Chapter 266: Do You Think This Is a Tourist Attraction?!

Blood, deep red and fresh, hung suspended over his neck, maintaining its downward flow for ten thousand years, crystal-clear as the most radiant ruby.

The Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, Malcador, knelt on one knee within the shrine, head bowed, his steel-forged hands resting upon the ground.

Blood, blood was streaming down his neck.

Malcador silently gazed at the sacred figure at the center of the shrine.

Ten thousand years, Father.

The stasis field hummed, releasing a faint metallic tang from ionized air, but it was quickly drowned out by the sacred incense burners near the throne.

Roboute Guilliman, Malcador's gene-father, sat upright upon the throne.

He had slightly curled golden hair, skin as white as marble yet unyielding in hardness, his face bearing the dignity and beauty of a Macragge noble, alongside the stubbornness and glory of a soldier.

Gazing upon the Primarch was an excruciating task—even Malcador could not endure it.

Merely one glance would overwhelm Malcador with the aura radiating from the Primarch; he seemed to see fire, light, and war swirling around his gene-father, as if the Primarch were not wholly composed of matter, but a cold storm bound within a physical shell.

Light seemed to radiate from his body, yet it might have been merely an illusion born of Malcador's trembling awe.

But if he were to momentarily abandon reason, Malcador would call that aura divine.

The Chapter Master had read countless legends of his gene-father, knowing him to be a rational and wise commander.

Yet the figure seated upon the throne now—its eyes held only the hollow emptiness and sorrow of death.

His lips were slightly parted; until the moment he was sealed within the stasis field, he had still been shouting those two words.

Historical records of the Father recorded that moment: as the Primarch neared death, he cried out, "Father."

Was he praying to the Emperor? Desperate for salvation? Or mourning his failure to complete the Emperor's work?

Regardless, he was slain by his own brother.

Fulgrim—Malcador cursed that name a thousand times.

The Primarch's fallen demonic brother had severed his throat with a blade tainted by daemonic power, draining his blood and life away.

For ten thousand years, countless pilgrims had the honor to witness this frozen moment of the Primarch.

But in Malcador's memory, only one had not been drowned by the sorrow of that moment.

Dante of the Blood Angels—the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels—had not been overwhelmed by that moment's sorrow.

"The Ultramarines need only witness this sorrow here and now."

"My brothers and I endure the same, even greater, rage and sorrow at every moment."

That was what Dante had said.

It was said the Blood Angels had buried their gene-father's remains deep within the tombs of Baal, rarely entering to pay homage.

They had already borne too much sorrow, pain, and rage.

But the Ultramarines chose to leave this moment of sorrow open to all.

The Primarch's form brought Malcador not only sorrow, but rage—rage against the enemies of the Emperor.

And of course, also strength.

Malcador had never heard his gene-father's voice.

But he knew: had his gene-father still lived, he would have commanded Malcador to slay the Emperor's enemies.

Merely gazing upon Roboute Guilliman's body, Malcador felt as if he heard that command, drawing strength from it.

"My Lord." A voice arose from behind Malcador.

Malcador lifted his head slightly; he knew who stood behind him.

"Diggory, my friend," Malcador said slowly. "Have you brought me a new prophecy or a new question?"

Malcador trusted his Librarian, yet often worried that his Librarian had sunk too deep into the Warp.

He rose slowly; his metallic frame emitted a low, resonant growl as he turned to face Diggory.

Diggory's eyes always blazed with psychic light, countless cables connected to his brain.

In Diggory's hand rested a staff of force—a relic from the Battle of Andraxus decades ago, said to have once belonged to the hero Macragge.

Malcador hoped this staff would shield Diggory's soul.

"My Lord, I wish to speak with you only under the Primarch's gaze."

Diggory's gaze fell upon the Honor Guard surrounding them.

These veterans were tasked with protecting the Primarch, though most of the time this duty was merely symbolic and honorific.

The Guilliman Shrine lay at the deepest heart of the Hera Fortress; invasion was nearly impossible.

And even without them, few in the galaxy could defeat both Malcador and Diggory together.

Malcador nodded slightly to the Honor Guard; seven warriors withdrew from the chamber.

