Chapter 201 Son of War

Robert Guilliman stopped beside the hourglass in the Macragge Chamber.

The hourglass was more than a foot high and was placed on a small metal table on the side of the hall. The base was tightly embedded in the circular groove in the center of the small table, which was carved with abstract plant patterns. Under the daily wiping of the Senate servants, the iron bright silver frame and the delicate patterns on its surface transformed into a storm condensed in the metal.

Inside the frame, in the transparent crystal, the fine sand had already passed through the small hole in the center and accumulated into a sand dune at the bottom of the hourglass.

No one would flip this hourglass, because as an expensive work of art, it was its value. It fulfilled its assigned duties and did it well. No one would risk destroying the hourglass - even if the risk was so small that it did not need to be really taken into account, to flip it, so that the fine sand would fall and arrange again, and after a long period of gravity, it would fall into a pile of new sand dunes that seemed no different from the previous ones.

In theory, if an action cannot change something that needs to be updated, it does not need to be implemented.

Robert's eyes swept across the floor of the Senate, and the silence at the entrance of the hall was transmitted to his mind as a message itself.

There was no one around, he lifted two chairs and put them aside, and sat down quietly on the smooth floor after the morning cleaning, so that his huge body could fit the average height of the table here.

He placed the documents recording the battle reports of the Thirteenth Legion over the years on the long table, unfolding them one by one. The red and blue ink used for marking gradually occupied enough space on the oak long table along with the paper. Dense annotations, a large number of outlines and neat black printed words formed a huge maze. When his fingers moved in the air on the surface of the paper, it was like looking for a distant exit in this maze.

The Thirteenth Legion, an independent legion with an organizational structure strictly loyal to the requirements of the "Battle Strategy". From the structure of the legion, Robert Guilliman saw the shadow of the early standard model of the legion that the Emperor and he himself might have a council or a group of advisers to centrally build.

The soldiers of this legion were organized into companies of a thousand men, and ten companies were merged into a regiment.

In addition, many companies were equipped with a large number of extermination weapons: destructive kinetic weapons that caused direct explosions, white phosphorus rockets that spread burning and killing, and ruthless radiation generators. Behind each Gothic word decorated with prefixes and suffixes is a piece of civilization destroyed.

Robert's finger stopped on a word circled in blue ink.

Sons of War.

This is their first nickname and second name.

The Pampokro tribe near the equator, the war family of the Saragon enclave, the hive of Midafric and the cannibal tribe of the Caucasus, these warriors came from different regions of Terra, but were reborn as a whole under the forging of war - the origin of the nickname also defined the legion itself. Language and symbols frame and simplify a concept that is difficult to express in thought.

When they got the name of the Sons of War, no one could see their former appearance, their broader personality and the possibility of the future besides war. All people could see or feel was the word "Warborn", even they themselves.

Roboute Guilliman was worried.

He put away his papers, returned his chair, and went to his office before anyone began to look for him.

Thirty minutes later, the guards would knock on his door, and he would ask to change his clothes, wearing the sky-blue and gold-rimmed suit of armor that Jotun had chosen for him, with a wreath of green leaves to symbolize that he was meeting the army as a person, not a member of the Council of Macragge. His army would meet him on the rocky three-quarters of Macragge, just outside the site of a large military academy, first to learn about the desolate mountains of the Primarch's home world before witnessing the core of Macragge's prosperity.

He would review each of their captains, respect and praise their military formations, but then give them their own code of war without anger. He would introduce Macragge's discipline, order and honor, and express his hope with orders, asking the Warborn to learn Macragge's culture and change their views on civilization. The Labonis Valley will be divided among these warriors, and fortresses will be built. The fortress will be named after Hera, making the warriors feel like they are returning to the bosom of their second mother. Connor Guilliman said that he was inspired by a dream and found a golden-haired baby beside the Hera Falls in the Labonis Valley. At that time, the mist of mountain spring water was falling on his face.

