Chapter 272: Who Else Deserves to Be Called the True Lord of Ultramar?

A brief silence hung in the air, broken only by the hum of machinery on the Archmagos Belisarius Cawl.

The true Lord of Ultramar.

Calgar first felt confusion.

But beside him, Argaman was seized first by anger and suspicion.

The First Captain instantly drew his power sword and pointed it at Belisarius Cawl:

"Archmagos, the man standing before you is unquestionably the Lord of Ultramar—Captain-General of the Ultramarines, King of Macragge!"

"He is the Heir of the Primarch, the Leader of the Ultramarines, the Protector of all Ultramar's people—who else deserves to be called the 'true Lord of Ultramar'?!"

"."

Archmagos Belisarius Cawl's gaze toward Argaman was nearly contemptuous, as if looking at a fool.

Argaman burned with humiliation from that look.

"Archmagos, you—"

But Argaman's accusation was cut off before he could speak, as Archmagos Belisarius Cawl spoke first.

Cawl uttered a single ancient name, one the Ultramarines heard daily yet knew only as history.

That name, spoken calmly, stirred a storm.

Leina gasped in disbelief—"Ah?"—Gravefaxes drew a sharp breath, Grand Master Voldus widened his eyes slightly, and even weathered Calgar gripped the marble armrest of his command throne.

Argaman nearly dropped the holy power sword in his hand; he stared at Belisarius Cawl, bewildered, and whispered: "Who?"

"Roboute Guilliman." Belisarius Cawl's voice was as cold as steel; he glanced at Argaman. "Do you deny that Roboute Guilliman is the true Lord of Ultramar?"

Argaman was instantly silenced.

"I have come for a covenant lasting ten thousand years—for the promise made to the Primarch Roboute Guilliman."

Belisarius Cawl stepped forward slowly; his massive mechanical frame unfolded, his metallic body standing like a beast carved into the hall.

He regarded the Lord of the Ultramarines, Calgar, as if watching an insignificant child.

"Son of Guilliman, assist me in fulfilling this mission—I must deliver this holy artifact to the Primarch without delay."

As he spoke, Belisarius Cawl pointed to the automated holy reliquary beside him.

Magnus Calgar's brows knotted tightly as he stared fixedly at Archmagos Belisarius Cawl.

Around them, the battle-servitors dared not make a sound, watching in fear and dread.

Only the scribes, attempting to record this dramatic moment in Ultramarine tradition, kept their pens scratching incessantly through the chamber.

Argaman tore himself from shock and turned to the Captain-General.

"My Lord, I do not trust them."

"An unknown Archmagos of the Mechanicum, two blasphemous Eldar, and an illegal psyker arrive here with a mysterious artifact, seeking to reach our Gene-Father's sanctum—no one could possibly trust this!"

Argaman urged with fierce intensity:

"Kill those two blasphemous aliens, detain the illegal psyker, and imprison the rest."

"We still have a fierce war to fight—after the battle ends, we can interrogate them and analyze the artifact."

Many in the chamber nodded slightly in approval of Argaman's judgment.

It was undoubtedly the most reasonable, lowest-risk course—the Codex Astartes prescribed exactly this for such events.

Euphrati raised her brow slightly; beside her, the red-armored warrior Thousand Faces silently placed a hand on his sword hilt.

"Before you move, I will sever your heads."

Thousand Faces spoke with absolute certainty.

"Your armor is as thick as a tortoise's shell, your body bulky and clumsy, your swordsmanship surely crude and pitiful."

Argaman met his gaze with fury; his Terminator power armor hummed low in response.

"Try it, sprout," Argaman replied coldly. "Your frame is as slender as a willow—you won't withstand a blow from an Emperor's creation."

The air grew icy, frost-laden.

Euphrati's body shifted slightly, every muscle contracting with perfect precision, like an Eldar blade about to be drawn.

Though unarmored, every Astartes present felt the power coiled within her frame.

If negotiations collapsed, she would carve a path through blood.

"My Lord," Digeris spoke softly. "You know—I saw the Expeditionary Fleet in my visions. The Emperor's will has made clear they carry the hope we seek."

At this, Calgar turned his head slightly toward Digeris.

Calgar fell silent for several heartbeats, then let his gaze rest briefly on the Living Saint Celestine of the Expeditionary Fleet.

In Calgar's eyes, Celestine was among the few in the entire Expeditionary Fleet worthy of trust.

Celestine nodded gently to Calgar: "This is indeed the Emperor's will. I believe it with all my faith—and I hope you do too."

Calgar nodded, then turned his gaze back to Belisarius Cawl.

