Guilliman’s “Let’s begin,” soft and sweet yet carrying an unquestionable firmness, was like a pebble cast into a calm lake.
It finally shattered the “shock” and “distraction” that permeated the strategy room, forcibly pulling everyone’s attention back to the cruel reality.
She sat upright in the chair that was far too large for her, her small figure striving to hold itself straight.
Her emerald eyes swept across the room, finally landing on Calgar, who sat at the head of the table to her left.
Those eyes remained clear, but they no longer held the confusion of her initial awakening or the radiance of her debut; instead, they now contained the scrutiny of a ruler and the composure of a strategist.
“Calgar,” she began, her voice steady.
“Report to me.
What is the current status of Ultramar?” No pleasantries, no unnecessary emotional buildup, just straight to the core.
This crisp and efficient style bore quite a resemblance to Guilliman in the past, though hearing it spoken in such a soft, sweet voice still created a stark contrast.
Calgar jolted, instantly snapping out of the brief daze caused by the Primarch’s adorable posture.
He took a deep breath, his expression beneath his tactical mask becoming grave, even tinged with an unmaskable shame.
He knew the time for his report had come, and what he had to say was certainly not good news.
“Moth…
Father,” Calgar’s voice dropped, each word feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds.
“Due to the Great Rift tearing through the galaxy, nearly half of Ultramar’s territory has been dragged into the lightless dark zone, and communication with Macragge and the remaining worlds…
has been almost completely severed.” He paused, as if the following words were even harder to say.
“Currently, of the Five Hundred Worlds…
only 10 to 20 core systems remain under our actual control.
More than a third of these are under siege by Chaos, being looted by Orks, or threatened by Tyranid spores, and our control…
is also in great jeopardy.” “What?” Guilliman blurted out, her voice filled with disbelief.
Although she knew from memory banks and background knowledge that the situation of the Imperium after the Great Rift was difficult, hearing that the Five Hundred Worlds, which she (Guilliman) had managed for ten thousand years and regarded as her foundation, had withered to this extent, the impact was still direct and violent.
Her small body leaned forward slightly in shock, and the golden wings on her back uncontrollably snapped open with a “whoosh,” then rapidly “fluttered” several times, as if she wanted to fly up to confirm it with her own eyes, or perhaps as an external manifestation of her inner agitation and unease.
The halo above her head also flickered in brightness, reflecting off her suddenly pale cheeks and those wide-open emerald eyes, which were filled with shock and heartbreak.
“How could this happen…” she murmured to herself, her voice carrying an imperceptible tremor.
“Before I went to sleep…
the Five Hundred Worlds were impregnable…” This sight—shocked, fragile, heartbroken, carrying the Primarch’s natural sense of responsibility and loss for her descendants’ foundation—landed in the eyes of Calgar and all the Ultramarines as nothing less than the harshest interrogation and the heaviest lash.
Calgar’s heart felt as if it were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand.
Father…
no, Mother…
she is so shocked, so heartbroken…
it is all our fault!
We were incompetent!
We failed to protect Ultramar!
We failed to protect the foundation you left behind!
He watched Guilliman’s petite figure, slightly swaying due to her fluttering wings, and saw the pain in her eyes.
A feeling of utter shame engulfed him like a cold tide.
He wished he could immediately kneel on one knee, remove his helmet, and atone with his death.
He had failed the trust of the sleeping Primarch, failed the honor of the Ultramarines, and even worse, forced his newly awakened, hope-filled Father (Mother) to face such a cruel reality.
He lowered his head deeply, almost burying it in his chest plate, his voice hoarse and filled with guilt: “…I’m sorry, Father.
It is our incompetence…
that has failed your expectations…
and failed to protect Ultramar…” It was not just Calgar.
On the left side of the long table, all the senior members of the Ultramarines Chapter, along with the representatives of the successor Chapters standing on both sides, simultaneously lowered their heads, their faces filled with the same shame and self-reproach.
The atmosphere in the room, which had warmed up slightly due to Guilliman’s appearance, instantly dropped to freezing, replaced by heavy facts and a pervasive sense of guilt.
Celestine, Greyfax, Vordus, Mathieu, and the others also wore grim expressions.
They came from various parts of the Imperium and had a more comprehensive understanding of the big picture.
They knew that Ultramar’s predicament was not an isolated case; in fact, one could say that in the currently fragmented Imperium, being able to retain a dozen core worlds was already considered effective resistance and good fortune.
But watching that “maiden Primarch,” who had just awakened and radiated the light of hope, in her shock and pain upon learning that nearly half of her territory had been lost, and then thinking of the desperate state of the entire Imperium, a deeper sense of powerlessness gripped them.
(Cadia has been destroyed, the light of the Astronomican flickers and is on the verge of extinction, the Eye of Terror is expanding, and the Great Rift cuts across the galaxy like a festering wound, splitting the Imperium in two.
The Four Chaos Gods and their daemon legions, traitor Space Marines, and countless cultists are pouring out from every tear in the Warp, madly devouring humanity’s worlds.
Externally, the Tyranids’ hive fleets are like a cosmic locust plague, the Silent King’s Necron dynasty is awakening, and the Orks are still clamoring in every corner.
Internally, Nurgle’s plagues, the famine in the Tiamat sector, and rebellions and civil wars on countless worlds are on the verge of breaking out…
The Imperium is already standing on the brink of total destruction.) (And the hope that had just been ignited—the awakened Primarch—found that she had long since lost most of her foundation, and even she herself had become this…
form that needed to re-adapt to everything.)