Traveling through the Warhammer world, but I didn’t cry.

Broken memories came flooding back, and Guilliman's slow and dull mind was filled with scenes of the desperate battle with Fulgrim.

In the last moment, he was enduring the blade slicing his throat, the vicious curse spreading throughout his body, and worrying about the pain of the future of the empire.

Now he found himself in a rather unfamiliar hall, in front of him... was Perturabo...

There are no complicated cables or parts plugged into the head, and there is no cold air of resentment or dissatisfaction in the eyes.

This strangeness made Guilliman stunned for a while when he first woke up. Then the special perception between the original body and the original body made him confirm that the person in front of him was indeed Perturabo.

His brother—Perturabo!

The traitor besieging Terra—Perturabo!

The one who throws himself into Chaos - Perturabo!

Anger surged out of Guilliman's body, and his offspring also felt the wrath of their genetic father.

The hand of dominance hit Perturabo hard on the face. This attack that could directly shatter the bones of a Space Marine only broke the bridge of Perturabo's nose.

After receiving a sudden punch, Perturabo took a few steps back. Fulgrim rushed forward, hoping to get Guilliman to stop temporarily.

"Fulgrim?" Guilliman saw Fulgrim. He was quite surprised by the form of Fulgrim's mortal body. In his several battles with Fulgrim, this Phoenix, which was completely controlled by Slaanesh, was a disgusting space creature. eel.

Is this his brother?

Guilliman didn't know, but judging from the demonic runes on Fulgrim's arm, he could only attribute what happened before him to an illusionary killing spree woven by Slaanesh and Fulgrim.

The Hand of Dominance opened fire on Fulgrim, these explosive shells from the Great Crusade still working reliably.

Fulgrim was forced back by the blast, his plain armor pierced and his body left with many bruises.

"Guilliman! Wait!" Dorn stood in front of Fulgrim with his chain sword. He took off his helmet, revealing an old face that had been baptized by thousands of years.

Guilliman was stunned. He had some impression of Dorne's black armor. It was an organization called the Black Templars by Dorne.

"Dorne, they are traitors," Guilliman said.

"Guilliman, it's ten thousand years later."

Dorn's words stunned Guilliman. His brain was working at high speed, quickly digesting all the information provided to him by Dorn's words, surrounding scenes, and broken memories.

Ten thousand years later?

Ten thousand years later?

After asking himself twice, Guilliman's heart shrouded in the fire of revenge was suddenly gripped by unknown panic.

What will happen in ten thousand years? Who would command the Ultramarines if he was unconscious for such a long time? Who will stop the vicious offensive of the Chaos traitors?

He had too many government affairs that were not completed, and too many documents that were only left as drafts.

He could only use the most pessimistic thoughts to speculate on the deformities and changes in his documents over the course of thousands of years, and pray that the empire would not turn into the horrific ruins that it was during the Great Rebellion.

"Primarch...is it really you?" Calgar's voice attracted Guilliman's attention.

The Gene Master of the Ultramarines cast a scrutinizing gaze. He was familiar with Calgar's weapon, which Guilliman had taken from a Chaos Champion.

Beyond that, everything Calgar owned irritated him.

Although the exaggerated and gorgeous armor has some cracks and scars, it still cannot cover up its former glory.

The golden aquila adorning the armor made Guilliman wonder when the Ultramarines would receive this honor bestowed upon them by the Emperor himself.

Wax seals with awkward scriptures on the armor reminded Guilliman of Lorgar's Word Bearers.

These things can only make Guilliman's thinking more confusing, and he cannot make accurate analysis with the help of his previous experience.

The more calm Guilliman remained, the more he felt overwhelmed by fear and confusion.

In the end, Dorn stuck the chainsword in place, took a few steps forward, and used his voice to temporarily calm down Guilliman.

"You have a lot of questions and we have a lot of answers, so let's lay it all out right here."

Looking at Dorn, Perturabo, and Fulgrim, all Guilliman could do was put down his fists and nod heavily.

"You all go out first and let me chat with my brothers."

Guilliman ordered Calgar and his heirs to leave the throne room in a tone that could not be refused. The Chapter Master absolutely obeyed Guilliman's orders and retreated like a tide with his battle brothers.

They stood guard at the door and knelt down in unison. Although no one made a sound, their bodies were trembling slightly with excitement.

Macragge's undoubted master is back!

Although there are still many questions that confuse the Ultramarines, such as Fulgrim, Perturabo, the Eldar Witch, etc., they have still maintained absolute calmness and loyalty. They will never give up until Guilliman gives new orders. Take a step into the throne room.

"Now, let's talk, brothers." Guilliman looked at the three brothers who were unfamiliar to him with a complicated expression.

The question and answer session took a long time, and Guilliman got all the information he could in half a week. For the next half week, he struggled to accept the reality of the Empire in mental pain.

At first, Guilliman tried to use every ounce of affability and cunning as a politician to create an optimistic atmosphere that could accept everything, and let the three hesitant Primarchs tell more information while laughing.

He could originally conceal the emotional fluctuations caused by his words, but the more he knew, the more his face became pale and shrouded in despair.

"We..." Guilliman said, the compassion and pain making his voice a little weird, "What have we become...ideals...efforts...all in vain..."

Guilliman sat slumped on the throne, covering his face, and moans came out through his armor.

"At least we're back, and we have a chance to fix our mistakes," Perturabo reassured Guilliman.

"It was you who smashed all this, and now it's you who are shouting to fix it all!" Guilliman roared a little uncontrollably, but he knew that doing so would not solve the problem.

Finally he apologized to Perturabo, regained his composure, and walked forward under the gaze of the Emperor's sacred portrait.

The door to the throne room is open, and the insect swarm on the planet has been compressed to a block. A simple thunderstorm bombardment by the fleet can eliminate all the insects.

The huge square outside the throne room was filled with people, and troops who had been honored in battle stood in squares.

The Lamenters, Black Templars, Ultramarines, Thirty-Seventh Regiment, Ultramar Auxiliary Army, and the citizens of Macragge have been waiting here for a long time.

Guilliman stood at the front, while the other three Primarchs were slightly behind.

"The Second Empire will definitely prosper." Perturabo said softly.

Guilliman's steps seemed a little stiff because of these words.