[Spending 3,000 deployment points, Army deployment points are now full — no further Army units can be deployed!]
On the chessboard, Malcador opened his eyes.
He found himself back aboard the Macragge's Honour.
The interior was familiar to him — after all, as the former Imperial Regent, Malcador had been aboard this vessel before.
"I... didn't I just sit on the Golden Throne? How am I alive again?"
Malcador patted his rear end. The sensation of utter depletion was truly unforgettable.
Honestly, if given the choice again, unless the Emperor physically held him down, he would absolutely refuse to serve as the Throne's occupant ever again.
It was like being killed over and over.
Being cut down by the Emperor's own blade would have been preferable to sitting on that Golden Throne!
"Ahhh—"
"My Lord of Mankind, you've done me in!"
"I told you long ago — some of these children would be better off as daughters. They'd be easier to manage, more well-behaved!"
"You treated it as a joke, and now look what a disaster we have!"
Malcador's memories ended at the moment he sat upon the Golden Throne. Because of that, he had the rare privilege of witnessing the Emperor's duel with Horus.
His psychic power was second only to the Emperor — a supreme force within the Imperium.
But compared to a true god, he still fell considerably short.
"Wait a moment!"
A series of echoing reverberations rang through Malcador's mind. He thought at first the Emperor was reaching out to him through the warp.
Instead, for some reason, a hazy psychic barrier suddenly cut off his warp-connection.
Of course, Malcador could have forced his way through that veil of shadow in the Immaterium using raw psychic power — but doing so would have cost him enormously, and there was no need for it.
"He didn't become the Chaos God of Mankind?"
"So things haven't deteriorated to that point after all."
Before sitting on the Golden Throne, Malcador had foreseen that the Emperor might become the Dark King.
Once the Emperor was fully seated upon the Golden Throne, becoming the Dark King would have been almost inevitable — beyond saving.
Of course, the process might have been tortuous. The ending may have been fixed, but perhaps there was still a chance to secure a better outcome for humanity.
Malcador found himself in what appeared to be the administrative inner chamber of the Macragge's Honour — the place where the Primarch normally processed duties, and thus saturated with information.
"So that's how it is... I was dead for a full ten thousand years before coming back?"
"Am I truly undying? Shouldn't touching that Black Sun have killed me completely?"
Though he could faintly hear the Emperor's echoes through the warp, the last thing Malcador wanted right now was to respond to the Emperor's messages.
If he was expected to do all the work, the least he deserved was a moment to rest. Being chased around for work constantly — what kind of treatment was that?
Malcador briefly leafed through the nearby records, committing all surrounding information to memory.
Within moments, he had grasped virtually everything the Ultramarines knew.
In almost no time at all, he even learned that the ambitious Guilliman had been scheming with his good brother Sanguinius to establish some kind of Second Imperium.
Reading those classified documents, Malcador could barely suppress a laugh.
Look at the Emperor's fine sons — every last one of them burning with ambition. None of them as easy to raise as daughters.
Just as Malcador was silently mocking the Emperor, a warp resonance suddenly rang through his mind.
[Malcador! I have a task for you — look after my daughters!]
[I've already agreed to let some of the Primarchs become girls, as you suggested. They're a bit mischievous — please do take good care of them!]
"Hah?" Malcador stared blankly for a moment, and then his aged face utterly failed to hold itself together.
He twitched the corner of his mouth, feeling that the warp had become truly absurd.
Was this Slaanesh's temptation and corruption speaking to him? How could the Emperor possibly twist Immaterium essences already solidified? That was simply impossible!
No sooner had the thought settled than Malcador sensed a clash breaking out aboard the Macragge's Honour.
The First Legion and the Thirteenth Legion had come to blows!
And from the sound of the roaring, the two Primarchs themselves had gotten into it?
"Has one of the Legions turned traitor?"
Malcador initially assumed a genuine betrayal had occurred — but when he caught sight of Guilliman, his already slightly upturned mouth corners let out a sudden pfft!
"Pfft — is that Lion?!"
As a psychic of the highest order, a single sweep of his gaze was enough to confirm it: this was indeed the Lion.
The little angel who once loved keeping secrets for the Emperor had now genuinely become a girl. The secrets surrounding this would be monumental — enough to make the Lion retreat into solitude for the rest of her life.
