Holy Terra, inside the High Lords of Terra's Round Table meeting hall, the atmosphere was leaden with tension.
"What is Calgar doing! What are the Ultramarines doing!"
The representative of the Inquisition slammed a power-armored glove onto the millennia-old black stone round table, producing a dull, heavy sound. His voice echoed under the majestic dome, filled with uncontrollable rage.
"How can they do this? How dare they do this!"
Around the table, the other eight most powerful people in the Imperium reacted differently.
The Ecclesiarch curved his lips into an almost imperceptible sneer, the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum's face was a mask of sarcasm, and the Paternoval Envoy of the Astronomican seemed detached, unmoved... Of course, the most prevalent mood was the pervasive, lingering weariness that hung in the air.
It should be noted that the Inquisitorial representative was speaking so loudly not to reinforce his own authority. In the High Lords of Terra's council, who wasn't a centuries-old, cunning old fox with an unfathomable intellect? Bluffing was a juvenile tactic useless here.
The real reason was the immense, heavily augmented body of the Fabricator-General of Mars, who sat opposite him. Not only did it occupy nearly half the meeting room, but its complex life support systems and power core constantly emitted tremendous noise. If the Inquisitor didn't yell, the others genuinely wouldn't hear him.
"So, what do you intend to do?" Ecclesiarch Eos Ritira opened his mouth unhurriedly, his voice elegant, his words sharp.
"Immediately send a severely worded letter of condemnation to Macragge, denouncing their actions, and then hopefully wait for those tens of thousands of Space Marines to suddenly repent after reading it, lay down their weapons with tears, and obediently line up to accept your Inquisition's judgment?"
The Inquisitorial representative's face flushed crimson. He shouted, "We certainly won't use such a weak method—we never do!"
"By the Emperor!" Ritira's eyes widened theatrically, as if he had heard something utterly preposterous. "You wouldn't be planning... to use force against tens of thousands of fully armed Space Marines, would you?"
At this, everyone in the previously drowsy meeting room instantly became alert. The Lord Commander of the Administratum was the first to leap from his seat, his slightly corpulent face full of terror, protesting sharply.
"No! Absolutely not! If a fight breaks out, the tax revenue from the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar—no, the entire Eastern Galaxy's revenue—will be completely ruined for the next hundred years!"
"If you ask me, this is no big deal at all," the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum said in an unperturbed tone, as if discussing what to have for dinner.
"It's probably just that your Inquisition has been overzealous lately, and the Astartes have decided to throw a bit of a tantrum. Send someone to appease them, make some concessions, and the matter will likely be closed."
"Yes, we should be discussing more important matters," the Envoy of the Astronomican yawned lengthily, smacking his lips, and surveying the room with clouded eyes. "For example, I've finished my biscuits. Why haven't the new ones been brought out yet?"
The Fabricator-General of Mars's synthetic, bell-like voice rang out: "If it truly comes to war, there is no need to worry about the war machine. Mars has the capability to handle all orders."
The Inquisitorial representative, looking at these 'venerable fools,' was utterly consumed by fury; he felt his blood boiling. "This is the most important matter! Tens of thousands of Space Marines gathering together—the slightest misstep could trigger a Second Great Betrayal!"
"Oh, so you plan to send them all on a Penitent Crusade to prove their loyalty?" The Ecclesiarch was unmoved, elegantly folding his hands. "My dear representative, you must understand, these are not newly formed Chapters that we can simply manipulate.
Every single one of them has a history longer than most of our own lives, deep roots, and now they have started banding together! By what right do you assume that if you issue an order, they will certainly obey?"
Ritira paused, then added: "Furthermore, I have not heard any rumor that these Space Marines have ceased believing in the Imperial Creed. Quite the opposite: the reports I've received state that the Chapter Chaplains played a vital role in this war, and their shared faith in the Emperor is one of the major reasons for their unity.
Calgar is already considering adding more churches within Ultramar and even increasing the ratio of Chapter Chaplains to expand and consolidate the Imperial faith."
"I also haven't heard that Calgar is planning armed tax resistance," the Lord Commander of the Administratum shrugged carelessly. "They've been very active in reporting taxes this year. The tax ledger was submitted to me not long ago, and the amount is even significantly more than in previous years."
The Fabricator-General's mechanical eye flashed, and he let out a low chuckle that sounded like grinding gears. "Now that you mention it, I suddenly recall. The next batch of Space Marines scheduled to come to Mars for technical training is quite a bit larger than usual. Quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say? Ha ha ha ha."
"Oh, thank you." The Paternoval Envoy of the Astronomican took a plate of exquisite biscuits from the Navigator Ambassador behind him, picked one up, and crunched on it audibly.
"Try to eat fewer sweets," the Navigator Ambassador said, sitting down in his own chair. "I wouldn't want you to die before me from constantly chewing biscuits at the High Lords meeting. If you do, I'll have to take on your work until a new Envoy is elected."
The fury in the Inquisitorial representative's chest was rapidly quenched by this series of remarks, as if doused with ice water. He calmed down and finally realized why these old foxes were all so fearless: Calgar was clever.
He was actively demonstrating an intention to negotiate and compromise with every faction—in matters of faith, taxation, and technology. If he genuinely wanted to rebel, he would never do this.
Of course, the main reason was that tens of thousands of Space Marines were simply too many; too many for anyone to casually declare them traitors.
"Regardless, there must be a delegation sent to conduct an inspection!" The Inquisitorial representative made his final, and only, concession.
"Makes sense," Ritira was the first to nod in agreement. "How about your Inquisition takes the lead? We'll just send people to supervise."
"Concur." The Lord Commander of the Administratum immediately agreed.
"A sound suggestion," said the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum.
"Well spoken," the Fabricator-General's synthetic voice buzzed.
"Hmph," the Inquisitorial representative snorted, sitting back down. "I wouldn't trust it to any of you!"
"Alright, move it, next agenda item," the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum impatiently tapped the table. "We've already wasted too much time on this trivial matter. I don't want to get only one Terra-hour of sleep tonight."