"Tell me, Diggory—what did you see?" Malcador asked.

Diggory bowed slightly, and instead asked: "Do you believe hope still endures?"

This was Diggory's usual method: answering a question with another.

Malcador was accustomed to it.

"Hope? Have you seen any new hope for us?"

Malcador asked:

"Those aboard the Blade of Glory?"

"A Primarch, a living saint, an Inquisitor, an Alpha-level psyker."

"I agree they are an extraordinary force, but I do not believe they can turn the tide of this war."

As Malcador spoke, he could not help but sigh softly:

"Moreover, two of them are abominable xenos."

"The Primarch Belisarius Cawl served our gene-father ten thousand years ago," Diggory said quietly.

These words startled Malcador; the Chapter Master involuntarily turned to look behind him at the Primarch.

"Father," Malcador whispered.

A Primarch who had lived ten thousand years—this shifted Malcador's inner balance slightly.

He even entertained an impractical wish: that their gene-father had foreseen this very moment ten thousand years ago, and sent this Primarch to bring them hope.

But Malcador knew prophecies could not be fully trusted; he steadied himself and looked at Diggory.

"I will consider what you've said—but I will not judge until I have seen Belisarius Cawl with my own eyes."

Diggory nodded slightly; a flicker of hesitation crossed his expression.

He seemed to consider whether to reveal all the visions and prophecies he had seen from the Emperor.

Such as that blue, round figure?

"The Emperor showed me the concrete form of hope: a blue, round figure."

Diggory finally spoke.

"I have searched every relevant text—from the 41st Millennium to the Old Night era."

"If this is not a new being, then it must be an ancient one—ancient even to the Golden Age or earlier."

"A blue, round figure." Malcador paused in thought, then shook his head: "Such symbolic, Warp-infused information is your domain—I cannot offer an opinion."

Diggory nodded.

Meanwhile, hidden beside them, unseen due to the Blindspot Star's effect, Xilan Delli, the Veilwalker, also nodded, then turned to look at Zhou Yun.

She scrutinized Zhou Yun, as if trying to discern: where was he blue? Where was he round?

Zhou Yun ignored her gaze, fixing his eyes on Guilliman.

Unfortunately, the stasis field was too large—transporting it silently was nearly impossible.

He would have to rely on Belisarius Cawl to bring the Fate Armor here.

Though defenses within the Guilliman Shrine were sparse, the shrine lay at the very center of the Ultramarines' Hera Fortress; any disturbance would bring Ultramarines flooding in within minutes.

Zhou Yun began calculating how he might kill Guilliman himself, then let Belisarius Cawl revive him.

"Aren't you leaving?" Malcador asked as he walked toward the shrine's exit, glancing at Diggory, who still knelt in prayer before the Primarch.

Diggory shook his head slightly: "I too seek enlightenment from the Primarch."

Malcador nodded, did not stop him, and exited the Guilliman Shrine himself—many duties awaited him outside.

After Malcador left, the shrine grew much quieter.

Only the hum of Diggory's power armor, the drone of the stasis field, and the crackle of the incense remained.

Diggory gripped tightly the staff once belonging to the hero Macragge, bowed his head, and whispered a prayer to Roboute Guilliman.

Zhou Yun and Xilan Delli exchanged a glance.

Since the map was fully revealed, there was no need for them to linger.

After all, the Blindspot Star's effect had a time limit.

Thinking this, Zhou Yun and Xilan Delli silently retreated toward the shrine's entrance—

THUD!!

Diggory slammed his staff upon the ground; psychic ripples surged outward.

Time, space, even reality itself seemed to thicken and solidify; the entire Guilliman Shrine instantly became a space severed from the outside world.

"Do you truly believe our gene-father's shrine is a tourist attraction to be casually visited?"

Diggory slowly turned his head, his voice resonating with immense psychic power, his eyes blazing with searing psychic flames.

Instantly, countless psychic chains materialized from the air, locking every exit of the shrine.

"Do you truly believe your concealment was flawless, undetected?"

"That would be a grave insult to the children of Roboute Guilliman—thief!"

(End of chapter)