Then Malcador turned his golden eyes toward the small, golden-haired little girl.
She was concealed among the Ultramarines, wounded, yet still unmistakably conspicuous.
"Guilliman, will you not abandon this folly? I have not betrayed the Emperor — I act on His direct command!"
"Our enemies now are Chaos and the Tyranids!"
"If you still believe the rambling of that Custodian, then I can only knock you out and drag you back myself!"
By this point, the Lion was already breathing hard. Both sides had been grinding each other down relentlessly.
She was the Dark Angels' mother, after all — watching her children die in an internal conflict pained her deeply.
"Lion!"
"There's nothing left to say!"
"Since Father has come to suspect you of treachery, I have no choice but to bring you in!"
Guilliman bore several sword wounds, and there was blood on his cheek — though not his own.
Yet the stern, dignified little mother had rallied the Ultramarines' morale. They did not fall back despite their tremendous losses.
Both sides had nearly wiped out two full Chapters in a single engagement.
At this rate of attrition, the entire Macragge's Honour would become a hellish battlefield.
Warships on the outer perimeter had already trained their macro-cannons on the vessel. At a critical moment, they would not hesitate to fire on their own flagship.
Many Chapters had dispatched warriors to join the fighting — but the Macragge's Honour had its limits. Any more and the corridors would be hopelessly congested.
Malcador observed all of this from a distance. Through his warp-sight, he scanned both Primarchs — neither had been corrupted by Chaos.
Though the threads of Tzeentch's scheming permeated the air around them, Malcador could see clearly that both Primarchs' hearts remained untainted.
"I see now. It seems Guilliman still has his signal problems."
"Well, of course — Guilliman always identified more with his adoptive mother. His relationship with the Lord has always been somewhat distant."
Having deduced who was behind all of this, the old man knew it was time to step in.
When Malcador appeared at full power in the middle of the battlefield, both sides froze.
"Lord Malcador — the Regent!"
Though the two Primarchs addressed him by slightly different titles, the meaning was identical.
His sudden arrival struck them both with tremendous force.
In the minds of both Guilliman and the Lion, Malcador was dead. How could he have possibly returned?
"My, my—" Having the attention of these two extraordinary beings suddenly turn to him, Malcador found the situation rather amusing.
He suddenly thought: how wise past-me was. If these two monsters had always been like this, how much easier things would have been.
"I actually advised your father about this long ago — wouldn't it be wonderful if you two had been like this from the start?"
"I once proposed transforming nine of the Gene-Primarchs into good daughters. Your father thought I was joking at the time — but it seems he went ahead and did it after all!"
"What?!" Both Primarchs were thoroughly shaken. Neither had imagined that such a ridiculous idea had come from Malcador himself.
In truth, many of the Primarchs had never been particularly close to Malcador. Especially since he had once called them monsters — most harboured a degree of resentment toward him.
But as the Emperor's closest friend and sworn brother, the Primarchs maintained their respect regardless.
A certain scheming dark angel had even called him "Uncle Malcador" while stirring up trouble on one occasion.
Malcador stepped into the centre of the battlefield between the two sides and erected a psychic barrier between them. This temporarily rendered their weapons incapable of reaching one another — and the gesture caused both forces to calm down somewhat.
"Both of you, stop fighting!"
"You've nearly been played to death by Tzeentch, and you're still here hacking away at each other?"
"All of this is Tzeentch's scheme. You've been used — loyal factions fighting loyal factions — this is exactly what Tzeentch wanted to see!"
"Perhaps certain entities in the warp are laughing themselves senseless right now. That shrill laughter — even through this thin veil, I can hear it!"
Outside the chessboard at that very moment — a blue figure watched Malcador's sudden arrival with profound displeasure.
It had no fixed form — or rather, form was insufficient to describe it, for it shifted shape every nine seconds, each new form expressing its current emotion.
At this moment, the Architect of Fate had become an extremely furious pufferfish, bristling with spines, crying out in indignation.
[Tzeentch: You absolute bastard!]
[Didn't this one enter the Black Sun and die without a trace? How is he back?!]
[This is completely unreasonable — I cannot see a single thread of his fate! This man is cheating!]
Tzeentch could influence the fates of most individuals — but for certain particularly exceptional beings, only indirect influence was possible.
