Chapter 422: A Fleet with Hundreds of Thousands of Warships? How Is That Even Reasonable!?
But Guilliman quickly calmed himself. He knew that his brothers, to varying degrees, all had their issues—many were far from mentally sound, and more than a few were downright dark-minded.
Mortarion was clearly one of them.
"The Emperor's orders are for us to carry out this mission together. There's an anomaly at the Mandeville Point in the Prospero system, and my Ultramarines alone definitely won't be enough."
Guilliman refused to take the bait, insisting on waiting until all the Primarchs had arrived before doing anything.
It was only after a long pause that Mortarion reluctantly muttered a few dismissive words and ended the communication, settling in to await the arrival of the other Primarch-led forces.
Fortunately, Guilliman didn't have to wait long. Once Leman Russ and Lion El'Jonson's legions arrived, he immediately ordered the entire fleet to surge toward the Mandeville Point.
With a series of thunderous rumbles echoing through the void, the very dimensions of the warp began to twist and distort. All the Primarchs and their warriors were fired up.
Their blood boiled with excitement. In their minds, the roar of their warship engines thundered like war drums.
Even in the long history of the Great Crusade launched by the Imperium, joint operations involving four Primarchs were exceptionally rare. Every instance of such coordination was recorded in the annals of Imperial history.
And today, they were lucky enough to be part of one of those legendary battles!
[For the Emperor—!]
The Astartes of each legion sat upright in their assault pods, placing their chainswords and boltguns reverently across their laps. They lit incense and prayed devoutly.
These prayers were meant to appease the Machine Spirit—a uniquely Warhammer 40K concept, akin to the self-awareness possessed by mechanical devices, capable of executing autonomous, often miraculous actions.
For instance, even if a vehicle's pilot was killed, the machine spirit could continue to operate it—maneuvering, drifting, or executing complex commands independently.
Some powerful machine spirits could even control multiple combat platforms at once, assisting Imperial warriors in their assault on the enemy.
Pleasing the machine spirit and praying to it was, in essence, a form of "blessing" one's weapons—ensuring bullets always found their mark and chainswords cut through anything in their path.
Soon, the Primarchs' fleets emerged from the warp one after another. However, within the drop pods, the Astartes sat in growing confusion.
Where were the orders?
They had expected to be dropped straight into a Thousand Sons ambush or face a deadly trap laid by the Ruinous Powers. But despite exiting the warp, no new commands had come from command.
A heavy, suffocating tension gripped the bridge of every Primarch's flagship. Guilliman and the others stood frozen, staring at the incomprehensible display before them.
"What the hell is this…!?"
Even Guilliman—usually calm and composed—couldn't help muttering a few curse words under his breath.
The radar screen before him was completely red. Not a single patch of dark space could be seen.
Under normal circumstances, a single red dot on the radar represented an enemy fleet—roughly ten warships per dot.
But now, the entire screen was a wall of red.
That meant there weren't just thousands of enemy ships out there—there were tens of thousands, maybe more. How was that even possible!?
The Thousand Sons didn't have this many ships.
Even if every daemon in the Warp had mobilized, it still shouldn't be on this scale. Emptying out their entire forces just to ambush a few Primarchs? What kind of hatred was this!?
Swallowing hard, Guilliman turned to the Imperial Chief Enginseer beside him and asked, "Is the radar malfunctioning? Could psychic interference be causing a system failure?"
Before the engineer could respond, Guilliman had already caught sight of the answer through the bridge viewport—an Infinity stretch of warships.
It was as if someone had deliberately made their presence known. High-intensity light arrays blazed to life across the mysterious fleet, illuminating space and guiding the Imperial fleet's trajectory.
All to avoid any accidental collisions.
It was a grand, awe-inspiring sight—supermassive battle groups, star-like light constructs, and orderly formations so vast they defied imagination. This was a true interstellar fleet.
Compared to what he now saw, the thousand-plus ships cobbled together by the four Primarchs seemed like nothing more than a drop in the ocean.
Finally, Guilliman understood why there were so many Mandeville Points around Prospero—every one of these ships had activated its own anti-Warp field.
The immense Gellar field generators aboard each vessel had physically punched holes in the Warp, creating countless Mandeville Points.
