After the sigh in the depths of her consciousness faded, Guilliman walked to the mirror and scrutinized her new appearance once more.
She reached out her hands and pinched her cheeks—the touch was soft, with excellent elasticity, carrying the delicate warmth unique to a young girl’s skin.
The blonde loli in the mirror performed the same action, her large azure eyes filled with a serious…
self-assessment.
“Cute is cute,” Guilliman murmured to herself, using the rigorous analytical logic from Guilliman’s memory bank.
“Facial proportions are close to the golden ratio, skin texture optimizes light reflectivity, pupil size and color enhance non-aggressive expression, and the overall silhouette significantly lowers others’ threat perception threshold.
From a biosociological perspective, this form possesses a significant affinity advantage in non-combat interactions.” She paused, her brow furrowing, and her small mouth pouting slightly: “But!” “What use is this in a cesspool like the Warhammer universe?!” she ranted at her reflection, her soft, sweet voice full of indignation.
“Can I really lure Slaanesh over and then stab them?
‘Oh~ dear Slaanesh, look at my new look~ Hey, eat my Emperor’s Holy Light!’—how high is the success rate of that plan?
Negative three thousand percent!
Slaanesh would probably capture me first to be a new collectible!” “Or rather, can I rely on this to trick more hammer-heads on Earth into joining the ‘Second Empire’?” She continued to let her thoughts wander, the otaku part of Lin Chen’s memories becoming active.
“‘Come join Loli Guilliman’s Indomitus Crusade!
Limited edition skin, moe power bonus, loyalty up!’…
It seems…
not entirely unfeasible?” […What Second Empire?
Mind your words.] A mental fluctuation, weary and helpless, yet tinged with shame, drifted faintly from the depths.
Guilliman perked up.
“Lord Guilliman!
You’re awake?
Perfect!
Shift change, shift change!
You take over this body for a while, I’m going back to the depths of consciousness for a nap!” […Zzz…] The fluctuation smoothed out instantly, returning to silence.
There was even a mental ripple pretending to snore.
Guilliman: “…” Wow, pretending to sleep, are we?
As expected of an old bureaucrat who’s lived for ten thousand years; this skill at buck-passing and playing dead is indeed masterful.
“Fine, sleep, keep sleeping.” Guilliman curled her lip and shook her small fist at the air.
“Anyway, the mess is mine, and saving the Imperium is mine.
You just go play house with your brothers in your dreams.” Just as she finished speaking, a blurred, uncontrollable—or perhaps deliberately shared as a sort of ‘warning’ or ‘mutual suffering’?—dream fragment floated up from the depths: Dreamscape (Guilliman’s Limited Edition Social Death Theater): The background seemed to be a grand hall, a blend of Macragge style and the characteristics of some angelic palace.
The ‘Guilliman’ in the dream was still in this 1.65-meter blonde loli form, with a shining halo above her head and small wings fluttering behind her back.
She was trying to maintain her dignity, hands on her hips, looking up at the two giants before her.
On the left was Lion El’Jonson.
The Primarch of the Dark Angels, clad in majestic black power armor and a deep green cloak, his face as resolute and imposing as carved stone.
But at this moment, his usually tightly set mouth was curling upward uncontrollably, forming an extremely strange expression somewhere between ‘shock’ and ‘suppressed laughter.’ His gaze was like the most precise scanner, looking Loli Guilliman up and down.
On the right was Sanguinius.
The Great Angel, his peerlessly handsome face brimming with a pure and brilliant smile, the massive, snow-white angelic wings on his back fluttering joyfully.
His eyes sparkled with unabashed light, as if he were seeing a peerless treasure.
“Lion!
Look!” Sanguinius’s voice was full of joy as he grabbed the Lion’s arm.
“It’s the Thirteenth!
She’s awake!
And she’s become…
wow!
So cute!” Lion El’Jonson coughed lightly, trying to maintain his dignity, but when his gaze fell on Guilliman’s cheeks, puffed out in shame and indignation, he finally broke character.
