Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 582 Draw Your Sword, Madam -
"'...the entire galaxy should be united under the jurisdiction of a single monarch. Only the single human empire can ensure the rule of peace and justice, so that people can fully develop their inherent talents, live and work in peace and contentment, and obtain worldly happiness; and as the representative of the only true God, the Pope will govern the church of the entire galaxy and guide people to reach the peaceful land under the jurisdiction of God in the afterlife and obtain eternal happiness. The emperor's power on earth comes from God, not from the pope, so the empire and the church will be separated and parallel' - but if the emperor's authority comes from his own divinity rather than from something else, then how should the empire and the church deal with the status of both parties? Haven't such practical considerations been thought about? I only see a page full of idealized, selfish utopias." - Notes scribbled on the blank space at the end of the handwritten copy of the Holy Word.

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When seeing that "Robert Guilliman" was really in the watchful eyes of the public and in the picture painted by fate, he should have been "bright and alert, wise, with surging hope and vitality of life in his body", "holding the Emperor's sword to sweep away all evil chaos and heresy" and "save the loyal people of the Emperor and his descendants here".

This Primarch, the only one in the Empire with a traceable and complete corpse that has been publicly stared at by everyone for ten thousand years and is guaranteed to be the real thing, has seriously created the current painting in which he took out a large sword of the wrong color made by his father with one hand, and the Black Flame Holy Words signed by a Primarch with the other hand, and used his powerful psychic power to siphon the souls of heretics. No one can resist him, no one can resist him, his lips are stained with blood, like a picture of hell from the appearance of a demon.

——You [High Gothic swear words] What's the difference between this and announcing in public "We Ultramarines have now surrendered to Chaos, so raise the flag, my sons, your father is now the eternally chosen of the Chaos Gods!" ! ! ! !
An Immortal who, ten thousand years ago, did not faint even after enduring the agony of having his strength drained away alive and then burned to ashes, and who even had a trace of regret that he wanted to express; an Imperial Chancellor who could still scold the Primarch, finally experienced what it felt like to be "angered to the point of losing consciousness" again after sixteen thousand years.

His world fell into darkness as he wished. Before Malcador passed out from anger, he thought for a moment, "Whoever wants to care can do it this time. I don't care."

The Honor Guards and officers who had just been fighting hard for their lives against the attackers in the Temple of Rectification now stood there in a daze, as if struck by lightning - the Ultramarines were not members of some legions who had not even graduated from kindergarten but could start working as company captains or war marshals. Before becoming the Empire's Angels of Death, they had all received a systematic and good military academy education, at least at the level of a junior high school diploma. Therefore, with their genetically enhanced brains, everyone's logic naturally provided them with an inference that was not far from the conclusion of the former Imperial Chancellor within a ten-thousandth of a second.

——It’s over. We, the descendants, have been loyal to the Empire for ten thousand years. Why did you, the Primarch, surrender after your resurrection? !
Calgar let out a cry of grief, and the wound in his internal organs ruptured again, and fresh blood flowed down his mouth and nose. "I remember now! This must be the conspiracy of that damned Night Lord traitor!!! Digris! We must stop this!"

"...Rest for a while, my lord. You will die if you move again." Digris's sigh was accompanied by a breeze of psychic magic, which pushed the unwilling chapter leader forcefully and gently into an immobile state.

The chief think tank, who had been believed to have gone mad due to excessive damage from the psychic prophecies, became the only one who remained calm and had enough time to use psychic power to control the battlefield and his brothers in the vortex of self-doubt and disbelief at the scene.

He raised his staff, "...I have already warned you, brothers...but I have no intention of blaming you. Such a powerful force of destiny is not something that a small individual can bear. I have glimpsed and accepted the new destiny, but it may take some time for you to accept it. I ask you not to hurt yourselves."

The Powers of the Empyrean Gods and their daemons rode the waves of the Warp to feast on a grand sacrifice from the most unlikely of offerings.

Only the scarlet road rushing out of the eye of fear is like a dazzling, clown smile in the dark starry sky.

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"Did you forget to say something, ma'am?"

