Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

"Order, rules, compromise, cooperation."

"Is this the future we need to face in your eyes?"

Ten hours after the private conversation between the two Primarchs ended, the whispers of the Wolf God still troubled the Macragge people.

Guilliman began to think, and the thinking soon turned into trouble, spreading like cancer cells in his mind, bringing countless wild ideas and unnecessary worries: the old problem of the Lord of Five Hundred Worlds.

Such a dilemma continued until the Stormbird fighter on which the Primarch took arrived at the near-air area of ​​the Bucephalus, and it could not be completely resolved: the accompanying Ultramarines saw all this, but only thought that the Primarch was worried about Badab's failure.

It's no wonder they think so, because facing the current situation of the Thirteenth Legion, even the most optimistic people can't find the slightest sign of victory.

However, a few months ago, the Ultramarines and their army, who had just rushed out of the Five Hundred Worlds with great momentum and confronted the most powerful military regime in the galaxy on a front that spanned the entire Maelstrom region, now retreated dejectedly to their true borders like an old wolf that had been driven off the throne.

Thousands of worlds were hastily abandoned: they once shed blood for these lands, made promises to the people living on these lands, and then proudly raised their flags and announced that this was the new frontier of Ultramar.

But now, the proud military flags were randomly collected, and the bloody land and allies were abandoned together: enduring the confused or sad eyes behind them, Guilliman's descendants gritted their teeth and left the land they had defended without looking back.

The Thirteenth Legion did not shed a drop of blood on the battlefield called Badab, nor did they lose even a single battle brother, but they suffered the most tragic and humiliating defeat since their founding: this defeat will forever change their souls.

In the past, the Thirteenth Legion had experienced unforgettable defeats: long before they met their Primarch again, the Legion had been defeated by the psychic aliens in the First Osiris War, and even the then Legion Commander was killed in the melee. The loss of a large number of Terra veterans and heavy machinery almost made the entire Legion unable to recover.

But all this was nothing. After the return of the Primarch Guilliman, he not only pulled the Ultramarines back from the abyss, but also helped them complete their sacred revenge: the Second Osiris War, which was jointly carried out with the Dawnbreaker Legion, completely crushed the entire psychic race, and the former defeat became the most glorious part of the Legion's history.

Revenge is so sweet that even the most determined people will be haunted by it.

While tasting the sweetness of revenge, the Ultramarines can raise their heads and remember how the first legion commander sacrificed himself in front of the younger generations of the legion, and in the glory of the successful revenge, these stories will be turned into legends, becoming the inner soul of the legion, and passed down from generation to generation.

...

It should be so.

But this time, the situation is not entirely so.

How should they explain the failure in Badab to the younger generations?

How should they describe this dark cloud that has shrouded the entire history of the legion?

Unlike the Osiris alien, the failure in Badab was bloodless, but it was unforgettable. Although humiliating and painful, it was destined not to wait until the day of revenge: this is a completely different situation, a Mobius strip that any Astartes warrior who values ​​the legion and glory cannot get out of.

Because this time, their opponent is Holy Terra, the orthodoxy of the Empire.

It is the agent appointed by the Emperor.

It is the party that can never make mistakes.

Terra, with its army, arrogance, and the Emperor's Bucephalus, arrogance, savagely put the cage of failure on the head of every Ultramarines: material losses alone were not enough, they had to repeat the process again in terms of dignity.

Terra needed victory, prestige, and the humiliation of a legion in exchange for the awe of all the villains: and now, the Ultramarines were the sacrificial rams selected by the priests of the Senate.

They were placed on the altar and shed blood in front of the whole galaxy.

They struggled like animals, but were also treated roughly like animals.

From the Primarch to the warriors, everyone's situation was no different.

When the lonely sons of Guilliman stood in the cold night, watching their flags being ruthlessly torn off the land, with nothing but blood and brute force, but could only shed tears of humiliation behind their helmets, thousands of miles away, their gene father also lowered his head and went to meet a group of mortals like a minister.

