"Titus, execute the order immediately. All units, withdraw back to the galaxy!"
Eden went completely numb, and issued the retreat to the assault force through psychic command.
Earlier, he'd told the assault force to be more ferocious, to pursue and annihilate as many daemonic hordes as possible.
But who would have thought Titus would be that reckless? With one slip, he'd driven the assault straight into the depths of the Warp.
Damn it, they were practically about to punch their way into the Chaos Gods' own lair!
It made Eden so anxious that even his tone turned severe:
"What in the world are you trying to do? If I don't stop you, are you planning to raze the Chaos Gods' nest as well?!"
The situation was extremely dangerous. The area Titus and the others were in was the Warp itself, the Chaos Gods' home turf.
One wrong step, and his assault force could be wiped out to the last man.
That was one third of his elite troops. If they really all went in and never came out, the loss would be so catastrophic it would leave him coughing blood and cripple the Imperium's strength!
"Your Majesty, I will return at once to receive your punishment."
After the reprimand, Titus—who had been ice-cold and slaughtering daemons like a machine—looked visibly deflated.
This high-ranking commander recognized his mistake and immediately tried to salvage it.
He had to preserve this assault force, or even death would not be enough to repay the sin.
"I will project a psychic beacon to you, so the Librarians can, at maximum speed—"
Eden didn't waste a second, attempting to guide the assault force back.
But before he could finish, a baleful storm severed his connection to the assault force, cutting off his psychic sight.
It was the Chaos Gods' handiwork.
They had stirred the storm, trying to strike at his troops!
At the same time, the Savior's assault force was swallowed by a sudden tide of Chaos catastrophe.
The warriors all fell into disorientation.
"Form up! Defensive assembly!"
Titus roared the order, struggling to keep his balance within the Warp-storm.
Like his warriors, he had lost all sense of space—walking normally had become extraordinarily difficult.
The force was breaking apart!
Caw, caw, caw!
In a daze, this tenacious warrior heard the cry of a peculiar bird.
He looked up—and within the storm of the Warp, he saw a blood-red murder of crows…
—
Several months later.
Vostroya, Decius Hive.
Upper Hive.
A grand victory celebration was underway. The crowds were in rapture.
Countless fireworks bloomed within the atmosphere, erupting into dazzling brilliance. And faintly, one could even make out the fleet in space arranging itself into a sacred pattern of the Savior.
"That great being fulfilled the promise. We all survived…"
At the head of the parade, Firstborn commander Marco adjusted to his mechanical leg prosthesis, thinking so.
He hadn't been out of the field hospital for long before he was invited to join the victory parade.
At this moment, he recalled the promise the Savior had made when saving him.
Now, that promise had been fulfilled.
His Majesty the Savior drove back the invading Chaos evil. He liberated all of Vostroya. The scars in the void were fading, and the stars were shining brightly again.
Marco looked at the familiar faces beside him, then exchanged a smile with Commander Yapor.
So many lives in this region had been spared. People were filled with hope.
Many things he once knew had changed as well.
It was said the Tri-Techno-Political Council had sworn complete obedience to His Majesty the Savior, and that the nobles and officials were willing to accept any reforms.
They would be folded into the systems of the new Imperium, and the many worlds of this region would be remade.
There were also new things—fresh things—that the clerk Olsen from the Savior's Propaganda Department stationed in Vostroya had told these Firstborn.
Before long, the Firstborn regiments would be granted access to connect to the psychic network.
They would be able to reach more regions through the psy-net. Across the Imperium's reclaimed territories, communication would be possible through the network.
"It's a miracle!"
Marco thought so. Before joining the parade, he had already made contact with the Departmento Munitorum offices far away in the Pacificus Segmentum.
Following the newest regulations, he had applied for the relevant subsidies and compensation.
That generous sum in Thrones and credit points would be enough to give his family a better life.
"And those Firstborn who died will also be compensated. Their families won't fall into misery…"
Suddenly, Marco thought of another problem.
The Vostroyan Firstborn were well-equipped and well-supplied, yes—but most of the Firstborn were not nobles. The majority came from impoverished families.
Because their service was penitential in nature, meant to atone for ancestral wrongdoing, their pay was pitifully low, and there was almost no compensation.
Families who lost their Firstborn—families who could no longer continue their atonement—often had to shoulder even more taxation, sinking into extreme hardship, even starvation.