Just as the Living Saint was so shocked by witnessing this extremely blasphemous miracle that even his holy form began to dissipate, the 'Primarch' who had just 'eaten' the vitality and souls of all the wizards who sacrificed to him in the temple and the Chaos warriors who tried to resist, leaped lightly from the throne and landed in front of them. The heavy, exquisite and complicated Armor of Destiny seemed to be nothing on him, and even its maker was so shocked that he was speechless.

"I……"

The living saint opened his lips, but didn't know what to say.

She raised her eyes and craned her neck to gaze at the tall and majestic body of the Primarch, which was definitely not an ordinary person.

Is this the fulfillment of her long-cherished wish and her mission?

The biological son of a God-Emperor has truly returned to this dark and broken world, but will he lead the empire to rise again and defeat the darkness that wants to devour the empire day and night?

Was he really the one she had waited and prayed for her God-Emperor to give them?

"Hurry up," she heard the Agent of Destruction say gently, "After you finish speaking, you can rest for now. We will meet on the other side of the galaxy, Saint Celestine."

She suddenly opened her eyes wide, and a wave of memories surged up from the distant corpses. She remembered her last death, the last before that, and the previous ten deaths. She understood why she was here.

When she looked at the scene around her again, she already understood what was going to happen next, so she smiled at her companions who were also beginning to disappear.

Then cross your fingers, bow your head and pray.

"Thank you," Saint Celestine prayed at the scene of Roboute Guilliman's resurrection in the Temple of Uprightness. She raised her face towards the distant Holy Terra, as if looking up at an invisible and extremely tall golden throne. A tear reflecting golden light slowly dripped down her smooth ivory face. "Thank you, Lord of Light; how could we be so worthy of your love and give him to us."

The Inquisitor's brows were still furrowed, but when she tried to do anything it was too late. She looked at her hand in surprise that was dissipating into the air. Around her, except for the Grey Knights led by Grand Master Ahriman, Belisarius Cawl, Iphrenee and Malcador, all the other companions and her subordinates who had come along the way began to fade away like her own body, without any feeling, pain or fear.

The living saint spread his last white wings and wrapped around these confused phantoms. Then, the gentle nothingness embraced them.

When everything disappeared into the air, only a few people were left at the scene and more Extreme Warriors solidified by Digris.

Finally, Digris sighed, and seemed to have aged centuries in an instant, "Your Excellency..." He was about to say something else, but the giant wearing the gorgeous armor made for his Primarch waved at him and looked at the Daughter of Shadows who had become very nervous.

"What are you looking at me for? We have gone through so many hardships and traveled all the way here to revive you. Shouldn't you give some explanation for this?" The priestess of the god of death unfolded her blade fan, frowned, and at the same time activated the power of the dead in her body, ready for any unexpected event -

“Draw your sword, lady,” the “Robert Guilliman” told her in a very elegant Eldar tongue, repeating it in High Gothic, “and strike with it.”

Ivrene drew out her Crone Sword, the Sword of Sorrow, with doubt and caution, and looked at the place pointed by the demigod body, which was surrounded by colorful psychic fire but no color could really penetrate into her eyes.

It was a thick power cable. Judging from its direction and position, it was obviously the cable that powered the throne where he was sitting. You came down and made this place like this, why did you still…

She was puzzled and didn't ask the question out loud, but combined with what she had just seen, a flash of enlightenment flashed through her mind.

Ivrenee pursed her lips, raised the Crone Sword above her head, and cut the power cable as easily as cutting through paper.

The moment she cut it off.

Everyone in all the temples, outside the temples, outside the fortresses, inside and outside the city of Magna, and even in Macragge, suddenly felt a sense of lightness or clarity, as if a shadow that had been covering the eyes of their souls had been driven away, and the hope for tomorrow and the path to the future suddenly became clear and solid.

"Hmm..." This "Robert Guilliman" nodded, "There should be nothing left to check off on the to-do list now."

"You use this incarnation spell really well. This spell is not a secret, but few people have the power and refinement to fully simulate the movements and breath of the Primarch," Grand Master Ahriman walked forward with a sigh, "You use this spell with nine points of the style of our Gene Father. Long time no see, little Robert. The last time we met was in the Jericho Sector."

