Chapter 422: Unyielding Expedition

Ilto's contradictory words stunned the High Lords present, but they quickly regained their composure.

Isn't it normal for a High Lord to have mental issues? In fact, few among the Empire's senior bureaucrats are free of mental illness.

Someone like Tiruien, who has held the post of Imperial Prime Minister for eighty years without any mental breakdown—and still retains a conscience—is a rarity unmatched in ten thousand years.

Ilto's expression grew slightly vacant; he realized his earlier words had been foolish.

He sharply rubbed his temples, clenched his teeth, steadied his mind, and drove away the fog induced by neural pain.

"Apologies," Ilto said, offering regret for his lapse.

No one launched an attack against Ilto for his outburst; if such behavior in the High Lords' Council warranted censure, then the Forge General UUla, who occupied half the chamber and emitted a constant hum of machinery, deserved it far more.

In truth, Ilto felt this was the best state he'd been in for days.

Robert Guilliman's recent reform wave had been too fierce, and the burden of implementing these policies ultimately fell to the Neiwu Force; whether Ilto opposed or supported them, he was forced to take on even more work.

Ilto even suspected that Robert Guilliman's goal was to work these conservatives to death on their posts, clearing obstacles for his reforms.

Monster, Ilto thought, staring at Robert Guilliman—twisted, grotesque, terrifying, a creature forged from overtime, bureaucracy, and unyielding imposition of a new order.

Ilto had once thought Robert Guilliman was merely human, but now he changed his mind; how could such a being be called human? He was a monster.

Though this was Ilto's first time seeing Robert Guilliman in person, he had read every decree Guilliman had issued.

For officials of the Neiwu Force like Ilto, reading a man's decrees revealed more about him than observing the man himself.

Guilliman was a monster brimming with ideals, hope, and so-called ambition, using his nearly blasphemous administrative power to force his order upon others.

How wonderful it would be if such a Primarch would uphold Imperial law—then the law would function with the utmost precision and perfection, like the finest machine.

Ilto sighed inwardly.

But Ilto would not sit idle; as a mortal, he would oppose Guilliman, this administrative monster.

He had a weapon—a weapon capable of confronting Guilliman.

This weapon had been forged by Guilliman himself ten thousand years ago.

Ten thousand years ago, after the Great Heresy ended, Guilliman inherited the political legacy of the hero Macardo and constructed the current High Lords' Council system.

This system was so rigid that even Guilliman himself could not bypass the High Lords' Council to enact his reforms.

Ilto would use the High Lords' Council—the weapon Guilliman forged—to destroy Guilliman's own reforms.

"Hard work inevitably exhausts body and spirit; minor lapses should not be condemned."

At that moment, Guilliman spoke, smiling faintly at Ilto:

"And as Lord Ilto has said, let us begin today's first agenda item."

Ilto was slightly surprised by Guilliman's cooperation.

His gaze settled on Robert Guilliman, noting the man's ordinary handsomeness.

Though Ilto called Guilliman a monster in his heart, compared to Saint Sanguinius beside him—whose perfect smile resembled a carved statue—Guilliman truly seemed more human.

Like the portraits of ancient leaders engraved on coins he once collected, he carried a charisma akin to a mortal monarch.

Even as Ilto regarded Guilliman as an enemy, he could not deny the man possessed an instinctive, compelling presence.

But Ilto would not let emotion cloud his judgment; his fingers rested lightly on the table.

A gesture. The signal to strike.

"My lord," said Senior Admiral Melida Pereis, speaking first: "The Navy has observed your fleet assembling at shipyards on Mars, Saturn's moons, and Jupiter's orbit. You have also submitted massive war machine and vessel orders to the Adeptus Mechanicus."

"In my capacity as Senior Admiral of the Empire, I request you explain the reason for these actions."

Guilliman smiled—he looked more like a monarch's face engraved on a coin.

His gaze did not rest on the twelve High Lords; instead, it lifted slightly, as if gazing toward the ceiling, toward the star-studded expanse awaiting conquest.

"You should not ask me why I do this. You should ask what this will bring us."

"I bring you only one thing: my answer to this broken, decaying age."

"When I returned from death, awakened from slumber, I saw only war and sorrow. I saw the Empire torn in half by the Warp's corruption, the galaxy ravaged by traitors, humanity teetering once more on extinction."

