Once the High Lords' coup—led by Master Irthu—reached consensus, they executed it with terrifying efficiency. Lord Commander Militant Mar Av Ashariel and Admiral Merelda Pereth joined forces. In a very short span, more than a dozen emergency defense directives, bearing military signatures, were sent by encrypted channels to both orbital fleets and surface defenders.
Grand warships powered up, moving to designated positions and entering battle mode. Terra's major routes and ports were blockaded, all communications with the outside world cut off. Attempts to breach the blockade were met with cannon fire. Giant transport barges matched orbits and docked, releasing swarms of gunships and grounders to strategic planetary sites.
On the surface, Astra Militarum soldiers received emergency mission orders—prodded by officers, they formed phalanxes, loading into transports. Steel convoys of heavy personnel carriers and Chimera APCs thundered through the streets, heading for planetary communication hubs, datatemples, void shield control nodes, orbit weapon command centers, and critical government offices.
The coup was meticulously planned; the High Lords, intimately familiar with Terra's operations, knew exactly how to seize control. Once they secured the comms center, the pretext of 'enemy infiltration and jamming' was used to cut off civilian and regular admin channels almost planet-wide, leaving only a trickle of encrypted military traffic. Now, all planetary communications were in their hands. The majority of Imperial units were siloed, unable to contact each other at all.
Almost instantly, heavily armed soldiers garrisoned key departments, assuming 'temporary military control.' Live-armed guards replaced the old sentries, and technical staff took over consoles. The sequence was so efficient that many doubted whether these operations were truly orchestrated by the High Lords. Civilians in many ministries only noticed after the fact that their workplaces were completely surrounded by armed troops. Cooperation was expected—or they'd be summarily executed as traitors.
Ironically, to calm the rank and file and preclude doubts among the troops, Lord Commander Militant Mar Av and other senior officers standardized the message: they were protecting Roboute Guilliman from traitorous plotters, keeping the Primarch from being held hostage and implementing a policy of Imperial preservation. Even the Astra Militarum, with channels blocked, believed they were heroically 'protecting the Lord Regent.' Soldiers who hesitated in loyalty shattered their oath-staffs in fear of being forsaken by the Golden Throne.
But oath-staves weren't the only punishment—they were careful not to look too eager, lest their 'loyalty' to the Emperor be questioned.
In the hive nests on Terra's surface, chaos and riots broke out—whipped up in secret by Baldo Slyst and his cronies, thousands of deluded fanatics flooded the streets waving Imperial banners and chanting slogans like, "Defend the Emperor's blood!" and "Purge the traitors around the Primarch!" Their gatherings further disrupted order and lent an air of legitimacy to the High Lords' military actions.
The most elite rapid response squads under the Adeptus Arbites, led by Aveliza Drachmar, were deployed. With temporary arrest warrants, they apprehended those openly supporting Guilliman's reforms and any key officials who might sabotage the coup.
…
Palace, Guilliman's Government Agency
At that time, the Primarch himself was not managing affairs indoors, but standing on the balcony. He watched from a distance as gunships circled over the hives, atmospheric landers trailed smoke and banners, and plumes of dust rose in the city as evidence of mass military mobilization. A faint, irrepressible smile tugged at Guilliman's mouth.
"At last…you've finally stepped out into the open."
He felt the joy of the hunter who has watched every prey step into the snare, without a hint of panic.
"Perfect. Saves me the time of exposing and picking them off one by one."
The moment Irthu and company made their move, their every action, every word, was under Guilliman's complete control. From the moment he'd returned to Terra, he began gathering information and secretly summoned loyal officials, using them to build a parallel, clandestine intelligence system. All this was a basic exercise to Guilliman. During the Great Crusade, managing networks and orchestrating assassinations had been a staple of the Astartes—though the High Lords, unaware, considered the Astartes mere warriors.
Of course, having been away from the Imperium for so long, many now forgot that their Primarch had once crushed mighty foes and forged a galactic empire.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind him. Without looking back, Guilliman knew it was Sicarius.
