“Is this thing… even human?”
Ji Liman muttered to himself as he stared at the image radiating sheer, raw power.
Immediately after, he caught sight of the introductory text beneath the figure:
[Anchored Target: Thragg Canterbury, Grand Regent of the Viltrum Empire.]
“The Viltrum Empire? Regent Thragg? What world is this…”
Before Ji Liman could even finish his thought, the anchored image within the system suddenly erupted with endless golden-red light!
The tall, majestic man in the projection actually took a step out from the ethereal realm, turning from illusion into solid reality!
His majestic yet calm gaze swept over Ji Liman’s consciousness, and he gave a slight nod.
“My ideals, my ambitions, my grand vision to conquer the galaxy and restore the Viltrum Empire to its former glory!”
“I entrust them all to you!”
Thragg’s domineering voice resounded through the entire space of Ji Liman’s consciousness.
With long strides, he walked forward as his entire body dissolved into countless motes of light brimming with boundless power and knowledge.
Like a raging torrent, they surged toward Ji Liman, fusing into the not-yet-fully-formed body of Guilliman!
*Boom—!*
In that instant, a mountain of memories, knowledge, techniques, and combat instincts overwhelmed him.
The entire history of the “Viltrum Empire”—a civilization ruled by absolute brute force with a rather peculiar tech tree—flooded into Ji Liman’s mind like a tidal wave.
He “saw” Grand Regent Thragg’s life, one forged in iron and fire, conquest and rule.
After the brief shock passed, Ji Liman’s consciousness—or rather, the consciousness of the man soon to become Guilliman—was far from being overwhelmed.
Instead, an indescribable sense of clarity and wild ecstasy surged within him!
Deep in his mind, a wild smile seemed to tug at the corner of his lips.
“This run… seems pretty damn solid!”
Then, the system’s voice sounded clearly one last time, tinged with a tone of farewell:
[Anchor Fusion Complete! Welcome to the Warhammer Universe! Go and become the strongest Regent! Son of the God-Emperor, Lord of Macragge, Primarch of the Ultramarines Legion, Roboute Guilliman!]
Light swallowed everything as the void receded.
A soul that had slept heavy for ten thousand years, now filled with brand-new possibilities and unknown power, came crashing down into the dark, desperate fortieth millennium!
Macragge.
The Holy Sanctum of the Primarch’s Rest.
The air was so heavy it felt almost solid, as if every breath fought against ten thousand years of weight.
Marneus Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, knelt on one knee like a blue monolith before the Coffin of Fate, where his gene-father, Roboute Guilliman, lay.
His gaze, precise as a bolter’s reticle, was locked onto Yvraine, representative of the Ynnari, and the ominous Cronesword she held in her hand.
“I will say this one last time, xenos,” Calgar said, his voice low, dangerous, and suppressing a boundless rage.
“Step away from the Primarch. I will never allow your profane blade to touch even a single hair on my father’s body!”
At his side, the Marshal of the Black Templars and the Grand Master of the Grey Knights remained silent, yet their stoic postures and the subtle psychic ripples emanating from them made their positions clear—they stood with Calgar, utterly distrustful of Yvraine.
Yvraine’s breathtakingly beautiful face remained as placid as a mirror, but deep within her eyes lurked a trace of helplessness and grim resolve.
“This is a bargain between the Emperor and the Laughing God, Chapter Master Calgar. The full details are beyond even my knowledge, but Guilliman’s resurrection depends on the power of Ynnead, God of the Dead. Only the power of death can cleanse the deadly poison of Fulgrim’s daemon blade and allow him to truly return.”
“This is indeed the Emperor’s will.”
Living Saint Celestine hovered in midair, bathed in a warm, holy golden radiance.
Her voice carried unquestionable authority:
“Chapter Master Calgar, hear the mandate left by your Primarch ten thousand years ago. The Thirteenth Son, Lord of Macragge and the Five Hundred Worlds, Guilliman is humanity’s last hope! We must grasp at any possibility!”
“I understand! Living Saint, I understand Lord Guilliman’s importance!”
Calgar stood up abruptly, his power armor grinding heavily.
“But you expect me to trust this xenos witch to plunge her sword into my Primarch’s body? Do you think that is possible? I swear by my honor as Chapter Master that as long as I draw breath, I will never allow such a thing to happen before my eyes!”
His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Tension hung thick in the air; the internal rift among the Loyalists threatened to ignite into violence at any second.
Just then, the hitherto silent Chief Librarian stepped forward.
Eerie blue psychic flames flickered in his eyes, and his face appeared weathered and exhausted from peering into the future.
“Chapter Master,” his voice carried an earnest, almost pleading tone, “please trust the prophecy I have witnessed. I saw it… our Primarch will awaken! He will stand up and lead us to greatness once more! Calgar, give us this chance! Give humanity this chance to be great again! Think of it—under the guidance of a Primarch, what a glorious future awaits the Imperium!”
Calgar’s face contorted as a fierce struggle raged within his heart.
Duty and loyalty forbade him from backing down, yet the Chief Librarian’s words and the Living Saint’s authority shook his resolve.
He closed his eyes in anguish and took a deep breath, as though draining all his remaining strength.
“…Look once more, Chief Librarian. Use your psychic power and look upon that future vision once more. I hope you can truly persuade me… but my duty and my blood roar in protest, refusing to let a xenos touch the Primarch!”
“Very well! I shall look once more! I have seen it countless times, and no matter how many times I look, it is always that towering figure standing triumphant amid the stars!”
The Chief Librarian growled, channeling his psychic power to the limit.
The blue flames in his eyes burned fiercely as he attempted to capture those certain fragments of the future.
However, in the very next second, the determination and expectation on his face froze, replaced by utter shock and bewilderment.
He saw…
The Primarch, clad in the Armor of Fate, had indeed stood up.
Yet he did not reach for the holy sword right before him—the blade symbolizing the Emperor’s will.
Instead, he let out a roar that shook the cosmos, his violent power directly shattering the sanctuary’s dome!
Like a human cannonball, he plunged straight into the Chaos fleet and with his bare hands…
gripped the bow of a starship!
Under the impact of his overwhelmingly terrifying power, the painstakingly crafted Armor of Fate—the pinnacle of human technology—cracked and peeled away layer by layer like fragile porcelain!
And beneath the armor was the Primarch’s majestic physique, immensely strong beyond imagination, his entire body glowing with a golden radiance as fierce as the sun!