The vast fleet of the Five Hundred Worlds was ordered to leave the Great Vortex as a sign of their sincerity in ceasefire negotiations, and the Primarch of the Legion, Guilliman himself, could only take a battle barge and sail into the Badab system completely controlled by Holy Terra.

Fortunately, in order to take care of the status of the Primarch and the Five Hundred Worlds, there are not many Terran ships in the Badab system now. Guilliman's Stormbird quietly sailed towards the Bucephalus in an empty space, and the Terran frigates protected it from a distance, with a reserved attitude but sufficient etiquette.

"They are not too much."

The hero who attended the negotiation with the Primarch was Orfeo, who got the title after Nicaea: Compared with other high-ranking officers, the former commander of the reserve army was a pure warrior. Although he had a brain for playing politics, he disdained any art of language.

This is why Guilliman chose Orfeo to go with him: this new hero is like a pure sharp blade. No matter how ugly the scene will become, as long as the Primarch does not order, Orfeo will not take the initiative to draw his blade and escalate the situation.

At the same time, the reason why the Macragge people promoted this offspring to the hero was also with almost the same purpose in mind.

Although Guilliman never said it clearly, he had a premonition in his heart: after experiencing the heavy losses on Nicaea, his five hundred worlds will definitely experience a huge turmoil.

In the turmoil, he needed Orfeo, a sharp blade that he could use at his fingertips: a senior officer who would not consider any external factors and would only kill according to the orders of the Primarch, which was exactly what Guilliman would need in the next rectification of the Five Hundred Worlds.

Of course, he also needed other things: a lot of means and plans.

I hope these things can help him win the war within the Five Hundred Worlds.

The Primarch sighed and turned to look at his followers.

The number was pitiful.

"Do you all remember my orders before departure?"

The answer was affirmative and loud, telling of the god-like status of the Lord of Macragge in the eyes of these warriors and followers, but Guilliman himself seemed a little absent-minded.

He was thinking about what he was going to talk about with Malcador, and then he was recalling Horus' words. He was wondering whether he should test Malcador's attitude towards Imperial federalism during the negotiation, but he suddenly built a wall in his heart, thinking that they should make their plan more refined before they could show it to the whole galaxy.

But after a while, the Lord of Macragge began to doubt himself: after experiencing the humiliation of Badab, did he really want to get involved in the turmoil of the Empire? Would it be a better option for the Five Hundred Worlds to maintain verbal support for Horus and keep Malcador and his Terran government at a distance?

The Primarch had so many ideas, and the future he could predict was so broad, but he himself hesitated because of this: he was like a self-denying carpenter, who clearly had the ability to turn decay into magic, but he just stood in front of the best raw materials and slowly collapsed in complex doubts and inquiries.

Fortunately, before the Primarch fell into a cycle of thinking again, his personal Stormbird had already arrived at the destination: seeing the body of the Bucephalus up close was like watching the Titan in ancient legends, and its grandeur across the starry sky was more impressive than a whole shining star.

"It's hard to imagine that we were facing off against such a warship before."

Even Orfeo couldn't help but sigh at this time.

"It's not really a confrontation."

Guilliman had a cold face, and his whispered complaints were not heard by anyone.

"We are just deceiving ourselves."

After saying that, the Primarch seemed to think of something and sighed dejectedly.

"Follow me."

"Let's board the ship."

...

"Welcome, Master Primarch."

The team responsible for welcoming Guilliman and his subordinates on the tarmac was a larger team than he had imagined.

The interior of the ship, which was already magnificent, was obviously further decorated. Thousands of elite auxiliary soldiers put away their guns, straightened their chests, stood in front of the Primarch, waiting for his inspection: and the one who led these soldiers was a high lord, whose face was full of respect for the Primarch.

