Chapter 446: The Inciting Sanguinius

The battle in the arena had ended; the Primarchs suffered over a dozen casualties but killed dozens of Kael's meticulously designed battle servitors.

This record wasn't terrible, considering they were only allowed to use the simplest combat daggers while facing plasma weapons and energy blades.

But Sanguinius could not call it excellent; Guilliman frowned, visibly dissatisfied.

Rigidity was the greatest problem.

These warriors were too rigid, mechanically executing identical, monotonous tactics, performing the same combat motions, their coordination radiating mechanical stiffness.

Belisarius Cawl was indeed an excellent Mechanicus sage, but he was not a master tactician—he merely recited combat knowledge into the Primarchs' minds, nothing more.

Knowledge is not wisdom, nor is it ability; Magnus has already proven this.

These Primarchs still need training. Moreover, Cawl has molded them all into identical copies.

Hmm, it seems they were still trained according to the template of Guilliman's Ahriman-tended Codex.

This severely restricts the Primarchs' innate potential.

Astartes are human; humans have different talents. To unleash full strength, one must leverage one's strengths and avoid one's weaknesses.

But the Primarchs are confined within a single template—their talents remain unexpressed, their powerful bodies unused, and they've gained no real advantage over the original Astartes.

Yet the Primarchs themselves don't realize this; they truly believe Cawl's words, convinced they are superior to the old-generation Astartes and their replacements, their evolutionary upgrade.

This is both pride and insecurity—they are not anyone's replacement, nor will they render the old Astartes obsolete; they are new warriors, new power.

Sanguinius hoped the Primarchs would realize this: humble enough to learn from the old Astartes, yet proud enough to break their limits and unleash their own talents.

He also hoped the old Astartes would understand the Primarchs' indispensability, stop rejecting them, and instead embrace their strength.

But how to achieve this?

As Sanguinius pondered, Guilliman nodded calmly and spoke: "You have performed excellently. I have no words to refute you."

Guilliman could display such calmness—he wished to position himself as a sympathizer to the old Astartes.

"You have given me an army," Guilliman said softly.

"An army?" Cawl sensed Guilliman's detachment, yet he burst into laughter, as if believing Guilliman was dissatisfied with the quantity: "No! My dear Lord Guilliman—not one!"

Cawl's voice rose sharply, arms flung wide as if announcing a climactic revelation.

"I have given you legions! One legion after another!"

"Let you, Omnissiah, and Saint Dora-Meng bear witness—this is the full extent of my talent."

As Belisarius Cawl's voice swelled, mechanical whistles echoed, and the entire cargo bay blazed with bright light.

Simultaneously, the surrounding walls opened, connecting to other cargo bays, and countless gravity platforms descended from above.

In an instant, the arena where they stood became a raised platform, and all around it—on the exposed cargo bays and gravity platforms—stood Primarch Astartes.

They were countless, dense as a legion reborn from humanity's forty-second millennium.

The Imperial Fists' yellow, the White Scars' white, the Ultramarines' blue, the Salamanders' green, the Blood Angels' red, the Space Wolves' gray—all these warriors stood firm, unleashing a single battle cry.

"For the Emperor! For Terra!"

"For Unity! For Roboute Guilliman!"

Regardless of which Primarch's lineage, they all shouted the same words.

Seth, watching the Blood Angels-painted warriors chant Roboute Guilliman's name, felt a chill run down his spine and shuddered violently.

"Does he really wish us dead so his Ultramarines can replace us?" Seth's voice was drowned by the Primarchs' roar, but Sanguinius heard it.

Seth's words were blunt, yet they echoed the thoughts of many warriors.

"A bunch of dull new recruits," Kain's assessment was more practical.

"I count twenty-four thousand here, but this isn't all, is it?" Guilliman's calm voice cut through the Primarchs' cheers.

"Of course not! This is only the tip of the iceberg! Each of my ships carries five thousand, and far more lie dormant on Mars—more, more, more!"

"Across the galaxy, in every place I've labored—many more! This is my ten-thousand-year work."

"Exactly how many?" Guilliman asked.

Belisarius Cawl smiled faintly and uttered a single number.

