Warhammer 40k : Terrabyte Chapter 190: Primarch

Passing through the deep and ancient Hall of Heroes, the space ahead suddenly opened up. A magnificent curtain of light descended from the sky, rendering the entire space dreamlike.

Robert looked up, only to see that the do here had been completely transford, pieced together from countless panes of stained glass of various colors.

Sunlight from the star penetrated this colossal work of art, broken down and reshaped into countless colored beams of light, mingling together as they descended, casting vibrant, shifting reflections on the ground and pillars.

The air was filled with the sacred scent of purifying incense, and ancient, solemn hymns echoed through the space, making it seem less like an earthly realm and more like a mythical divine kingdom.

At the end of this sacred radiance, a towering throne stood upon a platform. Even from a distance, Robert could faintly discern the blue giant seated upon the throne. Not far from him, hundreds of pilgrims were facing that figure, so kneeling, so standing, performing their most devout worship.

A peculiar thought popped into Robert's mind: No wonder the Ultramarines weren't holding etings at Hera Fortress anymore; they had transford this place into Macragge's premier AAAAA-rated tourist attraction, generating revenue for Ultramar...

As he stepped closer, the giant on the throne beca clearer, and the invisible pressure grew heavier. Robert quickly banished the thought from his mind, composed himself, and began to observe carefully.

Roboute Guilliman.

Space marine, Son of Vengeance, Lord of Ultramar, he would awaken in twenty-five Earth years, or two hundred fifty-four Warhamr years, to beco the Regent of the Imperium of Man.

He sat silently on the magnificent throne crafted from adamantium and marble, clad in his Armor of Faith. Even with his eyes closed and his body encased in a stasis field, he still exuded a formidable aura capable of commanding the stars and everything within them, a leadership presence potent enough to stir the world and change the very winds. It was as if, as long as he drew breath, the order and civilization of humanity would remain unshakeable.

"Truly worthy of Roboute Guilliman, a space marine," deeply shaken by this aura, Robert couldn't help but exclaim, "Just seeing him makes one imagine the Great Crusade era ten thousand years ago, the twenty-one..."

"Governor Robert." Sicarius' voice suddenly rang out, interrupting him, "You are mistaken, there were nine Holy Primarchs."

"Uh, my apologies." Robert's heart tightened; he almost forgot that the exact number of Primarchs was also a taboo topic not to be ntioned in the Imperium of Man. Ordinary players could discuss it freely, but he couldn't now. "It makes one imagine the might of all the Primarchs walking among n, and the Emperor himself..."

"God," Sicarius corrected again, "God Emperor."

"Yes, thank you for the reminder." Robert said sincerely, but he would absolutely say the sa thing next ti.

He took a deep breath and averted his gaze from the sleeping demigod: "Alright, let's go, Sicarius. We've seen what we needed to see. The war is urgent; the Tyranid Swarm could arrive at any mont. We need to hurry to the Polar Fortress."

"Are you not going to do anything else?" Sicarius gestured to those who were praying and worshipping Guilliman.

Robert's gaze swept over those people. Among them were nobles in luxurious clothes, exuding an air of aristocracy; shrewd-eyed, well-fed rchants; officers with chests full of dals; and even a plain-clothed ordinary worker with calloused hands.

Their identities, statuses, and wealth differed vastly, but without a doubt, their prayers to the space marine, Guilliman, were incredibly devout at this mont.

Facing Sicarius' suggestion, Robert truly hesitated for a mont. Even though USA was a secular country, and the gods of Earth were rely fictional authorities, during festivals, various Christian temples and Satanist monasteries were always bustling with incense. Now, a true, flesh-and-blood Son of God was before him—should he pray and worship?

Robert finally made his decision.

"No," he shook his head, his voice quiet but firm, "Let's go directly to the Polar Fortress."

"I imagine if Guilliman saw his people worshipping him like a god, he would surely be very distressed. So, no."

Sicarius said nothing more; Robert's choice was clearly out of the ordinary, but not incomprehensible. The Ultramarines also did not adhere to the blind worship of the Ecclesiarchy.

