“The Webway?”
Yvraine shook her head gently.
Her smile remained, but her tone carried an unquestionable firmness.
“Lord Guilliman, I believe you are well aware that the Webway is the most core and precious heritage of our Aeldari. In times of crisis, we are more than happy to assist our allies by granting limited passage. But to expect the entire Imperium’s ships to traverse the Webway on a daily basis… that is simply impossible. Even for you, we would only permit your fleet passage in the most extreme and urgent circumstances. Daily transit is absolutely out of the question.”
“I see…” A flash of disappointment inevitably crossed Guilliman’s face, though this outcome was well within his expectations.
*(The Webway is a masterpiece, but in the end, it’s just a mirage. It seems I must ultimately rely on the FTL engine technology redeemed from the system,)* he thought to himself.
*(However, expecting Cawl to completely master and replicate Viltrumite technology is probably harder than ascending to heaven. The Imperium’s research system has long been rigid; the Adeptus Mechanicus only digs for scraps in STC ruins, with almost zero capacity for independent innovation… They ban AI, relying entirely on human brains and wetware calculations, even coming up with distorted monstrosities like servo-skulls and servitors…)*
Still, when it came to the Doraemon of Warhammer, Belisarius Cawl, Guilliman still held a sliver of hope.
Even if they couldn’t build the original version, a heavily scaled-down “knockoff” would suffice!
Guilliman was willing to settle for the next best thing.
On the very day he first awoke, Guilliman had redeemed an FTL drive from the system and tossed it to Cawl.
The moment Cawl saw that FTL drive, it was like a hive city resident seeing the Emperor in all His radiant glory—he fell straight to his knees.
Weeping, he chanted holy binary prayers while caressing the highly advanced FTL drive, literally spraying engine oil from all over his body.
Guilliman had watched in disgust, told him to study it well, and then went off to crack open some Chaos tin cans.
But now that a week had passed, he believed Doraemon Cawl must have figured out a thing or two.
*(I don’t expect tens of billions of times the speed of light. Even a hundred times the speed of light would be acceptable! At least it would make transit between planets and sectors smoother.)*
He did some quick mental math: *(With the Imperium spanning 100,000 light-years, flying from one end to the other at a hundred times the speed of light would take about a thousand years… It sounds long, but compared to the uncertainty and immense risks of Warp travel, it’s at least a stable, controllable route. You won’t run into the embarrassing situation where you rush to reinforce a warzone only to arrive fifty years after the dust has settled. Flying at a hundred times the speed of light might take fifty years, but at least the crew won’t vanish into the Warp, leaving not even bones behind.)*
“Well, alright. I won’t hold out hope for the Webway for now,” Guilliman said, decisively changing the subject without lingering.
*(Next, I need to see how many Administration Points I can get from actually ruling planets. If the yield is decent, I can rely on ‘spamming units’ to rule, amass enough points, and directly buy a bunch of FTL engines from the system!)*
He mapped out a blueprint of the future in his mind.
*(By then, my fleet will only need a few hours to cross the galaxy!)*
Pulling his attention back to reality, he proposed his second point of cooperation: “Now, let’s talk about another topic. I wish to invite the Haemonculi of the Aeldari to help me repair the Golden Throne.”
“Repair the Golden Throne?” Yvraine’s eyes flashed with surprise.
She certainly knew of the Golden Throne—the holy human relic upon which the Emperor of Mankind had sat for ten thousand years, rumored to have some mysterious connection to the Webway.
“You might not believe it if I say so,” Guilliman smiled cryptically, “but as His son, there is indeed a certain connection between me and that ‘Father’ of mine. I can feel that the throne beneath Him… is not in good shape. Some ‘parts’ have aged. This has caused His upkeep to consume even more, requiring the Imperium to sacrifice more and more psykers.”
His expression turned serious: “To prevent the throne from collapsing completely one day and triggering an unpredictable disaster, I hope to have it repaired before things become irreversible. However, human technology, especially the Adeptus Mechanicus, is powerless to do so. Therefore, I can only place my hopes on the Haemonculi—the experts in the Aeldari who possess the highest biological and psychic technology.”
Of course, Guilliman couldn’t possibly have any telepathic connection with the Emperor unless the Emperor sent him a dream.
But there was nothing he could do about it—he was thoroughly familiar with the plot.
Although he didn’t know the fine details, he knew that sooner or later, he would have to invite the Haemonculi to the Imperium to repair the Golden Throne.
And the moment those Haemonculi saw the Golden Throne, they would immediately fall to their knees, fully realizing that their previous methods of torturing people were far too amateurish.
This was the greatest torture device in the entire galaxy!
“The Haemonculi…”
“Lord Guilliman, as long as you can offer a ‘price’ high enough to move them, I believe those Haemonculi, obsessed with flesh-craft and forbidden knowledge, will be more than happy to oblige. They hold a detached status in Aeldari society, interested only in ‘interesting’ projects and lavish rewards.”
“Resources are not an issue,” Guilliman waved his hand dismissively, full of confidence.
The world of Invincible was packed with all kinds of bizarre technology and materials.
Once he completely took control of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, he would surely have enough Administration Points!
More importantly, keeping the Emperor of Mankind securely on that throne concerned the stability of the entire Imperium.
He didn’t want to find Terra flooded by demons spewing from beneath the throne before he had even officially taken office as Lord Regent.
“I believe that with your boldness, Lord Guilliman, you will certainly be able to invite them, provided the price is right.”
Yvraine first validated his claim, then spread her hands, indicating her inability to help directly:
“However, regarding this matter, neither I nor the Ynnari can offer you direct assistance.”
She explained: “Although we Ynnari are of the Aeldari, most Haemonculi gather in Commorragh—the capital of the Drukhari. The relationship between us Craftworld Aeldari and the Drukhari… is complex, with limited overlap. I do not have any master Haemonculi under my command who can be directly deployed. Therefore, if you wish to invite them, you must personally go to the Aeldari’s… or rather, the Drukhari’s center of power and trade—Commorragh.”
“Commorragh…”
Guilliman recalled the information about this place, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.
“I’ve heard of it. The largest black market in the universe, the most ‘prosperous’ city of depravity, hidden deep within the Webway.”
“Indeed,” Yvraine confirmed.
“Thus, if you wish to go to Commorragh, you must travel through the Webway.”
Their eyes met, and both saw the opportunity to strike a deal.
Guilliman leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement: “Well then, it seems we have finally found a key point on which we can strike an immediate trade. For me, traveling to Commorragh is exactly what is needed at this critical juncture.”
Yvraine smiled as well, a smile like an orchid in a secluded valley, mysterious and enchanting.