Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 472 The Debate on Primitives, Part Two

“Yes!” Hathor echoed, his hands moving swiftly as he processed documents, precisely placing a newly signed file into the sorting bin.

“My father was always in a hurry, but we didn’t really understand why at the time.” A bitter recollection flashed in her eyes, and her gaze lingered on a line of data in the report for half a second.

Chen Xi leaned forward slightly, deciding to steer the conversation deeper: "Behind this urgency lies the ticking countdown to humanity's survival. But Hathor, have you ever considered that the Emperor's initial purpose in creating you Primarchs might not have been merely to make you generals who conquer the stars?"

Hathor's pen paused abruptly as she reviewed the documents, a small smudge of ink spreading across the parchment. She looked up, her sharp gaze fixed on Chen Xi: "Oh? What insight does Your Excellency possess?"

She certainly didn't delve into that angle.

"I wouldn't call it insight, it's just a deduction based on history." Chen Xi clasped his hands in front of him and calmly explained: "The Emperor, the greatest scientist and ruler of mankind, poured his heart and soul into creating you—twenty near-perfect genetically engineered creations."

Your brains possess computing power, information processing capabilities, and multi-threaded operation efficiency far exceeding what ordinary people can imagine.

Guilliman could process battlefield information with precision down to 'machine gun moved five centimeters to the left,' and could process thousands of administrative matters and make decisions in an instant, just like handling a surging waterfall of data.

This ability is inherently suited for management, for building and operating a vast, complex, and efficient imperial machine.

Hathor seemed lost in thought, her mind racing, countless fragments of memory and logical chains rapidly reassembling: "You mean..."

“Yes,” Chen Xi nodded firmly, his gaze steady: “In the Emperor’s original grand blueprint, you twenty brothers were supposed to be the managers of the empire, each with your own expertise and duties, the pillars supporting the golden age of human revival, and the core ensuring the precise meshing of the empire’s gears.”

Commanding troops and fighting battles? That might be part of your capabilities, but it's definitely not your core role.

Hathor's eyes instantly became incredibly deep, as if piercing through the dust of millennia, gazing at that unrealized, orderly future.

“However…” Her voice lowered, carrying a barely perceptible chilling smile and deep-seated anger: “That foolish woman, seduced by the sweet lies of chaos, scattered us like seeds to the desolate corners of the galaxy…” She clenched her fist, her knuckles turning slightly white from the force, leaving clear marks on the edge of the document.

"Our fate was tainted by chaos, forcibly instilled with the poison of so-called 'free will,' and ultimately... brewed the bitter fruit of a great rebellion." The cold words echoed in the silent office.

Chen Xi sighed, continuing the heavy topic, his gaze falling on the imperial eagle emblem on the table: "And when you have gone through hardships and returned to the empire one by one, the situation the emperor faces no longer allows him to make arrangements at his leisure."

The precious window of opportunity in the warp was fleeting, and the shadow of chaos pressed in relentlessly, like a sword hanging overhead.

He could only immediately send the returning Primarchs, and the Astartes Legion prepared for you, to the most pressing battlefield—the Great Crusade.

Thus, 'conqueror' became your primary identity label.

This twist of fate, coupled with your vastly different upbringing, ultimately shaped your distinct personalities and, consequently, your different fates.

Hathor paused for a moment, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the cold parchment, as if re-examining the blurred silhouettes of herself and her brothers. When she spoke again, her tone was complex and low: "And I... as the first to return, spent thirty years by Father's side. He personally taught me and nurtured me into a commander."

Her voice carried a touch of nostalgia, as if touching a distant warmth, its light piercing through the dust of millennia, gently illuminating this moment.

"Back then, 'he'... longed to be a good older brother to all his brothers, warm and loving, like a rising star."

This light was not an illusion; it truly shone upon the dawn of the rising empire.

Known for her demeanor and affability, she was more patient and willing to adapt to local customs than her father when dealing with less developed civilizations, trying to understand rather than forcibly suppress them.

At the heart of that light is respect for people, regardless of their social status.

“I treated my subordinates with respect, whether they were Space Marines or ordinary officers. My courtesy and respect for them came from the bottom of my heart and was not just for show. That sincerity won the hearts of countless people.”

Even in that hostile galaxy, they attempted to sow a glimmer of reason.

Even when facing aliens, he always tries to be courteous first and then use force, giving them a chance to choose. He is ruthless to his enemies but warm to his brothers and subordinates... These seemingly contradictory traits are strangely integrated in "him".

It is this unique and powerful charm that attracts followers like a magnet, but ultimately leads them to the abyss.

"This shaped 'his' charisma, and that's why so many people followed him when he raised the banner of rebellion, willing to fall into the abyss." Her eyes dimmed for a moment, as if the destructive flames that swept across the galaxy were burning her memories once again.

This ability and prestige were once recognized by his brothers. "'He' was appointed Warmaster, and Leon may have been unwilling, but he also acknowledged that 'his' abilities were sufficient for the position. At that time, 'he' earned the respect of almost all his brothers." Hathor's voice carried a hint of imperceptible detachment, as if he were trying to draw an invisible line, striving to distinguish between "she," who was now an observer and reflector, and "he," the radiant figure in his memory, who carried countless expectations and ultimately betrayed him.

“However,” Chen Xi keenly caught the turning point, “your attitude toward the imperial bureaucracy seems to be completely different from your attitude toward soldiers and brothers? This contradiction is the key.”

Hathor slammed his pen down on the document.

A complex mix of emotions surged in his amber-gold eyes—a cold analysis mixed with a forcibly suppressed embers of past anger.

She took a deep breath and shook her head slightly, as if trying to shake off some sticky feeling of disgust.

His voice was no longer steady, but rather low and hoarse with a restrained pain: "Back then, 'he'... Horus back then... harbored a deep-seated, almost instinctive... hatred for those high-ranking, mortal bureaucrats who had never been on the front lines."

Her fingertips unconsciously traced the hard wood grain of the tabletop.

(End of this chapter)