For the Imperium of Man, a major difficulty in governance lies in the vastness of its domain and the latency of communication. Take the famous "Horus's Grand Birthday Celebration" (the Horus Heresy) as an example: in the early stages of the war, a primary reason for the Loyalists' crushing defeats was simply not knowing exactly who among them had turned traitor.
Even now, the Imperium's intelligence regarding various sectors still relies on the diligence of Sector Governors and the amount of resources the Imperium has invested there. This remains true even on a world as great as Macragge, the glorious home world of the Ultramarines and the place that nurtured Roboute Guilliman.
The Temple of Hera. The resting place of Guilliman.
He has existed silently within that stasis field for ten thousand years. The damaged armor on his body and the wounds he bears still proclaim to the world the horror of that battle ten millennia ago. In that conflict, Guilliman engaged in a life-and-death struggle with the Daemon Prince Fulgrim, ultimately sustaining mortal injuries. Since the Ultramarines risked everything to rescue their gene-father and placed the dying Primarch into stasis, he has remained here, receiving the pilgrimages of the faithful.
The Temple of Hera was exceptionally quiet. Followers of the Ecclesiarchy knelt on the ground, piously whispering scriptures. The number of people coming to pay their respects was countless. Each person was allotted only two short minutes; the walk from the temple entrance to the Primarch—a distance of several hundred meters—and back took a minute and a half. Most had only twenty seconds to gaze upon the Primarch's face.
Only important figures, such as the Emperor's Angels of Death, Saints of the Ecclesiarchy, or those who had made sufficient contributions, were permitted to linger longer and approach closer.
Today, there was such a person. Under the protection of the Honor Guard, she had stood outside Guilliman's stasis field for thirteen hours, motionless. The Honor Guard members arriving to rotate the shift even checked specifically to ensure she hadn't passed away.
"Who is this—"
"She seems to be a Canoness from a Sororitas Order in some minor backwater. She happens to be visiting Macragge."
"Which Order?"
"The Order of the Dying Rose, I think? Their convent-monastery was destroyed by Tyranids many years ago. Now, she has somehow acquired a battleship and is leading a crusade. For a mortal to possess such fortitude... it is truly admirable."
"And they say she has received the Emperor's Grace. Look at her face—how old do you think she is?"
"No more than thirty?"
"Thirty? They say she's nearly sixty. Even if she doesn't become a Living Saint, being canonized after death is a certainty."
Hopper overheard the idle chatter of the two Honor Guards. She didn't pay it much mind; these rumors about her were harmless. If they spread and helped proclaim the majesty of the God-Emperor, all the better.
After escaping the Astraeus fleet years ago, she had been lost in the Warp for a considerable time. After fighting heretics for an unknown duration, she had been guided back to realspace by a beam of golden light. Since then, she had returned to the Ecclesiarchy, underwent trials to prove her faith, led a crusade, and was finally recognized, allowing her to rebuild her Order. All of this had been accomplished, and Hopper had become a Canoness in every sense of the word—both in combat prowess and administrative ability.
Most of her Order's forces had already departed. She had lingered here out of curiosity and longing for the Primarch, but now, it was enough.
"Are you leaving, Sister Hopper?"
"Yes. I am grateful. Today's meditation has brought me one step closer to the God-Emperor. One day, I shall return to His side as His eternal handmaiden."
"The Emperor Protects. The Emperor Protects."
As Hopper bid farewell to the Honor Guard, a commotion broke out among the crowd of pilgrims.
"Don't stay here so long! we are all pilgrims, why are you so selfish!"
The man causing the disturbance did not leave. He kept his face hidden beneath a hood, staring at Guilliman from a distance. Facing such a situation, the Honor Guard were unphased; fanatics or those with an excessive obsession with Guilliman appeared almost every day. Some people didn't even come for the Primarch, but to get close to the Honor Guard, as it was their duty to drive such people away.
"Apologies, Sister Hopper. Though our armor is enough to face the fiercest enemies, we still have to handle these mundane mortal affairs," one of the Honor Guard warriors said before stepping into the noisy crowd to approach the man.
"Mortal, do not cause a disturbance in the resting place of the Great Primarch. According to regulations, the time for each person's viewing is fixed. Please leave now."
The Honor Guard had seen many such people. Whether they came to see the Primarch or to get close to the Astartes, most would fall to their knees when the elites of the Chapter appeared before them. This time should have been no different, yet it was.
The man looked at him. The Honor Guard noticed that his face was exceptionally refined.
"Honor Guard?" The man's High Gothic was perfect, carrying the elegance of the upper class.
"Leave. Do not make me repeat myself a third time."
Yuki looked at the Honor Guard in front of him, then turned his head to look at Guilliman in the stasis field. "Tell me, can Guilliman see the way you and I fight?"
"What—"
Without warning, Yuki delivered an inch-punch. In that short distance, his speed exceeded the reaction time of an Astartes. The shield in the Honor Guard's hand didn't have time to rise before both man and shield were sent flying.
In the next instant, all the surrounding Honor Guards raised their bolters. While the stereotype of the Honor Guard involved them hacking through enemies with swords and shields or rescuing their commanders from peril, they were just as capable of drawing bolters and engaging in the deadliest of firefights.
Aside from the Honor Guard, one other person reacted swiftly. Hopper drew a bolt pistol from her power armor and aimed it at Yuki, who was pressing his advantage and rushing toward Guilliman's stasis field.
"Heretic."
Her aim was incredibly precise. The rain of bolts from the Astartes did nothing to disturb her focus. Her bullet, calculated for his momentum, struck Yuki squarely in the eye.
The hit interrupted Yuki's charge. The Honor Guard who had been knocked away stood back up, swinging a power fist that slammed into Yuki. He was struck several times by the power fist, yet the blows only forced him back a few steps.
"Hmm, these Honor Guards are quite a bit stronger than I imagined."
Yuki was glad he had come in person. These Ultramarines guarding the Temple of Hera were undoubtedly some of the most elite soldiers on Macragge.