Exedra and his squad members were crammed inside the drop pod. The metal hull shrieked piercingly as it scraped against the atmosphere during re-entry.
Through the tactical observation screen, they could see orange-red plasma flames roiling outside the pod, illuminating the interior like the inside of a furnace.
And there were thousands of such drop pods!
They streaked across the sky of Macragge like a meteor shower, trailing blazing orange trajectories.
This grand spectacle was not an attack, but a meticulously choreographed performance.
On Macragge, millions of people were holding their breath, gazing up at the sky, witnessing the grandest opening ceremony of a victory parade in Macragge's history!
They didn't crash into the ground randomly. Instead, following precisely calculated paths from the Cogitator, they landed neatly in the designated area outside Macragge City, to avoid damaging buildings within.
The petal-like hatch at the bottom of the Dreadclaw slowly opened. Giants in power armour leaped out. Their boots thudded against the ground, as if the very earth trembled beneath their feet.
And there were tens of thousands of such giants!
Above the sky, hundreds of Stormbirds painted in steel-grey formed a tight aerial phalanx, roaring in.
They landed in sequence amidst the roar of engines. The Legion's vast armoured assembly was the first to set foot on the ground.
The incendium mortars of the Kratos heavy tanks glinted coldly in the sunlight. The Mastodon heavy assault transports were like moving fortresses. Baneblades and Shadowswords rolled in formation, their armor etched with honors earned in countless campaigns.
These war machines formed one perfectly aligned phalanx after another, advancing relentlessly along the Triumphal Way.
The surface of each armoured vehicle shimmered with a blue glow, because every Imperial vehicle was equipped with a flare shield.
Unlike bulky void shields, a flare shield is a directed electromagnetic flux field generator.
Its operating principle is different. Void shields shunt incoming fire into the Warp, while flare shields deflect it.
In defensive capability, flare shields are slightly inferior to void shields.
But flare shields are far cheaper and far more universally applicable.
Miniaturizing void shields is very difficult, while flare shields have a high adoption rate. They can be installed on any vehicle equipped with a plasma fusion reactor.
And these things could be mass-produced by the Imperium!
Transports and escort formations were like clouds of bees, descending close behind the War-Born Legion, their holds carrying hundreds of thousands of Auxilia soldiers.
Although these soldiers, wearing Solar-pattern void armour, were not as powerful as Astartess, they were still far beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.
Their formations were equally precise, their steps equally powerful, in no way inferior to the power-armoured Astartes.
These battle-hardened mortal soldiers had proven their worth in the most brutal conflicts, earning the recognition of the War-Born through blood and sacrifice. Thus, they too were deemed worthy of participating in the victory parade.
The War-Born only had over 30,000 warriors. Their numbers were still too small.
Without these hundreds of thousands of Auxilia soldiers, they feared the parade would be too monotonous and dull, bringing shame upon their gene-father.
Within the joint fleet, there were tens of millions more such Auxilia soldiers!
Such was the Imperium's war foundation!
Although this iron-blooded force was merely being reviewed, the murderous aura forged from the crucible of blood and fire still made the Macraggian spectators feel a lingering fear, all harbouring a heart of awe.
As the Auxilia phalanxes passed by the reviewing stand, Guilliman stood on the platform, waving to the soldiers.
The gesture was simple, but it still invigorated the mortal soldiers. That was a Primarch!
The Auxilia phalanxes moved away. The solemn Astartes phalanxes marched towards the reviewing stand in perfect unison.
But they did not leave like the Auxilia. Instead, they stood silently before the reviewing stand.
They were under the gaze of their gene-father!
Exedra was among the crowd, like the other warriors, casting a restrained yet fervent gaze towards the giant on the reviewing stand.
The giant, dressed in a simple blue and white robe, slowly lowered his arm to face his Legion.
'So that is Roboute Guilliman' Exedra thought.
He was the Chapter Champion of the First Chapter, but even he had not been worthy of an audience with the Primarch yesterday. Only the Legion Master and Chapter Masters had that honour.