"My lord, all preparations are complete," Sicarius reported, approaching within five meters.
"Custodes Marshal Trajann has pledged support and will lead the Custodes to suppress traitors personally. Third Company Captain Tor Garadon of the Imperial Fists and several loyal Space Marines are at your command, standing by to counter the coup. Further, the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum, Fadix, sent word; assassins are already in place near the traitors' necks, ready to carry out your decapitation order at any moment."
"Shall we begin?"
Guilliman gently shook his head.
"No—wait a little longer. Let the jumping clowns keep acting, to flush out those hiding in the shadows. Only when the abscess is fully swollen can it be removed in one fell swoop."
He turned, locking eyes with Sicarius, his gaze deep as the sea.
"The Crusade will take years—returning to Terra won't be easy. Before departing, we must conduct thorough surgery for Terra and the Imperium, ensuring rear stability. Only by purging corruption and appointing the virtuous can this vast empire run efficiently anew."
"Understood," Sicarius nodded.
"By the way, what's the Nameless up to?"
"Last seen investigating an Astra Militarum camp, then silence—presumably still operating somewhere on Terra. Send someone to find him?"
"Forget it," Guilliman waved. "Let him roam free. He may surprise us yet."
…
Meanwhile, Irthu and the coup leaders were elated.
"It worked!" Baldo Slyst was giddy with disbelief. Expected resistance, desperate last stands—their troops encountered none. They'd gained total control of Terra's key nodes bloodlessly.
"I only said the odds were high, not certain," Irthu restrained his excitement. "Controlling Terra is only the beginning. We must strike while the iron's hot and win over more support."
"Do as you said, spare nothing, Irthu."
"This step will be remembered by Terra—its glory, infinite."
…
As Chancellor of the Imperium, Tieron had long understood that Irthu and other High Lords would never allow the Primarch's power grab to go unchallenged. They perpetually used every available means to resist, constantly generating new incidents to obstruct reform and the Crusade. But he had underestimated their madness.
When gunships swept the skies and heavy tanks rolled into the city, Tieron finally realized Irthu's group had truly staged an armed coup.
Tieron, naturally shocked, planned to leave his estate for the palace or a safer hideout—but it was too late. Exiting the mansion, he found his bodyguards already surrounded and disarmed by soldiers with live ammunition.
"By provisional army order, you may not leave freely, sir. For your own safety, please return to your chambers."
The officer in charge blocked Tieron's departure with polite professionalism. Attempt resistance, and the soldiers drew their weapons without the slightest hesitation.
Realizing these men really would kill him, Tieron retreated to his study and tried contacting outside help. But every official and backup communication channel had been locked by the rebels. Only lines controlled by the traitors remained in use.
After hours' anxious waiting, Irthu's image finally appeared on Tieron's projector—broadcasted not just to him, but to every public display, every base in the hives.
"The Imperium is eternal."
"The Empire of Mankind under the High Lords is the most perfect and superior creation. Conceived, established, and guided by the Emperor, it has always been shaped, defended, and executed by the most loyal and devout servants, generation after generation!"
Gesturing passionately for emphasis, Irthu's speeches played across the city.
"The Imperium has survived countless devastating crises, beast invasions, traitorous frenzy, and heretical assault. Each was harrowing, and many despaired—but under the High Lords' wisdom, the Imperium endured every time."
He looked poignantly determined.
"Today, new trials confront us. Enemies close in; the galaxy is torn; so many despair for humanity's future. But hear me—so long as the High Lords remain, the Imperium will not fall! We have led mankind from the brink again and again, and this time shall be no exception!"
His tone shifted, turning mournful.
"The return of the Gene-Primarch, Lord Roboute Guilliman, was a sign of hope that the great Emperor still watches over us. Yet… tragically, misguided separatists, extremists, and careerists have bewitched this noble heir. Under his manipulation, a series of commands violating Imperial tradition and vital interests have brought the Empire to the brink!"
His voice peaked in bitterness.
"Believe me, this is not the power I ever sought. But for the Imperium, to save Terra, to save mankind, I must resort to these drastic means!"
