Warhammer: My buddy has too many secrets!

Chapter 76 Despair (2/20) Request for Subscription

Memories begin to return, and for Guilliman, his last memory is of a life-or-death battle with a corrupted brother, a contest between brothers, a clash of divine powers, sharp curses and taunts—and then unbearable poison and pain.

But now the poison has subsided, and the indescribable pain is gradually disappearing as the flames in his chest burn. He now finds himself in an unfamiliar environment, with a handsome young man in front of him.

Primarch Guilliman's thinking speed far exceeded the limits of what ordinary people could comprehend. The first thing he saw was the quartz tube in Lancelot's hand. The moment that tube of crimson blood entered his eyes, he knew that it belonged to his father, the Emperor, the ruler of mankind.

After I was seriously injured, was it my father's contingency plan that cured me of the evil poison in the subspace?

Guilliman thought this, but something felt off. He saw the golden guards not far behind Lancelot, and then he saw the magnificent reliefs around him. The Primarch sensed a kind of temporal dislocation.

In response, Lancelot calmly replied, "Guilliman, I regret to inform you that you have been slumbering in a static state for ten thousand years."

Lancelot's words directly pierced the core of that sense of disorientation, causing even Robert Guilliman's brain to slow down for a moment, but then it began to operate at full power again.

"Who are you?"

For the first time in ten thousand years, Guilliman spoke, posing this question to Lancelot.

Lancelot looked at the Primarch in front of him.

Fortunately, his body was unexpectedly tall, so he didn't have to look up at the Primarch too much. As for his question, Lancelot pondered for a moment, and it was at that moment that the members of the Ultramarines' Honor Guard finally arrived.

Boom boom boom!

The Ultramarines' Honor Guard stormed into Guilliman's slumbering sanctuary, and upon witnessing the imposing figure wielding the Imperial Sword, the warriors froze, as if struck by lightning.

Some of the quicker ones removed their helmets before their bodies stiffened, revealing their true faces to the father of genes before them.

Robert Guilliman, the father of Ultramarines, now sees the faces of his unfamiliar offspring, and his chest is filled with mixed emotions.

Lancelot paused for a moment, then stepped aside and said, "I'll explain my identity later, Guilliman. I think you need to understand the Empire's situation ten thousand years from now more than anything else."

After Lancelot finished speaking, he took a step back and walked towards the Imperial Guards not far away.

Guilliman's gaze swept over Lancelot, and then he saw, with a burst of white light, the vial of his father's blood disappear into Lancelot's hand.

At that very moment, his inner light noticed the power sword on Lancelot's body and that special metal shield.

Even with the Primarch's discerning eye, he couldn't tell the quality of those two weapons; they were clearly not ordinary objects. But now, he was telling himself that this was from ten thousand years ago—what would the human empire be like ten thousand years from now?

Guilliman felt a vague unease.

Three days later.

Guilliman sat heavily back on his throne. Moments earlier, he had dismissed all his servants and advisors, and even the Glory Guards were ordered to wait outside the sanctuary.

Finally, with a sigh of relief, the Primarch removed his mask of fortitude and allowed himself to reveal a trace of sadness.

Trauma and sorrow.

The Emperor's blood awakened him, and the warm, flame-like sensation lingered on his wounds. However, even though he felt no physical pain, Guilliman had never felt such inner torment.

The Primarch has engaged in in-depth discussions with each of the Ultramarines' commanders and all the high-ranking officers stationed in Altramor: earnestly...

The dialogue lasted for three full days.

Guilliman did not rest during this time. In every exchange, he even used every bit of affability and cunning he had learned as a politician ten thousand years ago.

He meticulously created the desired atmosphere, extracting more information from the other person amidst laughter, and perfectly concealing the emotional fluctuations he experienced as a result of those words.

Guilliman highly praised each visitor's insights on the current situation and commended their contributions to the Empire.

Based on each guest's unique personality and preferences, Guilliman would strategically present the most appealing aspects of his personality, causing the guest to unconsciously respond to his questions with sincerity and frankness.

Although he appeared calm on the surface, every reply he gave was like a cannonball striking the original body's chest.

As he learned more about the Empire's current situation and witnessed more of the state religion's ignorance, confusion and fear overwhelmed him, while grief and pain became unbearable!

He understood that the once-progressive empire was dead, and ten thousand years later, all that remained was a corpse. Guilliman was now watching its decay with despair and helplessness, as if ten thousand years had been accelerated.

Guilliman sat heavily back on his throne. Moments earlier, he had dismissed all his servants and advisors, and even the Glory Guards were ordered to wait outside the sanctuary.

The Primarch himself needs some time alone.

But Lancelot checked the time and realized it was time for him to appear before the Primarch. So he transformed into a shadow and entered Guilliman's Sanctuary, hiding in the shadows.

A Primarch with psionic abilities might be able to detect Lancelot's presence, but Guilliman, tormented by painful reality, has lost some of his keen senses.

Finally, Lancelot heard a sigh of relief. The Primarch removed his mask of fortitude and allowed himself to reveal a trace of sadness, pain, and bitterness.

Nearly ten thousand years have passed.

The Primarch murmured, unsure of who to confide in. All he knew was that if he didn't find something to say, everything he had heard so far was enough to drive him mad.

"a thousand years!"

"Look at what they've become! And we've become the same! Blind faith, ignorance, suffering, decadence—we've ultimately failed."

Guilliman's words were filled with weariness and profound sorrow as he gazed at the emperor in the mural: "You have failed your sons, and we have failed you; our arrogance and vanity have created this empire, and we have failed humanity. Didn't Horus claim that you intended to become a god and use that as a pretext to launch a rebellion? Doesn't the state of the empire today invite his gloating mockery?"

Guilliman shook his head and stood up, pacing around the sanctuary belonging to the chapter master. His gaze swept over the battle banners hanging on the walls, each one as tall as an Imperial Knight, the finely woven fabric depicting the glorious achievements of the Ultramarines.

Slay aliens, execute heretics: save the world, destroy the world.

Each painting vividly depicts the chapter's past achievements, with the Imperial Eagle and coat of arms clearly visible on them. But for Robert, all of this seems like a cruel twist of fate.

"We have failed, Father! Can you hear me?!"

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