"Our plan has succeeded beyond expectation. Roboute, why do you still seem so troubled?"
Fulgrim looked over at Guilliman, whose brow remained furrowed with worry.
Lorgar had torn open a breach in "Roboute's" supposedly flawless "defense" across the Extreme Reach.
The human heart cannot withstand temptation forever — especially when both sides offer precisely what everyone secretly craves.
Even with the war this far along, even with the Imperial fleet still facing considerable resistance, there was no denying that Guilliman and Lorgar's plan had succeeded brilliantly.
Even Fulgrim and Mortarion — who had been fighting a frustrating, unsatisfying war from the start — could see clearly that the resistance forces of this galaxy were being steadily eroded.
Religious faith was, in truth, a regressive force in any historical sense — but combined with hard currency and a stable social order, it had proven remarkably effective here, particularly in a Warhammer world whose population was, by nature, the most feudal and most psychologically numbed.
Guilliman was certain that "Roboute" had never anticipated this — that a religious fanatic like Lorgar could actually shake the very foundation of his rule.
Material abundance is always the foundation of a docile, settled human life — but spiritual emptiness is a much harder thing to fill.
And in the Warhammer worlds, that spiritual fulfillment was treated with utter inhumanity. Endless, ceaseless labor left people with no time at all to even consider such matters.
Just staying alive each day was already an exhausting struggle — there was no energy left over to ponder anything beyond it.
Even Perturabo, for all his accomplishments, relied on high-pressure policy to forcibly drive the humans under his control toward production. Whatever "art" existed in those worlds did nothing real to release the people's spirit.
Guilliman was different. He understood that these small, seemingly trivial things could, at the most critical moments, deal the heaviest blow to a civilization and an empire.
"Roboute" was too proud — proud enough to believe he had truly understood humanity, and that he could unify an empire purely through abundant resources and an efficient administrative system.
But all of that was merely what any sufficiently capable, visionary ruler could achieve.
Even if such a ruler might be impossible to find anywhere else in the galaxy, that didn't mean ordinary people would actually love living under one.
The common people already struggled simply to survive — what they needed was stable order, and Guilliman and the others' arrival had shattered that order.
So between all these compounding factors, this galaxy's revenge crusade had proven to be a genuinely grueling fight.
But once Guilliman redirected Lorgar's approach, a massive hole was torn through "Roboute's" defenses with relative ease.
Rulers who sit so high above everyone else — especially ones possessing tremendous capability and ambition — share one common flaw.
They never truly investigate what the people at the bottom actually need. Material goods only keep people alive; what matters beyond that is spiritual fulfillment.
It sounds abstract, even hollow — but Guilliman had genuinely used this less-than-honorable approach to tear open Roboute's defenses through a front entirely outside the battlefield itself.
In truth, this could have been entirely avoidable. If "Roboute" had simply set aside a touch of his pride and recalled the teachings of his foster parents, he would have known exactly how to counter Lorgar's gambit.
But he hadn't. The pride engraved into his very bones had blinded him to such matters — not arrogance toward Guilliman and the others specifically, but the inherent contempt a powerful man holds for the ants beneath him.
In the end, it amounted to looking down on the ordinary, struggling humans at the bottom — practically a universal flaw among the great figures of the Warhammer universe.
The only ones among the Primarchs who could truly, fully embrace all people were Vulkan and Guilliman. Even Corax couldn't manage it.
For Vulkan, it was simply his nature. For Guilliman, it was not — at least, not originally.
Before Konor took him to experience the hardship of life in Macragge's slums, Guilliman's rationality had given him an extreme sensitivity to inefficiency and error.
In plain terms — contempt for stupidity. Perturabo was the most severely afflicted by this among all the Primarchs.
But Guilliman had parents with sound values and genuine ideals — and an extraordinarily favorable environment to grow up in.
It was about as fortunate a start as anyone could have. Properly guided love and justice truly can shape an entire lifetime, and Guilliman was the best proof of it — a coldly rational machine transformed into a true, living, breathing person.
