A few days later, on the training grounds of Macragge.
A blue figure plummeted from the sky like a falling star, crashing heavily into the ground and creating a ring of shockwaves.
Roboute Guilliman stood tall.
His brand-new Armor of Fate was covered in fresh, wet blood belonging to Chaos traitors, reeking heavily of iron rust and ozone.
He had not even brought a weapon, relying solely on his bare fists to eradicate an Iron Warriors patrol squad that had infiltrated Macragge’s moon during his recent “patrol.”
Chapter Master Calgar had long since grown accustomed to this.
During these few days of rest and regrouping, his gene-sire seemed never to tire.
He frequently launched proactive strikes, purging the remaining Chaos threats on Macragge and its orbit with astonishing efficiency.
It was only after witnessing the Primarch fight time and again like a god descended to Earth that Calgar truly and thoroughly understood what immense power—far beyond mortal comprehension—the word “Primarch” represented.
No one had the right to threaten him…
No one could escape his pursuit…
No one could withstand his iron fists…
Calgar’s heart was filled with near-blind reverence.
*Invincible!
Our Primarch represents invincibility!*
He recalled how he used to scoff at the Ecclesiarchy’s assertions glorifying the Primarchs as divine beings, thinking that no matter how strong a Primarch was, mortal strength had its limits.
They were “men” after all, needing rest and having boundaries.
Now…
Calgar just wanted to say to his past self: Those bastards in the Ecclesiarchy were way too fucking conservative!
How was this a “man”?
This was a true god walking among mortals!
Calling him a demigod was not enough to describe his majesty!
“Primarch…” Calgar opened his mouth to report, only to be gently interrupted by Guilliman.
“Call me Dad.”
Guilliman wiped the bloodstains off his face, offering a bright, cheerful grin that stood in subtle contrast to his bloodthirsty appearance.
“Don’t call me Primarch. It makes us father and son sound so distant.” Follow the newest chapters on novelping.com.
Calgar was momentarily speechless, caught between laughter and tears.
His gene-sire was powerful, benevolent, and filled with human warmth—virtually the sun of Macragge.
But this personality…
compared to the dignified, rational, and meticulous Roboute Guilliman described in all historical texts and legends, did not match at all!
Why did he seem so…
cheerful and uninhibited now?
“Well… Gene-Father…” Calgar tried again, carefully choosing his words.
“Call me Dad,” Guilliman repeated gently, but with an unquestionable tone.
“…Alright, Dad.”
Calgar complied, hastily getting to the main point:
“According to the latest count, the Ultramarines currently gathered on Macragge and in surrounding star systems total around two hundred thousand. Multiple Black Crusades have depleted too much of our strength, forcing many initiates into the fight before completing their rigorous training. However, we have sent distress signals to all Ultramarines successor Chapters. We believe reinforcements will return soon.”
“Hmm, two hundred thousand…” Guilliman stroked his chin, a sharp light flashing in his eyes.
“Enough! More than enough for me to pacify the chaos across all of Ultramar!”
“But, Dad,” Calgar could not help reminding him, a look of worry on his face.
“Didn’t you… strictly decree back then that the Adeptus Astartes must never reform into Legion strength? This…”
“Must never reform? If we don’t restore the Legion system, the fucking Imperium is going to end!”
Guilliman placed his hands on his hips, looking at his overly “honest” Chapter Master with a face full of disappointment:
“Son, why are you boys so literal? Just because I said something ten thousand years ago, you have to follow it word for word for ten thousand years? Couldn’t you pull off some ‘feigned compliance’ or ‘deceiving those above while keeping those below in the dark’? Don’t you know how to be flexible?”
“Father! You cannot say such things recklessly, Father!”
Scared out of his wits, Calgar lunged forward, wanting to grab Guilliman’s leg to stop him from voicing any more “treasonous” statements.
Guilliman casually kicked him away with a light nudge, laughing as he scolded, “Damn it, I’ve been brilliant my whole life, so how did I father a bunch of stubborn, rigid rules-lawyers like you!”
As if remembering something, he raised his voice by an octave:
“Back in the day, I was planning to found the Imperium Secun…”
Before he could finish, Chief Librarian Tigurius, First Captain Agemman, and Second Captain Sicarius jumped up like cats whose tails had been stepped on.
Terrified out of their minds, they threw themselves forward—some grabbing his shoulders, some hugging his legs, and one even leaping up to try to cover the Primarch’s mouth.
“Father! Dad! We beg of you! You really can’t say that! You can’t speak of this recklessly!”
Having been kicked away, Calgar scrambled back and threw himself forward again, his voice on the verge of tears.
Mobbed by his overly loyal sons, Guilliman had no choice but to channel a controlled burst of force to push them off.
He shook his head and waved his hand helplessly:
“Fine, fine, fine! I won’t say it! I won’t say it!”
“Besides, I’m probably the only rightful heir left in the Imperium anyway, so there’s no need to found an Imperium Secundus.”
He paused, a smile blending ambition and resignation appearing on his face as he dropped a bombshell:
“I’ll just lead my army straight to Terra and steal my old man’s throne! How’s that?”
“…”
The entire training ground seemed instantly shrouded in psychic silence.
Calgar, the Captains, and the Chief Librarian froze on the spot, their faces deathly pale, shaking like leaves in the wind.
St…
Steal the God-Emperor’s throne?!
Is our Primarch really this treasonous?!
Who…
who is the traitor Primarch here?!
Seeing his sons looking like they were about to suffer heart attacks, Guilliman grunted in exasperation: “Alright, look at you pathetic wimps!”
“A bunch of cowards! If I don’t inherit the throne, who will? Should I let those vermin on the High Lords of Terra keep driving the Imperium into the grave? If I don’t go clean up this mess, the Imperium is going to rot to its very core! Do you think I want to take on this thankless job?” He wore a look of annoyance that said *I’m being forced into this*.
Without waiting for his sons to recover from the massive shock, Guilliman immediately issued a concrete order:
“Hear my decree: As of now, the Ultramarines are restored to Legion strength! At the same time, issue a recruitment order across all mortal worlds of Ultramar! Anyone who meets the criteria—loyal, steadfast, physically exceptional, and irreproachable in character—regardless of age, is eligible to participate in Space Marine selection! As long as they dare to come, we dare to perform the augmentation surgery on them!”