Chapter 178 - The Primarchs’ Next Plans (2)
~ 💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 60→1ch | 100→2ch | 200→5ch ⏰ Resets Monday! Thanks!
"Kaelen, do we have any word on another one of our brothers... Perturabo?"
Guilliman asked it casually, setting his data-slate down on the table.
He felt it necessary to nail down that brother's whereabouts. In the current situation, among the traitor primarchs, the only one capable of mobilizing legion-scale forces and causing real trouble for the Imperium was probably the Lord of Olympia himself.
His instincts said Perturabo would never content himself with sitting quietly. The man was plotting something. He was always plotting something.
Kaelen nodded slightly, but his expression was far from relaxed.
"Perturabo will also be making his move." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "He has a plan. He intends to construct an iron defensive line that will gradually strangle the Throneworld into a blockade."
The moment those words landed, the air in the meeting room dropped several degrees.
"Unlike Abaddon's reckless Crimson Path," Kaelen continued, slowing his pace so the primarchs could absorb every word, "Perturabo's fortress chain advances from the northwestern galaxy — the direction of the Eye of Terror and the ruins of Cadia — pushing southeast toward Terra. Slow and methodical. Every planet he takes, he immediately fortifies and wires into a production and logistics network."
The three primarchs nodded in unison.
They knew their brother's way of war.
Perturabo never fought without preparation. He never fought without a supply line either. If he were allowed to hammer his way forward inch by inch like that, the threat he posed would dwarf anything Abaddon's headlong charges could manage.
Guilliman's own Indomitus Crusade followed nearly the same doctrine: every key world secured meant defenses consolidated and logistics locked in before moving on.
"So it seems..."
Horus scrolled through the galaxy star chart. The map was incomplete, many systems were marked in a jumbled mess, but for the primarchs to read the enemy's overall strategic picture, it was enough.
"Perturabo drives on the Throneworld from the southeast. The Tyranids' Fourth War closes from the galaxy's western flank." His finger traced a heavy line across the chart. "That's a pincer. Two jaws biting at once. The Imperial defensive line caught between them gets torn apart."
"Correct." Guilliman picked up the thread. "Kaelen told me this before the Indomitus Crusade even began. He told me to station the three remaining fleets, still not fully assembled, in the Solar Segmentum as a reserve. Looking at it now, he was right."
Silence for a moment.
Fulgrim was the first to speak, a thoughtful light shifting in his violet eyes.
"Perhaps we should suspend the Indomitus Crusade. Redirect the bulk of our resources to the Solar Segmentum's defense. Hold the core first, then think about pushing outward."
Guilliman shook his head.
"I launched the Indomitus Crusade precisely to reunify the Imperium's strength and resources. If we stop, the Imperium won't survive long with enemies pressing in from every direction. Every planet we hold is fuel keeping this thing alive."
He turned to Horus.
"Brother. Your strategic read?"
Horus didn't answer immediately. His gaze stayed fixed on the star chart for a long moment before he spoke, his voice low and deliberate.
"My view: we focus on one or two enemies at a time. Not many at once."
He raised his head and held Guilliman's gaze.
"We extend the Imperium and human civilization at any cost. Weakness is the original sin in this universe. We should be forging alliances with other species and prioritizing the Tyranids and the forces of Chaos, they're the existential threats. Xenos or traitors, it doesn't matter what label we put on them. A living enemy is an enemy. A dead one is just history."
"That is heresy, Horus."
Fulgrim couldn't suppress it. His brow creased, and there was an edge in his voice that hadn't been there before.
"Eldar, Orks, every species that has warred against us, Father taught us to destroy them. To annihilate everything that could threaten humanity." He leaned forward, his gaze burning. "Where is the Lupercal who fought with such conviction? The one who carried our father's vision in his bones?"
"I—"
Horus had barely gotten one word out before he was cut off.
Guilliman raised a hand, palm down, and pressed the gathering tension flat before it could boil over.
"Fulgrim, what Horus is considering has merit. Those species are our ancient enemies, but that doesn't mean cooperation is impossible." His tone was even, unhurried. "I've heard that when Father unified Terra, he was far from scrupulous about his methods. Allying with the weak against the strong, shifting coalitions as the situation demanded, he did that more than once. Perhaps we should set aside some of our misgivings about xenos, join forces to put down the deadliest threats first, and once the situation stabilizes, deal with them then. It won't be too late."
