Sanguinius, a figure shrouded in light, emerged from the door. He gently fluttered his wings a few times, ensuring the feathers wouldn't brush against the doorframe.
The Primarch heard the clone Fulgrim's small jest but, unlike when he spoke to Alexander, showed no reaction. He simply looked at Fulgrim calmly.
"Are you hoping to use such jokes to make us seem close?" Sanguinius asked softly.
Fulgrim's slightly playful smile instantly dropped.
"Chemosh is a world with extremely low risk resistance. Its teeming masses walk on a dangerous tightrope. Any waste of resources, any tiny mistake, could lead to the collapse of the entire community."
"That planet shaped you, just as Macragge left ambitious marks on Guilliman, Caliban left the mark of a beast on Lion, Chemosh left you with a sense of insecurity."
"Your pursuit of perfection is for this reason, your little flirtatious remark just now is also for this reason. You attempt to use this method to gauge our relationship, to make us seem close, and thereby gain a sense of security."
Sanguinius's voice was clear and calm, seemingly spoken to Fulgrim, and also seemingly to Fulgrim and Sol and Alkenes behind him.
Fulgrim, however, showed a bored expression, glancing sideways, but no anywhere door appeared next.
"Is Lion still jungling?" Fulgrim asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Lion is still jungling," Sanguinius confirmed with a smile.
"Lion is still jungling!" Guilliman sighed, rubbing his temples.
Lion was probably the most content of all the Primarchs right now.
All day long, he traveled through the galaxy with his Absolvers, saving worlds afflicted by Chaos or Xenos, and incidentally recovering some of the Dark Angels scattered across the galaxy after the Fall of Caliban. He didn't even bother to return and manage his own Chapter.
Guilliman could only smile bitterly at this.
On one hand, he was satisfied that Lion did not interfere in Imperial politics; on the other hand, he somewhat longed for a brother to share the workload.
Dante was already at his limit bearing half the Imperial administration; a little more and he might jump off Angel Keep.
Yvraine was still a bit naive in administrative matters, capable of being a good secretary but not standing alone.
The changer of ways, that mischievous daemon, was a genius at handling administration but always deliberately caused trouble, forcing Guilliman to painstakingly sift through it.
After much thought, it still had to be one of his brothers to take on administrative duties.
Lion was definitely out of the question, Sanguinius was hard to trick into it.
Guilliman glanced at Fulgrim.
Fulgrim hadn't realized Guilliman had already set his sights on him and was still talking to Sanguinius.
"What about Alexander? Isn't he coming either?" Fulgrim asked. To be honest, he hadn't seen Alexander in a while.
"He already knows every word we are about to say, every matter, every decision we will make, even before we ourselves know them."
Sanguinius said softly:
"Don't let these repetitive matters affect him. A critical moment is drawing nearer, and he needs to maintain emotional stability."
Repetitive matters, a critical moment, mental stability...
Listening to these words, Sol showed a hint of confusion, not understanding their meaning.
He could tell that Fulgrim also seemed to half-understand, and even Guilliman didn't look like he fully grasped it.
But in the end, the three Primarchs did not discuss what exactly was happening to Saint Doraemon, and Sol could only suppress his confusion deep within his heart.
"Sit," Guilliman gestured for the two Primarchs to sit at his desk. Their war council was much simpler than Sol had imagined.
There was no dedicated meeting room, no complex rituals or elaborate banquets, just a discussion held in this simple office.
Guilliman didn't even prepare chairs in advance, giving the impression that the two Primarchs should go fetch their own chairs.
Sol and Alkenes were not so lacking in foresight. Sanguinius had no guards, so it naturally fell to the two of them to do such minor work.
Even while speaking, Guilliman hadn't stopped working. After Sanguinius and Fulgrim were seated, he quickly looked up from his documents, rubbed his temple with one finger, and swiftly reached for a nearby folder with his other hand.
But Guilliman's movement hesitated for a very brief moment, as if he was thinking about where the file he was looking for was located.
This, of course, was perfectly normal for a mortal, but for a Primarch, it was completely inconsistent with the function of their superhuman brains.
Their brains were shaped by the Emperor's bio-alchemy, and their speed of thought even surpassed the limits that the material universe could allow, reaching a supernatural realm.
Any slight hesitation, stutter, or indecision was almost unimaginable for a Primarch's extraordinary mind.
In fact, in the instant Guilliman hesitated, Fulgrim had already identified the file Guilliman intended to take and placed it in front of him.
