Among the stars.
The colossal figure of the Hope Primarch, constructed by countless warships, filled the entire void of space, leaving behind a sense of awe that was impossible to describe.
This display of force was not only a declaration of power but also an extravagance of wealth.
After all, there weren't many in the galaxy who could mobilize such an overwhelming number of warships—and just for a performance.
At the very least, the Savior's objective had been achieved.
This scene would be deeply etched into the hearts of humanity, becoming one of the rare and grand spectacles in human history.
In the field of view.
The points of light from the warships shifted again, forming the image of the Emperor upon the Golden Throne, exuding a sense of majesty and sanctity, gazing down upon all of existence.
It inspired worship in all who saw it.
Finally, the lights shifted once more, forming the imposing figure of the Lord Commander, holding the Emperor's Sword aloft, radiating with the fury of a storm.
This was humanity's leader—Master of Ultramar, Lord Commander of the Imperium—Roboute Guilliman!
On the bridge of the Macragge's Honor.
Guilliman's mind buzzed.
He had braved countless hardships to rush to Baal's aid, only to arrive in time for a post-war celebration?
He had no idea how the battle had been won.
But the current situation was clearly beyond imagination. No matter how he analyzed it, he couldn't figure out what had led to such a swift victory.
The scene before him pained him a little.
The Unyielding Crusade Fleet's forces were so scarce that he wished he could save every single warship and every scrap of resources.
Yet here, those very warships were running in formation, firing precious ammunition into empty space, all to create a celebratory spectacle.
"Just the wasted shells alone could have been enough to win a skirmish…"
That was Guilliman's thought.
For a moment, he even considered halting these performances to stop such lavish waste.
But reason told him that all of this was necessary.
Humanity needed a victory like this—a celebration like this.
"The one commanding this fleet formation must be an exceptional commander," Guilliman mused, noting the trajectories of the ships, impressed by their precision.
Coordinating an entire fleet to swiftly and accurately form such an image in space was an incredibly difficult feat.
Even if he were commanding, it wouldn't have been easy.
If the Unyielding Crusade Fleet had such a commander within its ranks, things would be much easier for him.
Guilliman was already quietly thinking about recruiting that commander.
As he looked at the dazzling planet of Baal and the majestic display, a smile naturally appeared on his face, and the wrinkles and exhaustion in his brow faded away.
No matter what, this was a moment worth celebrating.
Perhaps, this was what humanity was supposed to look like.
"How wonderful…"
Guilliman ordered the Macragge's Honor to approach Baal and prepare the landing craft. He continued to admire the planet's current state.
Before long, a new communication request arrived.
Bzzt—
A holographic image appeared in midair, projecting a massive frame.
The towering figure of the Hope Primarch—the Savior—appeared before everyone on the bridge. At this moment, he was clad in dark-gold armor adorned with auramite embellishments, exuding immense presence.
Given that the victory celebration was for the entire Imperium's territories, Eden dared not wear the full replica of the Emperor's golden armor. That would have been too flashy.
He worried many people wouldn't be able to accept it.
Moreover, he had to receive his brother Guilliman.
If he showed up in full Emperor regalia, it might give people the sense of "brother becomes father," which was… not exactly appropriate.
So he held back.
"Brother Eden !"
Upon seeing the Hope Primarch, Guilliman immediately smiled—a smile that came from the heart.
However, upon noticing Eden's serious expression, he quickly composed himself, returning to the dignified, commanding demeanor expected of him.
This was a public broadcast—the first live meeting and communication between the Hope Primarch and the Lord Commander at Baal.
Every public channel and more across the Imperium could see this moment.
After a series of formal greetings and ceremonial protocols—
"Lord Commander, I, the Hope Primarch and Savior, have followed your plans and arrangements and secured victory at Baal," Eden declared in a solemn tone. "I now invite you to Baal to inspect this victory."
The words almost made Guilliman lose his composure.
What? This monumental victory was the result of his plan? Why didn't he know about it?
But in this formal setting—
Guilliman kept his composure, going along with the flow, praising the Hope Primarch and the warriors for their unparalleled feats and sacrifices.
Eden was meticulous in his actions, and he must have had his reasons for saying this.
No matter what, he needed to cooperate for now.
Though he did so, the admiring gazes from those around him and the fawning praise flooding in from public channels made Guilliman feel a bit hot under the collar.
At this moment, the Lord Commander appeared even more wise, heroic, and strategic—radiating an aura of invincibility, the kind of leader who could win wars from a thousand miles away.