Guilliman, having previously visited the Universal Megacorp's Ideal City in the main universe, recognized the distinctive design of their ships.
He realized—they were already here.
But the other Primarchs had no idea what was going on.
Lion El'Jonson, Leman Russ, and Mortarion all stared in horror, eyes wide with disbelief, as if they were witnessing something out of a nightmare.
Scalps tingling, bodies trembling, minds racing—they frantically calculated whether to advance or retreat.
Retreat? This was a direct order from the Emperor himself. Running back to Terra in disgrace would likely bring severe punishment.
But to fight...
Leman Russ looked at the sheer number of enemy vessels and knew—even his battle-hardened Space Wolves stood no chance against such odds.
Ten-to-one? Russ would face the enemy with a fierce snarl.
Twenty-to-one? He'd feel the pressure and brace for a full-power fight.
Thirty-to-one? He'd despair and start looking for an escape route.
But now? This was hundreds-to-one!
He knew they had brought only 300,000 troops total—Guilliman's force alone made up 100,000 of them.
Three hundred thousand warriors… against a fleet of hundreds of thousands of ships. That meant each Astartes would have to destroy at least one full warship just to even the odds.
Where the hell did their navigator bring them!? Was this even still the Milky Way!?
"Max out the shield generators, now! No sudden moves! Get me Guilliman, Lion, and Mortarion—immediately!"
Russ shouted his orders.
"Yes, sir!"
Staring out at the Infinity warships, Russ simply couldn't wrap his mind around it. This was Prospero—not the Imperium's core, but hardly some backwater either.
Even if xenos had snuck in, there was no way they'd suddenly show up with a force this size.
Where did they come from?
He immediately ruled out daemons and the Thousand Sons.
The Ruinous Powers had no industrial capacity to build something of this scale.
And the Thousand Sons? If Magnus could build a fleet this massive, then he'd be sitting on the Golden Throne by now.
Just as Russ was running himself in circles, Guilliman, Lion, and Mortarion connected to the same channel.
"Brothers, do not engage. That fleet belongs to the Universal Megacorp—they're Imperial allies!"
Guilliman's words left the other Primarchs utterly stunned.
It wasn't like they had never heard of the Universal Megacorp. Rumors had been circulating—apparently a human offshoot from an extragalactic civilization had recently arrived on Terra.
They had even brought along a safe and reliable method of faster-than-light travel.
What they didn't know, however, was that the Universal Megacorp's industrial capabilities were this overwhelming. Weren't they supposed to bring just a single fleet to assist?
This looks more like they're here to conquer Terra!
Sure enough, just as Guilliman finished speaking, the Primarchs received an incoming transmission from The Megacorp's flagship.
Once the connection stabilized, the face of Jack Wells appeared before them. He introduced himself right away:
[I am Jack Wells, Director of the Universal Megacorp's Department of Expansion. I currently command the Ninth Expeditionary Fleet, dispatched under orders from The Megacorp's Supreme Chancellor—and with the full authority of the Emperor of Mankind himself—to assist you in apprehending Magnus.]
Jack Wells was solemn, composed, and radiated a quiet authority.
As a senior executive of The Megacorp for over half a century, he had braved fire and water, served across countless departments, and carved out a name for himself on battlefields spanning the multiverse. He was as tough as they came.
Even standing opposite the Primarchs, Jack showed not the slightest sign of unease.
In an instant, apart from Guilliman—who already knew the truth—the other three Primarchs wore utterly dumbfounded expressions.
"You say you're acting under the Emperor's command... but what's with all these ships? Was that part of the Emperor's order too!?" Mortarion barked coldly.
[Yes. The Emperor placed no restriction on our fleet size. Given the complex situation in the Milky Way, we brought more ships purely for defensive purposes.]
[It's entirely reasonable.]
And indeed, by The Megacorp's standards, the forces Jack Wells brought were hardly excessive. With their current production capacity, they could easily multiply that number tenfold.
This was practically a drop in the bucket.
But what The Megacorp saw as a mere "bit more" amounted to extinction-level firepower for the Imperium of Man.
Mortarion turned to look again at the vast wall of warships outside, his head buzzing. How is this even remotely reasonable!?
