"There are so many corrupt officials here in little Terra. Isn't this a betrayal to the Emperor?"
"It seems we'll have to hit harder."
Datch immediately associated the matter with the scavenger gangs. Surely, there were multiple powerful figures on Terra lurking behind the scenes, intent on sowing chaos.
"This man can be personally validated—he can't be wrong," Datch thought as he stared at the terrified Apa Klein. This low-level Administratum clerk was a crucial witness. By using him and leveraging the opposing political party, maybe they could crack open the tip of the iceberg of Terra's corrupt bureaucratic machinery and expose the masterminds hidden behind it.
At that moment, the minimap auto-updated and Guilliman's icon lit up. Clicking it triggered a prompt:
[Move the key witness and evidence to the Primarch's office]
"Hand him over to Primarch. He'll be safe, under Guilliman's protection."
Thinking that, Datch stepped forward, hefted Apa Klein onto his shoulder, ignored his cries, and set off from the dim, ruined pipeline area. After reaching the relatively open grasslands outside, Datch coolly summoned a lightweight, hover bike.
Apa Klein, wide-eyed, watched as the sci-fi hover bike materialized. He couldn't fathom how someone could summon a vehicle from nothing—it defied all common sense.
"Sit behind and hold on tight. I'm fast," Datch said, buckling Apa Klein in and making sure he gripped the armrests before hopping onto the driver's seat.
Next moment, with the roar of the engine, the bike shot off like an arrow, headed straight to the palace in streamer mode. The palace's defense system quickly detected Datch's bike, sounding alarms—but due to the tacit approval of the Custodes, Datch's vehicle was treated as a security asset and allowed direct entry.
Had the higher-ups known, defense protocols would have collapsed—after all, it was supposed to take multiple security checks just to enter the palace by status. Now, someone was literally racing inside! It was even more infuriating than anything in the stories.
Was the promised High Lord truly the ruler of the Imperium?
…
Meanwhile, Guilliman was at work in the government offices, surrounded by stacks of data tablets and parchment scrolls. He was reviewing draft structures and personnel rosters for the new Departmento Munitorum while verifying staff backgrounds and scrolling through various intel on a floating holo-projector.
Unlike his Primarch brothers, Guilliman possessed true multitasking ability—able to simultaneously handle multiple, entirely different affairs. This strength gave him a huge advantage in both warfare and statecraft, allowing him to command and coordinate multiple divisions without ever losing control. Yet, if it ever came down to a one-on-one duel, this very strength became a weakness; he couldn't focus solely on the fight, not like The Lion or the Angel, who lock onto their foe with utter single-mindedness.
Suddenly, from the hall outside came a noisy ruckus, and Sicarius's hasty protest was barely audible through the door. The heavy adamantine door banged open. Carrying Apa Klein, Datch strode into the office with absolute confidence. Sicarius, close behind with a tense expression, hurriedly stepped forward to apologize to his commander.
"My lord, I'm deeply sorry I couldn't stop him—"
"It's fine," Guilliman waved his hand, silencing him as his gaze fell on Datch and the trembling man over his shoulder. "Just let the Nameless One walk into my office without reporting it."
It seemed a trivial admonishment. In reality, Guilliman harbored no tricks. The Nameless's methods were endless, impossible to prevent; if stopping them was futile, best to let it be.
"Understood, my Lord."
Sicarius and the other guards, surprised, quickly saluted and withdrew crisply. Datch marched straight to Guilliman's desk—towering and covered in paperwork—laying Apa Klein down.
Guilliman: "..."
What does that mean? I sent you to investigate hidden conspiracies and enemies, but you bring back a live human?
Apa Klein was stunned, speechless. He'd just met a figure out of myth: Roboute Guilliman, the Emperor's son and the gene-progenitor who built the Empire. The celebration when Guilliman returned to Terra had been magnificent, with infinite onlookers. But such events held no connection to low-ranking clerks like Apa Klein. At the time, he'd been working as a cattle and horse administrator in the Administratum's archives, searching and sorting information in databases. Living, he had never expected to meet the Emperor or his son. Yet, despite this misconduct, Apa Klein felt he had no regrets in life.
"Your name?" Guilliman asked with patient gaze.
"I… I'm Apa Klein, from the Administratum… a level 14 examiner in charge of preliminary screening of abnormal activity reports…"
Apa Klein stammered, fighting to stay composed.
"I—someone in the Administratum's system was deliberately suppressing suspicious xenos activity reports from the underhives, so I investigated privately… and was chased for it, until this gentleman brought me here…"
Guilliman frowned, "Explain in detail."