That was how the old Imperium was. Even the "noble citizens" of Holy Terra could not count on a good life.
Thankfully, the Savior ruled now, and many conditions were improving.
The Firstborn retained their tradition of atonement, but their待遇 would now match that of elite mortal armies, and their families would receive better returns as well.
That was the law of the new Imperium.
Any warrior would receive what was due.
Before long, Marco would also have to represent his regiment and personally deliver compensation to the families of the fallen.
Thinking of this soured his mood. He didn't know how he would face the relatives of the dead Firstborn.
Just as Marco was lost in thought, the parade gradually slowed—clearly, they had reached a scheduled area.
He raised his head and looked.
Before him stood a hundred-meter-tall statue of the Savior, studded with gemstones and gold, blazing beneath the light of the system's star.
Like the other warriors, the commander's eyes were full of reverence.
The Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, had saved Vostroya. He was humanity's only hope.
In a haze, Marco felt the statue of the Savior seemed to emit a gentle radiance—so holy.
He gazed at the statue and slowly grew calm.
"Praise be the Savior…"
The pain hidden in Marco's heart was soothed. He felt a comfort he had never known before, and he no longer feared the task of facing the families of the fallen.
He understood it was his duty. He had to do it well, to console those grieving households.
Without realizing it, his reverence for the Savior deepened.
And it wasn't only him—people's negative emotions gradually dissipated.
It was as if simply looking at the statue made one calm and steady, giving rise to more positive feelings.
Worship of the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, was spreading.
After that, the parade continued onward, arriving at the grand plaza. There, they witnessed the silhouette of that great being—an enormous projected image.
The Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, attended the victory celebration together with the Primarchs, and addressed the people of the Vostroyan sub-sector and the Imperium.
They made more promises about the future.
The viewing dais.
"Old G really didn't make it in time to pop the champagne…"
Eden looked over the jubilation that stretched to the edge of sight, deeply moved.
Guilliman had gotten lost during the earlier fighting—no one knew what part of the Warp he'd run off into.
There was no news at all.
Still, Guilliman was notoriously hard to kill. There was no need to worry too much.
Eden attended this victory celebration together with Lion, Khan, and Perturabo.
Because of his sensitive status, Perturabo was completely sealed within his Edict Armour. He also wore blackstone devices capable of suppressing Warp-taint, and even his coating was blackstone plating.
This brother would need a long time to rein in the Warp-power within him, gradually eliminate it, and transmute it into a normal psychic essence.
That was not an easy task. But with the Emperor's help, it wasn't impossible.
Moreover, Eden had absorbed the essence of Angron's authority. He could also purge negative emotions and ease the darkness in his brother's heart.
"The pain in people's hearts is easing. From here on, the Imperium can recover from suffering faster."
Eden looked down at the cheering masses and could feel their emotional shift—more negative feelings were being drawn into the Hope Sun.
He truly felt the might of his new authority. It was practically an emperor's tool of governance.
It could also reduce corruption.
Not only that—his own image, under the influence of that authority, became easier to accept and to worship.
The Hope Sun had absorbed the essence of Angron's authority, making it even stronger.
It was a tremendous gain.
Eden and his Primarch brothers remained at the celebration for roughly one Terran hour, receiving local nobles, officials, commanders, and others.
This was one of the very few chances—perhaps the only chance—for Imperium citizens to behold the Emperor and the Primarchs.
To local nobles, officials, and commanders, it was an unimaginable honor, a symbol of their house's prestige.
It was also, in a sense, unparalleled political capital.
They would record it with the utmost solemnity and sanctity in their family histories. Even centuries, even millennia later, they could still boast of it.
Even someone like Marco—who had only briefly interacted with the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium—gained better prospects because of this honor.
Who knew how many envied him? He had been personally saved by the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium.
That unique and sacred experience elevated him, earning him wider acceptance among the nobility, until he gradually became part of a new noble class.
This was the power of the Emperor of the Imperium—the ruler of untold quadrillions upon quadrillions of lives. Even unconscious radiance could change countless fates.
In such circumstances, people naturally flocked to him.
After Eden received their audiences upon the throne, he and the Primarchs hurried back to the Dreamweaver.
As for the affairs of the Vostroyan sub-sector, officials from the Imperial Court District would take over.
…
Dreamweaver, rest area.