The Thirteenth Legion strictly followed the Lex Imperialis, with a thousand men per company, and several companies forming a Chapter.
But the Thirteenth Legion did not have only four Chapters; it had a structure of ten Chapters.
Because too many warriors had distinguished themselves, the Legion had to expand to give them the promotions they deserved.
Therefore, all Chapters were under strength, only maintained at around three thousand men.
Only three of the ten Chapter Masters had been granted an audience with the Primarch yesterday. The other three were the Legion Master, the Chief Librarian, and the Legion Champion.
Exedra was just a Chapter Champion. He didn't make the cut for anything.
But today, when he finally saw the Primarch in person, he felt... nothing special.
"So this is you." Exedra murmured to himself.
'The Thirteenth Legion's Primarch was so mediocre. Like all his brothers, he was terribly disappointing.'
'Were they truly the Emperor's sons?'
'Nothing special.'
.....
"This is my Legion."
Guilliman gazed at his sons. They all wore power armour of the same pattern.
He couldn't distinguish each individual, but they were all his sons. Why make such fine distinctions?
They were all looking at him, their eyes full of expectation, waiting for his voice.
But what should he say?
Last night, he had written countless drafts of his speech, weighing every word, each phrase a gem.
Even though he could memorise them word for word, he still wrote them down one by one.
These drafts would allow him to speak eloquently for an entire day without repeating himself. But was this what his sons truly needed?
No.
They were warriors. Born from war, born for war.
They didn't need impassioned mobilization and speeches. They needed a father.
Guilliman spoke in a calm, steady voice: "I am Roboute Guilliman, son of the Emperor, and also son of Konor, Caelan, and Euten."
"From this day forward, I will also be your father. Lord of the Thirteenth Legion."
Over thirty thousand Astartess knelt in perfect unison on one knee. They maintained absolute silence, only the sound of ceramite joints flexing and knee plates striking the ground. In this manner, they showed their loyalty to the Primarch.
"Last night, I reviewed the history of the War-Born Legion."
"I memorised each of your names and honours, and revisited every battle the Legion has fought."
"You have achieved honours that others can hardly match. I did not witness that history, but the blood and sacrifice between the lines still moved me. You are all my sons, of whom I am proud!"
The War-Born straightened their backs, restrained joy hidden beneath their helmets.
'Father is praising us!'
"Your discipline and organisation far exceed other Legions. This should be your most proud trait!"
"But you also exhibit many flaws. Aggression, impulsiveness, irritability."
He was criticising his sons, yet not one of them wavered.
The Primarch was just building up before delivering the praise.
Videos of other Primarchs' return speeches had been circulated to all Legions. They had watched them meticulously in their spare time, countless times, each day fantasising about the protagonist being themselves and their own gene-father.
They had long learned to discern that Primarchs would all build up before delivering praise in their speeches.
Even if it were a genuine reprimand, they would accept it willingly.
They were naturally inferior to the Primarch. The Primarch had the right to criticise them.
If the Primarch pointed out their mistakes, they should correct them humbly, not stubbornly argue with him.
"Your genes come from me. Your flaws are also exactly like mine."
The warriors' posture grew even more upright. They only heard their gene-father praising them.
Whether thunder or rain, both are paternal grace!
"We are born to fight. We are the swords forged by the Emperor to cut down all enemies of humanity across the galaxy!"
"We should fight, without hesitation, without fear of death. That is the meaning of our existence."
"But we must understand why we fight, and for whom we fight!"
"The war of the Great Crusade is necessary, but the Great Crusade is not for war, nor for conquest."
"War and conquest are merely the means. Reviving human civilisation is the purpose."
"We fight for humanity! We fight for the Emperor!"
Guilliman gazed at his sons, his voice gradually softening, his right hand clenched in a fist over his chest.
"This is not a lecture. Only a father's expectation for his sons."
"You were called the War-Born, but your lives should not consist only of war."
"War is necessary, but war is not all we are."
