The Great Rift, a scar tearing the galaxy in two.
But what made the situation even more fucking ridiculous for Zhou Ye was Konrad Curze standing right beside him. The Warp ripple he had raised was equivalent to a single leaf falling on Earth—utterly insignificant. But if someone was staring intently at that exact spot, it was another matter entirely.
The Golden Fiend had used the coordinate Curze had just created, combined with the momentary instability of the Great Rift's formation, to tear open a massive eye right in his backyard. Zhou Ye cursed out loud. Worse, due to the non-linear nature of Warp-time, the portal had delivered its cargo directly to this very moment.
And emerging from it was Belisarius Cawl's flagship, the Zar-Quaesitor. Onboard was the Armor of Fate, the one hope for resurrecting Roboute Guilliman.
"Golden Fiend!!!"
Zhou Ye roared the insult right in front of Konrad Curze, who could only stare back in utter confusion. At this point, Zhou Ye couldn't be bothered with him. He had already planted a failsafe within Curze's body; if the Primarch tried anything, he could be pacified in an instant. Zhou Ye had no more interest in dealing with this psychopath. While ten thousand years had clearly done much to soothe his madness, much like with Perturabo, Zhou Ye simply couldn't be bothered.
So, under Konrad Curze's bewildered gaze, he vanished. Curze had no idea what a "Golden Fiend" was, but he had a strange feeling his new brother had just been cursing their father. This was unheard of. For all the sound and fury of the Great Heresy, not even the Daemon Primarchs dared to openly curse the Emperor.
"All hands, assemble immediately!!!"
Zhou Ye sent the command directly to his honor guard via a soul-link. All he wanted was to farm in peace and develop a few worlds. Now, it looked like another massive clusterfuck was imminent. He decisively chose the best remedial action.
Although the Great Rift looked close, it was still a considerable distance away. He still had defensive options. The spatial tear wasn't permanently open; the laws of reality were already slowly trying to repair it. While nothing could be done about the Great Rift itself, a smaller tear like this could potentially be managed. He had to intercept them. But this small matter wasn't enough to warrant a full mobilization.
The ground-based defense platforms had been destroyed. The Hyperion was already turning, leading the rest of the fleet to move slowly into position. As long as he could block their path, no one could stop his plans of peaceful agricultural expansion. Probably…
Zhou Ye wasn't sure. He realized the Great Rift seemed to have opened ahead of schedule, much earlier than he had anticipated. He had a suspicion this was related to him. He had successively smashed Mortarion and Fulgrim. Especially Fulgrim, who was the very picture of apathy. After being banished by him, the Primarch's very essence had been damaged. Given that Daemon Primarch's personality, he would absolutely seek revenge. It was possible that Abaddon had received backing from his two "uncles," granting him the power to shatter Cadia ahead of time.
"My Lord, one hundred units of Night Lords gene-seed have been prepared."
Just then, a Tech-Priest arrived, pushing a cart of fresh gene-seed. After Zhou Ye had finished processing the first sample, he had sent Curze's blood to be replicated. Now, in a very short time, over a hundred new gene-seeds had been produced. Seeing this, Curze's eyes widened. He had already realized his blood had been drawn. This man could actually create gene-seed so quickly.
His expression slowly darkened as he stared at Zhou Ye. "What is this, my brother? Do you intend to resurrect that filthy legion?"
The Eighth Legion, the Night Lords. That legion was a testament to the Emperor's inhumanity, insisting on filling its ranks with criminals. They had systematically driven Konrad Curze into a deep depression, to the point where he eventually stopped caring about his own legion. His homeworld had also been a piece of work. There had been so many other ways, but the Emperor always chose the most abstract and cruel path.
"I need a specialized strike force. Every one of them will be a top graduate from my thirty worlds."
Zhou Ye couldn't be bothered to argue. He had already designated the recruitment pool: his own law academies.
Unlike the Imperium, Zhou Ye would never entrust grassroots governance to so-called gangs. Combined with the ample food he provided and a near-zero unemployment rate, his society's foundation was extremely stable. Coupled with his supercomputer, his planets maintained a near-zero crime rate. While no one was extravagantly wealthy, their living conditions were no worse than Guilliman's 500 Worlds during the Great Crusade—in fact, they were significantly better. And with Zhou Ye's preemptive "corruption," Chaos cults had no way to infiltrate.
To manage this society, he had established various universities, with law being a top priority. Of course, his legal code had nothing to do with the Imperium's. Imperial law was so convoluted that no one could fully comprehend it, so their enforcers' methods were simple and brutal: determine if someone was a heretic, then leave the rest to the local gangs. Zhou Ye allowed no gangs, which meant a new force had to fill the vacuum. Thus, the law academies were born.
Zhou Ye handed a data-slate to Konrad Curze. The Primarch stared at the information, stunned. Every person on the list was an outstanding youth, a top graduate from Zhou Ye's worlds. Unlike the host of criminals he had once led, this was a new generation of Night Lords, born without a single stain on their record.
"I have opened a special section of the Theater. Time there will be accelerated to its absolute maximum. Take these men inside and begin the neophyte surgeries. Right now, I can only hope the worst-case scenario doesn't happen."
Zhou Ye glanced back at the planet behind him, his brow furrowed. He had been carefully monitoring the Chaos Gods' movements for years. He had detected the actions of Tzeentch, Nurgle, and Slaanesh; they were all trying various methods to throw their chaotic creations onto his planets, but he had confiscated every last one. But Khorne, the one who seemed the most straightforward, had been completely silent.
