Guilliman strode out of the sanctum, his unparalleled presence sweeping through the ranks like a storm, shaking every Astartes and mortal soldier to their core.
No enemy could stand before him. The Emperor's Sword, burning with golden flame in his hand, incinerated daemon primarchs and abominations alike.
He cut through foes without wasting a single moment on irrelevant questions, focusing solely on crucial strategic information. With astonishing intellect, the Primarch quickly grasped the state of Macragge, seizing command and making the most appropriate decisions for the ever-changing battlefield.
At the same time, he deliberately let word of his awakening spread, boosting the defenders' morale.
Within a short span, Guilliman pieced together the tangled threads of the conflict using only limited information, and began directing the various forces at Hera Fortress, reshaping its defenses.
He needed no formal appointment—everyone obeyed him instinctively.
"Notify the 175th Auxiliary Regiment to move towards the bell tower, two hundred meters from their current position."
"Have forty cannons from Section B-04 fire in unison at coordinates K-7 / 34.5-18.2 / +2."
"Order the Crown of Hera to move to K-7 / 39-27 / +0, and deploy the Lances to destroy those corrupted Titans."
"Send that mysterious Emperor Angel to Sector B245 to clear a path for the other units, then head to B214 to repair those tanks…"
"...…"
Guilliman directed the battlefield with the precision of a master conductor, handling every situation with efficiency that left all in awe.
The berserker from before had returned to the legendary strategist of history.
From his orders, it was clear—every battlefront, every defensive line, was under his control.
Space Marines and mortal regiments coordinated with unprecedented precision, surprised even themselves by the flawless synergy between units.
Every commander was stunned.
There was a reason Primarchs became legends.
And in the days of the Great Crusade, there was more than one such being.
No wonder Humanity once swept all before them, crushing enemies like dry leaves.
In Imperial legend, Guilliman was not the most brilliant battlefield commander among the Primarchs, but renowned for his strategic genius. Short wars were not his forte, but if conflict dragged on, his enemies would fall into despair.
For they would realize a terrifying truth:
Guilliman's armies seemed endless. Destroy one, and he would field an even stronger force, again and again, without end.
"Is this truly the Emperor's son? Such power, such wisdom—compared to him, we are but fireflies to the sun and moon,"
exclaimed Celestine, her voice trembling with excitement.
Greyfax and the others felt the same.
The fall of Cadia had torn the galaxy apart; anyone aware of the Imperium's state was gripped by despair.
The Empire was so vast, so bloated—who could lead it through the darkness of this apocalyptic era?
Now, they had their answer.
The Emperor had sent His son back.
This hopeless night would see the dawn at last.
The Chaos horde besieging Hera Fortress was shocked to find the Imperial defenders, previously on the ropes, now cutting through their assault like a sword and launching deadly counterattacks.
Thunderous anti-air fire, coordinated with weaving interceptors, quickly made the skies hell for Chaos.
Heldrakes and Chaos fighters, trailing black smoke, crashed to the ground in fiery explosions.
For the first time, Imperial pilots found battle easy: reach the designated spot at the designated time, as Guilliman ordered, and victory followed.
Seizing the momentum, ground forces began the counteroffensive.
As per Guilliman's orders, Space Marines and Ultramar Auxiliary regiments executed flanking maneuvers—raids, feints, fake retreats, and ambushes—luring and dividing the Chaos horde with surgical precision.
Though Chaos had the numbers, once Guilliman took command of the remnants, their commanders soon found themselves surrounded, beset from all sides.
The Black Legion, Alpha Legion, Iron Warriors—all were pushed back, forced to leave behind heaps of corpses and abandon captured walls.
Traitor Titans fell like burning trees, their reactor explosions lighting up the horizon with blinding suns.
The earth trembled under the shock of their destruction.
Datch, jetpack roaring, zipped from task to task as Guilliman kept assigning him missions—clearing paths for trapped units with his mithril pickaxe, repairing vehicles and artillery with the golden hammer.
Each small task awarded him experience and points.
Datch was ecstatic—this Primarch was the ultimate quest-giver NPC.
Bring it on! Let these foolish NPCs witness the might of the Grind King.
At the summit of grinding, I, Datch, stand alone.
"Praise the Omnissiah, praise the Machine God!"
Adoli 4556 chanted blessings, censer swinging, as he bowed to a freshly repaired Chimera transport.
Before he could finish, Datch had already fixed a Leman Russ, a Salamander scout car, and a Knight suit next to him.
Adoli 4556: "… … … … … … …"
He couldn't even keep up with the bowing!
With his wondrous tools, Datch was the finest battlefield support: broken aircraft? Bang it. Artillery not firing right? Bang it. Mech leaking oil? Bang it.
No matter the problem—one tap, and all was well. The machine spirit rejoiced.
With Guilliman's peerless command and Datch's support, the Chaos traitors at Hera Fortress were wiped out within an hour—the fortress of the Ultramarines was secure once more.
Once all threats were gone, Guilliman returned to the sanctum, heavy-hearted.
He ordered all attendants, advisers, and even the Honour Guard to wait outside.
Alone at last, Guilliman slumped on his throne and heaved a long sigh.
With no one to see, he dropped the mask and let a trace of grief and bitterness show.
From the information he'd gathered, he realized he'd slept for ten thousand years. Everything he once knew was buried, lost to history.
The Primarch spent half an hour gathering himself. Then the Ultramarines held a simple ceremony to mark his return.
Before all, Guilliman ascended the command throne, empty for millennia.
Saint Celestine bestowed upon him the sacred Iron Halo and the Emperor's blessing.
After the ceremony, Guilliman began summoning key figures one by one.
He urgently needed to know what had become of the Imperium during his slumber.
…