Eden's heart burned with fury.
Lately, the opposition had been relentless—assassinations, slander, and smear campaigns targeting him personally. Now they sought to destroy the very foundation of his rule and sabotage his grand plan for reform.
It was intolerable.
These decaying old vultures weren't just impeding the progress of the Savior—they were obstructing the future of humanity itself.
They had to be judged.
Since the opposition was certain he wouldn't dare to purge Holy Terra with blood, he would do the opposite.
Shatter their delusions.
Eden revealed his plan to Guilliman, along with his unwavering resolve to carry out the reforms. The Imperium of Man could not halt its march toward prosperity.
In the end, he managed to temporarily convince the Lord Commander of the Imperium.
"I agree with your plan, and I'll offer some support," Guilliman said after some hesitation, "but I won't publicly endorse this coup."
He added, "If the situation spirals out of control, I will step in to stop you—for the stability of the Imperium."
"Your discreet support is enough," Eden nodded with satisfaction.
He understood Guilliman's reservations. The Imperium was fragile at present. Any sweeping reform was a perilous undertaking.
Despite being bold in battle, Guilliman was extremely cautious in politics.
For him to support Eden to this extent was already commendable.
This kind of political coup was inherently dangerous. If Eden, the Savior, failed, Guilliman could still step forward to stabilize the Imperium—ensuring that both surviving Primarchs weren't alienated from the High Lords.
The High Lords weren't just politicians—they each controlled vast territories, private armies, and countless vassals.
In the Emperor's absence, the Imperium was essentially a coalition of military governors bound under the Aquila.
In fact, every High Lord wielded independent power. Most matters had to be resolved through negotiation.
Even Guilliman couldn't command them absolutely or expect full compliance.
This made Eden increasingly aware of the truth:
The Imperium's extreme political structure was, at its core, parliamentary. The Senatorum Imperialis functioned as a stripped-down version of a Parliament.
If the High Lords collectively opposed something, even the Lord Commander couldn't enforce it.
That was why Guilliman had fought so hard to win their support in the first place.
Now, as the High Lords and upper echelons openly resisted reform, even Guilliman's words fell on deaf ears.
And that was Guilliman's true concern.
If both remaining Primarchs were to fall out with the High Lords, the resulting schism could be catastrophic—possibly even sparking a new age of civil war.
It couldn't come to that. They couldn't just reenact the Great Crusade all over again to reconquer the galaxy.
Such chaos would only open the door for heretics and xenos.
So for Guilliman to maintain a publicly neutral stance was actually the best outcome.
If Eden's reform failed, the Lord Commander could step in to restore order to Holy Terra, stabilize morale, and preserve unity across the Imperium's forces.
It would also solidify Guilliman's political standing and grant him more real power.
More importantly, it could prevent all-out war between the Imperium and the Savior's domain.
A dual-safety mechanism.
It gave Eden room to maneuver and plan the coup with boldness.
Of course, he still hoped Guilliman would charge in alongside him—that would improve the odds.
If he failed, he'd just have to retreat in disgrace back to Savior's Territory.
But that was impossible.
Guilliman had his own will and political ideals. He wasn't Eden's vassal, and Eden had no right to ask more of him.
"Then it's settled!"
After finalizing things with Guilliman, Eden pulled up his pants and left, returning to his temporary sanctum.
He had originally intended to wait until the victory celebration was over before triggering the coup.
But now, there was no time.
If he waited for the opposition's wave of resistance to crest, he would lose his opportunity—and his entire foundation of rule.
Unless he wanted the galaxy to burn.
The arrow was already nocked. It had to be released.
...
Temporary Savior's Sanctum
Suspended above the main hall was a massive projection of Holy Terra, a virtual map marked with numerous defensive installations.
Unfortunately, large areas were still blank—especially the headquarters of the various Imperial departments and factions.
They'd spent millennia entrenching themselves on Terra. No one knew how many secret weapons they had hidden away.
What was certain, though, was that each possessed significant armed forces within their territories.
Eden held a meeting with Tarko and the rest of his advisory circle to revise the plan and reassess troop deployments and the strategic situation.
The conclusion wasn't optimistic.
"Our military strength is still far too little…"
Eden rubbed his brow, sighing deeply. "Can you bring in any more troops?"
"This is the limit," Tarko shook his head. "According to Terra's current defense protocols, we can't deploy more forces—unless we seize control of the Lion's Gate Spaceport."
"Forget it."
Eden dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. The Lion's Gate was the most heavily defended point on Terra—perhaps in the entire galaxy.
Even if the Savior's fleets attacked with full force, it would take far too long to capture, and the nearby defense fleets would quickly swarm in to reinforce.