And now, Malcador was utterly clean. Not a single thread of fate clung to him whatsoever.
Even attempting indirect influence upon him was exceedingly difficult.
To the Architect of Fate, this was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.
Thrilling, because the tapestry of destiny had gained yet another infinite variable.
Terrifying, because this variable seemed to be developing in a very undesirable direction.
"Both of you idiots — order your forces to stand down immediately!"
"My void shield doesn't regenerate for free, you know! Hurry up — tell those blockheaded children of yours to stop hacking at the void barrier!"
Both Primarchs immediately ordered their forces to cease.
Warriors began pulling their wounded comrades to the rear. After this battle, both the Ultramarines and the Dark Angels alike would likely be adding significantly to their Dreadnought rosters.
Fortunately, both Primarchs' forces were well-stocked with Dreadnought coffins — anyone who survived this battle could reasonably expect to be interred in one.
"Lord Regent — what exactly is going on here?"
Caleb directed the question at Malcador. Clearly, compared to the one-sided account from the Custodian, Malcador's word carried far greater weight.
Malcador had presided over the Great Crusade alongside the Emperor. Many of its plans bore his direct involvement.
Simply put: had Malcador not sat upon the Golden Throne that day, the Imperium would not exist as it did now.
Malcador did not speak immediately. He simply reached out and snatched the Custodian's edict.
After carefully analysing it with his psychic senses, he realised — the damned Emperor had simply been getting carried away in the warp and blurted something out without thinking.
The man hadn't meant anything of the sort at all. He'd just been ranting in the Immaterium.
"Is this how you interpret the Holy Will?"
"You are Custodians, for the Emperor's sake — use your heads!"
Faced with Malcador's reprimand, the Custodian was utterly baffled. How was he supposed to have known things would spiral this far?
He'd simply been on his way somewhere — and then ran into someone who should have been impossible to encounter: Malcador.
He had been carrying orders transmitted from the Imperial Palace on Terra, intending to inform other loyal factions of the supposed treachery of the First Legion.
But then a warp storm had caught him, hurling him directly to Macragge.
Well, since I'm here anyway, he'd thought, I might as well inform the Ultramarines first.
Then, the moment he arrived, he found the very traitor — Lion — standing in confrontation with the Ultramarines.
Combined with the edict in his hand, how was he supposed to interpret that as anything other than the Divine Emperor's will?
And so the entire farce, perfectly orchestrated by Tzeentch, had unfolded into this catastrophe.
Had Malcador not arrived, the scheme would likely have grown far uglier.
In all probability, this scheme could have driven one of the Primarchs into actual rebellion.
"Wonderful. A magnificent plan. Truly magnificent."
"Every one of them loyal — not a soul corrupted by Chaos!"
"And yet every single one of them has been played by fate's schemes. There isn't even an Alpha Legionnaire among them. Quite remarkable."
At first Malcador had assumed Alpha Legion infiltrators must have been involved.
But thorough investigation revealed there were none.
The genetic signature of an Alpha Legionnaire was something Malcador could not miss.
Neither force contained a single one. This farce had been engineered entirely by the Architect of Fate.
Had he not intervened to stop it, this battle would have left the Ultramarines and the Dark Angels as blood enemies.
"Lord Regent — now that you have returned!"
"There are so many critical affairs of the Imperium that require your hand to guide them!"
"Earlier, I met with my father. He entrusted me with a mission of the utmost importance."
"Regarding the Webway Project — how much do you know about it?"
Malcador glanced at the Lion with genuine surprise.
He had never expected the Lion to know of this.
The Webway Project was among the Imperium's most classified secrets. Even the Primarchs had not been told — which was precisely why the whole debacle with the small telephone had happened.
Now that Lion El'Jonson knew of it, it was evident the Emperor had placed complete trust in her and assigned the matter to her personally.
"Let's finish cleaning up this mess first, then I'll explain what I know."
"My own knowledge is limited — the original plan was still only in its experimental stages."
At those words, the Lion relaxed.
Though this encounter with Guilliman had been deeply unpleasant, seeing Malcador alive made the journey worthwhile.
Of course, the Lion had already made up her mind: Guilliman was going to be put to work overtime after all of this.
If it came from Father's own mouth, it had to be carried out.