"We are warriors, but first, we are human."
"I have a father, a mother, companions, and sons. What I have, you should also have."
"Like my brothers, I will give you a new name!"
"Ultramar. This is the name of this sector. It means 'beyond the sea of night'."
"In ancient times, this name symbolised that Ultramar was the frontier of civilisation."
"But I do not agree."
"Ultramar, beyond the sea of night, is the frontier of human civilisation, but it can also be the utopian far shore beyond existing human civilisation!"
"We are personally shaping humanity's future, and I hope to realize this vision sooner than anyone else!"
"And you, my sons, you will help me achieve it!"
"Ultramarines!"
"This is the name I have chosen for you!"
"Ultramarines. Sons of Ultramar. The Beyond Frontier Legion."
It could also be interpreted as the 'Ultimate Warriors'.
Ultramar is the frontier, or it could be the 'beyond' of the Imperium's frontier.
The name is not important. What matters is the meaning it carries, how people interpret it.
The newly reborn Ultramarines struck their fists to their chests, a clang of metal echoing.
They bowed their heads in unison, their voices resounding: "For the Emperor! For the Primarch! For Humanity!"
Guilliman also struck his fist to his chest.
"And for my fathers, Konor Guilliman and Caelan Worp Octavian, and for my mother, Tarasha Euten."
"For every Macraggian, for every star in Ultramar, and for all humanity, no matter where they are in the galaxy!"
"We are the Ultramarines. This is our home. This is our realm. Our Ultima"
"We will fight for them!"
'Truly ambitious!' Exedra bowed his head like the other warriors, but thought something else.
The Primarch's ambition was so great, he wouldn't even conceal it.
Ultramarines.
Ultramar.
Ultima Segmentum.
'Was Guilliman's ambition limited to Ultramar, or did he look towards the Segmentum?'
Exedra believed it was the latter, because he had explicitly used the word 'Ultima' in his speech.
The Primarch had barely returned to the Imperium, yet he was already unsatisfied with merely the Ultramar Sector. He had already set his sights on the broader galaxy. His ambition was staggering.
If he were merely mortal...
This ambition would be nothing but a dream.
But he was a Primarch. He had the ability and the resolve to turn that ambition into reality.
If he actually succeeded... then who would truly be the Imperium?
.....
Kurze said, "Our brother has returned, full of ambition."
Corax took Kurze's piece. "He has a name, general."
"He makes no effort to hide his ambition." Kurze moved his cannon, blocking the horse while counterattacking.
"For example?"
"He wants to control fifty thousand worlds."
"That's nothing. Father set the same standard for you and me."
Caelan had always been equal. He had told every Primarch about the vision of Ultramar's five hundred worlds, and had also subtly indicated to them that the Imperial system was too large and rigid, and needed the Primarchs' help.
The Emperor was ill; you should strive diligently.
And they were indeed doing so. Kurze was expanding the fastest.
Although the Night Lords didn't lack gene-seed, he still unsparingly drew his own blood, just to expand his Legion as quickly as possible.
This left Kurze's face unusually pale, but since his skin was already pale, it wasn't obvious.
Because of the rapid expansion, the Mechanicum's power armour supply couldn't quite keep up.
But even without power armour, Astartes were still stronger than mortals, capable of performing tasks between the two.
How many Night Lords there were now, probably only Kurze himself knew.
Just the worlds ruled from Nostramo had probably exceeded five hundred, hadn't they?
Kurze called Guilliman ambitious, but Corax thought Kurze was more ambitious than Guilliman.
Corax didn't speak, but his profound, ink-black eyes spoke volumes of his contempt.
Kurze stared at him. "You're not one to talk. You're just like me."
Corax shot back, "You started it."
Kurze started it first. He just didn't want to fall behind.
If Nostramo could have five hundred worlds, then Deliverance would too.
As it turned out, there was no Primarch who wasn't ambitious now.
It was just a matter of who was more ambitious.
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
[email protected]/DaoistJinzu