The curve of his mouth widened slightly, and he let out a low, magnetic chuckle: “…Indeed.
Quite…
unexpected.
The Thirteenth Brother…
no, perhaps we should call her…
Little Sister Thirteen now?” “Little Sister Thirteen!” Sanguinius cheered.
With a blur of motion, he appeared in front of Loli Guilliman.
Amidst her cry of “Wait, what are you doing?”, the Great Angel opened his arms and pulled the small, golden Primarch tightly into his embrace, even rubbing his face against her soft blonde hair.
“Let me go!
Sanguinius!
This is unseemly!” Loli Guilliman struggled in vain in the Angel’s embrace, her small fists pounding against Sanguinius’s breastplate with a cute ‘ding-ding-dong-dong’ sound, completely devoid of power.
“I won’t!
I won’t!” Sanguinius laughed even more happily, holding her tighter.
“Little Thirteen is too cute!
Ten thousand times cuter than that old version who always had a stiff face talking about administrative efficiency!
From now on, you’ll be the Emperor of the Second Empire!
Your brothers will just protect you!” Lion El’Jonson also walked over.
He was more ‘restrained’ than Sanguinius, but the mischievous light in his eyes could not be hidden.
He reached out with fingers capable of crushing tank armor and, with extreme gentleness…
pinched Loli Guilliman’s other cheek, the one not being rubbed by Sanguinius.
The feel seemed to be very good.
The Lion pinched it again.
“Lion!
You!” Guilliman glared at him, but because she was being held by Sanguinius and having her face pinched, her eyes reddened with anger, and her voice became even softer.
“The two of you!
This is too much!
Hmph!” This “Hmph,” paired with her flushed little face and moist blue eyes, not only lacked any deterrent force but instead made Sanguinius let out an “Aww—” and hold her even tighter.
The Lion also chuckled low, even wanting to pinch her again.
“I want to be Warmaster,” the Lion suddenly said in a serious tone, though his fingers were still playing with Guilliman’s blonde hair.
“Protecting such a cute Empress requires the strongest warrior to lead the armies.
It’s only logical.” “I agree!” Sanguinius immediately seconded, finally loosening his embrace a bit but still keeping Guilliman circled in his arms, looking down at her.
“Little Thirteen will just be a mascot…
no, a spiritual symbol!
Just be happy every day, and leave the wars and administration to your brothers!” The Guilliman in the dream looked at her two “older brothers,” too angry to speak.
Finally, she could only bury her face in Sanguinius’s breastplate in self-abandonment, letting out a muffled, desperate: “…(Wuwu)” The dream fragment ended.
In reality, Guilliman stood there expressionless.
Three seconds later.
“Sigh…” She let out a long, deep sigh and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“Fine, whatever.” It seemed the ‘mental damage’ Lord Guilliman had sustained was even greater than imagined.
He was actually having nightmares about being ‘treated as the group favorite by his brothers.’ And subconsciously, he actually felt it was a bit…
logical?
Even a bit heartwarming?
No, no, no!
I can’t be assimilated!
I, Lin Chen, am here to seriously save the Imperium!
Not to be the Primarch brothers’ precious little treasure!
Although…
Sanguinius’s embrace did look very warm, and the Lion’s face-pinching seemed quite…
No!
Stop right there!
While Guilliman was undergoing an intense internal struggle, a rhythmic metallic knocking came from outside the door, along with Calgar’s voice, which was trying to remain steady but still had a hint of tension: “Father, lunch has been prepared.” Guilliman quickly adjusted her expression—though it just looked like she puffed her cheeks and let them out—and cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound more authoritative: “Enter.” The adamantine doors slid open.
What first met the eye was not a person, but a massive, silver-shining multi-layered dining cart, being pushed in carefully by two Ultramarines in ceremonial power armor (polished to a mirror sheen) as if they were transporting a fragile holy relic.