At that moment, Marshal Thrawn of The Megacorp joined the comms:
[Primarchs, we're only here to assist in apprehending Magnus. The rest of the operation is yours to handle.]
Thrawn, originally a Grand Admiral of the Galactic Empire from the Star Wars universe, had aligned with The Megacorp after their takeover of the Empire.
With his formidable strategic skills, he'd steadily risen through The Megacorp's Expansion Division, becoming a top commander rivaling even Marshal Terrence.
Li Ang had appointed Thrawn to support Jack Wells precisely to ensure the expedition wouldn't spiral out of control in the event anything happened to its commander.
After all, the Warhammer universe was dangerous—two top-tier generals were the bare minimum for maintaining stability.
[Rest assured, should Magnus appear anywhere in the Prospero system, we'll lock onto him immediately. There's no chance he'll escape into the Warp.]
With that, The Megacorp's transmission temporarily ended—Jack had left the Primarchs a moment to process the information and regroup.
At that moment, Russ, Lion, and Mortarion exchanged blank stares. No one knew quite what to say.
"…The Emperor really sent them to assist us? Because it sure feels like we're the ones tagging along," Lion muttered.
He glanced out the viewport again at the Infinity spread of starships. Hundreds of thousands of ships had crossed interstellar space just to "assist" their force of fewer than 2,000.
Who in their right mind would believe that?
"Enough," Guilliman interjected. "There's no need to question The Megacorp. This is the Emperor's will. They're our allies now. They're fellow humans—we should trust they won't act against us."
That was what Guilliman said… but in truth, he couldn't help feeling uneasy.
The Imperium had never seen a fleet of this scale. If it weren't for Paul previously confirming The Megacorp's pure human bloodline…
Guilliman might've thought the Apocalypse had come.
"They really command such a massive interstellar fleet…" Russ murmured with a hint of bitter envy.
He had always taken great pride in his Space Wolves legion. Even against Horus' Lunar Wolves, he'd never backed down.
But now, seeing The Megacorp's expeditionary fleet, Russ finally understood what it meant to be utterly outclassed.
"They must not have any Warp Gods or powerful alien threats in their home universe. How else could they develop so fast?" Lion muttered, clicking his tongue in frustration.
To be honest, he envied The Megacorp's naval commanders.
As a Primarch of the Imperium, Lion commanded a Dark Angels legion with over 100,000 warriors and nearly a thousand Imperial capital ships. His flagship, Invisible reason, spanned 28 kilometers.
He had always thought that was immense.
But compared to The Megacorp's expedition fleet, it was like a beggar standing next to a king.
100,000 Astartes and a thousand warships? The Megacorp could assemble fleets far larger without even blinking.
The Invicible reason might seem enormous—but consider that the Ultramarines' Macragge's Honor was 26 kilometers, and the Iron Warriors' Iron Blood only 20.
In that comparison, Lion's flagship might've been a giant among Primarchs—but among The Megacorp's Infinity armadas, it probably wouldn't even make Tier 1.
"They've clearly kept such a massive fleet because they've spent a lot of time waging conquest," Mortarion said warily. "For all we know, they could be eyeing Imperial territory next."
He was visibly unsettled by The Megacorp's show of force. If the Imperium were to go to war with them, they'd likely be drowned in an unending tide of ships.
Even Guilliman couldn't help but admit Mortarion had a point.
Yes, he'd toured The Megacorp's home universe and various interstellar megastructures. He'd seen the titanic star factories and near-limitless industrial output.
But wasn't much of that wealth gained through conquest and exploitation?
Who was to say The Megacorp wouldn't eventually turn their gaze to the Imperium itself?
A chill crept into Guilliman's heart. He had to report this to the Emperor—immediately.
"This matter is far too important. Until the Emperor makes his judgment, no one is to speculate further. We must not risk undermining morale!"
Guilliman spoke out sharply, cutting off the growing doubts among the other Primarchs. If this kept up, their joint operation would collapse before it even began.
How could they accomplish anything if they started mistrusting their own allies?
For all they knew, the Chaos Gods were watching them right now—hoping and waiting for humanity to tear itself apart.
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