"You are too tired, brother."
Fulgrim said in a feigned serious tone, making it hard to tell if he was concerned for Guilliman, mocking him, or both:
"You could easily delegate these tasks to others."
"...Many tasks only I can do." Guilliman divided the documents in his hand into three piles, one for himself, and two separate ones for Sanguinius and Fulgrim.
"That's why sometimes I hate you. You think too highly of yourself," Fulgrim said, his upper lip curling slightly. "Father doesn't only have one loyal son."
"Who else can I trust?"
"Lion? Sanguinius? Do you think we haven't tried?"
"The result of that attempt is a painful memory we all prefer not to recall."
Guilliman's face was etched with bitter fatigue. He looked much more tired than before, even making Sol feel a pang of heartache.
Sol noticed Fulgrim's brows furrowing at Guilliman's words and demeanor.
Guilliman had clearly deliberately ignored Fulgrim, implying that Fulgrim was never within his circle of trust.
He was even hinting: even Lion, in Guilliman's eyes, was far more reliable than Fulgrim.
"What about me?" Fulgrim's tone carried a hint of anger.
"You?" Guilliman seemed to be stunned for a moment, as if surprised by Fulgrim's words, then shook his head repeatedly: "How can you! Do you think handling administration is as simple as putting on a fancy outfit for a banquet?"
"Our minds were all shaped by our Father. We possess the same talents. If you can do it, I naturally can too." Fulgrim's brows furrowed even tighter.
"It's not just a matter of ability, but also personality. Can you imagine Angron handling administration?" Guilliman still refused.
"Are you comparing me to Angron, who has brain damage?" Fulgrim's tone was filled with deep anger and a touch of grievance. He seemed to have been humiliated by Guilliman's words.
"Even the real Fulgrim couldn't help me with administration. He couldn't do it, and neither can you." Guilliman's gaze lifted slightly, seemingly expressing distrust in Fulgrim's abilities.
"You won't even let me try?" Fulgrim's eyes widened slightly, and he said in a provocative tone: "Are you afraid I'll prove you're not irreplaceable? Or are you afraid I'll take some of your power?"
This remark, in turn, made Guilliman's brows furrow.
"You always have so many misunderstandings about me. I have never for a moment coveted the power in my hands, never for a moment wished to sit in my current position. This has never been what I wanted!"
"Words mean nothing." Fulgrim slightly raised his nose, his violet eyes fixed on Guilliman: "If you can't bear the work, I can help you share it."
"If you truly don't covet power, then share the responsibility with me!"
Guilliman looked at Fulgrim for a while, seemingly hesitating, wavering.
But in the end, he took a deep breath, waved his hand, and said: "I will give you a chance to try. If you do well enough, I will delegate a portion of the Imperial administration to you."
A triumphant smile appeared on Fulgrim's lips.
Sol watched this scene, his heart a mix of emotions.
He felt that Lord Guilliman harbored a clear malice towards Fulgrim.
This was a malice Sol had never seen in Guilliman before.
Ultimately, it was Fulgrim who severely wounded Guilliman, causing the Ultramarines Primarch to slumber for a full ten thousand years.
Even if Fulgrim was a clone of Fulgrim and not the original, who could blame Guilliman for his suspicion, malice, and contempt towards Fulgrim?
For a moment, Sol even felt a little sorry for Fulgrim.
Hmm... Hiss...
But Sol pondered it carefully and felt that something wasn't quite right.
Guilliman, the Primarch of the Ultramarines, the Imperial's top statesman.
His cunning was unfathomable, and he rarely showed his emotions. How could he display such obvious malice?
Moreover, if he harbored such suspicion towards Fulgrim, why did he eventually agree to let Fulgrim try to take over Imperial administration?
Sol mulled it over, and gradually a possibility dawned on him. His expression became a little strange.
He looked at his gene-father with a slightly peculiar gaze.
Fulgrim... could he have been played by Guilliman?
Sol couldn't help but open his mouth.
But seeing the triumphant smile on Fulgrim's lips, he ultimately said nothing.
"Stormlord Imotekh has launched an attack on the Morthos System."
"This system is located on the edge of the Pariah Nexus, where Warp storms are thinnest."
"At the same time, the Silent King's subordinate, General Zandrekh the Crowned, is leading forces to attack the Satius System."
"Morthos and Satius Systems are close. Once both are occupied, the Stormlord will be able to pass through the Warp storm and enter the interior of the Pariah Nexus."