"Long time no see, Ahriman." The medium who also had Robert as his name nodded and replied, "Jericho? You were not who you are now. Congratulations, but you can't take it off, right?"

"Indeed it is not," Ahriman replied, "Besides, the good news is that it can be removed, but you can only talk to the people you want to see at a time."

"What an interesting subject," Julius Robert Omar's blue eyes twinkled happily like glowing sapphires, "Our Lord Malcador has awakened. Let us begin to deal with the details of the aftermath one by one."

"Can everything that follows be dealt with directly?"

"My Lord has said—"

"——Don't worry about the details."

They looked at each other and smiled.

But Malcador, who had just woken up, stood between them, and he didn't look like he was smiling at all.

"You better give me a proper explanation." Veins popped out of his face, "Otherwise I'll blow you and this place up into the sky."

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"Whose worlds are you talking about that now supply the food and household goods markets in Ultramar and surrounding star regions?!!! Curze?! Him?! He has learned to rule properly?! He can manage?! He can also do market planning and interstellar trade?!"

The former Imperial Chancellor rapidly flipped through the data board in front of him, eager to find some flaws or exaggerated or false data.

"You see, I told you that he is just like that person. He just must think that the child should follow the path they set for him. He just doesn't want to believe that the child will grow up. He holds on to his knowledge and life experience and doesn't share it with the child. Then what difference does it make whether these things exist or not? Children can also learn to work, make money, and live well without their authoritative guidance. It seems like this is such an incredible thing - I have lived a glorious life for decades and died once, why can't I learn these simple knowledge in my second life?"

Konrad Curze folded his arms in dissatisfaction as he sat on the desk that originally belonged to Marneus Calgar. His figure had now returned to the size of an ordinary Space Marine from a thin young man before. He had pale skin, black hair, and was dangling his feet around the desk.

The Hera Fortress is currently under tight control inside but relaxed outside, and closed to visitors. Digris is in charge of the overall situation and is telling the outside world that they are fine. However, one of the True Primarchs here was considerate or lazy enough to move Calgar, who had only had emergency wound treatment, to this office, under the pretext of "this way we don't have to explain it again and he won't think we're lying to him again."

Since there was nothing wrong with what he said, the others acquiesced to this very casual behavior - strictly speaking, Curze could indeed exercise his rights here, but Julius, who still used the Primarch-level spell he learned from his teacher Utherma Atla to use psychic energy to create a constant outer shell to maintain his demigod appearance, asked his fellow disciple, Grand Master of the Grey Knights Alimando, to pay more attention to Calgar's health.

"I can't believe it... you... you use your prophetic gift... just to farm?!" The former chancellor of the empire once again lost his temper, which made the Primarch of the Night Lords watch with great interest, feeling that half of his revenge had been taken. "You... you captured the Phoenix Lord of the Eldar alive but didn't use her to exchange or attack anything... you used her as a sprinkler?!!"

"Hush, keep your voice down. We still have an Eldar guest in this fortress." Conrad Curze glanced at the old man with pleasure. "It would be bad if she heard us and sent people to disturb our farmland and bring Jan Zar back. Now they don't know she is working for us there, so my descendants can focus on trade expansion and business activities without having to bother driving away the sneaky Eldar. This is still good. I don't want to add extra workload, which will increase production costs."

“I must be crazy to hear Konrad Curze spouting words like ‘Night Lords in business’ and ‘production costs’.” Malcador wiped the small beads of sweat from his forehead. “You were not created for this purpose!”

"Then neither you nor he can control me now." The Eighth Primarch chuckled, "In any sense, I am dead. He can't control me."

"Besides," Julius gently interrupted the conversation, "I want to know more than just the franchise sales issue of the specialty store."

His eyes were filled with nostalgia, "How are the fathers? How's their appetite lately? Is the siege still going on?"

He used the present tense.

The captain of the regiment, who had been listening to the conversation for a long time and looked as pale as death, widened his eyes.

(End of this chapter)