The cart was covered with a pure white tablecloth, holding several exquisite warming covers, and the edges were decorated with fresh Macragge olive branches.
Then, Calgar stepped inside.
He had changed out of his combat Terminator armor and into a relatively ‘light’ set of ceremonial blue armor, the aquila relief on his pauldrons gleaming brightly.
Agemman and Tigurius followed behind him; the three stood in a row with respectful postures.
But when their gazes fell upon Guilliman in the center of the room, the movements of all three faltered imperceptibly.
To appear more formal, Guilliman had subconsciously activated the energy wings on her back—the soft, translucent golden wings of light unfurled with a ‘shua’ behind her, fluttering slowly and scattering specks of light dust.
Coupled with her straight little body and her efforts to maintain a stern face, she tried to create an atmosphere of ‘I am seriously receiving my subordinates.’ However, the effect…
Calgar’s breath hitched for a moment behind his tactical mask.
The wings…
they’ve unfurled…
and they’re fluttering gently…
like some kind of rare bird…
No!
It’s majesty!
It’s the symbol of the Primarch’s power!
But why does it look more like she’s waiting to be fed…
Stop thinking, Calgar!
Agemman’s eyes went blank.
Flutter…
flutter…
So…
so cute…
I want to touch them…
No, no, no, no!
Those are the Primarch’s wings!
They are sacred!
Touching them would get me killed…
but they look like they’d feel so good to touch…
Tigurius used his powerful psychic will to suppress his churning emotions and conduct an academic analysis: Energy form is stable, spectral analysis shows it as pure Order-side energy, the exact opposite of Warp contamination.
Is the fluttering frequency related to emotion?
Currently, it seems to be a soothing frequency under a calm state…
Wait, what am I analyzing?
The point is that the impact of this visual on morale is too strong…
“Ahem.” Calgar coughed loudly, both to remind himself and to alert his two subordinates who might be spacing out.
He stepped forward and bowed slightly: “Mother…
ahem!
Father!” Damn it!
A slip of the tongue again!
Calgar wished he could slap his own helmet.
It must have been from earlier before pushing the cart in, when he was confirming with the logistics master whether “the Primarch might prefer light or rich flavors,” and heard the other mutter, “The tastes of this newly awakened ‘Lady Mother’ are really hard to guess.” He must have been influenced by that!
Definitely!
Guilliman didn’t seem to care much about the further degradation of the honorific; her attention had already been captured by the food cart.
Ten thousand years of slumber and the shock of transmigrating were indeed exhausting, and an irrepressible wave of hunger surged up.
Her small nose twitched slightly as she seemed to catch a delicious scent, and the wings behind her excitedly flapped twice in response.
“Mm.” She nodded, trying hard to remain composed, but her gaze was already glued to the food cart.
“Serve it.” “Yes!” The two Ultramarines, as if executing the most precise bomb disposal mission, carefully pushed the food cart to the long table at the side of the room and began to uncover the warming covers one by one.
The first layer: A whole roasted goose, golden and crispy, glistening with oil, and smelling divine, accompanied by herbs native to Macragge and berry sauce.
The second layer: A small mountain of roasted lamb chops, charred on the outside and tender on the inside, sprinkled with coarse rock salt and spices, with meat juices pooling temptingly at the bottom of the plate.
The third layer: Various exquisite desserts—honey-glazed pancakes, nut-studded chocolate tarts, and colorful fruit tarts.
The fourth layer: Washed and sliced, crystal-clear varieties of fruit, some of which were even rare species from other planets.
In addition, there was a large pot of steaming beverage that smelled like some kind of floral fruit tea, as well as a complete set of exquisitely small tableware that had clearly been urgently requisitioned.
The aroma of the food filled the air.
Guilliman’s stomach let out a soft, traitorous “rumble.” The sound was very faint, but everyone present was a super-soldier with extraordinary hearing.
Calgar’s body stiffened for a moment, then he immediately turned around and said to the two soldiers arranging the food in the most serious tone possible, “Hurry up!
