This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 470 Regent: Never Before Has There Been Such a Wonderful Start—

And after fire and wind, after iron and rain, after fluttering flags and triumphant horns, after firelight illuminated shouting faces and bursting, scattered flowers—

A new day begins for humankind.

They begin in silence, hanging down like a funeral banner, signifying the settling of all dust.

They began with a city atop the galaxy cheering once more, and wounded planets sprouting new life.

They begin on the endless ruins and rubble left by war, where they take root and grow like wildflowers, flourishing before the ruins are completely cleared, entwining broken bones and armor, climbing the rusty sides of tanks, adorning silent engines with wreaths, and providing coffins for the sleeping dead.

It began with yet another group of spirited warriors departing on starships to support those who had never left the battlefield, turning a seemingly hopeless situation into a decisive victory through blood and loyalty; it began with the pursuit and annihilation of the enemy remnants—

Swarms of insects, Chaos warbands, alien pirates—as humanity finally emerges from an invasion launched by the Chaos Gods, these opportunists are fleeing the territory of Great Alteramar, now entirely under human control, in fear and despair. They seek refuge away from these terrifying creatures, a place to lick their wounds, calculate their losses, and begin planning their next invasion, one whose very existence is uncertain.

Head up.

The sky was golden.

Behind the clouds stretched a long beam of light. It was neither sunrise nor sunset, nor the bright and resolute star at the center of Otlama, nor the guiding star in the subspace that led countless navigators to find their way.

It was a fleet stretching for miles, its light illuminating the sky, the city nestled among the mountains of Otlam, the distant worlds, and the ecliptic of countless stars, cast from beneath its hulls that stretched for kilometers and tens of kilometers.

Some may see it as the emperor's beacon of light, but the truth is much simpler.

That is a direction, a direction that once supported humanity's journey to the stars, and which has now returned.

"victory!"

"victory!"

On the day of the Ascension of the Emperor, in Ottara, along a grand avenue stretching for hundreds of kilometers in front of the Hera Fortress, a magnificent parade is taking place, with curtains hanging in the air and crowds cheering.

A great victory has come to an end, and countless heroes have returned.

Monuments will be erected in the city squares, and there will be magnificent mausoleums of heroes and great men. Each one will be inscribed with a monument and praises their deeds. There will also be countless graves of the nameless dead, each with a solitary monument and ever-burning lights.

Whether great figures or unknown individuals, their stories will endure, their archives will be compiled and recorded, and everything they left behind will inspire future generations who thrive in stable environments to follow in their footsteps.

The immortal beings in the warp have begun to fall, and the departed will live on forever.

The cheers were like a mountain roar and a tidal wave, surging from the bottom of their hearts.

The Astral Army, Astartes, Titan Legion, Imperial Navy.
Those among them who had made great contributions marched solemnly along the main road toward the heart of this grand event.

An award ceremony held under the watchful eyes of millions, recognizing their contributions.

It was carried out personally by a 'Primarch'.

"This is not the end."

His hand brushed against the cloak, under the gaze of millions.

The Protector of Great Altera, the Destroyer of the Death Guard, the Son of the First, the Emperor Champion of the Dark Angels, Ryan Eljonsson gazed at the medals beyond his burqa.

The lion looked at the medal, with its center in sapphire blue, featuring reliefs incorporating local Caliban culture, and protected by the iconic sword and shield emblem of the Dark Angel. It was a medal that clearly required a lot of effort from its designer, and he recalled the absurd things they had done in Altramath back then.

Once Guilliman wakes up, he'll definitely show off to the thirteenth prince.

He also felt that Ramses' unique yet affectionate nickname was quite fitting.

The lion's whiskers twitched slightly with his face, and his proud expression reappeared on his face.

The eldest brother's voice is still so good.

"I don't mind as long as you can do it."

Arthur welcomed this.

He was addressing the military organizations under his command.

For individuals who meet the award criteria, the award level will be determined according to their achievements, role, and influence, based on the following standards.

The name of the honorary title awarded to groups that meet the award criteria will be determined based on the characteristics of the award recipient's achievements.

By combining propaganda, allocating military resources, and implementing rewards, the standards set by the Dawn Wings will gradually be promoted to the entire Empire, making the rewards of honor a standard, no longer cheap, and no longer just a form of self-entertainment within Astartes or a certain military group.

Although they knew they couldn't please everyone, they did unite the vast majority of the group.

Arthur looked intently at these warriors, united under the same banner, fighting for humanity.

Of course, there are also those who work hard behind the scenes.

Scientists, government officials, and laborers—these members, who do not shine as brightly as the stars of the battlefield—receive awards from Romulus and Karna on the other side.