"Looks like we're not far from finishing off this group of traitors."
Mortarion had been having a rough time of it lately. The Death Guard's resilience had counted for very little in this particular galaxy.
If anything, their Legion had suffered the highest casualty rate throughout the entire campaign — "Roboute's" strategy and tactics were practically a natural counter to a Legion of the Death Guard's type.
Mortarion had eventually been forced to abandon the Death Guard's traditional tactics entirely. Typhon and the others had been making constant adjustments as well.
The Night Lords and the Raven Guard had achieved impressive results, but the polish on their battle reports didn't match the actual substance of their gains.
Guilliman had been forced to make extensive adjustments to the worlds they reclaimed, which only further shrank his already-scarce rest time.
Corax and the Raven Guard had reform ideas for these worlds, but lacked the actual capability to execute them.
Their ideology was forward-thinking, but they had no concrete metrics for putting it into practice — they were severely lacking in practical experience, a problem Guilliman had recognized early on.
This was connected to what Corax had endured on his homeworld, and also to the Raven Guard's long history of operating in the shadows.
Cypher needed no further mention — if not for the fact that his mental state had genuinely improved in recent years, and he had grown less extreme, with his recruiting worlds turning into havens overflowing with well-bred sons, the Night Lords' methods would likely have remained even more savage.
These men should never have been formed into a single Legion! Every one of them would have made an excellent Inquisitor or Commissar, and exceptional master assassins besides. Designating them as a single Legion was, frankly, a tremendous waste.
Guilliman had previously found it difficult to fully grasp the shortcomings of these brother Legions — but after this crusade, he had developed a deep understanding of several of them.
Combined with his experience from the original Great Crusade, Guilliman had come to believe that, among the eighteen Legions, very few actually deserved, in the truest sense, to be called a "Legion."
At least half of them had never truly belonged organized as a Legion at all — it was only the rush and efficiency demands of the original Great Crusade that had forced these Astartes into that structure.
Guilliman felt this model urgently needed reform — the drawbacks were simply too great, even preventing many of these Legions from realizing the full potential they were actually capable of.
If the Great Crusade had concluded successfully, Guilliman wouldn't have given it this much thought. But given how things currently stood, his ever-calculating, politically attuned mind had already begun forming a rough outline of the reforms that would need to follow.
Even in the middle of this revenge crusade, his thoughts kept drifting, uncontrollably, toward these matters.
Once this crusade was over, he would absolutely push reforms through the current Imperium!
But Guilliman didn't let himself dwell on it further. The present circumstances didn't allow for it. Reform would have to wait until after the war.
The Imperium's territory would soon span a full five galaxies — an unprecedented breadth, and the difficulty of governance would rise exponentially.
After this, Obliterators would likely need to be deployed across every corner of every galaxy — otherwise Guilliman genuinely had no idea how he would manage administration across such vast territories.
"Roboute, what should we do now? Keep our current tactics, or change something?"
Corax asked. At this point, only Guilliman truly understood how best to counter himself.
"Maintain your current pace of attack. Don't stop. Strategically, we hold steady and advance carefully — but tactically, we need to be aggressive and decisive. Give the enemy no chance to catch their breath."
"As long as you don't fall into his rhythm, victory in this war will ultimately be ours — whether it's hearts and minds or territory, we will eventually reclaim every bit of it."
Guilliman was confident of this. The war had been grueling, but the disparity in strength between the two sides was undeniable. Without Obliterator support and the enhancement procedures the traitors here had undergone, there was simply no way to fight the Imperium on even terms.
Even if they leveraged home-ground advantage to stubbornly slow the Imperial fleet's advance, it changed nothing about the fact that they were steadily marching toward defeat.
This war was destined to end in Imperial victory — the only remaining questions were how heavy the losses would be on the report, and how long it would take.
"Lord Roboute, we have a situation."
Toramino's voice came through the comm system, and Guilliman and the others responded immediately.
"What is it? What's happened, Toramino?"
"We may need to withdraw, Lord Roboute."
