Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Galactic-level wars that require the Primarch's personal command have become increasingly rare over the past decade.

Just last month, Guilliman took advantage of a break from inspecting the war zone to visit the outer defenses of the Eye of Terror.

The moment his warship leaped out of the warp, even the Primarch, known for his composure, couldn't help but twitch his eye a few times.

Good heavens, the Seventh Blackrock Fortress is surrounded by 120 heavily armed combat moons, each thousands of kilometers in diameter.

One hundred and twenty planetary war fortresses, together with the Seventh Blackrock Fortress, tightly sealed the distorted warp rift of the Eye of Terror within a dense network of firepower.

That was no longer maintaining a defensive line; it was clearly an iron cage placed directly at the door of Chaos's lair.

Is the demon legion trying to break out of the Eye of Terror?

As long as a sliver of red fluorescence from the subspace is revealed through the crack, the gravitational tides and stellar spears released by hundreds of battle moons can instantly turn that void into an ion soup.

Looking at that magnificent and appalling array of war formations, Guilliman had only one unwavering judgment in his mind.

If this trend continues, perhaps one day it won't just be a matter of the Chaos Legion breaking out of the Eye of Terror.

The real question is when Lawson will find a way to lead the fleet directly into the warp.

The front lines are guarded by Leontus and various legions, while Lawson is stationed in Terra. For strategic decapitation, Lion King Ryan leads an expedition.

Guilliman was finally able to extricate himself and devote most of his energy to the cause he truly loved.

Return to Ottara and meticulously manage his five hundred worlds.

He revised the legal code, planned planetary ecology, guided scholars in civil society and the Academy of Sciences to deduce the framework of civilization, and even had time in quiet afternoons to write several philosophical treatises on the future governance structure of the galaxy.

"The dignified regent of the empire, the ruler of five hundred worlds, was actually engrossed in reading a crop hybridization report written by a mortal under the sunlight."

Evelynne, draped in a deep purple chiffon dress embroidered with the sacred patterns of death, gracefully strode across the marble floor.

She walked straight to the long table, unceremoniously pulled out an ornate armchair and sat down, casually picking up the crystal flask beside Guilliman and pouring herself half a glass of aged wine.

Guilliman put down the data tablet in his hand, a gentle smile appearing on his face:

"Compared to looking at mountains of documents in Terra, studying how to increase grape production in Macurag by 20% is clearly more constructive for the future of humanity."

Evelyn took a small sip of her drink and raised an eyebrow slightly:

"Your human race's Lord of the Seals is now using the entire galaxy as his testing ground. He has even dismantled the spirit bone engineering technology sent over by the Ark Eldar and stuffed it directly into the production line to build mechs."

"Lorsen always values ​​efficiency in his work."

Guilliman leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with admiration and trust.

“If it were a decade or two ago, I probably would have found it hard to imagine that the empire could operate in this way.”

Over the past decade or so, Evelynn has been stationed in Altramor, and the connection between the Death Army and the Ultramarines has become increasingly close. Their relationship has long since transcended the scope of simple allies, and has become more of a tacit understanding.

At least Evelynne is too lazy to care what others think.

In the past, whenever she appeared in Altramor, people would secretly stare at her, especially those old-fashioned imperial nobles, whose gazes were practically as if they wanted to write "Alien" on her forehead.

Now?

She felt no pressure at all.

Throughout the empire, no one dared to utter a single word about this matter.

The reason is simple: in the residence of the Supreme Ruler of Holy Terra, the Eldar Mother Goddess Isa sits in Lawson's living room all day long.

The new humans on the dark side of the Empire are legally intermarrying with the Eldar in various star sectors.

The presence of the Marksman was so grand that it shattered the worldview of everyone in the Empire. Anyone who had nothing better to do than accuse Guilliman of being on good terms with the Deathbringer would only be seen as a madman whose brain had been damaged by warp waste.

Even the most rigid Lion King Ryan, in recent years, has never given Evelynn a hard time when passing through Macurag.

The main reason is that we learned a lesson once.

That day, when Ryan saw Evelynn sitting in Guilliman's private garden, his face, as usual, darkened.

Evelyn only glanced at him briefly.

"What? You don't like me again?"

Ryan remained expressionless.

Evelyn slowly raised her glass:

“Keep glaring at me. If you keep glaring, I’ll go to Terra and tell Lawson.”

Ryan stood there in silence for a long time, then finally uttered a "ridiculous" and turned to leave.

Evelynne swirled her wine glass at his retreating figure.

"Take care, big brother."

After everyone left, Guilliman closed the book in his hand and glanced helplessly at Evelyn.

"You don't need to deliberately provoke him every time."

Evelyn leaned back in her chair, her long legs crossed, looking completely at ease.

“He used to see me like I was some kind of chaotic demon, and I hold a grudge.”

Guilliman looked at her slightly smug expression and couldn't help but chuckle.

"The Lion King is not compromising with you; he is acknowledging the current imperial order. As long as everyone works together to dispel the gloom over this starry sea, the prejudices and grudges of the old era will naturally be crushed by the wheels of reason over time."

"You always manage to spout all the big principles, Robert."

Evelyn rolled her eyes at him, stood up, her long dress swaying gently in the sea breeze, and walked to the edge of the terrace, gazing at the bustling seaside city of Macurag below:

"However, I must admit, it is indeed very beautiful here. If the entire galaxy could eventually become like Alteramar, perhaps the tragedy of gods and mortals would truly come to an end one day."

