Warhammer: Primarch's Life from the Beginning

When the expeditionary fleet arrived in Terra orbit, the hangar of the Makrag Glory was already bustling with activity.

Several massive landing craft, hatches open, were docked to receive passengers. The rest of the Space Marines remained aboard, resting and awaiting orders. Guilliman selected only the Honor Guard to accompany them on the landing. After the fierce battles on the Webway and the Moon, even the proudest Astartes had to admit they needed a moment to catch their breath.

Leo followed alongside Guilliman, constantly being stared at.

The Ultramarines were watching him, the bridge officers were watching him, the row of prosthetic eyes of the Mechanic were also turning towards him, and even the sailors carrying ammunition boxes couldn't help but steal glances before being kicked back to their posts by the sergeant.

Leo had originally intended to say something casually, but after being stared at like this the whole way, he couldn't find a chance to speak.

He finally understood why it had been so quiet when he was strolling around the bridge. It wasn't that no one hadn't seen him; it was that no one dared to make a sound first.

After boarding the ship, Killieman patted the seat next to him.

"Sit here."

Leo didn't refuse and sat down directly. The Honor Guard stood on both sides, the Great Sage Caul and his Guard stood in place, Saint Celestine and her two handmaids leaned against the corner, the cabin door slowly closed, and the deep sound of the engine rose from the cabin.

Killieman turned his head to look at him.

"What are your plans for the future?"

Leo thought for a moment.

"Let's see what the empire is like now," he said. "I'll make any plans after I've seen it with my own eyes."

Killieman nodded.

"I understand." He leaned back in his seat, looking somewhat tired. "After sleeping for so long, waking up suddenly means that it's meaningless to rely on others' opinions alone."

Sicarius, who was standing to the side, overheard their conversation and spoke up at the opportune moment.

"Lord Guilliman, the Council of Terra has sent word." He paused, then bowed to Leo. "The High Lords anticipated your arrival. They are willing to do everything in their power to ensure the two Primarchs are presented with an audience with the throne as soon as possible. Furthermore, the welcoming ceremony has been arranged."

Leo glanced at him.

"They're quick with their news."

Sicarius remained unmoved.

"High lords have always been very astute in these matters."

Killieman didn't respond to that, but simply closed his eyes, as if he had tacitly agreed.

Leo didn't say anything more.

Soon, the landing craft detached from the hull of the Makula Glory, its fuselage shuddering slightly as it headed towards Terra. The cabin gradually quieted down. The battle-hardened soldiers of the expeditionary force leaned back in their seats, no one laughing or talking; exhaustion washed over them. Since departing from Makula, they had barely stopped along the way.

A veteran of the Honor Guard sat by the porthole, his helmet removed and placed on his lap, silently gazing outside. A new scar marred his face; the apothecary had only had time for the most basic treatment. He sat ramrod straight, thinking of his comrades on the moon. The Primarch was back, and there was one more—it was something to be happy about, he told himself. At least today he should be a little happy.

Leo also looked out the porthole.

The closer you get to Terra, the more debris you find in space. Broken hulls of warships, burned turrets, and floating deck fragments. Among them are ships of the Imperial Fist and wreckage left behind by traitors. The Mechanicus's cleanup ships and recycling workshops are working alongside this scrap metal, sparks flashing in the darkness as they cut.

The flames of war had clearly reached humanity's home planet before they did.

And it won't just stop there; it may get even worse in the years to come.

As the landing craft began to enter the landing track, Terra slowly magnified in everyone's eyes.

Leo gazed quietly at the planet, which was a bloated giant.

It's unrecognizable as the Earth used to be; the oceans have vanished, and natural resources have long been exhausted. Only cities remain on the surface, layer upon layer, stretching to the horizon.

Yet it remains bright.

The lights and rays of light on the ground scatter outwards, colossal buildings and icons pierce the polluted atmosphere, the spires of the spaceport stretch into the void, guiding the satellites, state mission radio stations, weapon platforms, and countless Ministry of the Interior transport ships, laden with tithes, rising and falling like ants.

Leo muttered, "That's an exaggeration."

The honor guard soldier standing on the other side heard this and his lips twitched slightly. He was a Macraglian, and he had said something similar when he first met Terra, only not as bluntly as Leo.

The landing craft traversed the flight path. With the highest right-of-way, it encountered no obstacles along the way. Its fuselage cut through the smog and light pollution, descending slowly alongside the gray and brass-colored buildings. The landing craft seemed surrounded by Gothic architecture; the surrounding high walls drew ever closer, arcs of electricity flickering between the walls and spires. Servo-equipped skulls, angels, gunboats, transport ships, prison ships, Ministry of Justice patrol boats, and state church bell-ringing boats crisscrossed the air.