A wave of dread and shock spread among the Empire's high officials; even the Astartes—the battle-hardened Chapter Masters, Captains, and Librarians—stood frozen.

Guilliman could no longer maintain his composure; a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Though their quality fell short of Guilliman's standards, in sheer numbers, Cawl's work was nothing short of miraculous.

Kain couldn't help but inhale sharply: "I almost feel sorry for Abaddon."

"He spent ten thousand years, barely nearing the destruction of the Empire—only for the Empire to inexplicably sprout these Primarchs, like orks growing from the ground."

Zhou Yun couldn't help but whistle; the number Cawl revealed was staggering—enough to fuel another Great Crusade, and Zhou Yun didn't believe for a second this was without the Emperor's subtle intervention.

But Sanguinius's lips twitched with a faint smile.

"Cawl!" He raised his hand slightly, gesturing for Cawl to look at him: "Your Primarchs are indeed impressive—but I heard the two guardians of Saint Dora-Meng express utter disdain."

"They believe the Primarchs are inferior to the old Astartes."

Silence fell over the hall. Kain and Seth noticed all eyes turning toward them.

The twenty-four thousand Primarch Astartes stared fixedly at them.

But both were hardened veterans; Kain dismissed it with a sneer, Seth let out a defiant scoff.

Cawl panicked, immediately turning to Zhou Yun and bowing deeply.

"My Lord, I acknowledge the greatness of Ominissiah's creations, yet my Primarchs were forged from the wisdom and innovation of Ominissiah."

"We stand on the shoulders of Titans to reach the stars—isn't that the truth?"

Zhou Yun stared blankly at Sanguinius, trying to decipher his intent.

"Cawl, I understand your affection for your creations."

Sanguinius raised his voice slightly, smiling at Cawl:

"But I sense every non-Primarch Astarte in this hall feels resentment in their hearts."

"You wish to prove the Primarchs' superiority; the non-Primarch Astartes wish to prove they haven't been surpassed."

"Why not let us hold a sparring match?"

Guilliman lifted his eyelids slightly, glancing at Sanguinius with mild surprise.

Sanguinius's move—this was interesting.

A sparring match between the old Astartes and the Primarchs.

Through this, the old Astartes could clearly perceive the Primarchs' strength, recognizing them as indispensable future power.

It could also shatter the Primarchs' inflated pride, dismantle their belief that they replaced the old Astartes, and make them realize they have not fully surpassed the great old warriors—indeed, they still lag in many areas.

This was excellent; such a method could even be extended, using sparring and duels to fuse the old and new Astartes into one.

Sanguinius chuckled softly.

The inspiration came from the Great Crusade era, when the Blood Angels, Night Lords, Emperor's Children, Word Bearers, Imperial Fists, and World Eaters frequently sparred in the World Eaters' arena, forging cross-chapter bonds through these contests.

As for why Guilliman didn't know—of course, because they never invited the Ultramarines to join; Guilliman had always been unpopular.

"I think it's a good idea."

Zhou Yun chuckled lightly, grinning:

"Since my two guardians look down on the Primarchs—"

"Cawl, let your Primarchs break them into submission."

Sanguinius and Guilliman were stunned by Zhou Yun's ability to say this without blinking;

Sanguinius had planned to send Seth of the Blood Angels and Sicarius of the Ultramarines—enough to crush the Primarchs.

He never expected Zhou Yun to propose sending Kain—what level was Kain?

Kain had survived countless battles with Angron, endured a single slap from Dorn and lived, then took a spear thrust from Sanguinius and still lived.

Three Primarchs had tried to kill him—and he was still alive; his strength was evident.

Kain sensed the strange atmosphere, paused, then said dryly: "I'm not skilled at duels."

It was true; Kain's record in early crusade battles was abysmal—but that was because—

"I tend to kill people," Kain said sincerely.

So during early crusades, he moved with extreme caution, terrified of turning his opponents from "initial blood" to "final blood."

But to the Primarchs, this was pure provocation; they glared at Kain with hatred.

"Don't look at me like that with such hatred."

Kain rubbed his temples, shaking his head:

"If I get angry, I'll end up killing you."

It was also true.

But Zhou Yun couldn't help thinking—Kain's mouth was just as bad as Seth's.

(End of Chapter)