Guilliman walked slowly to her side and stood shoulder to shoulder with her on the stone steps where the breeze was blowing.

Sunlight fell on their shoulders, and the entire Five Hundred Worlds, under the protection of the swarm and the new government, presented a prosperity and hope rarely seen in the universe.

Everything seemed orderly, peaceful, and beautiful.

Days passed by like this.

Until this day, the communication bracelet on Guilliman's wrist suddenly emitted a deep red warning light!

Something has happened in the Five Hundred Worlds.

…………

Let's rewind a few days.

Otramar, on the southern edge of the Five Hundred Worlds map, is the planet Novamagno.

This world has not experienced a major war for over two thousand years.

The planet's northern hemisphere is dotted with vast agricultural plains and industrial cities, while the southern part is a redeveloped mining zone. Dozens of orbital ports are responsible for supplying food and industrial parts to the surrounding worlds.

Over the past two decades, in accordance with the Planetary Reconstruction and Population Reduction Act issued by the Government of the State, the abandoned pipelines and illegal buildings that used to pile up in the lower nest have been completely demolished by engineering drones, and tens of millions of civilians have moved from underground sewers into standardized residential areas with starlight for the first time.

Residents have long been accustomed to opening their windows in the early morning and basking in the warm sunshine.

However, no geologist or a single Astronautical surveyor knew that more than 300 kilometers beneath their feet, between the dense granite and mantle layers, lay another magnificent and lifeless underground world, sleeping silently.

In ancient times, long ago even before Eldar mythology recorded this planet, it was not called Nova Magno.

Its real name is Uzshemyk.

This place was once an important royal node of the Sothek dynasty, a space necromantic kingdom.

Sixty-five million years ago, after the Heavenly War that tore apart the starry sea came to an end, and the Silent King issued the Great Hibernation Order, all the metal cities of Uzshemek slowly sank into the depths of the Earth's crust under the pull of the anti-gravity engines.

Hundreds of millions of undead warriors shut down their logic processing centers, while royalty, nobles, and high-ranking liches entered the stasis field, awaiting their reemergence in a predetermined galactic era.

The long geological cycles have smoothed over all traces on the Earth's surface; continental drift, glacial melting, and the transformation of seas into land have all taken place.

Eventually, human colony ships arrived here.

Mortals dig mines, divert water for irrigation, and build towering anti-aircraft turrets and residential complexes above the sleeping dynasty, yet they never realize that every time they extend the foundation piles underground, they are brushing past a cold empire that has been sleeping for tens of millions of years.

According to the established hibernation-awakening protocol, the clockwork deep within Uzshemek should have been awakened tens of thousands of years later.

However, a sudden change shattered this deathly silence.

……

Nova Magno, in the northern hemisphere, is an abandoned, weathered mineral deposit that has been desolate for hundreds of years.

The midday gale swept across the dry, reddish-brown gravel, and suddenly, without warning, a distorted ripple appeared in the void that made your teeth ache.

A long, narrow, pale green streak of light flashed across the sky, followed by dozens of enormous, deformed, pitch-black metallic shadows silently emerging from the depths of the rift.

The first to step into reality were a group of alienated destroyers.

Their metallic shells have long been cruelly stripped of their original human-shaped symmetrical beauty.

The lower body was removed, the robust anti-gravity sliding chassis was welded to the metal spine, and the mechanical arm was brutally replaced by a heavy Gauss erosion cannon, an anti-phase cutting blade, and a high-energy plasma jet.

Some individuals even removed all their facial sensors, leaving only a killing center that flashed with a frenzied red light.

Behind this group of deformed monsters, an even larger shadow slowly emerged from the phase rift.

That was a high-ranking undead lord, the Destroyer Warlord Necroso Ammental, who had undergone thousands of morbid self-modifications.

Even within the space necromancer civilization, known for its ruthlessness and rigid hierarchy, the name Ammental was a taboo that would make any legitimate emperor frown.

Within the social structure of the undead, the Destroyer Cult is essentially a group of self-exiled madmen.

They harbor a morbid aversion to all organic life. In their distorted underlying algorithms, even the tiny moss that survives on rocks through photosynthesis is a disgusting pollution to this cold and desolate universe and must be erased at the atomic level.

What makes Anmental more deadly than ordinary destroyers is its ability to infect with logic.

Any necromantic network that is exposed to its broadcast frequency for an extended period of time will have its originally strict aristocratic obedience agreements and personality codes gradually eroded, eventually degenerating into a destructive madman who only knows how to slaughter all living things.

For this reason, many conservative undead lords would rather fight to the death against the Astartes Legion of the human empire than allow the Anmentar fleet to set foot in their tombs.

And now, this madman stands on the surface of Nova Magno.

"Locate the deep anchor point."

Ammental raised his battle staff and slammed it heavily on the ground.

A visible, eerie green energy pulse swept out like a circular shockwave, penetrating three hundred kilometers of dense rock layers and directly blasting into Uzshemyk's main control network.

Deep within the Earth's mantle, a palace that had been silent for tens of millions of years suddenly awoke at this moment.

Rows of pale green indicator lights, which had been extinguished for countless epochs, suddenly lit up from the black stone pillars. The mineral shells that had accumulated over millennia peeled off the living metal outer walls, and hundreds of millions of undead warriors' eye sockets, which were suspended in the suspended honeycomb structure, simultaneously ignited with a cold light.