Ultimately, the Primarchs agreed to this military reform. Even though some Astartes still disagreed, they remained silent upon seeing that all the Primarchs had given their consent.
The Death Guard and the Imperial Fists voiced the most complaints, but they were quickly suppressed by Calas Typhon and Rogal Dorn.
With that, a military reform that added another layer of trepidation to the status of the entire Imperium kicked off in full swing.
Chapter Masters and exceptionally talented commanders within the great Legions were sent out by their respective Primarchs.
They were given whoever they asked for and whatever fleets they needed. If that wasn't enough, they could even apply for the Imperial Warmaster's "Ten-Billion Subsidy." It could be said that while these Chapters were not as massive as the original Legions, each one singled out was formidable enough to rival a minor galactic warlord.
Among them, the most absurdly overtuned were the Black Templars, split from the Imperial Fists, and the Iron Hands under the Iron Warriors.
Sigismund had long been dissatisfied with the Legion's self-punishing culture, and combined with his displeasure over this military reform, he was thoroughly reamed by Dorn. Afterward, Dorn kicked him out along with the Eternal Crusader, two Abyss-class battleships, four star fortresses, and a full-strength Chapter configuration of twenty thousand Space Marines.
Words aside, and scolding aside, Dorn truly doted on this son of his. The founding of the Black Templars effectively took away nearly a third of the Imperial Fists' strength; even the parent Legion was not as powerful as the Black Templars.
And upon their founding, the Black Templars swore an oath that drew the attention of everyone in the galaxy:
"We shall launch an Eternal Crusade across all the galaxies until the enemies of the Emperor are utterly erased from existence. Before then, we shall never rest. No pity. No remorse. No fear."
When a massive crowd of Astartes who championed close combat, rejected psychics, and possessed a fanatical and fiercely violent mindset gathered together, the light they radiated made even the Primarchs look askance.
"To be honest, except for their skin color and race, they are no different from those Orks who go around shouting Waaagh! all day long."
Later, the ferocious Flesh Tearers Chapter Master, Amit, complained about this during a Chapter gathering. From that day on, "Black Orks" became the nickname everyone used for the Black Templars.
As for the Iron Hands, their absurdity was pure strength—there was no other reason.
Because of Perturabo, the Iron Hands possessed extremely high psychic resistance and utterly off-the-charts melee capabilities. Their members generally stood over three meters tall, and every single one of them was clad in Tyrant Terminator armor, backed by a fleet and firepower that rivaled the old Legion's organization.
Aside from the restriction on numbers, the Iron Hands were practically a carbon copy of the former Legion. Chapter Master Forrix even possessed a reputation that rivaled Perturabo's.
After all, apart from him, no other Space Marine could defeat the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, nor could any Space Marine briefly fight a Primarch to a standstill.
Dantioch, who had always been the true, loyal Iron Warriors Legion Master, actually paled in comparison to Forrix in this regard, even though every Chapter split from the Iron Warriors held this commander-in-chief in high respect.
But the most jaw-dropping of all was the splitting of the Ultramarines.
No one knew how the Ultramarines could suddenly split into a whopping two hundred Chapters, nor did anyone know how the numbers within these Chapters managed to look so uniform and standardized.
Exactly 5,000 men per Chapter—not a single one more, not a single one less. Every sector of the galaxy was equally distributed with exactly twenty Chapters, and no one knew just how much the headcount of these Chapters would eventually increase.
Because their home worlds and recruiting worlds were terrifyingly numerous; each galactic sector had at least three hundred recruiting worlds, and they were nowhere near their limit.
Every time those other Chapters managed to spot a unit of Ultramarines in every single corner of every galaxy, they felt as though the entire galaxy had long been conquered by the ambitious Regent.
"And you still claim you aren't ambitious!"
This was Mortarion's reluctant complaint to Guilliman in the future as he sat upon the Golden Throne, and thus "ambitious" became Guilliman's exclusive title.
Originally, this word could have applied to Perturabo just as well. After all, the Chapters under his command were not a bit inferior to the Ultramarines, and they were even more ferocious in terms of numbers and raw strength.
But there was nothing to be done; Perturabo held the purse strings, and there weren't many fools brave enough to gossip about the Imperial Warmaster. Naturally, Guilliman remained the primary scapegoat, just like Malcador used to be.
Now, the reputation of these two was thoroughly "infamous" within the Imperium, to the point where they were villains who would be cursed out of nowhere if they walked into a civilian hive area.
Yet, at this moment, the two "culprits," with the assistance of the latest version of the logic engine, not only handled government affairs with ease but could even find time at any moment to enjoy afternoon tea and meals, chatting with their brother sitting on the Golden Throne.
Sanguinius was the unluckiest one. The pristine Angel was actually a total magnet for bad luck; he and the Blood Angels parent Legion were left on Terra, while he himself sat upon the Golden Throne, feeling that immense suction force violently draining his core.
That feeling of the physical body being squeezed dry and the soul seemingly being torn away put Sanguinius in a state of extreme agony and emptiness. So much so that when he saw Guilliman leisurely enjoying afternoon tea thanks to the logic engine's assistance, his heart was filled with envy.
Thus, he quietly made a decision. Summoning every ounce of his strength, he finally managed to channel a sliver of psychic energy to negotiate with Guilliman.
He wanted to handle administrative work; he planned to swap places with Guilliman.
Guilliman had never seen such a request in his life.
So he gladly agreed, turned around, and sat upon the Golden Throne.
A month later, a haggard Sanguinius, no longer looking perfect, with the luster of his wing feathers thoroughly dulled and more than half of them thinned out, knelt before Guilliman, weeping and begging him to swap back.
