Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 192 The Cyber ​​War (9)

Guilliman stood in the light. He didn't answer immediately. He thought of the numbers—the Imperial soldiers being filled into the rift in Karasta, counted as expendable resources. Then he thought of the Second Empire. Ten thousand years ago, when he thought Terra had fallen and the Emperor was dead, he had built the backup plan. He thought it was the only thing he could do in his father's absence. Now he stood before his father, and his father was making him do the same thing—hold a line until he had gone the distance. The difference was, this time he knew his father was alive, or at least still alive.

That's enough, he told himself. That was enough for him to make a decision.

His voice was more steady than expected when he spoke: "I will hold this line. But I need to know what you'll do after you get back up."

The Emperor's gaze met his. He could hardly remember how to look at someone with that kind of gaze anymore. When He spoke, His voice struggled to remain steady: "After I rise, I will walk into their abyss. I will stand before them, and then—"

It was as if something had covered his mouth. The psychic projection realistically reflected the situation, then seemed to be speaking to itself: "I don't know. I don't know what I'll become."

Like someone struggling. Guilliman had never seen his father speak in that tone, a tone that suggested someone was acknowledging their own limitations. He realized that his father had paid a heavy price for choosing to remain on Earth rather than ascend to godhood.

The Emperor continued, “I have sat here for ten thousand years. For ten thousand years, I have sat in that chair, watching them, watching you. I have watched you die. I have watched you be forgotten. I have watched myself—” He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was so soft it was as if confirming something: “I will return. I will finish—and then return.”

Guilliman understood; it was someone making a promise he couldn't guarantee. He simply stood there, making sure the words had been spoken. Then he turned and walked toward the data terminal on the bulkhead.

"I need the highest-level tactical command authorization." His voice remained unchanged as he spoke, but he turned to face the screen. "The existing command chain of the Imperial Military Affairs Department needs to be directly connected to the Regency's command structure."

The authorization code was pushed into the terminal along the data link. As the line of numbers flashed across the screen, Guilliman confirmed its completeness.

He removed the terminal and hung it on his waist, then turned and walked towards the bridge exit. As he passed through the first airtight door, he connected to the Ultramarines command link and deployed the East Wing fleet; as he passed through the second door, he issued a flanking cover order to the exploration fleet; and as he passed through the third door, he requested a status report from the North Supply Line—all three orders were completed in a few steps.

He didn't look back at the spot where the dark golden light had disappeared.

The Emperor's gaze shifted from Guilliman's retreating figure, slowly sweeping over the witnesses prostrate on the observation platform.

The light began to recede from the edges towards the center, like a layer of enamel being drawn back into the skin, inch by inch fading away. The sleeve disappeared.

Guilliman stood before the data terminal, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. His voice still carried the hoarseness of millennia of slumber, but it was beginning to recover: "Titan Cluster, Northern Front. Khorne Rift, fire coverage. Advance to the rift's edge and then switch to intermittent suppression. Be mindful of the scale; don't scare our enemies away."

The light behind him had now dissipated.

As the Emperor's psionic projection dissipated, the witnesses on the observation platform began to move. The Cardinal of the Imperial State Church stepped forward first, the hem of his deep purple robes sweeping across the adamantite floor. He stopped in front of Guilliman, his eyes landing on the Primarch, the Regent of the Empire.

"Your Excellency Regent, the Empire has waited for you for far too long."

Guilliman stared at the holy robe. The Emperor's psychic powers had conveyed the Empire's current state to him, and he needed time to process the most troublesome matters; that's what he was looking at now.

His gaze lingered for a moment on the deep purple fabric, confirming it wasn't a temporary ceremonial regalia. He had never seen anything like it during the Great Expedition. The religious system his father had personally rejected had become an integral part of the empire itself during his ten thousand years of slumber. The very existence of that holy robe was the answer.

Guilliman suppressed that thought and then spoke: "I need a copy of the State Church's deployment report in Karasta."

.

A holographic image of the Mars-forged General coalesced in front of the platform, and the optical sensor array completed three rapid calibrations in front of Guilliman. "Your Excellency, the Titan Cluster is in position. The network core nodes are all connected, and repair work has been temporarily suspended as planned."

