"Will I get upgraded with this?"
The Human Empire is about to welcome the Primaris Space Marines, and the mission rewards will be sent upgrades. This task system is truly considerate.
"If you find the Alpha hidden in the solar system, you could become a bigger, higher, and stronger original giant."
"For the Emperor, for the Primarch, for loyalty."
Datch looked astonished after seeing the mission rewards. If you don't get involved in key plot points, it seems easy to miss these advantages.
"Don't worry, I'll help you find clues about the traitor and bring them to justice."
Datch nodded, taking on the responsibility.
"Then, I'll trouble you…"
Arx expressed her gratitude, but before she could finish, the nameless one had already turned away and departed without the slightest nostalgia.
Since the returned of the Primarch, the High Lord was no longer the true ruler of the Empire, but her power and status remained beyond the imagination of ordinary people. Countless people clung to the path of High Lords, exchanged a few words, or sought signatures and seals.
The Nameless One excelled, not even waiting to hear words of thanks, just hanging his head and refusing to linger. If this news spread, how many officials and dignitaries would beat their chests in regret—for failing to seize such a good opportunity, how could they hope for progress in the future?
"No matter what, at least listen to my kind words until the end." Arx screamed inwardly, but her expression remained unchanged, her emotions unreadable to others.
She was intrigued by the Nameless One's personality—so unfazed in every situation, always cutting off others' conversations.
Why can the usually cold Cutodes tolerate this?! The Cutodes often ignores other Imperial departments. Even with the Arbites, they paid no mind. If Arx shouted "Skip!" while talking to Trajann, and he turned and walked away, in this life she would likely never wish to enter the palace again, nor speak with the Cutodes.
Trajann seemed ignorant about the Primarch but was extremely friendly to the Nameless One. That party played the Emperor, raced bikes in the palace, and the Cutodes was impassive—they went as far as to help voluntarily.
This status was almost on par with the Emperor himself.
Arx considered a few possibilities:
The Nameless One is actually the Emperor's illegitimate child.
He saved the Emperor or the Cutodes at some point.
The Nameless One is an aspect of the Emperor himself.
A thoughtful look crossed Arx's face. Her intuition leaned toward the third option—that the Nameless One was an embodiment of the Emperor's humanity, endowed with astonishing abilities.
In the First Court's database, there are notes left by its four founders. One says the Emperor stripped away his own humanity in the Battle of Terra to defeat Horus and to block Chaos from exploiting his weaknesses. This aspect was cast into the Warp by the Emperor's will—stripped, but never destroyed, existing in another form.
Arx thus had reason to suspect—the Nameless One was humanity personified.
This could explain his host of odd abilities!
Still, all of this was her speculation. If she wanted proof, she would need more clues.
"One day, I'll discover the truth." As Arx watched the nameless man kick over a box on the way out, she made this silent vow.
…
Meanwhile, after leaving Arx, Datch wandered around inside the Zar-Quaesitor for a while until a new plot prompt appeared on the minimap. Only then did he turn to cooperate with the main team.
Along the way, he saw a priest carrying supply crates, who at first tried to stop Datch but ended up unloading the boxes one by one for him. The priest was left speechless—there were tools and wrenches piled on top, but still, Datch remained an aggravation! If it weren't for the divide in status, Datch would have been doused in hot melt!
Guided by the minimap, Datch arrived at the largest cargo bay in the Zar-Quaesitor. It was more than 4,500 meters long and 2,000 meters wide, shaped almost like a giant square. The temperature was set extremely low, so people's breaths spouted white mist, and engulfed in darkness, nothing could be seen in the distance.
The Primarch and many high Imperial officials stood on an illuminated promenade overlooking the square below. Datch bounded over, pushing past people to stand at the side of the Primarch. His actions drew disgruntled mutters—everyone coveted such a position, but none dared protest due to his special status.
Foolish!
Since Horus's Heresy, only this master had done drag racing in the Terra Palace. Still want to push your luck? Still want to swear loyalty to the Empire?!
In front of the viewing gallery, a hundred Primaris Space Marines in unpainted armor formed a phalanx. Representatives of the Imperial Fists, White Scars, and other chapters watched as new-model Space Marines evaluated the threat posed by their fallen predecessors on the ground, whispering among themselves.
They felt a faint sense of unease. Was the emergence of these new warriors a sign of the end for old Astartes?
