"That's right!" Hathor echoed, her hands still busily processing documents, a newly signed dossier precisely dropped into its designated box.
"Father was always very urgent, and we didn't truly understand why at the time." A hint of bitter recollection flashed in her eyes, her gaze lingering for half a second on a line of data in a report.
Alex leaned slightly forward, deciding to guide the conversation deeper: "Behind this urgency was the ticking countdown of humanity's survival. But Hathor, have you ever considered that the Emperor's core purpose in initially creating you Gene-Seed Primarchs might not have been merely to make you generals who conquer the star seas?"
Hathor's pen tip, poised over a document, suddenly paused, a small ink blot spreading on the parchment. She looked up, her sharp gaze fixed on Alex: "Oh? What insights does Governor-General have?"
She had indeed never delved into it from that angle.
"Not so much an insight, merely a deduction based on history." Alex clasped his hands in front of him, calmly explaining: "The Emperor, humanity's greatest scientist and ruler, poured his heart into creating you—twenty nearly perfect genetic engineering creations.
Your brains' computational power, information processing capabilities, and multi-threaded operational efficiency far exceed what mortals can imagine.
Guilliman could precisely process battlefield information down to 'machine gun shifts five centimeters left,' and could process thousands of administrative affairs and make decisions in an instant, like handling a surging waterfall of data.
This ability was inherently designed for management, for constructing and operating a vast, complex, and efficient imperial machine."
Hathor was thoughtful, her mind racing, countless memory fragments and logical chains rapidly reorganizing: "You mean..."
"Yes," Alex affirmed with a steady gaze, "In the Emperor's initial grand blueprint, you twenty brothers were meant to be imperial administrators, each with your own specialties and responsibilities, the pillars supporting humanity's golden age of revival, the core ensuring the precise meshing of the Empire's gears.
Leading armies in battle? That might have been part of your abilities, but definitely not your core positioning."
Hathor's eyes instantly became incredibly profound, as if piercing through ten thousand years of dust, gazing at that unfulfilled, orderly vision of the future.
"However..." Her voice deepened, carrying a trace of imperceptible cold amusement and buried anger: "That foolish woman, seduced by the sweet lies of Chaos, scattered us like seeds into the savage corners of the galaxy..." She clenched her fist, knuckles slightly white from the effort, leaving clear indentations on the edge of the document.
"Our destinies were tainted by Chaos, forcibly instilled with the poison of so-called 'free will,' and ultimately... led to the bitter fruit of the Great Rebellion." Cold words echoed in the silent office.
Alex sighed, continuing the heavy topic, his gaze falling on the Imperial Aquila on the desk: "And when you returned to the Empire one by one, after enduring hardships, the situation the Emperor faced no longer allowed him to calmly lay out his plans.
That precious window of opportunity in the Warp was fleeting, the shadow of Chaos pressing closer, like a sword hanging overhead.
He could only immediately deploy the returning Primarchs, and the Astartes Legions prepared for them, into the most urgent battlefields—the Great Crusade.
Thus, 'conquerors' became your primary identity label.
This misalignment of destiny, coupled with vastly different upbringing environments, ultimately shaped your brothers' disparate personalities and ultimately forged your different fates."
Hathor was silent for a moment, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the cold parchment, as if re-examining the blurred silhouettes of herself and her other brothers.
When she spoke again, her tone was complex and low: "And I... as the first to return, spent thirty years by Father's side. He personally taught me, trained me to be a commander."
Her voice took on a touch of warmth from recollection, as if touching a long-ago warmth, that light piercing through ten thousand years of dust, softly illuminating the present.
"At that time, 'he'... yearned to be a good elder brother to all his siblings, enthusiastic, loving, like a rising star."
This light was not illusory; it had truly shone upon the dawn of the Empire's rise.
"Known for his grace and charisma, he was more patient and willing to adapt to local customs than Father when dealing with backward civilizations, trying to understand rather than forcibly crush."
At the core of that light was respect for people, regardless of their status.
"He treated his subordinates, whether Space Marines or mortal officers, with respect; his humility was genuine, not a performance, and that sincerity once united countless hearts."
Even in that hostile galaxy, he tried to sow a glimmer of rationality.
"Even when facing xenos, he always offered civility before resorting to force, giving them a chance to choose. Ruthless towards enemies, warm towards brothers and subordinates... these seemingly contradictory traits were strangely integrated in 'him.'"
It was this unique and powerful charisma, like a magnet, that attracted followers, yet also ultimately led them to the abyss.
"This shaped 'his' personal charm, and it's why so many followed 'him' and willingly fell into the abyss when 'he' raised the banner of rebellion." Her eyes dimmed for a moment, as if the destructive flames that swept the galaxy were once again scorching her memories.
This ability and prestige had been acknowledged by his brothers. "'He' was appointed Warmaster; while Lion might have been unwilling, he also admitted that 'his' ability was sufficient for the role. At that time, 'he' earned the respect of almost all his brothers." Hathor's voice carried a subtle sense of detachment, as if she was deliberately drawing an invisible line, striving to distinguish 'her' as an observer and a reflective individual in the present, from 'him' in her memories—the one who shone brightly, carried countless expectations, and ultimately betrayed.
"But," Alex keenly caught the turning point: "Your attitude towards the Imperial bureaucracy seems distinctly different from your attitude towards warriors and brothers? The contradiction here is the key."
Hathor's pen clattered onto the document.
Complex emotions surged in her amber-gold eyes—cold analysis, and a hint of forcibly suppressed, residual anger from the past.
She took a deep breath, shaking her head slightly, as if trying to shake off some sticky feeling of aversion.
Her voice was no longer steady, tinged with a restrained, pained hoarseness: "At that time, 'he'... at that time, Horus... harbored a deep-seated, almost instinctive... loathing for those high-ranking mortal bureaucrats who never personally visited the front lines."
Her fingertips unconsciously traced the hard wooden grain of the desk.
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