Leo stared through the porthole for a while, then suddenly spoke.

"If this area blocks flight paths, who will be responsible?"

Killieman opened his eyes and glanced at him sideways.

"In theory, many departments are responsible."

"But what about in reality?"

"Usually, whoever loses the argument takes responsibility."

Leo was delighted.

"That seems to be the familiar empire."

Killieman gave a faint smile, but the smile quickly faded.

The landing craft continued its descent until the view was filled with towering spires, gargoyle sculptures perched atop them, overlooking the passing spacecraft. Further down lay the Eternal Wall spaceport of the royal palace.

The airport had already cleared a parking area for the Primarch's vehicle. The platform was paved with marble, surrounded by statues of armored warriors, and incense burned in a brazier. Even before the hatch opened, Leo could already see through the observation slit that the area outside was packed with people.

The crowd was so large that Leo couldn't take it all in at a glance. The clerks and servants, bound in iron coffins, were frantically wielding their quills, as if afraid to miss a single moment.

People from all walks of life gathered here just to catch a glimpse of the two Primarchs. Everyone had already received the news and couldn't wait to be the first to see the mysterious Primarch.

Leo turned his head to look at Guilliman.

"Do you usually go out like this?"

Guilliman stood up, straightened his cloak, and patiently answered his inexperienced Primarch brother.

"I'm sorry, yes."

Let's go! Take over Terra!

.

.

The moment the hatch opened, the sound waves from outside rushed in.

Guilliman and Leo stepped off the landing craft side by side. The instant they stepped onto the platform, the crowd bowed almost simultaneously. Countless hands clasped in the Eagle Salute, and countless voices shouted their allegiance. The voices, mingled together, reverberated in Leo's ears.

Killieman gave a gentle smile and waved to the crowd. His movements were practiced and his posture was so steady that it seemed he had long been one with the scene.

Leo glanced at it, then copied him and waved his hand as well.

As a result, the crowd's shouts grew even louder.

An elderly nobleman was so moved that tears streamed down his face, repeatedly chanting "May the Emperor bless me." The priest of the state religion glared at him and quickly stepped forward, afraid that his manners might not be impeccable. Behind him, a young scribe's hands trembled violently, ink splattering onto his sleeves. He had only one thought in his mind: if he made a single mistake today, his ancestors would rise from their graves and beat him.

The crowd was quickly dispersed by the Imperial Guard and the Royal Guard. Guilliman and Leo weaved through the sea of ​​people, boarded the spaceport's elevator, and descended. The usually gloomy and empty Internal Affairs Hall was packed with people today; behind the barricades, men, women, children, and the elderly were all struggling to stand on tiptoe. As the Primarch passed by, the cheers nearly lifted the dome.

Leo scanned those faces.

Some cried, some laughed, and some just stared blankly. The social class that had oppressed them for generations wouldn't disappear just because of a welcome, but they still felt that with the Primarch's arrival, the heavens would be there.

This feeling dampened Leo's initial joy.

Killieman was clearly watching these people, but he didn't say anything.

After getting off the elevator, the group continued walking forward. After a while, the road ahead suddenly opened up.

Guilliman's Honor Guard suddenly realized they were in front of a vast, open plaza. Tall, thin, greyish-white walls, reliefs praising the gods, automated defensive emplacements on platforms, colorful ribbons floating in the air, and hymns being sung all around. The streets were packed with people. The two Primarchs were led onto the viewing transport ships parked in the plaza. These luxurious vehicles carried them through the network of streets and traffic lines, with tree-lined avenues and crowds of spectators passing on either side.

Further on, the scenery gradually changed. From missionary camps and local pastors' quarters, we slowly arrived at slums, where some disabled people and beggars struggled to move between makeshift shacks. This scene was like a wound etched near the Terra Palace.

Leo looked at that area, his brows slowly furrowing.

Since waking up from that dream of communicating with the emperor, he has become much more sensitive to many things.

There was an aura of chaos within it.

Killieman noticed his expression.

"What's wrong? Is something unusual?"

"Terra is too big," Leo said. "There are always people who think they can hide secrets right under the palace's feet."

.

.

The long procession ended in front of the palace, where towering gates stood before the crowd, adorned with carvings of angels battling demons.

The bulky transport boats for the ceremony were parked here, and the guide informed us that the itinerary would change to a walking route from here on out.

As soon as Leo stood up, he saw Guilliman let out a soft breath, his expression actually becoming more relaxed.

Leo couldn't help but tease Guilliman.

"I thought you were used to this feeling, Thirteenth Master."

Killieman shook his head.

"I am not someone who craves empty fame."

At the palace gates, Commander Trajan had been waiting with a contingent of royal guards for quite some time.