"And I'm not alone! Many companions, long aware of the threat, have gathered the courage to act. Now, I call upon you to stand together and fight for our traditions!"
His broadcast, captivating and wide-reaching, flooded through every comms network they controlled. Disgruntled hereditary houses, monopoly guilds, conservatives, and radical factions in the State Church all responded—declaring allegiance to the High Lords' coup.
Even Tieron, under escort, was led from his official residence to a chamber where the plotters assembled—a grand historic hall in the upper hive capital. Its towering vaults depicted ancient Imperial war epics; its giant pillars needed several men to embrace them. The hall could house tens of thousands of people.
Irthu stood on a high dais, addressing the gathered multitudes, promising stability and a brighter future.
"…The Lord Regent cannot govern holy Terra!" Irthu declared. "The noble Emperor and his heir may campaign and wage war—but all questions of scale, resources, and even goals of war must be debated, approved, and commanded by us!"
His gaze swept the audience, robed and uniformed dignitaries, both warning and provoking.
"Remember the past. If the Astartes are no longer our servants or swords—what dreadful fate will befall our masters? That would be a military dictatorship! It would mean the end of ten thousand years' tradition and law, and the start of unspeakable calamity…"
Tieron glanced around, spotting Baldo Slyst, Merelda Pereth, Mar Av Ashariel, Aveliza Drachmar, and other powers. All were part of this dreadful rebellion, working to overthrow the Primarch's rule. Around them, privileged elites whispered, exchanged glances, greed and anticipation written on their faces. Many smiled smugly: with the old order restored, their power and privilege would grow richer than ever.
"Glad you could join us, Tieron."
Finishing his speech, Irthu walked over, smiling.
"For our purposes, we need a democratic and public session to prove our legitimacy. As Chancellor, chairing this session falls to you."
"The night of struggle is short, but its glory will be eternal. You will all be remembered by history."
"Don't worry, Tieron, you'll always be our Chancellor."
Looking at Irthu's self-satisfied face, Tieron reaffirmed all that he had believed: when the greedy seize what is not theirs, disaster is sure to follow. How could this fool think he could stand shoulder to shoulder with a Primarch? Could a statue of Roboute Guilliman, Emperor's son or not, truly stand on the Imperial Square beside the Emperor? Only an utter fool—or else one who has never reflected on history—would believe so.
"We can still enter the palace, right?" Irthu asked.
"That should be possible," Tieron replied.
"Good, then later you can carry our demands to Guilliman: first, halt the ongoing political purges of Terran officials; second, stop further reform; third, restore the old assembly. Those supporting reform must be arrested and tried for sedition, preparations for the Crusade must cease, and even the Primarch himself must submit for investigation—acting under the will of the High Lords."
"The Primarch will never agree," Tieron said.
"Doesn't matter. So long as he stays in the palace, like his father, he'll never interfere again." Irthu grinned, full of pride. With the outcome decided, it hardly mattered how clever or powerful the Primarch was; his era was over.
…
In the hive's central square
Countless zealots had gathered, chanting hymns to the Emperor, vowing to protect the heirs of the gods from deception. Law enforcers still performed their duties nearby. Both camps, manipulated by the High Lords' coup, now faced off in the city.
The instigators cared not whether riots or deaths resulted—their only aim was to create chaos and justify their rebellion.
On Datch's minimap, both zealots and lawmen showed as red dots, but—strangely—they now sported exclamation marks on their heads!
"Red dot NPCs mean hostility, exclamation marks mean they want saving…so apparently I have to recruit these NPCs as my own!!"
…What an embarrassing task!
It was fine to kill people, but to win your enemy over and make them your own? Datch, hidden in the shadows, touched his chin, pondering how to accomplish the mission.
In a flash of inspiration, he pulled out an Emperor Transformation Card from his game inventory.
Everyone swears loyalty to the Emperor, right? So if I become the Emperor, wouldn't they swear loyalty to me too?
That way, they become mine!
Hey, I'm actually a genius at this game!