But asking him to abandon the faith he had clung to for hundreds of years was simply too difficult!
It would mean everything he had strived for, every decision he had made, and even his very reason for being, would be completely invalidated.
Whenever he thought of Titus, who had been imprisoned because of his own report, he could only numb himself by repeatedly reciting the Codex, telling himself, *That is what the Codex says…*
“Father! We were wrong! But we cannot change! We don’t want to change, and we can’t!”
Leandros fell to his knees, weeping and pouring his heart out to Guilliman like a lost child.
He wanted so badly to obey the commands of his gene-father, but he couldn’t do it!
The dogmas of the Codex had been carved into his very marrow, becoming an instinctual way of thinking.
He couldn’t change!
“I understand.”
Guilliman’s voice remained warm and patient.
“The power of habit is formidable, let alone a Codex I penned myself. I understand how rigid it is, and I understand even more how it shapes and constrains a mind. Given your long immersion in it, forcing you to violate its rules of conduct now is indeed asking too much. Not to mention, in the past few centuries, you have undoubtedly hurt your comrades by adhering to the Codex, or perhaps even indirectly caused battle-brothers to sacrifice themselves or suffer wrongful accusations. All of that pressure and guilt has accumulated upon you…”
He paused, his voice turning even more solemn.
“But in the end, none of this is your fault. If anyone is to blame, it can only be me.”
Changing the subject, his tone became firm and powerful: “But when a mistake is made, it must be corrected! Even if it is a mistake I committed, I must actively rectify it and make amends for my past errors! That is the only responsible way to face a mistake!”
These words were like warm sunlight, dispelling a portion of the gloom in the hearts of Leandros and the others, making their eyes prickle with tears.
Their Primarch was truly too merciful!
“Therefore,” Guilliman continued, “this deep-seated habit must be changed from the ground up. Expecting you to change on your own is putting you in a difficult position. So, as your father, I must offer a helping hand, must I not?”
“Help? Father, how will you help us?” an officer couldn’t help but ask.
An even warmer smile spread across Guilliman’s face.
“Actually, the solution is quite simple. You refuse to listen to my orders because your hearts cling to the *Codex Astartes*. However, the Imperium ultimately runs on one supreme rule—might makes right!”
He swept his gaze across the crowd and said loudly, “I will give you a chance. I will not fly, nor will I even wear armor. I will fight you barehanded. For everyone present, if anyone can so much as touch me— Not injure me, just touch me— I will allow him to continue adhering to the *Codex Astartes* until he is willing to change of his own accord!”
Leandros and the others were instantly dumbfounded.
Be…
How could that be allowed!
They hurriedly refused in a panic: “Father! That is unacceptable!”
Guilliman waved his hand dismissively.
“It is fine. This is not a beating, nor is it a battle. It is merely a special way of… nurturing our bond as father and sons. Come at me without fear! No son of Roboute Guilliman can be a coward! Show me all of your combat skills! Make me proud of you!”
“Gene-father!”
Leandros and the others were moved to tears by this immense grace and the Primarch’s trust.
They looked at each other, and finally stood up resolutely.
Assuming combat stances, they shouted in unison to Guilliman:
“Father! We will give it everything we have!”
“Excellent! Now that is what I call spirit!” Guilliman nodded appreciatively.
“Go for it! As long as you can strike me once, you may continue to hold onto your old beliefs!”
However, although Leandros and the others shouted loudly, their limbs were still trembling with tension.
Standing in place, they breathed heavily, trying to calm themselves, none of them daring to make the first move.
Seeing them like this, a wild smile tugged at the corner of Guilliman’s mouth:
“You aren’t coming? Then I shall come to you!”
The moment the words left his mouth, he slapped the complex clasp on his chest—
*Clang!
Clang!
Clank!*
With a series of metallic clicks and whirs, the mighty Armor of Fate rapidly peeled away from his body, retracting itself.
In the end, he was wearing nothing but a pair of specially made shorts, exposing a majestic physique that looked as though it were carved from sacred marble.
Every single muscle rippled with explosive power!
Under the sunlight, his body seemed to gleam!
In the next second—
“Your father is here!”
Accompanied by a playful roar, Guilliman’s fist flew like an artillery shell, slamming squarely into Leandros’s shock-stricken face!
*Thud!*
With a dull impact, Leandros had no time to react.
He was sent flying backward like a broken kite, as if struck by a battering ram.
He traced a long arc through the air, flying hundreds of meters before crashing heavily into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust as he lost consciousness instantly.
The entire plaza fell into a dead silence.
Every spectating Ultramarine gulped involuntarily.
Their eyes were filled with horror as they looked at their gene-father, who stood in the center of the plaza wearing nothing but shorts, looking like a primordial beast.
At that moment, Guilliman rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles with a series of sharp pops.
Looking at his dumbfounded, trembling “good sons,” he bared a row of dazzling white teeth in a “brilliant” grin and announced:
“My good sons—”
“Daddy is coming!”
Seeing his sons trembling so hard they were on the verge of losing control of their bladders, Guilliman did not stop.
Instead, he grew even more enthusiastic.
He deliberately tensed his muscles, striking a powerful bodybuilding pose under the sunlight—much like a son of Zeus from ancient Terran mythology.
His naked, three-meter-tall frame, with every muscle looking as though it were forged of iron, exuded a primal, suffocating pressure.
Looking at his shivering offspring, he suddenly spoke in a refined, scholarly tone: “Children, do you know that in ancient Terra, there was a sage named Confucius? He once said: ‘A gentleman is not an implement’!”
“A gen… gentleman is not an implement? What does that mean, Father?”
One warrior stammered under the extreme pressure, asking almost out of sheer instinct.
Guilliman cast an “appreciative” look at him and explained in a voice like a tolling bell:
“‘A gentleman is not an implement’ means that a true gentleman disdains using weapons to kill his enemies! Only by beating them black and blue with his bare fists can a gentleman display his true strength!”