Malcador didn't head to the Imperial Palace right away. Instead, he navigated the complex lower levels of the architecture, twisting and turning until he reached a secluded corner.
"Don't tell me this is your secret base," Zeke asked, standing before a wooden door that looked like it practically blended into the wall.
From the well-maintained state of the door, it was clear that someone had been living here consistently.
"More or less. I didn't expect it to still look like this after all these years." Malcador glanced behind him. "The Officio Assassinorum is here. Their sense of smell is as keen as ever."
The surrounding shadows writhed, and two ghost-like figures quietly emerged from the blind spots.
Two assassins wearing bodysuits, a man and a woman, revealed themselves from the darkness.
The woman had an eerie posture; she was an assassin belonging to the Callidus Temple. The polymorphine in her body allowed her to alter her bones and muscles at will, enabling her to flawlessly disguise herself as any biological creature.
The man was named Fadix, the current Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum. The moment Malcador stepped onto the soil of Terra, he was the first to receive the news.
Fadix had only one purpose: to confirm whether the person before him was the true Malcador.
If not, kill him.
If he was, then the Officio Assassinorum would unhesitatingly pledge their loyalty to this true Sigillite.
After all, he was the one who had single-handedly founded the entire Officio Assassinorum, and it would once again become the sharpest spear in Malcador's hand.
Fadix cross-referenced the information in his mind. The presence of the Lord Commander Guilliman beside him, coupled with witnessing Malcador's face with his own eyes, basically confirmed that the man before him was the real deal.
Fadix's C'tan Phase Weapon twirled in the air with a flourish before he sheathed it.
"Come inside to talk," Malcador said, tracing the grain of the oak door with his fingers, activating the psychic crystal circuitry hidden within.
The two assassins walked in swiftly.
Malcador whispered a long string of words into Guilliman's ear and patted him on the shoulder. Guilliman nodded.
"I need to go make some preparations for Malcador's meeting with the Emperor tomorrow. I'll take my leave first."
Zeke watched Guilliman disappear at the end of the alleyway, then walked into the room himself, shutting the door behind him.
He hadn't expected there to be so many people inside such a small house. Zeke watched as various members of the Officio Assassinorum bustled back and forth across the room.
There were mountains of documents, entirely filled with the Imperium's darkest secrets and those rotten, filthy dealings.
Malcador's arrival caused the efficiency of the Officio Assassinorum members in the room to multiply several times over. They served Malcador with fanatical devotion, throwing themselves into their work with even greater effort.
Zeke casually flipped through a few pages. The records of bloody infighting between noble houses, the debauched corruption of Planetary Governors, and all sorts of exorbitant taxes made him feel a wave of physical disgust.
Malcador processed the documents rapidly, combining them with the intelligence provided by Guilliman to construct a general framework of the Imperium's current state. The more he read, the colder his heart grew.
Zeke's various technologies were continuously pumping fresh blood into the Imperium, so its surface condition seemed quite good. But beneath that glamorous exterior, the Imperium's internal organs had long since rotted away.
If Zeke stopped the blood transfusion, it wouldn't take long for the Imperium to revert to its original, decaying state.
Among the documents, what made Malcador see red the most was the Ecclesiarchy twisting the Emperor, worshiping Him as a true god.
"The Emperor abhorred religion above all else. To think that after being trapped, He was actually revered as a god in a religion." Malcador was furious, yet a trace of pity flashed in his eyes.
He saw right through the pros and cons behind this Ecclesiarchy faith machine at a single glance.
Faith might become a beacon of hope for the people at the bottom, offering them a shred of illusory comfort, but it would also make a species weak and blind. Besides, given the Imperium's current state, the institution of the Ecclesiarchy was no longer needed.
"It seems this is going to be more troublesome than I imagined." Malcador pondered for a moment and quickly finalized his countermeasures.
Zeke marveled at Malcador's stamina. He had worked straight from the night into the day, right up until word came from Guilliman.
When the first rays of the Terran sun shone upon the city from above, Malcador finished arranging the Officio Assassinorum's operations. Together with Guilliman and Zeke, he unhurriedly began walking toward the Emperor's Imperial Palace.
Before the long, ascending tiers of stairs leading to the Imperial Palace.
A young adept who was wiping the sweat seeping from his forehead due to the scorching sun. When his gaze fell upon Malcador's face, his movements froze.
"What is it, young man?"
"Y-y-you... You look a bit like someone I've seen in historical frescoes," the young adept stammered.
He knew it was impolite to stare at an elderly man, so he quickly averted his gaze, but he couldn't help stealing frequent glances back at Malcador's face.
Similar. He looks too similar to that legendary Sigillite.
Malcador gave neither an affirmative nor a negative answer. He simply stepped forward, ascending the stairs leading to the Imperial Palace alone.
These gigantic holy steps, carved from solid blocks of rock, were originally designed to welcome the return of demigods and Primarchs. Now, before Malcador's gaunt frame, they seemed so unforgiving; every step required a tremendous effort for him to overcome.
The double-headed eagle staff struck the ground with a solid thud, echoing across the vast plaza and drawing people's attention.
The crowd coming for an audience at the Imperial Palace was as massive as ever. The plaza was packed with nobles and High Lords from all over the galaxy.
Draped in silks and jewels bought with the annual tithes of several agri-worlds, they conversed in arrogant tones, yet not a single one of them could see through the identity of this Imperial Regent.
"Who is that old man? He looks a bit familiar. How dare he walk on that path?" a newly risen noble muttered in dissatisfaction.
He turned his head to complain to his companion, only to find the other man staring fixedly at that staff.
"Shut up, you fool. If he were just an ordinary old man, others would have driven him out long ago."
The idle gossip drifted into Malcador's ears on the wind.
It truly made one sigh. Among this massive crowd gathered to pay homage, not a single person recognized him. Perhaps they had long forgotten, or perhaps they didn't dare to recognize him.
Malcador proceeded alone. There was no army of loyal followers marching behind him, nor any ceremony to mark the stages of his journey.
This was his own request. Guilliman and Zeke watched him from below.
"This old man walks so slowly. He's probably doing it on purpose," Zeke muttered.
Guilliman nodded. "The news has already spread throughout Terra. Malcador is intentionally building momentum."
"He's made up his mind to thoroughly clean up the Imperium. Things are probably going to get turbulent for the Imperium next." Guilliman's political instincts had already sensed the impending storm of blood and rain.
Compared to Malcador's methods, Guilliman's were undeniably much softer. Malcador was far more ruthless.