This was supposed to be a lightning coup—quick and surgical. Not a full-scale civil war.
It wasn't worth it.
Thanks to the efforts of Horus and others before him, Terra's defense systems had only grown tighter over the millennia, with more draconian regulations.
Without an existential threat, off-world armies simply weren't allowed on Terra.
That was inevitable.
After all, Terra was the beating heart of humanity. If its defenses weren't ironclad, the species would've perished long ago.
Luckily, Eden had used the celebration as a pretext to smuggle in a small contingent of forces for parade duties—better than going in naked.
"I'll think of something…"
He flipped through the data in front of him—a breakdown of Terra's military forces, with notes on possible groups that could be swayed.
By starting the coup early, many of his plans were now rushed. Some arrangements hadn't even been carried out yet.
But that was the norm.
Situations shifted in an instant. One had to seize the chance when it arose.
He was unprepared—but so were the opposition forces. It would all come down to who had the better preparation.
Currently, the most powerful armed force on Terra was the Adeptus Custodes.
Ten thousand of the most elite gene-forged warriors, equipped with unmatched gear—even fielding several God-Engines.
If Eden could win them over and command them, victory would be nearly guaranteed.
Unfortunately, that was impossible.
He had already reached out to the new Captain-General of the Custodes, Lacyas, hoping for their support.
But was gently refused.
It would violate the Custodes' foundational laws.
They were not subject to external command, nor could they interfere in political power struggles—unless Holy Terra or the Imperial Palace itself was under imminent threat.
Their sole mission was to guard the Palace, to defend the Golden Throne.
Even if they were to act, they might very well fight against Eden, who was staging a coup and threatening the political order left behind by the Emperor.
The only reason they hadn't turned hostile was Eden's close ties with the Emperor himself.
That was already a rare courtesy.
"My Lord Savior," Lacyas had said sincerely, "I can only promise that the Custodes will not leave the Palace during this time."
"No matter what, you are our most trusted friend—not our enemy."
He wasn't completely opposed either. He added:
"If you receive a divine edict from the Emperor, the Custodes will obey your commands."
If the Emperor issued a direct order giving Eden full authority…
Then Eden would have absolute control.
But alas, after purging Nurgle's Garden, the Emperor—perhaps from exhaustion or divine slumber—had fallen into another deep sleep.
Eden could try a few soul-shattering psychic slaps to wake Him up and ask for permission to command the Custodes.
But he hesitated.
Not because he was afraid—but because the Emperor might reject the coup.
After all, the current political structure had been designed by the Emperor Himself, intended to maintain the Imperium's stability. It had chugged along to this day.
No one could say for sure if the Emperor would approve of such radical reforms—especially if they were to be implemented across the entire galaxy.
Eden believed the odds of a yes were high.
But what if the Emperor was groggy, confused, and deemed the risk too great—and said no?
Even if the coup didn't collapse immediately, it would face immense complications.
So he decided to hold off.
He'd only appeal to the Emperor if the situation turned against him—then use it to flip the board and seize victory.
If things went smoothly, there was no need to complicate matters further.
Eden turned to the file on another force—one of the stronger military contingents within Holy Terra: the Imperial Fists.
The VII Legion of Primarch Rogal Dorn, the Imperial Fists were among the most loyal to the Emperor.
In the darkest hours of the Imperium, they had stood firm and preserved unity, defending Holy Terra itself. They were often called the "Guardians of Terra."
Besides the Ultramarines, they remained one of the largest loyalist Chapters—and were now the third largest with the Savior's return.
Today, the Imperial Fists and their successor Chapters still garrisoned Terra and manned key fortresses across the Solar System—especially the Lion's Gate Spaceport.
Securing their support was vital. Otherwise, they might become Eden's fiercest enemies.
He had no illusions that simply revealing his Primarch identity would sway them. Dorn's sons were famously obstinate.
Even when the Primarchs still lived, there was constant friction among Legions.
And now he was about to launch a coup on Holy Terra of all places.
Thankfully, Guilliman had always had a good relationship with Dorn, and with Guilliman's help, they might be persuaded.
"I can't show my face yet—it'd raise suspicions."
Eden took out his personal seal and the Lord Commander's writ, handing them to Tarko.
"Send the right people to approach the Imperial Fists' commander on Terra. Do everything you can to win them over.
Worst case, at least get them to stay out of it—not attack us."
He truly didn't want to clash blades with those loyal warriors—nor did he want to see them die in such a political incident.
"I'll take care of this," Tarko said cautiously as he accepted the sigil and writ.
"Oh, right—" Eden added, as if remembering something, "Tell the Imperial Fists… that their Gene-Father Rogal Dorn isn't dead.