It was just that he himself felt a bit ashamed—he simply wanted this awkward scene to end as quickly as possible.
But that wasn't going to happen.
Guilliman still had to follow protocol, continuing the conversation with the help of the priests.
It had been a long time since he had faced such a difficult conversation.
The truth was, Eden himself also felt a bit helpless.
He was now trapped in a superposition of high-profile and low-profile status. With the Lord Commander absent, the Hope Primarch had to step up to maintain the situation.
He had to present an unstoppable image to inspire hope in humanity.
But doing so meant he couldn't stay hidden, and it was bound to attract more attention—and danger.
He needed to find a balance.
In other words, he couldn't overshadow the Lord Commander.
Otherwise, the Hope Primarch—the Savior—would become the number one target of Chaos and xenos forces across the galaxy. The enemies' firepower would shift from Guilliman to him.
At that point, he'd be the one taking relentless hits.
Eden knew himself well enough to understand that he wasn't as good at taking a beating as Big Bro Guilliman—especially against the veteran Traitor Primarchs.
Moreover, the Savior's territories, the Sacred Spire, and related defense systems hadn't been fully established yet. There were still plenty of vulnerabilities.
If the main battleground of the galactic chaos shifted here…
It would be game over.
Especially with the threat of the Plague Wars in the future.
The Sacred Spire might be able to resist the corrupting power of Chaos, but disease and contagion were much harder to prevent. At least, Eden didn't have much confidence yet.
He had seen firsthand how large-scale plagues could destabilize entire systems.
Even if he could handle it, the halt in work and production during the crisis would deal a massive blow to the development efforts of his territories.
And Father Nurgle's carefully crafted plagues were even more insidious—not only infecting humans and animals but also corroding food supplies, land, building materials… affecting every aspect of life.
That would completely derail his farming and development plans.
After the Battle of Baal, Eden had realized that his current momentum was a bit too intense—he was unintentionally overshadowing the Lord Commander, attracting all sorts of attention.
So he had to dial it back.
That was why the earlier scene played out the way it did—he even pushed some rumors into the Warp as a smokescreen.
He understood Big Bro Guilliman's personality well. If he approached directly, he might get turned down. Better to simply present a fait accompli.
Let the Lord Commander—the Master of Ultramar, the leader of humanity—keep carrying the banner.
He would quietly develop in the background and offer support.
Finally, the tedious formal communications ended, and both of them let out a sigh of relief.
Guilliman boarded a landing craft and descended toward Baal's surface.
He had to follow Brother Eden's request—to inspect this victory.
Baal.
Holy light bathed everything, and victory banners fluttered everywhere.
The crowds looked up in anticipation, waiting for the Lord Commander's arrival.
Under those expectant gazes, the towering figure in blue-tinged auramite armor stepped onto the soil of Baal, prompting everyone to bow in reverence.
Guilliman took in the uniquely styled, vibrant buildings and the white artificial cherubs in the sky showering petals—he found it all pleasing to the eye.
This was the unique style of the Savior's territories—unlike the grim and foreboding aesthetic of the Imperium, it was simpler, brighter.
"This is much better than all the creepy stuff on Holy Terra," he thought.
Especially those little cherubs—they looked so cute and warm, unlike the terrifying cherubim of the Imperium that haunted nightmares.
Perhaps this was how humanity was supposed to be.
Guilliman arrived at the Crimson Assembly Hall, where he received numerous Chapter Masters and high-ranking Imperial nobles, patiently conversing and exchanging pleasantries with the gathered crowd.
Imperial historians and artists recorded this historic moment.
After all the formalities and ceremonial meetings, he was finally able to meet privately with the Hope Primarch—his good brother.
In a private meeting room—
"Bro, I've been waiting for you!" Eden greeted, his face beaming.
In this private setting, there was no need for formalities between them.
Hearing this familiar and affectionate address, Guilliman's tired, almost statuesque expression finally softened, and a smile appeared on his face.
He actually liked being called that way.
Guilliman looked down upon those so-called gods with disdain and didn't like it when people revered or feared him excessively. Instead, these affectionate nicknames made him feel alive, like a real person— not some symbol.
"Brother Eden!"
Guilliman strode forward and gave him a fierce, heartfelt hug.
This was their first meeting in reality, and the emotions surged freely—there was nothing wrong with showing a little passion.
Afterward, Eden explained the necessity of the earlier broadcast and his actions.
Guilliman had no objections whatsoever.
"What you did was absolutely right—it's immensely helpful for the situation!"