Don’t you see the Primarch is hungry!” “Yes!
Chapter Master!” The two soldiers set the tableware with lightning speed, then retreated to the wall and stood at attention, their eyes…
involuntarily drifting toward the small golden figure who was staring at the roast goose and swallowing her saliva.
Everything was ready.
Calgar personally pulled out a chair for Guilliman (the chair had also been found temporarily, with several cushions added to make it high enough): “Father, please eat.” Guilliman nodded and walked to the table.
But she forgot she still had her wings spread, and when she turned, the tip of one wing gently brushed against Calgar’s arm.
“!” Calgar’s arm trembled imperceptibly, as if he had been electrocuted.
A strange, gentle warmth flowed from the point of contact; it wasn’t intense, but it was exceptionally pure and comfortable.
Guilliman didn’t notice this little interlude.
She climbed onto the cushioned chair somewhat clumsily, sat down, and looked at the sumptuous food in front of her with sparkling eyes.
She first tried to cut a piece of the roast goose.
Her movements were a bit unfamiliar at first, but she quickly became proficient.
She placed a piece of goose meat, coated in sauce and roasted to perfection, into her mouth.
She chewed.
Her azure blue eyes instantly narrowed with happiness, the halo above her head seemed to brighten a little, and the wings behind her flapped happily in small motions.
“Mm~” She let out a satisfied, soft hum.
Boom—!
The hearts of the Ultramarines suffered another devastating, sweet impact.
She’s eating!
She’s eating!
She’s eating so deliciously!
Her expression is so happy!
Her wings are flapping happily!
Like a little bird!
The sound…
ah, I’m dead…
Calm down!
Calgar/Agemman/Tigurius!
You are warriors!
You are the bulwark of the Imperium!
You cannot waver just because the Primarch is cute while eating!
But…
she’s really so cute…
Father…
Calgar used all the willpower of his life to force himself to look away, turn to the wall, and say in a stiff tone, like reporting military intelligence: “Father, this is a signature dish of the Macragge court chefs.
The roast goose is selected from free-range breeds in the northern highlands, the spices come from the trade network of the Five Hundred Worlds, and the sauce recipe is passed down from…” He didn’t finish his sentence because Guilliman had already tasted a bite of the lamb chop, narrowed her eyes in happiness again, her little mouth glistening with oil, and praised vaguely: “Mm!
This is also yummy!” Calgar: “…” He couldn’t continue the report.
The Primarch was eating so happily; for him to drone on about the source of the ingredients was simply a desecration of this happiness.
Agemman had already secretly nudged Tigurius with his elbow, and they communicated rapidly using the Ultramarines’ internal sign language: Sign A: “Did you record it?” (Referring to the Librarian’s psychic recording ability) Sign B (Tigurius): “…It recorded automatically.
But I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.
It was triggered automatically by psychic resonance.” Sign A: “Copy it.
For chapter commemoration.” Sign B: “…Calgar will kill us.” Sign A: “Worth it.” Guilliman was immersed in the food, temporarily forgetting her worries.
She elegantly but quickly polished off the roast goose and lamb chops, then began to attack the desserts.
She cut a piece of fruit tart with her small silver fork and popped it into her mouth; the sweet and sour taste made her eyes curve into crescents again.
“The desserts are also good.” She nodded and licked the cream off the corner of her mouth; this unconscious action made the two soldiers by the wall tremble again.
Calgar finally found his voice, his tone softer and slightly ingratiating without him even realizing it: “If Father likes it, we will…
we will make it often.
The chef says there are many other signature dishes.” “Okay.” Guilliman agreed naturally, took another bite of the chocolate tart, then as if remembering something, looked up at Calgar, her mouth still full, like a little hamster, “Have you eaten?” “Er…” Calgar was stunned for a moment.
Space Marines usually consume efficient but bland military ration nutrient paste; they rarely encounter such banquet dishes.
“We…
will eat later.
