Chapter 278: Guilliman: What Is the Ecclesiarchy?

"Who are you? How are you here?"

Robert Guilliman's words carried both suspicion and astonishment,

his mind still unawakened, after ten thousand years, his consciousness had once again taken control of his body, having just returned from true death, reshaped into a physical form of the material universe, yet his mind and soul had not yet adapted to this new vessel,

the superhuman intellect forged by the Emperor had not yet fully revived,

but Robert Guilliman's instincts still faintly recognized the figure hidden beneath the linen robe,

a being deeply tied to him, a brother bound by blood, one who had vanished, a brother who died because of Guilliman's failure,

Robert Guilliman's emotions longed for this to be that man, yet his reason warned him this might be an illusion, a conspiracy, a trick of Chaos,

especially since beside him stood that being with a sly, amused smile, appearing human but radiating potent warp energy,

Zhou Yun—through his connection with that being, Robert Guilliman knew the name,

it was he who killed him, purged the corruption of Fulgrim, and brought him back from death,

unquestionably, he was tainted by the warp!

"What a sorrowful and chilling thing to say."

The figure beneath the linen robe spoke slowly:

"You do not recognize me, Robert Guilliman?"

Then the voice of the linen-robed figure paused slightly: "Or should I say… brother?"

The word echoed through the temple; all who heard it turned their stunned gazes toward them.

Leina felt she had endured too many shocks today, yet when that word rang out, her nerves flared with pain and her mind went blank,

only one person could call an Primarch "brother,"

Robert Guilliman and the linen-robed figure continued slaughtering the Black Legion,

lances like teardrops and the Emperor's flaming sword crossed in the temple,

whether lance or sword, both moved faster than mortal eyes could follow,

Leina could not even sense she stood on a battlefield—she felt she stood within myth,

all corpses, pain, and sorrow were but footnotes to this great moment; everything else seemed irrelevant, leaving only the linen-robed figure and Robert Guilliman in the temple,

suddenly, Leina realized something,

she had seen that lance before—she had seen it a thousand times,

in the churches of Asford, in the carvings of hive cities, in the towering stone statue standing beside the Old One-Eyed Tavern in the lower hive,

that was—

she remembered Zhou Yun had awakened Robert Guilliman, remembered Zhou Yun had gone to Baal first before meeting them,

everything connected in this moment, and she herself had been part of it,

she wept with joy, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face,

"Praise the Holy Doraemon!"

Leina shouted at the top of her lungs:

"Praise the Holy Doraemon! Praise the Emperor! Praise Saint Guilliman! Praise Robert Guilliman!"

"What a miracle! We stand alongside the Emperor's own offspring!"

"Indeed!" Gravex heard Leina's cry and shouted back with equal excitement: "Absolutely true! This is a true miracle!"

Celestine in the sky nodded repeatedly, her lips curved in a smile as she sang a sacred hymn.

"This should not be!"

Robert Guilliman's Emperor's Sword roared, cleaving through the power armor of Black Legion Terminators like butter:

"I saw it with my own eyes! Dorn showed me your corpse—shattered into pieces!"

"You were truly dead! How is this possible!"

Hearing Robert Guilliman's confused voice, the linen-robed figure twitched his lips, then curled into a mischievous grin.

"Aren't you the same? Look at your own body!"

he shouted at Guilliman:

"Look at us both—think of our second—"

"No!"

Robert Guilliman cried out in panic,

he instantly slaughtered the Black Legion surrounding him, then leapt three strides to the linen-robed figure's side, stirring a near-furious hurricane,

the robe stirred in the wind, silently unraveling, drifting upward into the battlefield,

silence fell instantly—not only in the material universe, but in the warp as well,

countless entities screamed in shock,

for the golden hair, covered in silver chains, was exposed to the air, and pure white wings slowly unfurled in the dusty air of the temple, the setting sun bathing the figure in light, making him appear as a flawless angel descending upon the battlefield,

no—he was the angel himself,

Saint Guilliman's lips curved into a smile:

"I said, think of our second life—think of what we will bring to the Empire again."

"Why the rush?"