Although the current state of the Empire forces the Dawnwings to adopt a military-first strategy, they will not forget those who pump the lifeblood of the Empire's warhammer.

Before Karna, a labor representative chosen from the five hundred worlds looked excitedly at the angel before him.

"Sir, thank you for bringing me here."

she says.

Somewhat incoherent, these were the only simple words she could think of compared to the nobles who were quite at ease in such occasions.

Karna smiled and nodded.

"Thank you for allowing more of my warriors to share the joy of victory here."

He looked at her.

Her body, which had been operating at a high intensity for years, appeared so thin and frail that even the magnificent robes that wrapped around her could not hide her frailty and haggardness, but instead seemed to highlight her resilience.

Her eyes are very bright.

She took a breath, as if the medals and ribbons on her body were too heavy compared to the documents and machinery, then slowly turned her head a few degrees and gazed at the surrounding scenery.

"What are you going to do now?"

Karna asked, as if he were not asking for an acceptance speech, but chatting with an ordinary companion.

"Just like you, sir."

She replied, "I will go back to my hometown and, like everyone else, continue to fight and live."

She gazed at the angel's face.

"And faith."

She added a sentence, revealing a genuine smile.

Her smile seemed far more powerful than the rest of her body, as if it was this strength that sustained her. It was a flashback to the young woman who was once a daughter, a wife, and a mother, speaking of the power hidden within her.

It was a ray of light from elsewhere, a force of understanding, acceptance, and resistance.

A force that sees the right direction and follows it.

The power they all need.

St. Celestine witnessed all of this.

She hovered beside the Supreme Inquisitor of Aglaia, who was taking notes with his head down. Watching the knights of the Dark Angels with their proud and confident demeanor, watching the Holy Blood Angels walk among the crowd and maintain order, and watching the Ultra Warriors' think tank, Digris, show a proud expression under Romulus's praise, it was as if her inner fatigue was instantly dispelled.

He smiled from the bottom of his heart at this great victory that had nothing to do with him.

She was so grateful to the Emperor that she almost shed tears.

If such a scene is the result of three consecutive deaths, then the brutal back-and-forth journey through the warp after each death is a blessing.

The cheers continued.

Compared to the glory of the military that defined Cardia in the past, this was a carnival for the people. They surrounded the magnificent Titans and the solemn army, chanting the names of the Primarchs, the names of Alteramar, the names of the Astral Army and the Legion of Astartes under the watchful eyes of the starships.
Click~
The armored vehicle brushed against the red carpet.

As the sun's rays reached the center of the sky and fell upon the open gates of Hera's Fortress, the giants gathered together.

The cheers reached their peak at this moment.

The broadcasts no longer carried the names that evoked countless admirations and worship; instead, they were replaced by ancient music, and countless Macuraq people gazed at the doorway, gilded by the sunlight.

They so eagerly anticipated, and even tolerated, the existence of those aliens.

Deep within the Hera Fortress, a miraculous ceremony was taking place.

Primarch Robert Guilliman, the father of genes who was honorably kept in a stasis field by the Ultramarines, has broken free from his shackles.

Ultramarines Chapter Commander Calgar, the original Second Company Commander Hill, the leader of the Invincible Guard Erector ...

Today, the leader who fell ten thousand years ago and had to protect the Ultramarines in another way over the past ten thousand years is finally going to stand up again and stand truly beside his offspring.

In the instant it broke still, blood slowly flowed from the giant's neck.

Beside him, Kaul, who had already completed the integration of his soul with Ramses' help and had also regained his physical body, immediately guided the 'Armor of Fate' that carried Guilliman's destiny and equipped it on Guilliman's body.

Calgar, the chapter commander who had hurriedly handed everything over to Diggris after presiding over the opening of the celebration, and who came before the Father of Genes amidst a series of apologies, immediately looked expectantly at Ramses, who was presiding over the ceremony.

Tarasin, who was recording, immediately moved Karja's comical face away from the camera, while another camera emerged from under his robe, pointing directly at Karja.

"it's your turn."

Ramses looked at Ivoryrene.

Now, this Eldar chosen one of death has changed into a very formal ancient outfit from the Eldar Empire era and is standing at the other end of the ceremony site.

Having never experienced the harsh realities of the Comoros, this young man with his high ponytail appeared quite nervous under the watchful eyes of a group of peerless experts, a far cry from the image of someone who was adept at everything and the sole strategist of the Death Army.

suck~
With her back to the Eldar as if representing the leader of the entire Eldar race, she walked with impeccable steps to Guilliman, then raised the old woman's sword and placed it on the wound on the blue giant's neck.