Guilliman nodded slightly. He heard the word—slowdown—his father was weaving a trap with deceleration. He didn't need to ask. "Maintain the current sequence."

Then Guilliman's beam of light passed over the bowing figures and landed on the Great Sage Caul. Caul stood at the entrance to the Stasis Throne Room, his mechanical arms retracting one by one beneath his robes. His optical lens had locked onto the Regent's location before Guilliman even turned to him. He had been watching.

"Belissau Caul".

Caul performed a full gear salute, his tone calm. "Your Excellency, welcome back."

Guilliman noticed that Caul's salute was precise in angle, amplitude, and timing—nothing superfluous, but also not deliberately humble. "I need a complete awakening log. Send a copy of everything you recorded, everything you transmitted back to Mars, to my command terminal." He paused, then added, "Any anomalies you observe—whether or not they're officially recorded—are appended to the end of the log."

Kaul's optical lens flashed. "Confirmed. Log to be transcoded and sent within fifteen minutes. Analysis appendix to be compiled simultaneously."

Guilliman didn't press the matter. His gaze lingered on Caul's optical lens for half a second longer before he turned, the guards closing in on either side of him. As he stepped out of the hatch, the Macragge's internal communications array began broadcasting a confirmation to the Ultramarines' command link. Guilliman's identification signal was automatically verified the instant he connected to the chapter's channel.

As he walked through the tunnel, a Ultimatum scout stopped. His partner followed his gaze and nudged him with his elbow two seconds later: "Don't just stand there. Let's go."

As Guilliman passed through the airtight door, a friar's lens locked onto him for three seconds—then gave a quick gear salute and turned back to the control panel. A colonel from the Department of Military Affairs lowered his data pad, stood at attention, and placed his right fist against his chest as Guilliman passed. He didn't speak, but his right hand lingered on his breastplate for a moment to confirm the gaze had passed, then he lowered his hand, picked up the data pad again, and continued typing the line he had already half-finished.

Guilliman didn't stop. He traversed the connecting passage, stepped onto the air platform of the east wing of Karasta, and deployed his vision-extending array at the edge of his field of vision, beginning to cover the defensive deployment ahead. He locked onto the coordinates of the middle section of the east wing's defensive line, then jumped off the platform, his boots landing on the spirit bone ground, and quickly strode across a broken wall. A squad of Ultramarines changing shifts was lined up about ten meters ahead of him. The moment the sergeant saw him, he switched his explosive rifle to his left hand, his right fist pressed against his chest—the entire squad's movements were almost simultaneous. Guilliman nodded slightly and continued forward.

He encountered Calgar in the middle of the eastern flank. The Ultramarines Chapter Commander, standing at the edge of a broken spire base, closed his data panel as he approached. "Father. The defensive line is complete. Is there anything else you need to adjust?"

Guilliman stood at the edge of the tower for a moment. His vision-expanding array swept across the direction of the Nurgle defenses—the spread of the creep along the edge was slowing, but the pressure to advance hadn't lessened. "Nurgle army. Let the defenses pass in sections, let them in, in an orderly, phased manner."

Calgarh nodded. "I will handle it." He paused, "The Grand Marshal of the Imperial Guard has received the Emperor's orders to obey your command."

Guilliman shifted his gaze from Calgar to the advancing Titan swarm in the distance. The steel colossi's artillery fire was synchronized, like different parts of a machine executing the same command. He watched for a few seconds, confirming that this coordination couldn't be achieved in real time by human command, and then asked, "What does 'the god of machines has personally descended' mean?"

Calgar paused before answering. "Cohen Severus, Director of Foundry at Garros. He oversaw the network repair project. The Titan Cluster, also formed around the same time, was completed by him. The Emperor considers him a close friend." The Mechanicus has confirmed this.

Guilliman didn't respond immediately. He silently repeated the name Cohen Severo in his mind. Network repair was the prerequisite for everything, and his father calling him a "close friend" was a signal in itself. He couldn't utter a sound before he could define it, so he placed the name in the unprocessed section of his memory, remaining silent.

