The entire plaza fell into a sudden, heavy silence.
Every gaze turned toward the middle-aged man who had so abruptly burst forward. Of course, this didn't mean they believed the madman's gibberish. Trying to pull this kind of moral kidnapping trick in the Imperium of Man was, frankly, a bit out of place. Many Ecarchy priests present were already calculating exactly how tall a pyre they should build for this man, who clearly carried no small suspicion of heresy.
Anyone with a shred of common sense knew that Roboute Guilliman had remained in stasis beneath the dome of the Temple of Correction on Macragge for the past ten thousand years; this was a fact etched into the annals of Imperial history. Even if blame were to be assigned, the finger should be pointed at the heretical traitors who had caused it all.
Within the procession, the eyes of several black-robed Inquisitors grew sharp. They rapidly scrutinized the over-decorated crystal pendants and the eerie blue feathers on the man's robes. Almost instantly, the same judgment surfaced in the minds of several Interrogators: Guaranteed at a glance—identified as a follower of Tzeentch. This conclusion became even more certain when they noticed several guards, who should have immediately stepped forward to maintain order, standing frozen with glazed eyes and vacant expressions.
Guilliman, clearly, had no intention of avoiding or ignoring the man. He stopped his advance with a flicker of interest and spoke with a grave, resonant voice that echoed across the suddenly deathly-quiet plaza.
"Heretic, I know not what blasphemous knowledge your master has poured into you, or what twisted illusions He has shown you. But I am certain that you are currently nothing more than a pawn held in His hand, used to achieve some hidden purpose."
"Heh... Hahaha!" The middle-aged man let out a sharp, staccato laugh, his eyes bulging. "A pawn? No! I have seen it! I have seen the hidden 'truth'! You were never on Macragge—that was nothing but an elaborate ruse!"
He spun around toward the pilgrims, who were beginning to retreat in terror, and raised his arms high, his voice raspy and distorted by extreme agitation.
"He! Roboute Guilliman is the traitor from ten millennia ago! And the true loyal soul of the Imperium, the Great Warmaster Horus Lupercal, was the Emperor's most beloved son!"
"Let me tell you the truth of the history that was rewritten!" The man spread his arms, his speaking speed increasing as words sprayed out like venom.
"The so-called 'Horus Heresy'? That is the lie! The true rebellion was—the 'Guilliman Heresy'!"
"At the end of the thirtieth millennium, it was Roboute Guilliman, along with the ambitious Sanguinius who sought to replace the Emperor, and Lion El'Jonson who craved the authority of Supreme Warmaster, who together wove a conspiracy of betrayal!"
"It was Guilliman who committed treachery at Calth! During a banquet welcoming his brothers, he launched a brazen sneak attack on the defenseless Word Bearers Legion! Those most sincere and faithful followers of the Emperor died never understanding why the brother they were sharing wine with one moment would fire a bolt into their chest the next!"
"Subsequently, this group of rebels openly tore off their disguises in Ultramar and declared the establishment of the so-called 'Imperium Secundus,' utterly betraying the Emperor!"
"Warmaster Horus, far away at Isstvan continuing the Great Crusade, was heart-stricken by this news. He immediately led nine loyal Astartes Legions to reinforce Terra... Sadly, that wolf-hearted Sanguinius, in order to be crowned early, bribed the Captain-General of the Custodes, Rogal Dorn, to heavily wound the Emperor and imprison Him upon the Throne, to suffer the burning of the Astronomican for eternity!"
"In the end, amidst the grief-stricken roars of 'Sanguinius! Why have you betrayed us!', the Great Warmaster Horus sacrificed himself to slay the false Emperor Sanguinius!"
"Yet the Imperium... ultimately fell into the hands of the most deeply hidden devil, Guilliman! To escape the pursuit of the other truly loyal Primarchs, you faked your death and went into dormancy, staging a galaxy-class masterstroke of wits, only to return today under the guise of restoration to carry out your usurpation!"
Guilliman: "..."
Adam: "666."
The Ultramarine Victrix Guard: "..."
The Adeptus Custodes: "..."
As the man finished his disjointed tirade, he struck a near-ecstatic pose, as if immersed in the radiance of the "truth" he had narrated, while eagerly glancing at the surrounding pilgrims. To better reveal the true face of the Imperium's greatest traitor, he had specifically asked a sorcerer to bless him, who promised that his words today would contain the magic to bewitch hearts and incite the Imperial masses!
This was not a righteous act, of course, but for the Emperor, for true justice, and for a judgment ten thousand years overdue, he felt he had no choice!
However, he discovered to his horror that it had no effect. Every pilgrim watched him with a look mixed with disgust and vigilance, as if what they had just heard was merely a burst of meaningless, piercing noise.
Only Adam quietly withdrew his hand, a micro-arc curling at the corner of his mouth.
"Fortunately, my reaction-blocking was fast enough. But... this performance was actually quite interesting. As expected of a Tzeentch worshipper, their storytelling ability is professionally aligned."
Guilliman's face had turned iron-blue. He spoke no more, merely reaching out slowly to grasp the hilt at his waist.
Clang—!
The sound of the Emperor's Sword unsheathing was not high-pitched, yet it seemed to resonate directly in the depths of every soul. Blazing golden fire erupted from the blade, carrying a magnificent divine power that purged filth and suppressed evil. The atmosphere of the plaza froze instantly; everyone looked with awe at the holy flame carrying the will of the Master of Mankind.
The Tzeentch worshipper's body shuddered violently! He felt the power bestowed upon him by the sorcerer beginning to spiral out of control under the radiance of the Emperor's Sword!
"No... this is imposs—"
His words were cut short. Under the horrified gaze of the crowd, his body underwent a terrifying mutation. Skin tore open as limbs stained with a mysterious blue, resembling rotting bird feathers, burst out; his hands twisted and stretched into scaled talons; his facial bones protruded forward to form a sharp, beak-like structure.
A total, foul-smelling heretic stood revealed under the light of the Emperor's holy flames.
"...How is this possible?!" The Tzeentch worshipper's final doubt was extinguished forever.
Guilliman's figure blurred in an instant. Almost no one present could see the lethal strike; they only saw a brilliant arc of golden light flash by.
Puff—
The eerie body turned into scattered, rapidly charring ash within the exploding Emperor's fire, leaving behind not even a scream.
A chilling silence blanketed the plaza. Guilliman held the still-burning Emperor's Sword before him, his gaze sweeping over the crowd who had seen the Primarch personally deliver judgment, finally landing on the Custodes who had remained silent throughout.
His voice rang through the plaza with unquestionable authority.
"You have all seen it. Heretical activity has reached deep into the shadows of the Throne World. This is a sign; the abominable ones have begun to weave their conspiracies."
From the ranks behind him, a Custodian Captain clad in brilliant gold armor stepped forward coldly. He nodded slightly to Guilliman and to all the Imperial officials present, speaking in a deep voice.
"In the name of the Hetaeron Guard, this matter has been recorded. Within the Palace walls, and indeed across the whole of Holy Terra, we shall join with other departments to begin a new round of investigation into heretical infiltration."