Beneath an artificial sun, the gardens flourished—lush greenery releasing a soothing scent.
Many fluffy alien beasts lounged on the grass, making soft whimpering cries that were strangely healing.
Even surrounded by such scenery, Eden still wore a heavy frown, with none of the serenity he'd shown at the celebration:
"Sigh. The situation isn't optimistic. I don't know whether the search teams will be able to find Titus and the others…"
Guilliman was also missing, but that was less worrying—when the time came, that man would return on his own.
Titus and his people were different. They were an elite force lost in the Warp, out of contact.
Every member was a veteran drawn from multiple Legions—elite among elites.
If that first-tier cadre was lost, it would be a grievous blow to the Imperium, the kind of loss that made one cough blood.
And worse—new problems kept emerging.
So lately, Eden had been caught between joy and sorrow.
Joy, because he had won the war.
He had destroyed the colossal Chaos ritual array, freed the Old One relic—an Immaterium Shield-Tunneling Engine—and reclaimed the Vostroyan region.
Now the expeditionary fleet could expand outward faster, reclaiming the Nebulous Expanse.
With no obstacles.
This war also struck several fallen Primarchs, successfully resolving Angron and Fulgrim, and even brought Perturabo back to the Imperium.
He had also absorbed a large number of Chaos warriors and daemons, forming the Burning Legion, and garrisoning the daemon world—Fortress World Medrengard—and the Pleasure-Throne World Oleincis.
Those would be humanity's future bridgeheads for advancing into the Warp.
Beyond that, he had obtained a Mogtar Stone relic-artifact, seizing a new authority-essence better suited to resisting Chaos corruption.
Eden had believed that after this war, the Imperium held a massive advantage and no longer needed to fear invasions by the Chaos Gods.
After all, the Chaos Gods' fallen Primarchs were all but spent, while loyal Primarchs were steadily returning to the Imperium.
With one side weakening and the other strengthening, there was no reason to fear.
But he was still too inexperienced.
The Chaos Gods—eternal beings who had endured for countless ages—began to claw back the situation almost immediately.
Now, his elite assault force was trapped in the Warp, contact lost.
And some gains he'd thought secure were slipping away.
For example: those fallen Primarchs.
The fallen Phoenix, Fulgrim, had already been transported back to the Black Throne Palace in Dawnlight City to receive the Emperor's "fatherly correction,"
to see whether his cross-dressing obsession and twisted mind could be rectified—whether there was any chance he could return to the Imperium.
But Fulgrim's depravity was beyond repair. He even blasphemed the Emperor in public—utterly beyond salvation.
So, several days ago, the Emperor—exhausted in body and mind—had decided to personally clean house and execute this traitorous son who had grievously wounded and slain multiple Primarch brothers.
Yet no one expected the Chaos Gods still had a hidden card.
At the critical moment, they intervened, using some method to reclaim Fulgrim's soul.
Even though the Emperor moved in time to stop them, he only managed to retain half of the soul—pure and untainted.
Worse still, the same thing happened to Mortarion the Death Lord and Magnus the Red, who were also imprisoned in the throne hall.
At least half of those Primarchs' corrupted souls returned to the Chaos Gods—now even purer, even darker.
In a short time, they recovered a significant measure of strength.
"The Emperor was still careless. If we had Warp-lockdown devices, perhaps we could have prevented it…"
Eden felt the warmth of the garden's artificial sun and sighed.
But after a moment, he shook his head. That would only have been temporary. With the Imperium's current Warp-lockdown technology, it wouldn't last long.
If the Chaos Gods truly wanted those souls back, he couldn't stop it.
Unless the Emperor had, from the start, resolved to destroy all fallen Primarchs—just as he had dealt with Angron.
But what was done was done. There was no undoing it now.
Suddenly, Eden sensed something and turned.
Perturabo was walking over.
Eden looked at him with concern. "Brother, the Warp-energy within you hasn't caused any issues, has it?"
Eden was worried the Chaos Gods might also snatch away this brother's soul, so he immediately arranged numerous blackstone devices for him.
To suppress Warp-taint as much as possible.
Fortunately, so far nothing abnormal had occurred—perhaps because he was undivided, belonging to no single god.
Not under the Chaos Gods' jurisdiction.
"I'm fine."
Perturabo, seeing the Savior's concern, let a faint smile form on his usually grim face.