As the Lord Commander of the Imperium, he should take the lead in resisting the Imperium's enemies.
And besides, he hoped to shield Eden —his brother—from the storms and dangers ahead. Eden had already helped him enough; it wasn't right to let him shoulder even more burdens.
"Nurgle's forces might be preparing for a major offensive in the future…" Eden warned seriously.
"Their target will likely be Ultramar. You should prepare in advance, and Mortarion is stirring—he's laying a trap for you."
"Those treacherous cowards never stop scheming to undermine the Imperium," Guilliman nodded confidently, "but evil can never truly triumph over the light. I will crush each and every one of their plots!"
Chaos heretics, xenos, and his fallen Primarch brothers had been attacking him for years.
He was used to it.
Eden didn't say much more—he trusted that Guilliman knew what he was doing.
After all, the galaxy's situation had already changed drastically because of his own actions. Even if the Plague Wars were to erupt, things would likely play out differently. All they could do was prepare as best they could.
After this discussion, Guilliman shared the difficult state of the Unyielding Crusade.
The Unyielding Crusade's Second Fleet was under siege by Chaos forces in the Veiled Region—an extremely precarious situation.
The Battle of Baal was over.
He was eager to replenish his forces and then rush to the Veiled Region front.
Guilliman was always like this—there was never a moment of rest for him.
Eden frowned slightly.
"Hmm... your forces in the Veiled Region are under siege by Abaddon's fleet and daemons?
That's a bit of a problem…"
It seemed Abaddon was determined to crush the Unyielding Crusade's Second Fleet, hoping that a victory here would salvage his dismal record of thirteen failed Black Crusades.
If he succeeded, the Eye of Terror's influence over the Veiled Region would grow even stronger.
Abaddon had huffed and puffed through thirteen Black Crusades, grinding away for ten thousand years, just to finally breach the Cadian Gate.
If he won here, who knew if he wouldn't launch a fourteenth Black Crusade straight at Holy Terra?
This couldn't be ignored.
The Imperium was full of vulnerabilities—cracks in every direction. The Plague Wars could erupt at any moment, and countless threats were looming closer.
A storm was brewing.
Guilliman looked at his good brother, hesitating, wondering if he should ask for support.
But before he could speak—
"Well, isn't that convenient?"
Eden pulled out a document and thrust it in Guilliman's face, his voice brimming with confidence:
"I was just thinking about providing you with some support—and now it looks like it's time to put it to use!"
Guilliman looked at the list and trembled all over, nearly overwhelmed by joy.
The aid detailed in that document was immense—it covered administrative support software systems, vehicles, fleets, logistical supplies, Webway routes, and more.
Everything he desperately needed.
The most critical resources included:
Administrative support teams and data-tech priests providing software and technical expertise.
Two large Titan groups, including ten Emperor-class Titans and over thirty Warlord- and Reaver-class Titans.
The support of three major Savior-led fleets.
And most importantly, access to Webway routes provided by the Savior's territories.
As Guilliman stared at the information about the Webway, his hands shook, and his heartbeat was so intense that its thudding could be heard audibly.
The sheer magnitude of this surprise overwhelmed even this battle-hardened Primarch.
That was something even his father had longed for but ultimately failed to obtain!
The Unyielding Crusade's vast frontlines made reinforcement agonizingly difficult—what he needed most was a high-speed travel route to save precious time for the war effort.
Now, thanks to Brother Eden, that problem was solved!
As Guilliman looked over the aid package, a profound warmth filled his heart. It was as if all the exhaustion and burdens had been lifted from his shoulders.
His brother must have been thinking about his struggles for a long time.
He no longer had to bear everything alone—now, they would fight side by side.
Guilliman's eyes shimmered with a faint mist, and he gave his Primarch brother a powerful, heartfelt embrace once again.
"We're brothers—there's no need to be so formal…"
The sheer force of the hug made Eden's bones crack a little, catching him off guard.
In truth, he felt a bit guilty—Guilliman had always been the one standing at the forefront of the Imperium, taking the hits and drawing fire.
And he hadn't been able to help much.
Now that he had the means, providing support was the right thing to do.
In their light conversation afterward, Guilliman casually mentioned a certain fleet commander responsible for the ship-light displays, expressing admiration for his skills.
There was a hint of subtle intent in his words.
If that officer wasn't assigned to anything critical…
He hoped to borrow the man—having him involved in the Veiled Region's war could significantly improve their chances.
"Oh, you mean that kid Volradi?"
Eden casually pulled up the support list, highlighting Volradi's information.