Zhou Ye would not mistake the Blood God for a simple-minded berserker. He held the Authority of War itself. His silence could only mean one thing: he was brewing something big. With the precedent of the War of the Beast, Zhou Ye had to be careful. More planning was necessary.
Zhou Ye opened a portal, intending to send Apothecary Beta down to handle the new recruits. But at that moment, Curze instinctively followed him, and the two of them vanished together.
"Well, he went with him..." Zhou Ye muttered. If the guy wanted to do something, let him. He had already planted an insurance policy in him while he was unconscious. If Curze dared to try anything, Zhou Ye would send him straight to the Golden Throne.
With the Hyperion at its center, Trailblaze's defense fleet slowly assembled. This situation didn't warrant a full mobilization, but a message had been sent to all companies and merchant ships to recall their personnel. The core of those ships were all AIs; with a single command from him, they would all return.
"Get me aboard the Zar-Quaesitor. Prometheus, assist me with the boarding action."
Zhou Ye had simultaneously issued orders to Ai-chan and Prometheus, his supercomputer. Calculating the jump with his own brain was too much trouble. With two super AIs and an artificial computer working in tandem, Zhou Ye could execute a boarding teleport from a thousand kilometers away.
Light flared around him. Ashira and another MANTIS warrior appeared out of thin air, followed by a hundred Space Marines in ornate armor trimmed with gold. While most of them had not experienced a truly brutal war, Zhou Ye's Memory Battlefield and Abyssal trainers were a super-experience machine. It contained data on every enemy Zhou Ye had ever faced, short of Fulgrim and Mortarion. They did not lack for combat experience. Many of them had even been in the ICU a few times. The Memory Battlefield only guaranteed you wouldn't die; if you failed to defend in time, you could still get cut in half. With Zhou Ye's abilities, he could bring them back as long as their head was intact.
Furthermore, they had seen plenty of action over the past few years. The merchant fleets often encountered Chaos corruption beyond their ability to handle, requiring Astartes support. As a result, Zhou Ye's entire sector was remarkably quiet and peaceful.
The rest of the honor guard and their auxiliaries had already boarded different vessels in his home fleet. Now, they were going to teleport directly onto the Zar-Quaesitor. Zhou Ye could clearly see that Belisarius Cawl's Ark Mechanicus was already crawling with strange fires. They, too, had been boarded.
"My Lord, we..." Ashira was eager, ready to lead the charge. They were all desperate to fight alongside Zhou Ye.
---o---
A short time earlier, aboard the Zar-Quaesitor.
"That bastard has found us! He's abandoned The Phalanx and is coming for us!" Belisarius Cawl watched as the main Black Legion fleet pursued them, his brow deeply furrowed. The Armor of Fate he was protecting was the only hope of reviving Guilliman, but it still seemed to be missing a catalyst. He didn't know what that catalyst was. Regardless, he had to protect the armor at all costs.
Beside him, the Living Saint, Celestine, closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they flashed with light. "Follow these coordinates," she said to Cawl. "A son of the Emperor will receive us."
"What?" Even Cawl was stunned. A son of the Emperor? A Gene-Primarch? Were there any Primarchs left in the Imperium? The Inquisitor at his side, Greyfax, immediately adopted a wary expression. She knew nothing of Living Saints; in her eyes, this so-called saint was just another potential blasphemy. (If Zhou Ye were here, he would have given her a thumbs-up. If he remembered correctly, this particular saint had a nasty habit of negating the Grey Knights' anti-daemonic advantages.)
"Your coordinates point to empty space! If you do this, we will lose our last chance! Their legion is closing in..."
VMMMM!!!
As the two argued, the Zar-Quaesitor began to tremble violently. A moment later, a massive spatial tear ripped open before them.
"Go through!!!" Cawl didn't hesitate. They had no path of retreat. This seemed to be their only option.
And then...
"Is that... a Gloriana-class?" Cawl's astonished cry echoed through the bridge.
Before them hung a vibrant blue planet, and in orbit, facing them, was a colossal battleship. Cawl recognized the class instantly. It was an unknown Gloriana-class vessel, and it showed no signs of corruption. But hadn't all the loyal Primarchs disappeared? Where did this one come from?
---o---
Aboard the Vengeful Spirit.
Abaddon watched the events unfold, a strange expression on his face. Before he launched the 13th Black Crusade, Ang'grath, Khorne's chief Greater Daemon, had personally brought him some... unconventional support. The reason was simple: he was to deliver a special Chaos artifact to a specific location. According to his sorcerers' prophecies, the place he sought was on the other side of that rift.
Abaddon knew he was once again caught in the games of the Chaos Gods, but it didn't matter. Right now, he had to destroy that Ark Mechanicus. He could not tolerate the revival of a Primarch. So...
"Pursue them, immediately!!!"
At Abaddon's command, boarding torpedoes launched from the Black Legion warships, and hordes of Chaos Space Marines charged toward their target.
---o---
Aboard the Zar-Quaesitor.
Belisarius Cawl, Saint Celestine, and Inquisitor Greyfax saw a brilliant flash of golden light. A giant, over four meters tall, clad in magnificent black and gold armor, stepped out of the light.
"First, I am not a Primarch, just an ordinary human. Second, tell me what is happening right now."
---