Beel Beel Beel—
A bell tolled, echoing through the empty cargo hold. The gravity platform slowly descended from above, settling in front of the gallery.
The Archmagos Cawl stood on the podium, facing everyone. Though he had many additional limbs on his upper body, his form remained fundamentally human. Under his red hood was a human head—despite the reinforced jaw and cybernetic eyes, his face was still of flesh and blood.
He looked less swollen than during the Macragge Crusade or Pilgrimage; slim, even. The heavy armor and various war gear he once wore were now gone. When he spoke, his voice was less mechanical, brighter, and more human.
"Welcome, dignitaries of the Empire."
"Welcome to Lord Regent Roboute Guilliman, most sacred representative of the Emperor, creation of the Omnissiah."
Sage Cawl then looked meaningfully at Guilliman and, finally, at Datch standing beside him.
"And of course, our most noble Nameless One."
He bowed to both Guilliman and Datch before stretching out his silver robotic arms, indicating the silent Space Marines below.
"Those unfamiliar with me: I am the Archmagos Belisarius Cawl. Ten thousand years ago, Roboute Guilliman tasked me with the creation and enhancement of the Omnissiah."
This caused a stir among the crowd. The Martian sages frowned, glaring at Cawl with shocked and angry eyes. How dared this man tamper with the Omnissiah's creation? This was verging on heresy! If not for the presence of the Primarch, they would surely summon the Martian Legions to punish him—reduce him to ash, scatter that ash, then aggravate him anew.
Sage Cawl, for his part, knew exactly what his Martian peers were thinking. He did not mind; his face bore only pride in his masterpiece.
After a pause, he continued addressing the assembly:
"Many of you have visited my Ark Mechanicus, seen my various works. Yes, these are my masterpieces."
"They have been completely redesigned and strengthened—the Empire's power armor, tanks, gunboats, dreadnoughts, and more have all been upgraded to be even stronger."
"These accomplishments alone far surpass what thousands of years of Mechanicus efforts have achieved. While my colleagues operated in their own ways, I sought the ultimate truth alongside the Omnissiah."
Datch bet on the throne's coin that Cawl had made plenty of enemies on Mars. The Mechanicus was not unreasonable, but all this open mockery—of course oil companies (as the priests humorously called themselves) could not tolerate him!
Guilliman was also left at a loss for words. Never had he witnessed Cawl speak with such braggadocio; this arrogance was approaching the level of Magnus the Red.
Sensing the discontented and stunned stares, Cawl's ten-thousand-year history had finally, today, come fully to light. His pride was unconcealed.
"But do not let arrogance make you think me a technical heretic—this was a mission entrusted to me by Lord Guilliman himself. Even I would not have dared tamper with the Omnissiah's masterpiece without his authorization. The permissions came from Lord Guilliman."
"Let us now honor all the fragments of records and relics relating to the creation of the Space Marines who survived the Great Heresy, and even remnants of the Emperor's true original plan—invoked in the name of the Omnissiah."
"Next, behold my ten-thousand-year achievement. Believe me, these new warriors surpass the original in every way."
"Of course, I would not claim my masterpieces surpass the Emperor himself, but the wisdom of the Omega-Omnissiah is infinite. Using even a fraction of what the Emperor left behind, greatness can be achieved."
"Now, allow me to present the most direct demonstration."
With Cawl's command, the Primaris Space Marines below split into squads, using crates and nearby obstructions as cover. The floor sunk, revealing square entrances from which dozens of heavily-armed combat servitors marched out, wielding deadly melee and ranged weaponry.
"All of these servitors are my own hand's design, the absolute apex of war models to date," Cawl declared. "Because they are entirely of my own work!"
The Martian sages all scowled. Cawl's arrogance was about to be physically manifested.
"I'll share the combat routines and structures. You may configure them freely to prove my claims are true."
The lights around the area faded, focusing solely on the Space Marines. For some moments, both sides faced each other down.
"For the Emperor!"
The Primaris Space Marines roared—amplified by the built-in lenses of their helmets. Many officials trembled in fear.
A blood-soaked battle immediately exploded. The Primaris Space Marines fired their massive bolt rifles while charging, while the servitors responded with concentrated high-energy beams that filled the warzone.
A colossal energy field shimmered into being, blocking all explosives and energy bolts to avoid collateral damage.
Datch watched as one Space Marine was shot in the chest and collapsed. Some found this intolerable—must new strength demand such sacrifice?