"He's already on the personnel roster for your reinforcements. I figured he could learn a thing or two from you."
He added with a laugh:
"That kid's not bad—train him hard as much as you like!"
At that moment, Volradi was still on the bridge, diligently directing the fleet's light show.
He had been drafted into this as a kind of "annual gala performance" under the Savior's whim.
The excitement below had little to do with him.
This commander felt a bit dejected, thinking the Savior didn't hold him in high regard—otherwise, why not have him lead the cleanup of the Leviathan tendrils or tackle more challenging missions?
Instead, he'd been assigned this easy "show task," something any fleet commander could handle just as well.
Little did he know—he was about to accompany the Lord Commander to a new warzone.
"With such an outstanding commander joining me, I feel even more confident about the war in the Veiled Region!"
Guilliman's eyes sparkled with delight at Eden's words. He couldn't wait to meet Volradi, nor to rush to the front lines.
"The support listed and the Webway routes will take two weeks to prepare,"
Eden added, sensing what Guilliman was thinking, his voice full of confidence.
"Once you're on the Webway high-speed route, you'll be able to reach the battlefront much faster."
He refused to believe that, after being placed on the Webway highway, Big Bro Guilliman would still arrive late.
Eden gently patted the once-again emotional Lord Commander on the shoulder:
"Anyway, Big Bro, just stay here on Baal for now and participate in the victory celebrations—take a proper rest!"
He really thought this guy needed to take care of his health a bit.
As a Primarch, Guilliman was actually showing signs of thinning hair, deepening wrinkles, and frightening dark circles under his eyes.
It was as if he had never slept.
Of course, that wasn't possible—but Eden still worried that, one day, Big Bro might just keel over.
Once their chat concluded, the victory celebrations were about to begin.
Now, the routes from Baal to Baal Secundus were packed with ships, as people streamed toward the festival grounds on Baal Secundus.
When Eden and Guilliman descended onto Baal Secundus, grand hymns resounded across the entire planet.
In this plaza that spanned half a continent, countless mountain-sized, sky-piercing statues stood tall, surrounding a central golden sun and the Savior's towering sacred effigy—over ten kilometers tall.
Grasped in the hands of the Savior's effigy was a monumental, sword-shaped structure engraved with the names of heroes—a memorial.
At the feet of the Savior's statue, a sea of Imperial citizens had gathered to witness the event.
Boom, boom, boom—
Massive, slow-detonation fireworks shot high into the air, each one like a miniature sun, illuminating the sky that had been darkened by the fleet.
The entire continent was bathed in a golden glow.
When the ceremonial bells tolled, the Lord Commander and the Hope Primarch arrived on the scene aboard a massive aircraft.
Projected onto the aircraft was a colossal, mechanical-generated hologram—so clear and divine that everyone could see it.
As the priests' prayers echoed, the Lord Commander and the Hope Primarch honored the heroes who had perished in the war.
After the memorial ceremony, the Lord Commander delivered a rousing speech that stirred hope in the hearts of all.
At the speech's climax, ten Emperor-class Titans, over thirty Warlord- and Reaver-class Titans, alongside mighty Imperial Knights and armored forces, marched into the plaza.
They all bore banners of honor.
The thunderous march of their synchronized steps seemed to shake the very earth, stamping their presence into the hearts of all.
For millennia, no Imperial celebration had ever seen such a grand, sacred display of military might—especially with Titans among them.
The sheer spectacle was overwhelming!
In truth, Eden could have made the event even grander.
But that would have been excessive.
It might have revealed too much strength—and, after all, transporting all those assets around was a burden on his territories' strained logistics.
Even so, this scene, broadcast across the Imperium, deeply shocked people everywhere. Many Imperial citizens saw the awe-inspiring Titans for the first time.
These terrifying war machines, ironically, provided people with an even stronger sense of safety.
"Fear, all ye Chaos, xenos, and heretics! The thunderstorm shall descend upon you! The fires of humanity's vengeance will not cease—until every enemy of mankind is burned away!"
The Lord Commander's solemn, statue-like visage delivered the final words:
"Rejoice, citizens of the Imperium! The light of hope has arrived! Humanity's suffering will end—we will prosper once more!"
For a brief moment, there was silence.
Then—cheers erupted, shaking the very heavens. The joy and excitement echoed across the Imperium.
Baal's brilliance and celebrations made it the shining beacon of the galaxy.
And not just for the Imperium—
Countless Chaos entities also turned their gaze toward this place, quietly scheming and preparing for what was to come...
(End of Chapter)
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