Seeing the white wings and hearing Saint Guilliman's words, Guilliman's expression shifted from stunned to delighted, from excited to exultant,

no matter how many years had passed, no matter the state of humanity now, at least he was not alone—his most perfect brother stood beside him.

Not just Guilliman—all loyalists present felt a surge of immense strength rise within them the moment they saw the figure,

yes, no matter how desperate this galaxy might be, as long as that one stood beside humanity, all hope remained,

Saint Guilliman left Robert Guilliman, still struggling to restore his superhuman intellect, and beat his wings upward into the air, raising his voice:

"Mankind, we have returned!"

"In the name of Doraemon! In the name of the Emperor!"

"I, Saint Guilliman, son of the Lord of Mankind, and my brother Robert Guilliman shall once again bring hope, enlightenment, and reason to you!"

"Let the silence of Chaos retreat behind the veil of reality—the material universe belongs to humanity alone!"

As he spoke, Saint Guilliman's gaze pierced straight through the veil of reality, fixing upon the entities watching from beyond,

the reappearance of two Primarchs in the material universe sent ripples sweeping across the entire warp,

the Blood God roared a deep war cry; his armies had regrouped, eighty-eight Bloodthirster legions roared the name of Khorne, offering blood, skulls, and slaughter to their master—the Blood God craved the skulls of these two Primarchs, and Khorne's apostles swore to tear them off.

Tzeentch uttered nine hundred ninety-nine riddles, revealing ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine futures; from this shattered, mirror-like multitude of futures, the Changer of Ways chose his most favored, and his Thousandfold Lords would carry out the Changer's will, guiding the two Primarchs toward their destined roles—all was planned.

the Hungering God laughed lasciviously, licking his lips as he crawled upon the veil between reality and warp, seeking to taste the angel's beautiful form; his apostles clung to his voluptuous body, whispering six hundred sixty-six kinds of seductive words, promising to lure the two Primarchs into their joyous feast.

in the Garden of Nurgle, the Unholy ones swayed their bloated, rotting bellies, dancing the seventy-seven sacred dances of prayer for life and rain alongside tiny Nurgle spirits; they opened their mouths, vomiting maggots, laughing uproariously—the two Primarchs have returned! Two uncorrupted Primarchs have returned! Lonely, pitiful Mortarion has company! Without the Father's command, Nurgle's apostles would do all they could to foster "reconciliation" among the three brothers.

the gods extended their blasphemous tendrils, and those who served them began their own actions,

Kaen stood in the shadow of the Revenant, watching blasphemous sorcerers sever the heads of nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine sacrifices at the precise moment; the broken body of the Great Devourer Abaddon lay upon the throne, watching the ritual unfold,

the Great Devourer learned the truth from Kaen's mouth—that the resurrected Primarchs were Saint Guilliman and Robert Guilliman; to oppose these two demigods, Abaddon chose to "use" the power of the Dark Gods,

but in Kaen's eyes, Abaddon was merely being used by the gods themselves—nine piercing cries rang out, two bird heads emerged from the darkness; the Chief Archdaemon of Tzeentch, the Weaver of Fates—Carlos—arrived upon the Revenant with nine Thousandfold Lords.

Kaen watched silently; the Blood God and Tzeentch had long been enemies, and the Blood God's apostles despised such base sorcery, yet Kaen did not move—the Blood God had granted him the freedom to kill, and now he killed for no one but hatred and himself,

thinking this, Kaen pulled down the flesh-covered hood half-covering his head; a twisted, broken, grotesque face emerged from within,

that face resembled a twisted demon, yet also his former brother, Angron.

"Let them hunt the Primarchs—we want only his skull… Erebus."

Kaen nodded slightly, yet to hunt Erebus's skull, he too must journey to Oltremar, to find that being…

in the Palace of Slaanesh, Fulgrim reveled in the pleasure brought by the fifth Old Hag's Blade; maggot-like, greasy Slaanesh demons crawled over his body, soothing the shock he had just endured; Fulgrim's forked tongue licked his lips as he swore not only to bring back the two Primarchs, but to infuse Slaanesh's corruption into the body of that blue, round, plump being.

on the Plague Star's surface, a sickly yellow toxic fog spread; decay festered across the entire planet; the Death Guard marched in the rot, ready to bring this decay to the Imperium; Mortarion had already seen that moment—numerology revealed his future: Robert Guilliman would fall beneath his scythe.