The Primaris plunged into the servitor horde, switching from ranged shooting to chainswords and kinetic energy weapons. The servitors returned with arc-shrouded energy blades that could slice through heavy armor.
Hand-to-hand combat fully erupted. The new Primaris Space Marines outclassed their predecessors, easily smashing the servitors to pieces.
The fight didn't last long—the primaris dispatched their foes with shocking efficiency, though some of their own were wounded, proving Cawl's point: the machines were indeed powerful.
Many Space Marines wore solemn faces. Witnessing this, they realized the primaris were destined to replace them.
When the battle ended, Cawl was the first to applaud, followed by others, even the Primarch present.
Only Datch leapt over the viewing gallery and ran to the injured. The Marines had formidable vitality, able to survive for a while even with blasted hearts, relying on their Beryllium Furnace organs.
Datch took out his Golden Hammer, tapping each wounded Space Marine in turn, brushing up all the experience points.
This sight stunned many Imperial dignitaries and the Primarch. The highest priests of the Ecclesiarchy praised the Emperor; the Martian sages sang the hymn of the Omnissiah in binary.
"Apparently, our Nameless One is just a bit too kind," Cawl commented calmly.
"Better that such powers lie in the hands of people like this than in ours," laughed Guilliman. "We are all warped by war and numb to the flow of life."
"My lord, are you satisfied with these new warriors?" Cawl shifted the topic.
"Naturally. You've truly excelled—words can't describe it," said Guilliman.
"I have ten thousand years to polish my craft," Cawl replied. "And the Omnissiah's store of wisdom yet untapped—if you support me, we can move even faster and better."
Guilliman hesitated, not immediately agreeing. He sensed Cawl was concealing something.
"You're giving me an army?" he asked.
Cawl waved. "An army? You underestimate me, my lord."
At Cawl's signal, a pair of glowing points lit up in the darkness. Scores of activation lenses were arrayed.
Lights spread from the showroom, steadily illuminating the vast cargo bay—spanning 4,500 meters long, 2,000 meters wide—until the entire area was filled with thousands upon thousands of Primaris Space Marines.
Just then, the upper gravity platform flipped, and even more Space Marines came pouring down from the ceiling.
These warriors wore the yellow of the Imperial Fists, the blue of the Ultramarines, the gray of the Space Wolves, the red of the Blood Angels, the black of the Raven Guard and Iron Hands, the vivid green of the Salamanders, deep green of the Dark Angels, and Storm's white armor with battle scars.
They hefted weapons—new models of boltguns and plasma rifles. New model Dreadnought mechas and manned walking tanks appeared beside them.
Engines of anti-grav tanks roared, forming perfectly aligned ranks on the deck.
They stomped in unison, shaking the whole ship with a thunderous roar:
"For the Emperor! For Terra! For unity! For Lord Guilliman!"
The display stunned all onlookers.
Even Datch was momentarily dumbstruck by the spectacle of so many Primaris Space Marines.
Sage Cawl must be the reincarnation of a hamster, stashing away so many hidden Primaris!
Guilliman, too, was shocked, glancing across the ranks before fixing his gaze on Cawl.
"There are 24,000 Primaris Space Marines here," Cawl smiled.
"This is not the limit," he added.
"There are more?" Guilliman asked.
"Just the tip of the iceberg. Below deck in the Ark Mechanicus there are far more. On every ship called to the solar system, Mars, Jupiter—each with 5,000 more warriors."
"If you wish, you can resurrect the old Legions with ease, my lord."
Datch, having finished brushing up his experience points, stared wide-eyed at this exchange.
Good! Good!
These two were absolutely best partners, both natural managers of agrarian empires. He guessed this unyielding crusade force was already fighting somewhere.
A group of yellow-robed Primaris Space Marines approached Guilliman and dropped to their knees.
"Please, lead us, Your Majesty! Sweep across the galaxy and perfect the unified hegemony!"
Guilliman's expression changed dramatically, waving his hands again and again: "Don't joke with me. I am loyal to the Emperor; I have no intention of becoming the Empire's second Emperor."
Guilliman, battered by fate, is almost an avatar of Tzeentch, the Lord of Change. Everything was in his plan. If Horus were resurrected, he'd slap his thigh and shout, "Roboute Guilliman, you're a ruthless man who hides deeper than anyone!"
…