Her task was simply to slice the blade across the wound and kill Guilliman before Slaanesh's poison could reach him. Ramses had completed the remaining preparations. The Armor of Destiny, a suit of armor imbued with special significance through millennia of human perseverance, would be the guiding light for his soul's return.

Ramses slammed down the scepter in his hand.

Time seemed to accelerate in that instant.

When the old woman's sword slashed from the other end of the Lord of Ultramar's neck, the Primarch's neck, tormented by Slaanesh's poison for millennia, was now as smooth as new.

"Hey"

Until another sigh, a sigh that could be heard by everyone.

hum~
The mechanical doors closed, and with the hum of the servo motors, the Armor of Destiny began to operate.

Everyone present fixed their gaze on the blue giant who rose from the throne.

Robert Guilliman, the thirteenth son of the Emperor, ruler of Alteramar, and regent of the Empire, rises, clad in the new and magnificent armor that Belisarius brought from the forge on Mars and which resides in the Automaton.

The Primarch's eyes reflected a raging fury, the same fury he had shown when facing his fallen brethren in his final moments, yet it made even his most loyal courtiers dare not look him in the eye.

At this moment, the entire sanctuary seemed to be under a spell. Although the cheers that resounded throughout Alteramar were deafening, the hall remained completely silent, with no sound other than the echoes from the outside world. Everyone present witnessed the rebirth of a legend with heartfelt reverence.

The silence was broken by a question brimming with doubt.

"Father?"

The anger in his eyes subsided, and his pupils suddenly dilated as he looked toward the scholar beside the throne who had orchestrated its resurrection.

His gaze swept over Hill, over De la Cruz, over Caul, over the strangely unfamiliar offspring and aliens, and then, in an instant, returned to Ramses.

Silence fell over the surroundings.

"."

Ramses always felt that the face he sculpted was too authoritative.

"This part was cut."

With a straight face, trying hard not to laugh, Ramses said to Tarasin, thankfully they hadn't done a live broadcast.

Tarasin nodded with satisfaction and gave an OK sign.

Guilliman also noticed something unusual during this brief interlude.

He looked up and gazed at Hill, who stood beside him. He could see tears in Hill's eyes and notice the mist rising from his suppressed breaths.

This is not the afterlife.

Even though he had just awakened, the Primarch's superhuman brain rejected everything that seemed amiss.

Guilliman observed the familiar Hera Fortress. He remembered his confrontation with Forgrim, when Hill brought his many offspring to the scene and made countless sacrifices to get him away from the danger zone.

He witnessed Ernesto de la Cruz's body fall amidst the chaos of battle and could clearly feel his own struggle, like drowning, before his consciousness completely dissipated.

He could recall the annoyance and regret he felt in that instant. He still had so much to do, and even though his brothers were still alive, he dared not let responsibility weigh on Dorne's heart, which was on the verge of destruction. He was unwilling to believe in Lemanrus's ability to govern, nor would he believe in the Khan's sense of responsibility.

If only Corax were here, he would have the ability, or perhaps Vokan, that gentle and responsible brother, would surely have been able to keep things in order.

Guilliman instinctively began to analyze the situation, attempting to outline the current state of the empire based on the information he had gathered.

Guilliman had no idea how long he had been asleep.

ten years? Twenty years?

He looked at Hill, then cast an apologetic glance at de lacus, and then looked at Caul, who was still much the same as he remembered, and made guesses in his heart.

But there were also unfamiliar faces, those he didn't recognize but were certainly of high rank, the Eldar aliens who had always been at odds with Ottaramar, and the more unfamiliar insignia, and the mortal attire of those who wore such clothing.
The Primarch's thoughts raced, yet he maintained an air of unparalleled majesty in the eyes of outsiders.

and also--

"who are you?"

Guilliman maintained a calm expression, raised his head again, and tried not to rely on his own experience to analyze the face.

"My name is Ramses."

Ramses didn't do anything special either; he contacted Guilliman and sent him a little note.

"."

An awkward silence lingered between them for another second.

Forgot about this pure psionic Muggle.

Ramses flipped his palm, transforming it into a book, and presented it to Guilliman.

Guilliman strode down from the throne, went to the other side, and then reached out to take the book, frowning as he examined it.

It included how he was resurrected, the current situation in Alteramar, the identities of the four members including the Wings of Dawn, and an explanation of why Eldar aliens appeared in his court.
As he glanced at the brief details, the precise and concise information, yet not vague, calmed the ripples in his heart.

A celebration of victory is warranted.

The ritual was held to further unite the Eldar and alien races, hoping to rely on his presence to solidify this cooperation and minimize the resistance from the Imperial humans.

It should be.

Guilliman expressed his approval when the focus shifted to the openness of the internet and various technologies.