"Had it not been for Saint Dora and my brother Saint Sanguinius standing before me, my vision would have been pure despair."

"Since my awakening, I have pondered: What can I do? What must I do? How do I save this dark age? How do I overcome all obstacles?"

"And my answer is one: O High Lords, let humanity hear this answer."

Guilliman's gaze withdrew slightly from the stars and settled upon the mortal High Lords before him.

"Expedition. My answer is only expedition."

Instantly, the air grew cold and silent, as still as the world's birth, before the first cry had ever been uttered.

Ilto felt dizzy, his greatest fear realized: this monster would unleash a brutal expedition and transformation upon the Empire.

"My lords, why do you remain silent?"

Guilliman's voice thundered through the council hall:

"I will not flatter you with tales of honor—this expedition will not be waged for glory."

"This expedition is waged against the Eternal Night Cataclysm, against the malice of the galaxy, for the survival of humanity."

"This expedition is waged to declare humanity's unyielding spirit, to reclaim the stars."

"If you, my lords, demand I abandon this expedition, I will tell you: never."

"Horus did not break me, Lorgar did not break me, Fulgrim did not break me—I never yield."

"Just as the Dark Gods did not break humanity, the xenos demons did not break humanity, the Old Night darkness did not break humanity—humanity never yields."

"This is the Unyielding Expedition."

"We lack enough ships, enough war machines, enough soldiers, enough Astartes," Senior Admiral Melida Pereis stammered to Guilliman.

"No ships? Build them. No weapons? Forge them. No soldiers? Train them. And the Astartes—I have already prepared them."

Guilliman did not look at Melida Pereis; he continued:

"My lords, we are no poorer than the Emperor was ten thousand years ago."

"Are you comparing yourself to the Emperor? Are you comparing yourself to a god?" said Fawu Force Minister Avilisa Dracma, nearly in terror.

"Lords," spoke not Guilliman, but Zhou Yun, seated behind him.

Zhou Yun's fingers brushed lightly against the Hot Performance Notepad & Robot Director in his pocket, then looked at the High Lords whose gazes had turned to him.

The artifact granted him an aura of undeniable conviction; slowly, he spoke:

"Some of you know me well; others find me unfamiliar. But I believe you all know—some call me a god."

"Though I am not, I understand what a god truly is better than any of you—and better than you understand the Emperor."

"I will tell you now what a god is: a god is not something greater than humanity. A god is something worse, more vile, more extreme."

"Look at the gods of this galaxy: a delusional, split-personality fitness addict; a supernatural toilet-father duped by numerology; a hyperthyroid, antisocial, paralyzed brute slumped on a brass throne; a drug-addicted, sex-addicted maniac; two ADHD mushrooms; a sprout-version neurotic, hyperthyroid, antisocial brute; the toilet of the supernatural toilet; a liar clown; a waste ruined by medieval knights; a galaxy-scale autistic; a death god without a scythe; worse than a clown; a multi-species weak stitched-together monstrosity; a galactic-starved ghost."

"You dare compare the Emperor to such things? Have you considered how the Emperor himself would feel?"

"The Emperor never—even if he truly were a god—never claimed to be one."

"Instead, he declared himself human—human like you, human like us."

"Humanity is the Emperor. The Emperor is humanity."

"It is not Guilliman comparing himself to the Emperor—it is the Emperor who believed humanity could stand equal to him."

Zhou Yun's voice carried a strange, hypnotic power, like the finest orator:

"This is the Emperor's will: the Emperor believes humanity is the finest race, destined to unify the galaxy."

"How dare you defy the Emperor's will? How dare you defy humanity's manifest destiny? How dare you reject an expedition to reclaim the stars?"

Zhou Yun's words left the Fawu Force Minister and Senior Admiral speechless.

Matters of faith should be countered by the Ecclesiarchy's Pope—but the Pope of the conservative faction, Baldor Stret, was already dead.

At this moment, the three conservative High Lords suddenly realized: losing the Pope was not merely losing a vote—it was losing the authority to define the Emperor's will.

They had lost the power to interpret what the Emperor's will truly was.

Ilto's face darkened; he knew he must launch a more direct attack.

(End of Chapter)