Guilliman's eyes quickly swept through these unexpected welcome ceremonies, and then focused on the end of the team: compared with the lively welcoming crowd, the two guards at the end of the team were like silent clay figurines, but the Primarch could get too much information from them.

"I remember you."

After the inspection was hurriedly completed, without paying attention to the inexplicable excitement on the faces of the auxiliary soldiers in front of him, Guilliman cautiously nodded to the high lord beside him: he did have a deep impression of this person.

"If I remember correctly, you are the new Marshal of Justice after Nicaea?"

"That's me."

The Marshal of Justice bowed slightly, his attitude was polite but not humble.

"I took the initiative to apply to the Master of the Seal for this mission to welcome you."

"Why?"

Guilliman asked.

"Do you want to be the first to see a Primarch you defeated?"

"Why do you think so?"

No mistake, one post, one content, one book, one forum!

The Marshal of Justice was confused: his expression looked really confused.

But Guilliman just smiled.

"Master Marshal, although I am in the distant Five Hundred Worlds, I can still understand some things on Terra: even the palace will not have secrets. Before the tragedy on Badab gradually got out of control, I knew that you were the one in the High Lords' Council who advocated a tough attitude towards the Five Hundred Worlds the most."

"That's right."

The Grand Marshal seemed calm. He pointed and led the Primarch's team through the complex corridors of the Bucephalus: Guilliman also noticed that as they passed through the checkpoints guarded by the Imperial Guards, his followers behind him were also left behind in batches.

But it didn't matter: Morgan said that she had enjoyed the same treatment on the Emperor's Dream.

In contrast, Guilliman wanted to hear what the High Lord wanted to say?

"But you know, my lord?"

The Grand Marshal looked serious: the Primarch was sure that he was not lying.

"I actually admire you very much."

"... What?"

"I admire you very much."

The Grand Marshal repeated it.

"You have built the entire Five Hundred Worlds into a kingdom of order and law. In the chaos and bloodshed of the Great Crusade, your construction of law is the most dazzling pearl: even Terra and the Far Eastern Frontier cannot compare with Macragge in this regard."

"As a pursuer of justice, your achievements have always fascinated me and I feel inferior to you."

"But this did not change your tough attitude towards me during the Badab Crisis?"

Faced with the Primarch's question, the Law Marshal just shook his head helplessly.

"My Lord: I am the High Lord."

"I am the High Lord personally selected by the Master Malcador from the vast sea of ​​people to serve only the Emperor and Terra: Although I admire you very much, if I am foolish enough to put my personal feelings above my duties, then I am not worthy of this position at all."

"On the contrary, it is precisely because of my admiration and pursuit of you that I know how powerful an opponent you are. When we unfortunately clashed on the battlefield, I knew that Terra must take a tough attitude: because this is the only way we can ensure Terra's victory in the Badab Crisis."

"..."

Guilliman was silent for a while.

"Then, can you tell me: in your real mind, do you want to take a tough stance during the Badab Crisis?"

"Is it important?"

The Marshal of Justice just smiled.

"What I think is not important."

"I am the Marshal of Justice, the High Lord."

"And sitting in that position, the Marshal of Justice must be a hardliner."

"Sitting in that position, the High Lord must seek benefits for Holy Terra. The so-called justice and law are not worth mentioning at this time. No matter why Terra went to war, it must leave as a victor: even if the cost is the morality and soul of us fuel."

"So, my thoughts are not important."

"Because the one who holds the highest power in the Empire is the High Lord and the Marshal of Justice."

"Not me."

"..."

Guilliman stopped walking, and he was silent for longer than the last time.

"Are you... all such people?"

"At least the High Lords of this generation are not less conscious than me."

"That's really terrible..."

The Primarch shook his head and sighed.

"I don't want to be enemies or get along with guys like you anymore."

And the High Lord just smiled.

"In that case..."

"Then later."

"Please sign the treaty."

"A ceasefire?"

"..."

"A ceasefire."