Fulgrim's eyes narrowed slightly. He turned it over in his head.
He realized he had been rash.
"...You're right. I was being narrow-minded."
He said it plainly, without making a production of it.
The meeting moved on.
Next: military reorganization.
The rebuilding of the Luna Wolves, the Night Lords, and the Emperor's Children, all three legions, was something the four primarchs genuinely cared about.
Unlike before, the warriors of the new legions would not be drawn from a single gene-seed line. Instead, they would follow the mixed-unit model of the current Primaris Astartes Chapters. A single legion might contain warriors from several different primarch lineages. Some inheriting Guilliman's cold rationality, some carrying Horus's cutting edge, others bearing Fulgrim's relentless drive for perfection, still others carrying forward traits from primarchs not in this room.
None of that was the point.
The point was that they would inherit and master the distinct combat traditions of three legions: the Luna Wolves' specialty in decapitation strikes, the Night Lords' mastery of fear tactics and asymmetric guerrilla warfare, and the Emperor's Children's signature, perfect, coordinated multi-branch operations.
And every bit of it would be taught by the primarchs themselves. Directly. Personally.
Even if some of these warriors were technically the primarchs' "nephews" by lineage seniority, it didn't stop the primarchs from thinking of them as their own sons.
Then Fulgrim's expression shifted. He straightened and turned to Guilliman with a proposal.
"I want to change the legion's name. To the Phoenix Guard."
Guilliman raised an eyebrow.
"Your reasoning?"
Fulgrim lowered his eyes. His voice dropped.
"I believe neither I nor my legion are worthy of the Master of Mankind's expectations any longer. The title Emperor's Children is too heavy a name to carry right now. Let us prove ourselves in the battles ahead first. When the day comes that we are truly worthy of it again, we'll take it back."
Guilliman and Horus exchanged a glance.
Fair enough. Having a goal gave you something to fight for. That was never a bad thing.
Each legion would start at 10,000 warriors. Guilliman promised a steady stream of recruits to follow, with room to expand. More importantly, the quality would be held to standard.
There was another layer to the arrangement as well, one meant for the rest of the Imperium to read clearly. Even with Horus holding the Warmaster's position, Guilliman as Imperial Regent still held the reins of military and political authority. That structure would cut off a great deal of whispered speculation before it could start. Nobody would get to mutter that the Regent had been made a figurehead.
With all of that settled, Guilliman lowered his head and pulled up his brothers' identity records on the data-slate, ready to enter them formally into the archives.
His fingertips swiped across the screen.
Then stopped.
"...What is this?"
He frowned, tapping on Horus's profile. He stared at the field.
The system had thrown a red alert: Cannot advance this many ranks.
He looked more closely.
There, sitting neat and square in the identification field, were a few words:
[Ryes Star · Ogryn Worker]
The meeting room went quiet for a full second.
Then Curze leaned in. Those pitch-black eyes swept the screen. He wasn't surprised in the slightest. He just grinned, wide and sharp.
Bright laughter rang out of him and cut through the silence of the meeting hall like a blade.
Fulgrim craned over for a look as well. His violet eyes curved. He pressed a hand over his mouth, failing to hold back the smile.
Even Guilliman, stern, composed Guilliman, couldn't keep it together. His shoulders shook twice. Then he laughed out loud.
"...Ahem."
Horus cleared his throat. The layer of dignity on his face came very close to cracking entirely.
"This identification is simply a clerical error, brothers. Don't dwell on it."
He buried the awkwardness in his cough. The tips of his ears had gone noticeably warm.
Kaelen stood to the side and said nothing. But the corner of his mouth twitched.
Who could have guessed that a throwaway identity file he'd registered back on Ryes Star would still be sitting in the system, alive and well, waiting for exactly this moment.
➤ Next: I Want to Invite You to Become the Legion Standard Bearer
————————————————————
🔥 Patreon members are 60+ chapters ahead.
⚡ Limited-time offer currently running...
👉 Join on -
patreon(.)com/DarkGolds