At the same time, in the direction of the Slaanesh rift, a purple halo is expanding outwards.

Since its activation, the rift has never ceased gushing forth. A purple energy stream, like a pierced vein, pulsates relentlessly, pumping the demonic army into the cavity of Karata, covering the sacred bone walls stretching for thousands of kilometers along the rift's edge. The succubus's blades flashed silvery arcs at the rift's exit, and hellish chariots burst forth from the purple energy curtain, their rapidly spinning grinding wheels crushing the bone ground, leaving behind a piercing metallic shriek.

The shockwaves of Slaanesh were tightening their intervals, each surge more intense than the last. The Imperial defenses were being relentlessly matched, each salvo creating a brief breach in the purple tide before being filled by the surging demonic forces. The crimson ranks of the Apostles maintained their firepower from the shadow of the Titans' leg armor, the blue-white beams of their electric rifles clashing, merging, and evaporating repeatedly on the sacred ground.

Guilliman stood at the edge of the Eldar platform, his extended field of view array locked onto the rift. He didn't glance at the scrolling casualty data, for the battlefield's dynamics had rendered those numbers meaningless. His command was brief and clear: "Titan cluster, narrow your firing arc, focus on the rift's exit radius of fifty meters. Maintain suppression."

At the edge of Guilliman's field of vision, a summary pulse of fleet status was scrolling—three Ultramarines strike cruisers were on standby on the east flank, and six escort ships of the Mars Exploration Fleet were regrouping towards the Slaanesh Rift. He looked away.

The Slaanesh were attempting a breakthrough. Its forces were increasing, its pace quickening, but the width of the rift's exit remained unchanged, and the Empire's defenses did not retreat an inch. It was pinned there; the rift remained open, pouring out troops, which were also being continuously worn down.

The chaotic purple energy field forced the Imperial fleet to cruise in a loose formation, with assault craft constantly infiltrating from the edge of the field. These aircraft, less than a tenth the size of the escort ships, would explode into fragments in the vacuum when hit by the molten beams. The fragments would drift in the darkness as tiny specks of light, briefly illuminated by distant artillery flashes, before sinking back into darkness.

On the other side of that rift, the purple halo trembled for a moment, becoming deeper and brighter than ever before, like a tightly pressed curtain being pushed up from the inside.

The will of Slaanesh was no longer just a whisper; it was pulling. Forgrim sensed that pull, urging him toward the rift. He donned his gilded armor, every inch of its contour meticulously calculated. Behind him, countless echoes corrupted by Slaanesh—those beings he had conquered, devoured, and reshaped into extensions of himself within the depths of the Eye of Terror—rose simultaneously, following their master toward the edge of the rift.

"I'm here to end this performance." His torso stretched forward, like a stretched film of light sliding across the edge of a crack, landing precisely on the last frame before the peak of the tremor contracted inward.

The aura of the Slaanesh Rift contracted briefly after Forgrim passed through, then reopened. The Imperial defenses did not retreat, and the Titan swarm's artillery fire continued its suppression. On the command platform on the eastern flank of Karasta, Guilliman confirmed that the width of the Slaanesh Rift's exit had not changed, then looked away.

Hours later, the Imperial Astral Court's psionic broadcast network broadcast the message across the galaxy. The format was standard, the wording solemn: "The Emperor's thirteenth son, the great Ultramarines Primarch, Robert Guilliman, has awakened from his millennia-long slumber and returned to the Empire to assume the role of Regent." The Astrologers, following protocol, translated the message, sending the pulse into warp space and relaying it along pre-defined astronomical channels to various star sectors.

Meanwhile, in Usvi's ossuary, Eldrad sensed the aftershocks of the broadcast at the same moment.

The other was a deeper ripple. The instant Guilliman awoke in the Web, the Primarch Sequence's lock shifted perceptibly within the warp's psionic structure. At the same moment, the Chaos Gods confirmed one thing: the wielder of the Imperial Sword had left the stasis field.

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