The Savior has uncovered leads—he can bring their father back."
"After this matter is resolved, the Savior's domain will provide them with additional weapons and equipment, including a Redeemer-class Titan."
To win people over, you had to offer something big.
Eden knew exactly what the Imperial Fists cared about most. And this? This was it. Without question.
But Eden wasn't completely lying.
There was indeed a possibility that Rogal Dorn hadn't died, just become lost in some remote sector. He possessed some obscure leads.
As for when Dorn could actually be found? Who knew.
Didn't matter. He had made the promise—just needed to draw them to his side first.
With this enticing offer and the Lord Commander's tacit support, at the very least, the Imperial Fists wouldn't see this coup as a rebellion, but as an internal power struggle.
Besides, Eden wasn't asking them to join the slaughter on Holy Terra.
They just needed to hold their designated areas—especially the Lion's Gate Spaceport—and block opposing forces. That alone was enough.
Afterward, Eden continued peeling back the web of entanglements on Terra's political landscape, sending out dozens of encrypted letters.
To win over more allies he could trust.
"Damn this blasted Holy Terra… all these plots and counterplots, everything's a convoluted mess…"
Eden slumped into his chair, utterly exhausted.
He was used to ruling by absolute authority. Suddenly getting caught in this web of political intrigue was a nightmare.
He felt like his hair was turning white.
He finally understood why the Imperium had become so paralyzed. With a political system this broken, pushing even a single reform was painfully difficult.
That's why some rules and institutions—no matter how outdated or plainly wrong—still lingered from ten thousand years ago.
If they didn't cause catastrophic damage or affect massive vested interests, people just let them be.
Because to act was to risk. To act was to draw fire. To act meant entering into a war of attrition with countless factions.
Even the High Lords were exhausted. All that scheming and maneuvering had to wear you down eventually.
Serves them right.
No wonder even good ol' Guilliman didn't like staying on Terra. He was probably sick to death of it too.
Still, if this wave went well, Eden could purge these entrenched cancers, these ancient obstacles—and finally breathe new life into the Imperium.
Rather than letting it continue as this half-dead, shambling husk.
"Savior…"
The High Lord and Lord Commander of the Astra Militarum, Moore, came to Eden via a secret channel.
Though he wore a smile, unease flickered in his eyes.
Things weren't exactly peaceful on Holy Terra lately. Rumors were swirling that the Savior Primarch planned to follow in the footsteps of Goge Vandire, imposing dictatorial rule.
Many of the High Lords had already begun to form a shadow alliance, preparing to strike against him.
Right now, the Imperial Guard was in a miserable state.
And Moore himself held no real power in the High Lords' council—his appointment was a result of political compromise. None of the power blocs had really backed him.
He had no real allies in the Senatorum Imperialis—and had even been ostracized for trying to cozy up to the Primarch.
If it weren't for the resistance of the Ecclesiarch and Fabricator-General, he would've already been replaced.
Now that the Savior was reaching out to him, the implications were obvious.
Moore didn't really want to get involved in all this.
If Eden failed and was driven out of Terra, Moore would definitely be purged.
But still—he came.
Not just because he was already entangled with Eden, but also because…
He wanted to rise.
The power of the Lord Commander of the Astra Militarum wasn't fixed. It could be small—or it could be immense.
Some past commanders had wielded terrifying authority and unparalleled honor.
The Savior's letter contained a tantalizing line:
"Do you want to become the Lord Solar?"
Once, the Lord Solar position was typically held by the Commander of the Imperial Guard—an unmatched position of supreme honor.
It also carried another name: Warmaster, the theoretical commander of nearly all Imperial forces.
Beyond commanding the Solar System, he could lead crusades across the stars.
At the end of M41, a certain General of the Astra Militarum, Macharius, rose to glory. After the previous Lord Solar fell, he inherited the title.
In the twilight of the Imperium, he launched a campaign of unprecedented scale.
Lord Solar Macharius led Imperial forces to conquer over a thousand worlds, his blades reaching the galactic rim.
He achieved impossible glory.
He had hoped to continue advancing—but even his undefeated forces faltered when they glimpsed the unknown terrors beyond the edge of the galaxy.
So the crusade had to end.
On the return trip, Macharius contracted a mysterious plague on one of the worlds and died.
Many suspected foul play, but no one could prove anything.
The truth was buried.
After his death, no successor matched his legacy. Most became little more than glorified garrison commanders.
Eventually, the position itself was shelved. The status of the Astra Militarum declined accordingly.
Then came the Long Night.
Time and again, the Imperial Guard was bled dry. Supplies dwindled. No one cared if the common soldier lived or died.