"Archmagos, my Librarian has learned of your existence from history and prophecy—and knows you once served my Gene-Father."

"Now, I am willing to temporarily set aside the Codex's dictates and hear your request. Tell me: what is your mission? What is this holy artifact?"

Calgar spoke gently to Belisarius Cawl.

"No information can be given." Belisarius Cawl answered simply and directly.

Even the two Eldar beside him were slightly unsettled—especially Euphrati, whose gaze toward Belisarius Cawl was sharp with the unspoken question: "Can this man even speak properly?"

Yet Calgar remained calm.

He had studied the records Digeris uncovered: this Mechanicum Archmagos had lived ten thousand years; his memories, soul, even emotions were preserved in ways no longer human—difficulty in human interaction was expected.

"Only when I reach the Primarch's side will I reveal my mission," Belisarius Cawl's metallic frame trembled slightly; his tone softened a touch.

Calgar nodded slowly, then gazed at the Archmagos, lost in brief thought.

All in the hall waited for Calgar's judgment.

"I understand and endorse Argaman's judgment—it is undoubtedly correct."

Calgar spoke slowly, but immediately shifted his tone:

"Yet I know we now live in an age where all things are changing—Chaos grows stronger, traitors rise again, and the Great Rift splits the heavens."

"I believe I must now make judgments beyond convention—especially since I cannot ignore the guidance of my Librarian Digeris, nor disregard the Living Saint's assurance."

"Even if I have little reason to trust these two Eldar or Archmagos Belisarius Cawl."

Calgar sighed faintly, as if dissatisfied with his own decision:

"You may proceed to the Guilliman Sanctum—under the watch of myself, Digeris, and Grand Master Voldus."

Argaman did not challenge Calgar's judgment; he merely bowed slightly to the Captain-General, then stepped back.

The Ultramarines knew when to voice their opinion—and when to obey.

From the start, Argaman's anger and recklessness had been a performance—to draw out more information, to observe the Expeditionary Fleet's reactions.

His mission was complete; no further words were needed.

Captain-General Calgar gave Argaman a slight nod.

Then he transferred command of the entire war to Argaman—who would lead a squad of First Company Terminator veterans and Digeris, aided by Grand Master Voldus and his Third Brotherhood of the Grey Knights, to monitor the Expeditionary Fleet's journey to the Guilliman Sanctum.

Leina followed the Expeditionary Fleet, walking along streets of marble and barbed wire, watching the sun of Macragge sink toward the horizon.

Beyond the labyrinthine architecture of the Hera Fortress and the towering peaks of Macragge, the sunset was faint—only a dim glow flickered.

Yet the Hera Fortress never lacked sunsets: the battle between the Black Legion and the Ultramarines never ceased, their fire spreading across the fortress, igniting constant explosions on the void shields—turning the entire Hera Fortress into a roaring furnace of twilight.

Even as Leina and the Expeditionary Fleet passed through the labyrinthine marble staircases and arched bridges to reach the Guilliman Sanctum, the battle remained unresolved—indeed, the traitors' assault grew stronger.

Under Calgar's lead, the Expeditionary Fleet entered the Guilliman Sanctum.

Leina's heart pounded; intense tension surged through her mind and soul.

To stand before a Primarch—not a statue, not a corpse, but a living being bound within a stasis field.

Not even a hundred million governors across the galaxy had such honor.

Leina unconsciously reached up to touch her cheek, seeking the sacred scripture tattoo her mother had etched there.

But her fingers met only a scar. She remembered then—the sacred scripture tattoo her mother gave her had been destroyed.

A hollow feeling rose in her chest; in her daze, she thought of her mother.

Her mother had been so devout—but chose to protect Leina and flee into the Underhive when Leina's psyker nature was discovered.

"This tattoo comes from the Sacred Word—it will protect you."

Leina remembered how her mother had gently stroked her hair as she spoke:

"I will protect you too—always."

Leina had always believed her mother's actions were not a betrayal of faith—but a conviction that Leina would fulfill the Emperor's will.

Her emotions suddenly grew quiet.

This was the holiest moment of her faith—the very pinnacle of her devotion—so why did she feel so lonely?

In her daze, Leina recalled her argument with Zhou Yun in Asford: "Can maternal love surpass faith?"

She had insisted faith could not be as narrow as love.

Suddenly, a hand rested on Leina's shoulder.

Leina turned slightly—but saw no one. Yet she knew it was Zhou Yun's hand.

"It's time to go in," Zhou Yun whispered beside her, so softly it seemed an illusion.

Leina nodded imperceptibly, and stepped with Zhou Yun—hidden from sight—into the Guilliman Sanctum.

(End of Chapter)