Father need not worry.” “Oh.” Guilliman nodded and continued to eat.
But after a few bites, she looked up again, looked at the three high-ranking officials standing like pillars by the wall, then looked at the table full of food, hesitated for a moment, and pointed to the almost untouched roast lamb chops with her fork: “That…
I don’t think I can finish all this.
Do you…
want to eat some together?” Silence.
The three Ultramarines, along with the two by the wall, all froze.
The Primarch…
invited them…
to dine at the same table?
And to share the food she was currently enjoying?
This…
this does not conform to the Codex Astartes!
Although there is a father-son relationship between the Primarch and the Space Marines, there is a clear distinction in status!
This…
But looking at Guilliman’s clear blue eyes, which held a hint of embarrassment and a sincere invitation, and looking at the corner of her mouth still stained with a bit of jam…
Calgar’s internal defenses completely collapsed.
“This…
this is a great honor, Father.” Calgar’s voice was a bit dry.
He glanced at Agemman and Tigurius, and their eyes were also flashing with the light of “Chapter Master, hurry up and agree!” “But…” Calgar still struggled, “We cannot sit with you, this is not in accordance with…” “There aren’t enough chairs, standing and eating is fine too.” Guilliman replied naturally, using the casual attitude from Guilliman’s memories toward close subordinates, although the effect was completely different when said with her current appearance and voice, “Don’t waste food.
Food on Macragge should be cherished.” This sentence touched the most fundamental belief in the hearts of the few Ultramarines.
Cherishing resources and opposing waste was what the Primarch Guilliman had always taught.
“…As you command, Father.” Calgar finally surrendered.
He signaled, and Agemman and Tigurius, along with the two flattered soldiers by the wall, carefully gathered around the table.
They didn’t take Guilliman’s tableware but instead used their own combat knives and plates, symbolically cut a small piece of lamb chop, and respectfully stood to the side to eat it in small bites.
Watching this group of burly men standing obediently like elementary school students eating meat, Guilliman couldn’t help but laugh, her eyebrows curved, and the wings behind her flapped happily several times.
This smile caused another critical hit to the Ultramarines.
The meal proceeded in this extremely bizarre (a blonde loli Primarch eating happily, five steel-clad giants respectfully accompanying her, eyes drifting) yet inexplicably warm atmosphere.
As Guilliman ate, she suddenly felt a bit emotional.
Transmigrating into this form was indeed a pitfall, but after waking up, the loyalty and clumsy care of Calgar and the others were real.
And this food…
although what she has to face in the future is a galaxy-level cesspit, at least at this moment, the dessert in her mouth is real.
Perhaps, this is one of the reasons why the Primarch Guilliman was willing to sleep?
To temporarily hand over the worries to “another self,” and “another self,” after feeling these subtle warmth, would also more firmly shoulder the responsibilities?
She didn’t know.
But she put the last piece of fruit tart into her mouth, and the sweet taste melted in her mouth.
At this moment, Calgar seemed to have finally recovered some sanity from the “cuteness critical hit” and remembered the important business.
He put down his “plate” and asked respectfully: “Father, regarding the preliminary report on your awakening and…
morphological changes, as well as the briefing on the current situation in Macragge, when would you like to hear it?” Guilliman swallowed the food, picked up the white napkin to wipe her mouth, her movements were elegant, but it was very cute when done by her small hands, the wings behind her retracted, and the halo also stabilized at a soft brightness.
Her expression, after the brief relaxation brought by the food, became serious again.
In those azure blue eyes, the playfulness belonging to Lin Chen and the wisdom belonging to Guilliman seemed to begin to slowly merge.
“After I bathe and change.” She said softly but clearly, “Gather all necessary personnel.
It is…
time for us to start working.” “The galaxy will not wait for us to adapt.” She said softly, not knowing if it was to Calgar or to herself, “And I will not always be just ‘cute’.” Deep in her consciousness, there was silence.
But it seemed that a faint, gratified ripple came through.