals like a subject.

The vast fleets of the Five Hundred Worlds were ordered to leave the Maelstrom as a sign of their sincerity in negotiating a ceasefire, and the Legion's Primarch Guilliman himself could only ride a battle barge into the Badab system, which was completely controlled by Holy Terra.

Fortunately, in order to take into account the status of the Primarch and the Five Hundred Worlds, there are not many Terran ships in the Badab system now. Guilliman's Stormbird quietly sailed towards the Bucephalus in the empty space. The Terran frigate protected it from a distance, with a reserved attitude but sufficient courtesy.

"They haven't gone too far yet."

The hero who attended the negotiation with the Primarch was Orfeo, who was given this title after Nikea: compared with other high-ranking officers, the former commander of the reserve army was a pure warrior. Although he had a brain for playing politics, he disdained any art of language.

This is why Guilliman chose to let Orfeo accompany him: this new hero is like a pure blade, and no matter how ugly the scene will become, as long as the Primarch does not order, Orfeo will not take the initiative to draw his blade and escalate the situation.

At the same time, the Macragge people promoted this offspring to the rank of Hero with much the same purpose in mind.

Although Guilliman never said it explicitly, he had a premonition that after the heavy losses on Nikaea, his Five Hundred Worlds would definitely experience a massive upheaval.

In the midst of turmoil, he needed Orfeo as his sword: a senior officer who would not consider any external factors and would only kill on the orders of the Primarch, which was exactly what Guilliman would need in the next reorganization of the Five Hundred Worlds.

Of course, he also needs something else: a lot of means and plans.

I hope these things can help him win the war within the Five Hundred Worlds.

The Primarch sighed and turned to look at his followers.

The number is pitifully small.

"Do all of you still remember the orders I gave you before we set out?"

The response was loud and affirmative, demonstrating the Lord of Macragge's godlike status in the eyes of these warriors and followers, but Guilliman himself seemed a little absent-minded.

He was thinking about what he was going to discuss with Malcador, then recalling Horus' words. He suddenly wondered whether he should test Malcador's attitude towards Imperial Federalism during the negotiation, but a wall suddenly built up in his heart, thinking that they should make their plan more detailed so that they could show it to the whole galaxy.

But after a while, the Lord of Macragge began to doubt himself: after the humiliation he had experienced at Badab, did he really want to get involved in the turmoil of the Imperium? Would it be a better option for the Five Hundred Worlds to maintain verbal support for Horus and stay away from Malcador and his Terran government?
The Primarch had so many ideas and could predict such a broad future, but he himself hesitated because of this: he was like a self-denying carpenter who clearly possessed the ability to turn decay into magic, but he only stood in front of the best raw materials and slowly collapsed amid complex doubts and questioning.

Fortunately, before the Primarch fell into another cycle of thinking, his personal Stormbird had already arrived at its destination: witnessing the body of the Bucephalus up close was like watching the Titan giant in ancient legends, its grandeur across the starry sky was more impressive than an entire shining star.

"It's hard to imagine that we were facing off against such a warship."

Even Orfeo couldn't help but express his feelings at this moment.

“It’s not really a confrontation.”

Guilliman had a cold face, and his whispered complaints were not heard by anyone.

"We're just fooling ourselves."

After saying this, the Primarch seemed to have thought of something and sighed dejectedly.

"Follow me."

"Let's board the ship."

……

"Welcome, Master Primarch."

The team responsible for welcoming Guilliman and his men on the tarmac was larger than he had imagined.

The already magnificent interior of the ship had obviously been further decorated. Thousands of elite auxiliary soldiers put away their guns, straightened their chests, stood in front of the Primarch, and waited for his inspection: and in charge of leading these soldiers was a high lord, his face full of respect for the Primarch.

Guilliman's eyes quickly swept through the unexpected welcoming ceremony, and then focused on the end of the team: compared with the lively welcoming crowd, the two guards of the Imperial Guard at the end of the team were like dumb clay figurines, but the Primarch could get a lot of information from them. "I remember you."

After hurriedly finishing the inspection and ignoring the inexplicable excitement on the faces of the auxiliary soldiers in front of him, Guilliman cautiously nodded to the High Lord beside him: He was indeed very impressed by this person.

"If I remember correctly, you are the new Law Marshal after Nikea?"

"It's down."

The Law Marshal bowed slightly, his attitude polite but not humble.

"I took the initiative to apply to His Excellency the Master of the Seal for this mission to welcome you."

"why?"

Guilliman inquired.

"Do you want to be the first to see a Primarch you defeated?"

"Why do you think so?"

The Arbiter was confused: he looked genuinely confused.

But Guilliman just smiled.

"Your Excellency Marshal, although I am far away in the Five Hundred Worlds, I can still understand some things on Terra: even in the palace there are no secrets. Before the tragedy on Badab gradually got out of control, I knew that you were the one in the High Lords' Council who most advocated a tough stance against the Five Hundred Worlds."

"Yes."

The Lord Admiral appeared calm as he led the Primarch's team through the complex corridors of the Bucephalus. Guilliman also noticed that as they passed through the checkpoints guarded by the Custodes, his followers behind him were also left behind in batches.

But that’s nothing: Morgan said that she had enjoyed the same treatment when she was on the Emperor’s Dream.

In contrast, Guilliman wanted to hear what the High Lord wanted to say.
"But you know what, my Lord?"

The Law Marshal's face was serious: The Primarch was certain that he was not lying.

“I actually admire you.”

"……what?"

"I admire you very much."

The Law Marshal repeated.

"You have built the entire Five Hundred Worlds into a kingdom of order and law. Amid the chaos and bloodshed of the Great Crusade, your construction of law is the most dazzling pearl: even Terra and the Far Eastern Frontier cannot compare with Macragge in this regard."

"As a pursuer of justice, your achievements have always fascinated me and made me feel inferior."

"But that didn't change your tough stance towards me during the Badab Crisis?"

In response to the Primarch's question, the Law Marshal simply shook his head helplessly.

"My Lord: I am the High Lord."

"I am a High Lord handpicked by the Master Malcador from among the vast sea of men to serve the Emperor and Terra: I admire you very much, but if I were foolish enough to put my personal feelings above my duty, then I would not be worthy of this position."

"On the contrary. It is precisely because of my admiration and admiration for you that I know how powerful an opponent you are. When we unfortunately clash on the battlefield, I know that Terra must take a tough stance: because this is the only way we can ensure Terra's victory in the Badab Crisis."

"..."

Guilliman was silent for a moment.

"So, can you tell me: in your true opinion, do you want to take a tough stance during the Badab crisis?"

"Is this important?"

The Law Marshal just smiled.

"It doesn't matter what I think."

"I am the Arbiter Marshal, the High Lord."

"And to sit in that position, the Law Marshal must be a hardliner."

"Sitting in that position, the High Lord must work for the benefit of Holy Terra. The so-called justice and law are not worth mentioning at this time. No matter why Terra went to war, it must leave as a victor: even if the cost is the morality and souls of us fuel."

“So, my opinion doesn’t matter.”

"Because the one who holds the highest power in the empire is the High Lord, the Law Marshal."

"Instead of me."

"..."

Guilliman paused, his silence even longer than before.

"Are you all... like this?"

"At least the high lords of this generation are no less conscious than I am."

"That's really scary..."

The Primarch shook his head and sighed.

"I don't want to be enemies or get along with guys like you anymore."

And the High Lord just smiled.

"In that case..."