He will speak as if he is standing in the Senate, focusing on confidence, caution and honesty. He will appear calm and joyful in the first ten minutes of his speech, then he will raise his left and right hands at the same time, making a lifting gesture, and then change his voice, deciding on the spot the proportion of leniency and severity according to their attitude.

Finally, he vowed to join the Emperor's expedition, using an impassioned and passionate voice to mobilize the emotions of his tens of thousands of warriors, and announced that his future achievements will bring glory to the Sons of War - he now knows that these warriors have withdrawn from a war mission they are about to participate in in order to see him. He doesn't know how much resentment is contained in this forced abandonment of merit.

He planned all this.

As Roboute Guilliman stepped over the hourglass, he looked at the fine sand that had sunk to the bottom, and suddenly reached out and turned the hourglass over.

The tracks rolled over the weeds outside Macragge, the gravel was blown up, and the wind blew up the dust. Through the window, Roboute Guilliman saw his own face reflected and overlapped with the scene outside the window.

He heard the speech he had not yet started echoing in his ears: "To the human world that is still suffering in the places where the glory of the Milky Way has not reached, to the civilization that is enslaved by alien races and the cruelty of the natural or human environment, we will take Aid and innovation; we inflict annihilation and death on those who are hopeless enemies of ours. I, Robert Guilliman, the thirteenth scion of the Emperor, Lord of Mankind, hereby join us. The Imperium, pledge your loyalty to our common ideals, and together we will fight in the Great Crusade."

He patiently calibrated every word in this set of manuscripts and used the best speech rules to perfect and adjust the cadence of each pronunciation. He wondered if Perturabo had been as serious as he was when he tightened the last screw on his handmade machine. This was not a comparison. In fact, he thought it was a reflection of his excessive worry.

Wait, maybe he could add a line that expressed liberation and kindness. Angron did not shy away from introducing the rope of triumph around his waist and all the sufferings related to it in the bath the night before. Then he can learn from his brother's known success stories.

The hatch opened in just the right spot, delivering the pristine rock to Robert Guilliman's feet.

He didn't ask for carpets, flowers, or special welcomes. In Macragge's cultural roots, before the growing prosperity of the Age of Strife had yet enveloped the planet, people valued self-denial, simplicity, and discipline, and were less interested in technological progress. Dependence is seen as disharmony and moral decline. Robert believes that this is the Macragge people actively weakening and reducing their spiritual needs when they are in an environment with low material output, although there are still merits in it.

He saw some warriors waiting for him on the side of the vehicle. Robert suddenly discovered that the Children of War were shorter than he thought: he had indeed mistakenly expected some genetically modified, taller warriors, imagining that the top of their helmets might be even with his chin - but they were no taller than mortals. Too tall, isn't it?

Guilliman revised his thoughts again. When he made the final preparations in the next second, he walked towards these warriors from the legendary Terra, trying to discern their attitudes through their helmets and thick armor. . This was not a successful attempt, not even the Primarch had the ability to see through ceramite.

"Fighters, I am Robert Guilliman, your future commander." He gave a simple greeting to these soldiers who should be the company commanders of each company, and waited for a reaction.

The next moment, in front of Guilliman's suddenly stiff body, dozens of armored sergeants suddenly knelt down on one knee, and the unanimous cry resonated in the air for a long time: "Father!"

Father. The word triggered a sharp contraction in Robert's stomach. They were warriors, veterans, independent men, and judging from their battle records, most were even older than Guilliman himself. He almost imagined a bearded veteran like a Macragge polemicist calling his father, and began to mentally thank them for wearing their helmets.

"You are excellent warriors. Even if your genetic chain has something in common with mine, I know that you have biological biological parents..." Robert was about to continue to persuade the sons of war not to call him father, but an inconvenience came to him. A good premonition quickly took hold of him.