He glanced inadvertently at the 'primary contributor' to his resurrection. The Eldar's keen senses allowed Ifreni to easily detect this scrutiny, but the young Eldar maintained his composure.

Well, it seems these new 'brothers' have also considered things carefully. Younger representatives are indeed easier to get along with and easier to influence each other.

Guilliman was convinced that, as the biggest beneficiary of this resurrection, he should also preside over the matter of national integration with the Eldar. The partner was easy to control, which was a good thing for the other party in political cooperation.

Until his gaze fell upon the date.

a thousand years.

Ms. Euton, Father, Brother
And empires.

Countless names and images began to flash through my mind, and a continuous stream of thoughts surged within me like a raging storm.

The Primarch's gaze remained indifferent, fully utilizing his political talents.

"I'm going to have a look."

He spoke, toward Ramses.

Everyone knew what he meant.

"Of course, this is for you."

Ramses smiled and raised his palm.

"please."

Guilliman nodded, waited for Ramses to catch up, and then they walked hand in hand quickly toward the door through which the sunlight streamed in.
-
This is a day to remember, a day that should be etched in the memory of the entire Makurag and the entire Ottara!

Clad in the armor of destiny, Guilliman, like a god cast in gold and azure, advanced through the Gate of Victory, illuminated by the light, and arrived at the towering platform prepared for him.

Guilliman stood on the platform, maintaining his proper etiquette and keeping the same position as Ramses. Behind him were Calgar and the chapter commanders of various chapters, each representing a different chapter that had come to Macragge; they were all his offspring.

Oh oh oh!
A loud bugle call came from the front.

As the grand music ended, an ancient and resounding melody followed, its clear, eagle-like tune carried into the summer sky, echoing the war horns of the Titan Order.

Guilliman lifted the curtain.

The first thing that catches the eye is the magnificent war machine, which stands around the military square or on both sides of the colonnaded avenue that stretches for hundreds of kilometers.

That was a vast army of Titans, including many Imperial Titans.

Guilliman believed that this was a great force that could be forged by the combined talents of the entire 500 worlds.

The cheers mingled with the fragrance of flowers, carried by the wind to his ears. The air around him was filled with the scent of victory. The scene before him was all too familiar, yet even he felt it was too distant.

That was the glory of brothers working together for the galaxy before the Great Rebellion.

Guilliman allowed himself to smile, toward his children, toward the countless people of the empire who were eagerly awaiting his return.

He looked them in the eye and discerned the emotions in their eyes.

This made Guilliman begin to believe Ramses' explanation, and at the same time, he felt a sense of relief.

They had waited too long for this moment, not because of desperate struggles or a long wait.

It was a joy that came from the bottom of one's heart.

I rejoice that the true rulers of Alteramar have awakened, and that they have presented a great victory as they welcome the Primarch's awakening.

He looked around again, and those standing below the stage were all his sons and his people.

As far as the eye can see, from the sky to the earth, it is all his territory!

Five Hundred Worlds, Second Empire.

All that has passed has become a memory. Now, ten thousand years later, this place is still his little empire.

Guilliman's gaze swept carefully over everything around him.

He saw it.

He saw all of this.

He saw the Dark Angels, those noble and aloof knights who still maintained the military formations that made him feel envious; he saw the Holy Blood Angels, these valiant yet approachable warriors who stood beside the people, even more approachable than they had been ten thousand years ago.

He saw his legion, a vast army of Ultramarines who retained the chapter insignia on their shoulder armor, displaying their majesty as masters of Ultramar in a unified manner.

He saw the vexing Ryan, who was leaning on his sword, looking at him, standing side by side with another knight.

He saw it: where countless eyes converged, on a high platform with the sea of ​​people and the sky as its backdrop, the equally tall blue giant grasped the angel's hand and shouted victory to the crowd of Great Ottara.

"."

Surprise, joy, trepidation, calmness, trepidation, joy—

The continuous emotional journey is like a winding mountain range, now returning to its starting point.

Guilliman turned around, unsure how to describe the scene before him.

Because it was so familiar, it gave him an absurd feeling of being in a parallel universe.

He turned around, maintaining the dignity of a king, and looked at Hill, his favorite son, his usually serene face showing a rare hint of doubt.

"How long have I been asleep?"

He confirmed it again.

"Ten thousand years, my lord."

Hill suppressed a smile and replied solemnly:
"a thousand years."

a thousand years.

The heroes remain, the cheers remain, the glory remains.

Bathed in the sunlight, and seemingly propelled by the sound waves, the colorful petals landed on the shoulders of the Thirteenth Primarch.

Then, it was swept away by the next wave of sound and thrown out of the cradle in someone's arms.

Humanity still exists!

(End of this chapter)