Toramino's words struck the assembled Primarchs like a thunderbolt.
"What do you mean? What do you mean by 'we need to withdraw'?"
Cypher said.
"Father and the Emperor have completely sealed the Warp. The crusades in the other galaxies have also concluded. Father says he'll explain the full details once all of you return."
"They're saying every galaxy now needs its lords to suppress the unrest currently underway. Chaos is putting enormous pressure on all of us."
There was a note of frustration in Toramino's voice as well, but there was nothing to be done about it — this was an order issued jointly by the Emperor and Father, and the situation had already become quite serious.
"We were so close to victory!"
Cypher was nearly hysterical.
"How much have we sacrificed for this crusade? The traitors are right there in front of us — we were about to finish them off completely!"
It wasn't only Cypher. None of the Primarchs could accept this.
After everything they'd endured throughout this campaign, with victory finally within reach only to have it cut short mid-stride — how could they possibly be at peace with that?
"What exactly happened, Toramino?"
"With Lord Lorgar's help, Father and the Emperor achieved a decisive victory against the Chaos Gods. But just as they were about to seal them away completely, the Gods sacrificed themselves, which allowed many traitors to reappear in the material universe."
"The traitors are currently rampaging across every galaxy. The territory we worked so hard to reclaim is being contaminated, becoming raw material to fuel the Chaos Gods' resurrection."
"Father and the Emperor were left with no choice but to forcibly seal the entire Warp. It won't stop the traitors' return, but it will significantly delay the Chaos Gods' resurrection."
"Our priority right now is to clear out these traitors during this window, and to hold and stabilize the territory we've already taken, before Father and the Emperor can rebuild enough strength to destroy the Chaos Gods for good."
In other words, this revenge crusade had been forcibly brought to an end.
"Those damned bastards! Not even content to leave us alone in death!"
Guilliman sank into his chair, dejected. He looked at the star map showing the Solar System already fully encircled — they had been one final step away. Fifty years of war, so close to its conclusion.
"Withdraw. Leave half the fleet stationed here to hold the line. Request additional reinforcements from the Imperium proper, to guard against any traitor counterattack."
Guilliman issued the order regardless, even though it cost him dearly to do so.
"We're just going to withdraw like this?"
Mortarion ground his teeth as he spoke to Guilliman.
"What if we—"
"This is Father's order, and the Warsmith's. The other galaxies need us now too. Don't even think about pressing the attack further."
Guilliman's words shattered whatever hope Mortarion held onto, leaving every brother present deeply disheartened.
"Notify Lorgar. Tell him to pause his operation. We're going home."
"Yes, my lord."
Guilliman looked toward the star map in pain, at all the territory they had never managed to reclaim. He knew that once he withdrew this time, there was little chance he would ever come back.
Four galaxies, plus this unstable galaxy they currently occupied — the administrative burden on the Imperium going forward would be unprecedented. Even with Obliterator support, almost no one in the entire Imperium could bear that kind of weight.
He knew that upon his return, he would almost certainly be chained to the throne room, buried in this chaos of governance. If the situation couldn't be brought under control, he might not be able to leave Terra again for several millennia.
He still hadn't rescued his mother. He still hadn't avenged his sons.
"Come back first. Once we've dealt with this, I'll handle the administration in your place — you can continue as commander and finish reclaiming this galaxy."
Perturabo's voice reached Guilliman's mind, his tone weak.
Guilliman snapped to attention at once, glancing at the brothers around him — he was certain they had received the same news.
"The Emperor and I are both seriously wounded right now. Those bastards' last stand before death carried more weight than expected. There's no one currently holding the Imperium together."
"Lion and Ferrus are struggling to manage with the Regent. The Emperor and I still need time before we can manifest in the material universe again. We need you right now, Roboute."
"Understood."
Guilliman rose to his feet. It was a deep disappointment that this crusade had not achieved its objectives — but there would be other chances to return to this galaxy and continue the campaign.
He swore to himself: the next time he came back, he would utterly destroy this remaining pack of traitors, once and for all.