The two turned and left the bright hall, which resembled a divine kingdom. Their footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, gradually moving away from the lingering hymns and the pilgrims' whispers.

The Polar Fortress, located at Macragge's poles, was vastly different in style from Hera Fortress. Here, there were no grand statues or ornate reliefs, only cold tal walls and bright tactical lighting, imbued with a stark, combat-ready atmosphere.

Sicarius led Robert to a heavy blast door. After the door automatically slid open, he stepped aside.

"The tactical briefing room has arrived, Governor. My mission ends here." With that, Sicarius turned and left, and the heavy tal door slowly closed behind Robert.

The room was brightly lit, with a large tactical table occupying the central position. Robert's gaze swept over the people gathered around the table.

Seated at the head of the table was undoubtedly Chapter Master Calgar, Lord of Macragge. His massive physique exuded an oppressive presence even when seated. Around him were several equally imposing figures: an Inquisitor in black carapace power armor, bearing the conspicuous "I" insignia of the Inquisition on his chest; an Adeptus chanicus Magos, nearly three ters tall, draped in deep crimson robes, with countless tallic tentacles and cables extending from his back, wriggling slightly like living things; an Ultramar Auxilia general with a stiff collar; and a Navy Admiral in a dark blue uniform.

Standing a little further behind them was a scribe holding a data-slate, ready to record at any mont.

Aside from Calgar, whom he had already t, everyone else's gaze focused on Robert the mont he entered the room. Their eyes were filled with scrutiny, inquiry, and even a hint of barely concealed impatience.

Clearly, they were full of curiosity and questions as to why Chapter Master Calgar had suddenly announced he would wait for an unknown Planetary Governor.

"Excellent, the last person has arrived," Calgar's deep voice broke the silence. He nodded, "Then the eting shall begin."

With a wave of his hand, the holographic projector above the tactical table emitted a low hum, and countless light particles converged, forming a vast three-dinsional star map—a section of the eastern edge of the Milky Way.

Robert could imdiately discern the general distribution of forces: the brilliant, sapphire-like points of light were undoubtedly the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar; a region with a faint yellow glow was the area of the recently concluded Damocles Gulf Crusade, the territory of the T'au Empire; and beyond that, there were large swathes of grey, lifeless-looking planets, like cosmic tombstones.

"These," Calgar's voice was heavy, as he pointed to the grey planets, "are worlds that have been completely devoured by the Tyranid Swarm, with no news whatsoever."

As he spoke, he looked at the Inquisitor and Wick: "I'll confirm again, Inquisitor Kryptman, Magos Wick, is this star map accurate?"

"No." The xenoinquisitor, nad Kryptman, said curtly, his voice like two stones grinding together.

A stream of data flashed across Magos Wick's chanical eye, and he replied in a synthesized electronic voice: "This data is from three Terran days ago; its tiliness is still valid."

Calgar turned to Robert, explaining, "The detailed intelligence on the tyranid invasion was brought by Inquisitor Kryptman and Magos Wick. Coincidentally, Inquisitor Kryptman acutely sensed a terrible xenos threat approaching from the galactic east and personally went to investigate, while Magos Wick happened to be on an exploration mission in the eastern star sector, encountered these xenos, and wished to reach Macragge to inform us. Moving in opposite directions, the two t by chance."

Robert nodded slightly to Kryptman and Wick, expressing his respect: "Your bravery deeply impresses ; not everyone can erge unscathed from the tide of the Tyranid Swarm."

"You know a lot about the Tyranid Swarm?" Kryptman's occupational habit imdiately flared up, his scrutinizing gaze instantly sharpening. "But I have scoured the Inquisition's archives and have never seen records of a similar xenos invasion."

"Are you the Planetary Governor of Perditia?" Magos Wick asked, his optical lens locked onto Governor Robert, as if performing so deep scan.

"Yes." Robert first answered Magos Wick, then repeated to Kryptman, "Yes."

"Gentlen," Calgar's voice was steady and powerful, drawing everyone's attention back, "Let us return to the tactical table, shall we?"

Thus, after a brief exchange of glances, the Inquisitor, the Magos, and Robert refocused their attention on the grey star map, which represented death and crisis.