Magnus laughed joyfully on the Wizard Star; sorcery, divination, and fate revealed to him the true future—he had discerned all possibilities, spewing blasphemous incantations that crystallized into flying insects, heading toward the puppeted Thousand Sons, gathering the materials needed to weave fate.

Saint Guilliman saw all this in an instant, but Robert Guilliman remained unaware of these dark, blasphemous warp machinations, unaware that traitors coiled like venomous serpents had already begun to watch him and his brothers,

this once most rational Primarch stood firm upon the battlefield,

his heart held no despair or darkness—he was still lost in the joy of having a brother beside him,

so much so that the grim reality of humanity still facing traitors, Chaos, and war after ten thousand years left no shadow in his soul,

Robert Guilliman swiftly activated his instinct as a commander, organizing the Grey Knights' Third Brotherhood, the Ultramarines' First Company, and Zhou Yun's thousand Blood Angels into precise surgical blades, stabbing into his former-designed Hera Fortress to purge its invading Chaos traitors,

yet the Blood Angels stirred a small doubt in Robert Guilliman,

he noticed the Ultramarines still moved according to the Codex Astartes, while the Blood Angels did not.

"They come from different chapters."

Robert Guilliman diverted a sliver of attention toward Saint Guilliman beside him, attempting to gather information about this era,

naturally, he had also observed several oddities,

first, he now roughly understood this was the 41st millennium—he had slept for exactly ten thousand years,

yet he also noticed strange things: the Ultramarines' equipment had not changed, even regressed slightly; the Blood Angels, however, used peculiar technological artifacts, clearly not from the Imperium, but from that Holy Doraemon?

and one more point: his own Codex Astartes had apparently been in operation for ten thousand years—this stirred a troubling feeling within him.

"A force of chapter-scale composition from different chapters violates my Codex Astartes," he said to Saint Guilliman.

"That long, stinking mess that tried to dismantle my legions into fragments and turn them all into red-painted Ultramarine toilet paper?"

Saint Guilliman raised an eyebrow, speaking without mercy:

"I abolished it."

Robert Guilliman did not feel anger at Saint Guilliman's words,

If our Holy Scripture has been in operation for ten thousand years, it must have become a rigid, almost religious doctrine, no longer suited to the needs of reality—and its abolition would be only right.

Roboute Guilliman felt a pang of sorrow.

"Ten thousand years—how utterly dogmatic must they be to cling to the Sanctum for ten thousand years?"

"How did our once rational and enlightened Human Empire grow so rigid? It's the sort of thing only a realm ruled by religion would do. You must have faced resistance, yes? A codex hardened into dogma is nearly impossible to abolish—even its creator struggles. They must think you're power-hungry."

"No, I did not," Saint Guilliman shook his head slightly. "Before our Father boarded the Vengeful Spirit, he named me his heir—a fact recorded in the Imperial Scriptures. I even have my own religious holiday."

As he spoke, Saint Guilliman began to observe Roboute Guilliman's reaction with keen interest.

"Oh, Malcador told me about this—that's convenient—wait? What Imperial Church??"

"Where did the Empire get an Imperial Church??? Did Lorgar come back???"

Roboute Guilliman seemed to realize something—his expression shifted from confusion to shock, then from shock to contorted fury.

Watching this, even Zhou Yun, standing nearby, couldn't help laughing aloud, shouting at Roboute Guilliman:

"Don't worry, Lord Guilliman—I believe you'll surely protect our Human Empire."

"We, the faithful devotees of the Emperor and the Primarchs, burn every heretic who denies you and the Empire as divine. Above us, the skies are filled with flying infant corpses. This Empire—you'll protect it, won't you?"

"I believe the hopelessly inefficient bureaucracy, the infighting High Lords Council, the rival Imperial Guard and Imperial Navy, the fanatically insane Inquisition, the superstitious and ignorant masses, the highly autonomous Adeptus Mechanicus, the Imperial Church that controls the Empire's spiritual world, the ten-thousand-year-deadlocked Imperial Guard, and the crumbling Golden Throne—all of them won't stop you!"

(End of Chapter)