Chapter 376: Audience with the Primarch
The heavy doors slowly closed behind them, isolating all sounds from the outside world.
Ryo and Sigismund, under the silent guidance of the Custodian Tribune, truly stepped into the interior of the Imperial Palace on Terra.
The first thing they passed through was a gateway unimaginably massive, its scale sufficient to allow a Warlord Titan to stride through with its head held high.
Above them was a vaulted ceiling as towering as a mountain peak; below their feet was a road paved with massive stones, still incomparably sturdy despite centuries of wear.
This place was called the "Avenue of Triumph," but it was not meant for celebration; rather, it was a display of the Imperium's power.
On the walls rising out of sight on both sides were layer upon layer of defensive fortifications. Tens of thousands of Imperial Guard soldiers stood at their posts like steel statues, their gazes following this special group of visitors.
The air was a mixture of machine oil, dust, and the faint scent of incense.
Invisible scanning rays washed over them time and time again like a tide, scrutinizing every molecule and every trace of psychic fluctuation.
Passing through this initial giant gateway, they entered a relatively open plaza.
The ground was made of black stone slabs as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the sky above that was distorted by massive energy fields.
In the distance, the silhouette of the Himalayas—covered by countless magnificent structures and having long lost its original appearance—was faintly visible.
The sounds here became low and orderly; only the operation of heavy machinery and the synchronized footsteps of distant troops changing guard echoed in the vast space.
The flow of pilgrims and officials was strictly divided and guided here, undergoing even more in-depth inspections.
The procession of Custodes did not pause in the slightest. The golden figures sliced through the crowds like a sharp blade; no one dared to obstruct them, and no one even dared to look up at them directly.
Subsequently, they entered the main body of the Imperial Palace architecture.
The entrance was another series of even more magnificent archways decorated with ancient reliefs and Imperial symbols.
After passing through, there was a grand corridor so long its end could not be seen.
Its width was sufficient to accommodate several Imperial Knights walking side-by-side. The pillars were massive stones towering into the vaulted ceiling, carved with the glorious and dark history of humanity.
The floor was some kind of dark red, hard material. Footsteps falling upon it only stirred up tiny, hollow echoes that were quickly swallowed by the immense space.
The most oppressive sight was the golden figures standing solemnly at regular intervals on both sides of the corridor—the Custodian Guards.
They were as motionless as exquisite statues, but Ryo could clearly feel the emotionless scans from beneath those ornate helmets focusing on himself and the two cases.
The pressure of being silently watched by such absolute power was enough to crumble the resolve of any mortal.
As they ventured deeper, the surrounding halls gradually became less disorientingly vast, but the security grew increasingly tight.
The figures of Custodes were still visible, but some figures clad in black robes with obscure auras began to loom in the shadows.
The concentration of psychic energy in the air increased significantly. The heavy scent of incense nearly solidified, as if to cover up some older, more unsettling aura.
The lighting also grew dim, with only eternally burning braziers casting dancing light upon the walls.
Finally, they arrived before a massive, completely unadorned black metal door.
This was the end of the journey, the entrance to the Emperor's Throne Room.
The surrounding air seemed to solidify, and the temperature noticeably rose. A low and continuous rumble and energy hum, seemingly originating from the planet's core, emanated from behind the door, pressing against the eardrums and nerves.
The Custodian Tribune leading them halted before the door and turned to face them.
Without needing a word, both Ryo and Sigismund knew that behind the door lay the core of the Imperium of Man, the destination they had braved countless perils to reach.
That massive black door began to slowly open inward.
The giant black door completely closed behind them, thoroughly isolating the last trace of sound from the outside world.
The vastness of the audience chamber surpassed visual measurement; it was more like an independent, artificial universe.
The air was permeated with a heavy smell of ozone, the dusty scent of ancient stone, and an indescribable, crushing pressure that felt as if it were formed from the convergence of billions of whispering souls.
At the far end of the hall was a sea of golden radiance that one could not look at directly. A massive mechanical structure, complex beyond comprehension—the Golden Throne—loomed indistinctly within it. The low rumble and the hiss of energy emanated from there, like the beating heart of the entire Imperium.
Rogal Dorn stood at a distance from the throne.
His massive body still appeared towering even in this grand space. He wore austere black battle armor, his face etched with exhaustion and an almost solidified resolve.
His very existence was like a fortress capable of withstanding any impact.
Sigismund took a step forward, bowed his head in salute, and began to report in a steady voice: "Father, we have arrived. During the voyage, we encountered a premeditated attack by Greenskins, interception by Death Guard traitors, and from Mars..."
Dorn raised a hand, interrupting Sigismund's words.
The Primarch's gaze did not even linger on him, but passed right over him, firmly locking onto Ryo and the two specially made cases carried by the Tech-Priests beside him.
"We will discuss those trivialities later," Dorn's voice sounded like grinding rock, carrying unquestionable focus. "Magos Ryo, show me what you have brought."
Ryo's mechanical body leaned forward slightly, performing a cog-sign salute with his two primary arms.
He offered no superfluous words, directly issuing a command.
A Tech-Priest stepped forward and opened one of the cases, revealing the precisely structured biosphere inside.
Upon receiving Dorn's tacit permission, Ryo activated the device.
Inside the biosphere was originally a sterile, inorganic environment mixed with representative gravel and rock from the Death World.
As the Genesis particles were released in trace amounts, visible changes began.
The gravel began to reconstruct, coalescing into a substrate with soil properties. Minuscule water droplets precipitated in the air, gathering into a thin mist.
Immediately following, a faint speck of green broke through the "soil" at a speed defying common sense, rapidly expanding to form an extremely tiny yet vibrant colony of moss, even blooming a few pale flowers the size of pinheads.
The entire process was completed in silence, forming a violent contrast with the cold, grand metal and stone environment surrounding them.
From nothingness to existence, from deathly stillness to life, it was demonstrated right here before the Emperor's throne.
Dorn stared intently at that miniature patch of green. On his face, usually as impassive as a glacier, his brows furrowed slightly. A highly imperceptible gleam, mixing amazement and extreme caution, flashed through his eyes.
He was just about to open his mouth to ask something.
Right at this moment, the other case was opened.
The urgently constructed warp engine core was revealed, its streamlined casing completely different from the Imperium's rugged technological style.
Almost the instant it was exposed to the air of the audience chamber—
An indescribable will, as vast as the sea of stars, suddenly descended, enveloping the entire space.
It was not conveyed through sound, but thundered directly into the minds of all conscious beings present, bearing unquestionable, absolute authority and a heaviness spanning aeons: "Promulgate it."
This will originated from the direction of the Golden Throne—clear, cold, yet seemingly harboring the final hope for saving civilization.
The entire audience chamber fell into a deathly silence; even the roar of the Throne's machinery seemed to be suppressed at this moment.
The Tech-Priests froze in place. Sigismund dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
Rogal Dorn, the Primarch renowned for his iron will, took a deep look at the warp engine core after a brief moment of shock. Then, he turned toward the direction of the Throne and, with utmost solemnity, bowed the head he had never easily lowered.
"Thy will be done, my Emperor."
The Emperor had personally handed down His decree.
All debates lost their meaning at this moment.
(End of Chapter)