Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 605 The Game Between the Parties
On Mars, deep within the metal temple, a torrent of data surges through a vast array of thinkers, converging into a silent sea of ​​light and electricity.

In stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of other foundry worlds, this place is shrouded in an almost oppressive, meaningful silence.

Countless servo skulls, mechanical appendages, and logic engines continue to operate efficiently, focusing on iterative optimization of the Primal Forged Space Marine project and ongoing deciphering of ancient artifacts such as the Watchers.

The entire integrated laboratory resembled a dormant behemoth, silently digesting information from all corners of the galaxy.

In the other worlds of the Mechanicus, the news of the Primarch's return was like a thunderclap, stirring up completely different waves of discussion.

In the fiery furnace temple of Riza, the great sage Voss Kalck, a seeker of knowledge, could hardly contain his excitement.

His numerous mechanical limbs flailing wildly in the air, emitting sharp hydraulic hisses, as he proclaimed to the surrounding Tech-Priests and disciples: "Ferus Manus! Primarch of the Craftsmen! Son of Gorgon!"

What he commands is far more than just a legion.
That was a living holy book from ten thousand years ago, the secret of biological fusion personally bestowed by the Emperor, the fire of truth from the ancient forges deep within the Medusa strata!

His optical lens zoomed incessantly due to excessive excitement, and the data stream washed over the visual interface like a torrential downpour.

"We must obtain it—the great gift of Omnisiah!"
Where is the Mars delegation?
I will go there myself!

We will acquire this knowledge at all costs!

Meanwhile, deep within the fortified fortress buried underground by Lucis, the conservative sage Clark Morse was in urgent communication with his faction members via a multi-layered encrypted binary channel.

His signal was heavily coded and scrambled to prevent eavesdropping: "Stay calm, Worth!"

Your blind enthusiasm will destroy the fragile balance we've maintained with Medusa for millennia!

The code he transmitted revealed a deep concern: "A Primarch who has regained control of the Legion is not a beggar for technology."

He will demand more—technological autonomy, a standards system independent of Mars, and even his new interpretation of STC!
What will be the authority of Mars then?

How can the sacred unity of the STC be maintained?
We can reaffirm the Iron Pact, but we must never unconditionally open up the entire treasury of technology.

Restrictions must be imposed, and clear terms must be defined!

Meanwhile, in the most distorted and highest-encryption secret channel, Zeral Vance, the great sage from the ultra-orthodox "Iron Logos" faction and a representative of the skeptics, was secretly communicating with some extremists in the courtroom in a voice that had been mechanically altered multiple times: "Return?"
miracle?

absurd!

Where is the logic?

Where is the data to support this?

His words were as cold as failed code: "This is very likely a carefully orchestrated hoax by a high-level abomination intelligence, or a twisted creation reconstructed by forbidden soul programming and warp binding magic."

The highest level of investigation must be carried out—collect the energy characteristics of its metal arm, scan the spiritual frequency background, and thoroughly investigate whether its existence is legitimate!
We, the Mechanic Order, are faithful servants of Omnisaiah, and will never bow to a heretical creation, much less offer our core sacred knowledge!

The official delegation dispatched by Mars has already set off.

The massive mechanical ark, resembling a mobile steel temple, was slowly sailing towards the icy Medusa.

However, inside this magnificent creation lies a miniature mirror of the Mechanicus: the members of the mission come from different factions, each with their own distinct purposes and secret orders.

Although the delegation leader was a master diplomat and envoy, the team secretly included observers and technical priests from the intellectual, conservative, and even skeptical factions. Each carried their own factional missions and reporting channels, making the mission fraught with uncertainty and risk.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Holy Terra, the Imperial State Religion's massive propaganda machine was operating at unprecedented power.

Inside the magnificent St. Gregory's Cathedral, which can accommodate hundreds of thousands of believers, Bishop Desimus Walker—an ambitious and shrewd radical leader—stands on a gilded and jeweled pulpit.

Facing the fanatical bishops, preachers, and propaganda chiefs who had been urgently summoned below, he waved his arms passionately, his voice sharp and highly persuasive, echoing continuously beneath the massive dome.

"This is a miracle of the Emperor!"

It is a great victory for faith!

Bishop Walker's face flushed with fervor, his eyes gleaming with power. "Ferus Manus is no longer just an ancient warrior, he is the 'Iron Saint'!"
It is the most brilliant proof that the God-Emperor bestowed upon us and guided us during this dark age!
His return proves that faith can transcend the cold laws of the universe, and that devout prayer can bring the dead back to life!

He pointed to the religious icon that was rapidly generating on the holographic screen behind him: the image showed Feralus radiating golden light, with a face as majestic and compassionate as a god, holding an Imperial Blessed Warhammer wreathed in holy flames, and treading on twisted green-skinned corpses.

"I will make His holy name resound in every corner of the Empire—from the most magnificent Upper Nest Spire to the most remote agricultural shantytowns!"

Walker's voice was almost a roar, "Brochures, icons, prayers, hymns... they must flood the world like a tidal wave!"

Let all the people know that it was their unwavering faith in the Emperor that brought this saint back!
This is the greatest reward for our faith!

He turned abruptly, his gaze fixed intently on a trusted parish priest in charge of propaganda beside him: "And this is just the beginning!"
We must hold a 'Saint Triumph Ceremony' for him that is unprecedented in the history of the empire!
The scale must surpass any previous celebration!

We will build an unprecedented altar in Sanctuary Philosophy and gather billions of believers!

We must shape him into the most dazzling and sacred symbol within the state religion system in our own way!
He was elevated to a divine status by the fervent faith of millions of believers!

His face radiated an undisguised lust for power, and his voice, though low, was all the more powerful: "At that time, those bureaucrats in the High Lords Council who only know how to play with paperwork will be..."

Other original entities that might return but do not understand the true meaning of faith?

Those Astartes warriors who only knew how to wage war and were simple-minded?

They will all be enveloped in this sacred light and pale in comparison!
The state religion will become the true dominant force of the empire, leading humanity towards ultimate salvation!

In the flames of devout fervor, he laid bare the grand political schemes behind it all, as if he could already see a future where he could control the spirit and power of the Empire by virtue of the Primarch.

Deep within Terra's palaces, beneath the red sands of Mars, and in the shadow of the state cathedral, countless undercurrents have long since converged into a raging vortex.

Every faction at the highest levels of the Empire—the Ministry of Military Affairs, the Ministry of Justice, the Ministry of the Interior, the Star Language Hall, the Navigator Families, the Mechanicus, the State Religion, and even the Inquisition, whose stance has yet to be clearly stated—is conducting the most meticulous analysis and the most ruthless calculations regarding the return of Ferrus Manus, all based on their own interests, fears, and ambitions.

Beneath the seemingly warm and respectful congratulatory message lies the prelude to a war that will determine the future of the empire—a war fought without gunfire but far more dangerous.

Each side is secretly adjusting its strategies, preparing resources, sharpening its blades, or weaving a net, waiting to see how the Iron God, returning from the Medusa storm, will make his move, and how to deal with the open and covert attacks from "their own people."

The political abyss of the empire has silently opened its gaping maw.

(End of this chapter)