He also felt a hint of warmth in his heart.
That was partly the effect of the Savior's new authority-essence—making him more approachable.
After discussing the missing assault force with Perturabo, Eden temporarily set the matter aside.
He knew worry was useless. The Imperium's affairs were endless, and there were matters far more important than this.
For example: matters involving the Primarchs.
Those were the Imperium's foundation.
Now Eden was beginning to understand the Emperor's mindset back then—too many territories to reclaim and manage, too many enemies to fight.
It was simply impossible to be everywhere at once.
Without splitting his mind into fractured personas, it was hard to be present in so many regions simultaneously, dealing with an endless stream of enemies.
And he didn't want to spend twenty-four hours a day drowning in ceaseless battle and governance either—that way lay mental collapse.
This was where the Primarchs' importance truly showed.
Each Primarch was a grand marshal, an entire Legion.
They could garrison key regions for the long term, helping him handle more threats.
In short: he needed more Primarchs. The more, the better!
"Brother, is the biolab ready?" Lion walked over, maintaining the etiquette of a Calibanite knight.
But Eden knew—inside, the man was practically vibrating with anticipation, desperate to see "Little Angron," their new nephew.
Whether that newborn Primarch succeeded would determine whether Eden could create—or clone and resurrect—more Primarchs.
The Chaos Gods had already regained at least three fallen Primarchs' souls, and it was entirely possible they could seize even more.
Or revive dead Primarchs by some method.
After all, even Fabius Bile could do it. The Chaos Gods might well be able to—and the likelihood was very high.
Lion faintly sensed it: the Primarchs might all be headed for a mass "revival match."
Now the Chaos Gods were extremely likely to be seeking opportunities to clone or resurrect more fallen Primarchs.
And Eden's side had also begun Primarch cultivation and cloning.
At present, the one he could confirm was Little Angron.
After that would come Fulgrim, Mortarion, and Magnus—each retaining half of a pure soul—who would be given new cloned bodies.
But if possible, Eden hoped that "revival match" would arrive a little later.
Right now, his focus needed to shift to the xenos—obtaining more Old One and Necron technologies—so he could hold the advantage when the revivals began.
And thus secure final victory.
Even to the point of using blackstone technology and Warp-broadcast projection of authority to lock down regions and implement reverse-corruption.
Many plans were already in motion. A new front was opening.
Eden thought it through, then nodded at Lion. "I just received word. Little Angron's embryo has survived. He will grow strong."
Lion and the others were thrilled to hear it. Even Perturabo looked the same.
They would witness the birth of a blank new life, then raise and train the little one into a kind, resilient Primarch.
Eden looked at his Primarch brothers, and wanted to remind them to be gentler with their nephew in the future.
But after thinking it over, he said nothing.
These men had grown up starved of love. Now they finally had a chance to raise a Primarch nephew—wouldn't they pour all the emptiness and regret they'd carried into that child?
"Little Angron was born at the right time…"
Eden sighed.
What miserable lives had the Primarchs lived before?
Now things were different. The Emperor was on the Throne.
And Eden, as adoptive son, was gentle and generous.
How could the days be anything but better?
Just as Eden and Lion and the others enthusiastically headed toward the Dreamweaver's lower biolabs, another piece of good news arrived—
Titus had successfully returned with the assault force!
They appeared at the edge of the Nebulous Expanse and contacted the Departmento Munitorum immediately.
"How did the assault force come back?!" Eden was perplexed, flipping through the battle report that had just come in, trying to see what had happened.
As he read, his brows slowly knit together.
"Titus and the others received help from an unknown power—suspected to be Primarch-level?
Within the Warp-storm, the warriors were guided by a blood-red flock of crows, and then aided by a one-handed wanderer…"
The blood-red crows were very likely Corax.
But who was the one-handed wanderer?!
"What is it?" Lion and the others looked at the Savior's expression, curious.
"Brothers, can you make out who this is?"
Eden projected the blurry silhouette recorded by the Librarians into the air—a tall, ragged figure, missing one hand.
"#$@!%"
The instant Perturabo saw that silhouette, he snapped—flushing red with rage on the spot.
He looked like he wanted to tear the figure apart.
"That arrogant, self-important, dog-bastard, **whore—**even reduced to ashes I'd recognize him. For ten thousand years, I've finally found you!"
(End of Chapter)
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