Even the elite Solar Auxilia had lost their cutting-edge tech—fallen from the heights of the Great Crusade.
Moore wanted to change all of this. And the only person who could help him now—was the Savior.
"Moore, you finally made it!"
Eden rose warmly to greet the Lord Commander of the Guard—his ally.
The Ecclesiarch, the Fabricator-General, and Moore—these three were Eden's most solid supporters.
That explosive statue of the Savior Primarch? They had built it.
Out of the thirteen seats on the High Lords' Council, Eden had won over three of the most powerful already.
Once he crushed the opposition, the moderates would fall in line and accept the new order.
Terra held trillions of people. A handful of Astartes couldn't keep them all in check.
It would take a lot of military presence—including the Imperial Guard.
The Solar Auxilia were deployed across many zones. But their treatment had worsened over the years.
The Guard lacked the resources to properly equip them—often begging scraps from the Adeptus Administratum.
Yet they were among the few remaining forces Eden could realistically sway—aside from the Grey Knights and Ecclesiarchy's militant arms.
The Sororitas, because of certain doctrinal issues, weren't particularly fond of Eden.
The Mechanicus was secretly rallying troops to support from the flanks and apply pressure when the time came.
The Guard units stationed on Terra were under-equipped but still disciplined. Their combat effectiveness far outclassed random warbands.
They could be used in mass suppression ops—to help Eden's forces resist the powerful security forces of various departments.
Astartes alone wouldn't cut it.
Even if the enemy stood still and let you chop—how many could you really kill?
Especially when they might wield powerful weapons capable of vaporizing your armor in a single shot.
"Moore…"
Eden stepped up and placed a hand on the general's shoulder.
Standing tall, he looked down at the man.
"I need to ask you something. Are you loyal?"
It was Moore's first time standing this close to a Primarch—he could feel the pressure emanating from him.
His throat tightened. He swallowed. And squeezed out the words instinctively:
"L-Loyal!"
In the Imperium, loyalty was everything.
But there was a deeper meaning behind the word—not just to the Emperor.
The Savior wanted the Imperial Guard he was about to rapidly arm to be extra loyal—ready to smack down traitors with a six-barrel flurry at a moment's notice.
"Good. I'm loyal too," Eden said with a knowing smile.
"There's a problem, Moore—there are traitors within Holy Terra. Some have forsaken their faith in the Emperor. They're colluding with heretics and xenos to overthrow the Imperium."
"This is very serious.
We must crush them—destroy all heretical rebellion!"
"…Ah?"
Moore's heart skipped a beat.
He had thought this was just about building a political alliance and suppressing dissent.
He hadn't expected such determination.
Was the Savior really going to become another Vandire? A bloody purge?!
He froze on the spot.
"By the Emperor… that would violate our faith. It would be seen as outright heresy…"
At some point, the Ecclesiarch, the Fabricator-General, and several of Eden's core allies had arrived.
Ecclesiarch Lauren Tis—a ten-thousand-year-old political turtle—looked hesitant. He disliked such reckless gambits.
But due to his disciple Doni, he had come anyway.
"That's the wrong way to think," Eden declared, standing tall in the center of the grand chamber, Terra's holographic map projected across his towering figure.
"This is for the Emperor—for the prosperity of mankind."
"And besides… only failure is heresy. Victory is absolute loyalty.
Don't you agree?"
...
Eternity Gate
The sacred plaza was already overflowing with crowds.
Cherubim and seraphim danced in the skies above as hymns to the Emperor echoed across the heavens.
Amid the undercurrents of Terra, the grand victory celebration had begun as scheduled.
But due to various bureaucratic restrictions and the deliberate obstruction of rival factions, the parade forces were pitifully few—bordering on disgraceful.
It was nothing short of an insult.
Yet the Savior Primarch and the Lord Commander accepted it in silence.
Among the spectators, many eyes flickered—not with joy, but veiled anger.
They were dissatisfied with the Savior.
"This entire ceremony… is going to be a total joke."
In the Administratum viewing stands, Violeta, the Minister of the Interior, gazed coldly at the spectacle.
They had already set the trap.
A wave of resistance against the "New Vandire" was about to erupt.
During the climax of the ceremony, the crowds would protest, shouting his many crimes and heresies.
More damning evidence of his "blasphemies" would spread across the stars—even to the Imperium's outermost reaches.
The Savior would be disgraced before all mankind.
And Terra's noble citizens would utterly reject this Primarch tyrant who dared to impose a dark dictatorship!
Elsewhere—
Eden watched it all with calm anticipation.
"Soon… you'll all understand what loyalty truly means."
(End of Chapter)
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