While he hurriedly classified this premonition into the objective experience resulting from the subconscious analysis of the vast sensory information and integration of conclusions by reason, he changed his tone: "No matter what, from today on, you are my children."

The sound of rustling air came from these armors, and Guilliman quickly received a highly morale response: "Yes, my father!"

"Take me to my warriors, soldiers."

Robert hoped that the loud, accelerating heartbeat of his heart was not heard by these warriors with excellent hearing.

How did these soldiers call a stranger they met for the first time their father? At least he couldn't figure out how to do it without leaving his adoptive father, Conor Guilliman, behind when he called himself Emperor in the future.

Standing on the edge of a giant rock, more than 20,000 sons of war filling the entire valley seemed to be approaching him. They claim to be related to Robert Guilliman and consider themselves to be his descendants.

Robert let the rock beneath his feet support him and raised a hand to wave. Tens of thousands of people stared at him, tensing their nerves, breathing silence into the air, and the world shook slightly behind them. As Robert lowered his palm, a silent signal was given, and the Primarch heard the warriors' breathing.

There is a special power in the rhythm of their breathing, and through these inhales and exhales, visions of another world pass through the wheel of the primarch's senses, casting a dull maroon color on everything before them. He saw the turbulence of disaster on the surface of the planet, the riots and rebellions that were thrown into deathly silence, the bones melting under the radiation and the desolate land. The hatred and anger that spanned reality disappeared under the act of annihilation. The flames of war burned civilization into sand and deposited it at the bottom of the world.

Robert Guilliman took a deep breath. He calmed down, breathed with the legion, and carefully searched for the most appropriate image of himself among the legion.

He was not one of their brothers, and his legion was different from the three he had already seen. He doesn't really have an object to learn from. Conor Guilliman and Thalasha Yutun could not teach him, nor could his brothers.

This is his team, his subordinates, an extension of his strength and will. Every word he speaks next will be a definition of himself at the same time. The power of language will be unprecedentedly powerful, so that the summary he follows will be enough to provide tens of thousands of warriors who are more than mortals, and even countless people from now on. The foundation for a battle that takes place in all corners of the galaxy.

He felt nervous.

Then comes excitement.

Once these bright and powerful emotions are unearthed, they multiply quickly and vigorously, like young shoots turning over gravel and frozen rivers breaking the ice downstream.

Beginning with Macragge, throughout Ultramar, and continuing beyond Ultramar, the aggressiveness and determination of this army will be invincible, and the traits of restraint and discipline they will possess will help They become a retractable spear that expands the world.

A broader and more diverse civilization and a better life will spread as unstoppably as light, even if they now only have more than 20,000 people, and the imprint of the previous destructive war on this legion needs to be removed urgently - this Still a good start.

He began to feel hopeful about the future.

"Children of War," the Primarch spoke, the daylight lighting up the leafy laurel wreath on his head, his voice like a torrent, "I am Robert Guilliman."

"You came here to find my presence and wait for my command. But beyond that, I want to know if there are other reasons for you to come to Macragge. I want to know what kind of things you bring with you. An intention, a purpose, an assumption, or a belief in something.”

He gave a pause.

"I don't expect you to give me a precise and in-depth answer now, but I will tell you now. If you want to answer that you come for war, come for obedience, and come for destiny, then your arrival will become A meaningless waste and a pilgrimage with wrong assumptions, because what we are going to discuss next will have nothing to do with the battle itself.”

"I will not immediately change your existing establishment, nor do I intend to change your positions and titles. All specific combat practices will be carried out after the theory is verified."

"What happened here today is just a preaching. A guidance. Even a help. I hope everyone understands my intentions. Because I need you to truly understand the purpose of war, its operation process and the results it can achieve. This is the foundation of our future cooperation and the essence of behavior that our Corps will acquire through in-depth discussions.”

He thought of the hourglass, of its turning. The same handful of fine sand fell again.

"Before we begin, I will give you a new name. Ultramarines. Remember it. For from here my speech will proceed."