Apa Klein took a deep breath. He recounted, thoroughly and honestly, how discovery reports were systematically archived and suppressed—how he'd been reprimanded and warned internally, then silenced by assassins.
Guilliman stood up and paced. Tieron had warned him before—several High Lords led by Master Irthu of the Administratum were deeply unhappy with his reforms. But now, this dissatisfaction seemed to go beyond courtly intrigue or rhetoric. It signaled clear sabotage that threatened the very foundation of the Imperium: xenos threats growing unchecked in the depths of the human cradle, hives expanding and disrupting order. These were more than ordinary bureaucratic corruption or political rivalry—they amounted to high treason demanding the harshest retribution.
Guilliman looked to Datch.
"Nameless, your discovery is of critical importance. But to completely purge the cancer, we need an unbroken chain of definitive evidence. Continue to investigate and collect related intel—in particular, try to assemble a precise list of those involved."
Without responding, Datch nodded, turned on his heel, and exited Guilliman's office, now that the golden exclamation mark over Guilliman's head had vanished—signal enough that the next clue had updated on the minimap. There was no need for further talk or wasting time.
Guilliman gazed helplessly after him. Brother, at least say a polite goodbye! Just turning your back and walking out, you look really cold, like a callous jerk.
…
Afterward, Datch, using his detective suit and playing the role of Sherlock Holmes, continued searching for clues on Terra. He solved numerous cases, pieced together truth from scattered hints. In the secret recesses of the cult, he discovered fanatical ecclesiarchy sub-factions hiding massive stockpiles of weapons and explosives, convinced they alone held the right to interpret the Emperor's will, planning to forcibly purge heretical orders with differing doctrine. Datch thwarted their plans and gained fresh cult-related clues.
Exploring the lower hives, Datch discovered a splinter cult of genestealers that was supposed to have been wiped out by the Astra Militarum a month prior—the other squads had reported no casualties, while the cult continued to spread unchecked in hive depths. Victim and convert numbers were rising at an abnormal pace. Clearly, some power was shielding these xenos or, at the very least, passively ignoring them. Senior Astra Militarum officers were faking reports so the cults could operate on Terra.
There were also people secretly preparing riots, selling Astra Militarum equipment, and inciting production-plant shutdowns. But all this was nothing compared to what came next.
The most chilling event was Datch unmasking a conspiracy against the 'Sisters of Silence.' A barge disguised as a regular supply freighter was in fact rigged with explosives and sent careening into the Silent Sisters' abbey on Luna, attempting to wipe out the Emperor's daughters summoned from across the galaxy. Thanks to Datch's early detection and sabotage, disaster was averted.
In this period, many rumors about the reforms and Guilliman himself spread like wildfire:
"How could Terra become so dangerous before the Primarch's return?"
"The entire Imperial core is gliding toward paralysis and chaos—that's the result of shattering ten thousand years of established order and violently rearranging Terra's power structure."
"The Primarch must be stopped; countless blunders can't be allowed."
"Terra's systems were perfect! It's the Primarch who's making the real mistake this time…"
Gang wars, cult proliferation, xenos run rampant; every Imperial department is wracked with suspicion—even outbreaks of violence. In an incredibly short time, Terra's collapsing status becomes visible to the naked eye.
Everywhere, pressure pressed down on Guilliman. On one hand, the fate of the Imperium demanded an unprecedented, unyielding crusade, requiring careful planning and coordination of troops and resources from every world. At the same time, Terran politics and bureaucratic cancers needed urgent excision. It was a heavy burden, and even a Primarch could feel exhaustion.
Fortunately, after a period of investigation, Datch gathered sufficient evidence. In 'the deduction space,' he linked all the clues, clearing the fog and revealing the truth, implicating the real powers behind the pyramid.
They were:
Irthu Haemotalion (Master of the Administratum)
Aveliza Drachmar (Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites)
Merelda Pereth (Lord High Admiral)
Baldo Slyst (Ecclesiarch)
Mar Av Ashariel (Lord Commander Militant)
Among their crimes was the planned attack on the Sisters of Silence, orchestrated by Ecclesiarch Baldo Slyst. The returning Sisters were called the Emperor's Daughters, a title that had once belonged mainly to the Adepta Sororitas. Baldo deeply resented this, seeing the Sisters of Silence as both an unauthorized challenge and an insult to the Ecclesiarchy's authority. The Ecclesiarchy had repeatedly petitioned Guilliman to 'correct' the title, barring them from claiming the name Emperor's Daughters—each time, Guilliman rejected them.
The Sisters of Silence had existed since the Great Crusade, holding great prestige; even the daemons of the warp regarded them with dread. Besides, it was just a title—the Sisters could use 'Silent Sisters' as well as 'Sisters of Battle.' If the Ecclesiarchy wanted to preserve its status, it naturally could not be allowed to bully other friendly factions.
But Baldo, driven by paranoia and arrogance, had gone to the extremes of malice—and it was only Datch's intervention that averted their annihilation.
Of course, during his investigation, Datch fended off multiple assassination attempts. When Datch finally handed over all the evidence, Guilliman breathed a deep sigh of relief. He had secretly assigned many people to look into the recent incidents, but his operation proceeded nowhere near as fast as Datch's.
"The evidence is conclusive—it's time to clean house." Guilliman prepared to organize the Great Scouring.
…
Meanwhile, a string of failures forced the High Lords ensnared in conspiracy to recognize the real danger. They had little choice but to open an encrypted communications line for an emergency meeting.
In a hidden room no one else knew of, several powerfully camouflaged, code-swapped psychic projections of the plotters materialized.
"Our actions… have been exposed," began Aveliza Drachmar, her voice carrying none of its former composure.
"Roboute Guilliman already holds some evidence, though he hasn't moved yet. He's likely biding his time, seeking a solution that minimizes his losses and controls the effects."
"What do we do, Irthu?" Merelda Pereth stared at Irthu's projection, her tone a mix of questioning and panic. "You swore everything was under control—you said with cooperation, we could frustrate the Primarch even at the height of his power, yet now look where we are."
"There's nothing wrong with the plan!" Irthu snapped, voice thick with hatred. "We never directly contacted those cultist scum down in the hives. All orders were sent through blank, untraceable nodes—funds and materials buried in the bureaucratic wasteland's trillions of losses. By any normal measure, even ten years of investigation would be fruitless."
"But that wretched Nameless… he keeps tracing every node we painstakingly built! No hired killer can take him out."
Irthu's plot was near-perfect, leveraging the imperial bureaucracy's complexity and sclerosis, shrouded by years of high lordly oversight. If not for the Nameless, Guilliman might have wasted years to even piecing together what was happening; by then, Terra's disorder would be beyond containment.
"Are you saying you betrayed us?" Merelda glared at Irthu. "We shouldn't have trusted your confidence."
"If a long-winded explanation sufficed, why not do it years ago?" Irthu responded nonchalantly. "Of course, the Primarch would have objections—but that's not something worth blame now."
"No point in hashing this out," Baldo the Ecclesiarch cut in. "The problem is, the Primarch now holds enough ironclad evidence to convict us."
"The question is how to defend ourselves and weather this crisis, not wasting time arguing."
A heavy silence descended.
"At this point," Irthu spoke again, a hint of mania in his tone, "traditional political maneuvering or compromise is no longer possible. As long as we retain command and have troops, there's one way left: Seal off Terra and seize the palace by force."
"Do you realize what you're saying?" Baldo's voice shook.
"I know perfectly well. This is our last chance. Miss it, and we're done for."
"Our powers haven't been officially revoked. We can still mobilize the Sunstarfleet's armadas and planetary forces."
"If we seize the main orbital ports, void shield generators, communication centers, and major roads around the palace—swiftly enough—we can cut the Primarch off entirely from the outside world."
"At that point, we join forces, force Roboute Guilliman to abdicate, restore the High Lords' sovereign authority and the old order!"
"You're mad! Seizing Terra and pressuring him to resign is open rebellion!" Aveliza was visibly frightened. "If we fail, it's treason!"
"If victorious, we'll be heroic restorers of order," Irthu retorted sharply.
"Think about it! The High Lords have ruled for ten thousand years, guiding humanity through countless cataclysms—their legitimacy is beyond question. We are not acting for personal gain, but to preserve the sacred system, to prevent the Imperium from being dragged arbitrarily to ruin by a single Primarch. It's our duty, our charge!"
He paused, voice firm and even softer now.
"We have a chance to win. The low-orbit fleet, Arbites's rapid-response division, Astra Militarum, and Ecclesiarchy forces are in our hands. Even in the Mechanicus, many believe the Primarch's reforms too radical. I've also secretly negotiated with Tieron to convince the Custodes to stop Primarch."
"Even if the path is hard, its glory will last forever, for all of us."
Some High Lords exchanged nervous glances. Irthu was clearly crazy, but… there was a shred of feasibility. Should it succeed, they would be immortalized in Imperial history as the ones who thwarted the Primarch's 'tyranny' and restored the ancient High Lords' rule.
"Don't hesitate, everyone. We must act fast."
One after another, they nodded, finally agreeing to Irthu's mad plan.