Thus, a farce that wasn't entirely a farce drew to a brief close.
Meanwhile, not far from Terra, Perturabo, who had once again relocated his homeworld to Olympia, welcomed two guests he never expected.
Originally, Perturabo was still pondering how to reverse-engineer the Dolmen Gates and Necron Scarabs when the psychically specialized abuhumans under his command who had defected to him informed him that Cegorach, the Laughing God, and Isha, the Goddess of Life, requested an audience.
They had encountered these two deities during their exploration of the Webway. Initially, these abuhumans thought the two gods had come to purge the traitors of their race.
Although Slaanesh could no longer threaten them, having been won over by Perturabo's charisma, they had already accepted their current identities. Embracing a resolve to die, they launched a charge against the two deities.
To their complete surprise, Cegorach and Isha did something unexpected—they surrendered.
They willingly bound themselves and stated they wished to make a deal with the current Imperium.
The abuhumans were obviously stunned by this. It was far beyond their authority to handle, so they had no choice but to temporarily halt their Webway exploration and escort Cegorach and Isha back.
Perturabo was highly curious about what was going on with these two. After all, Isha had only escaped because he himself had dealt with Nurgle back then. Why would she willingly throw herself into another abyss?
And as for Cegorach, knowing full well how much the Imperium coveted his Black Library, how did this guy have the nerve to walk right into the trap? Wasn't he afraid that he would devour them until not even crumbs were left? Did they not know he absolutely loathed xenos?
"Let them in."
"Yes."
Cegorach and Isha were actually out of options this time. If they had a choice, they would have preferred to stay inside the Webway for the rest of their lives and never come out.
After all, the Webway was so vast; how could it be easy to find two hidden deities?
But it wouldn't work this time. They could no longer hide.
Because Ynnead, the Aeldari God of Death, was about to awaken.
This deity, who could burst forth from Slaanesh's womb once awakened, was about to descend into the Warp at this very moment when Slaanesh was sealed and at its weakest.
Originally, this should have been a good thing. After all, the descent of the God of Death could give the already lifeless Aeldari the capital to once again return to the material universe to compete.
But the problem was that the awakening of the God of Death didn't come without a price. Why was he called the God of Death?
His birth meant that all Aeldari would have their souls consumed by him at the exact moment of his inception, resulting in the utter extinction of the Aeldari race. This time, no one would be lucky enough to hide from it.
Because the God of Death was their true deity. Slaanesh was spawned by their boundless hedonism, possessing an ultimate specialization against the Aeldari, but the God of Death was different; he was born from the Aeldari themselves, a true god of the Aeldari race.
The impending birth of the God of Death ignited ambition in many Aeldari. Some extreme Craftworlds had even publicly announced their faith in Ynnead and joined the Ynnari.
Cegorach and Isha had tried to dissuade them, telling them what the birth of the God of Death would bring, but could the Aeldari at this point listen to reason?
Their minds were solely set on stepping out of the Webway and indulging themselves to their heart's content; after all, they had been repressed for far too long.
Of course, they didn't dare to be too brazen at first. At that time, the military might of the Human Imperium was at its peak, and the Chaos Space Marines had merely turned traitor—it didn't mean they possessed any tolerance for xenos.
Therefore, those Craftworlds didn't dare to wander out casually. They only emerged occasionally to raid, striking and fleeing just like the Drukhari.
A minor loss wasn't worth the Imperium's pursuit, and a few small tricks weren't enough to catch the Imperium's serious attention.
The Imperium wouldn't charge into the Webway to exterminate the Aeldari over trivial losses that wouldn't even be reported to the sector command. The cost was too high, and the Webway was too vast; it wasn't worth it.
But the Eldar were just like that—give them an inch and they'll take a mile. Achieving a minor success made them chase greater thrills and demand larger profits.
Their actions grew bolder and more radical with each passing day.
Relying on their extreme speed and glass-cannon attributes, they began to earn an infamous reputation in the Segmentum Obscurus, mirroring their Drukhari kin.
They cleverly avoided the Imperial fleets and bypassed heavily fortified worlds, specifically picking weak worlds to plunder, usually executing their raids in an incredibly short window of time.
Until that day, when they ran into the Deathwatch.
These Astartes, whose minds were somewhat unhinged but who were ridiculously strong, taught them exactly who the master of the current galaxy was.
The speed and close-quarters combat they prided themselves on amounted to absolutely nothing before these ferocious, massive, black-armored Astartes. Often, they were dealt with in a single clash.
Moreover, those powerful weapons and fleets were not something their Craftworlds could contend with.
Just like that, after losing a dozen or so Craftworlds, having their Avatars of Khaine blasted to dust, and being relentlessly hunted right into the Webway, the Aeldari finally realized that even if the God of Death awoke, they likely had no capability left to compete with humanity.
Even so, they still shrunk back into the Webway and continued to worship the God of Death. After all, compared to Cegorach and Isha, who had achieved nothing over all these years, Ynnead was their final ray of hope.
They clutched onto this life-saving straw tightly, completely ignoring what the true nature of the God of Death actually was; they just wanted to numb themselves for now.
Cegorach loved the Aeldari. In fact, he had done everything within his power for their survival, but the turning of the tide was not something he could block.
He feared death, but he feared the total extinction of the Aeldari even more. Thus, he sought out Isha—his sister who had already developed severe psychological trauma and intended to hide away permanently.
He convinced Isha. He knew that Isha's innate protective love for the Aeldari would never allow her to sit idly by.
Even though she possessed a fear etched into her very soul regarding Warp deities, for the sake of her race, she still followed Cegorach to face the most terrifying Lord of Iron in the Warp.
In truth, just at the moment of drawing near to Olympia, Isha could not stop trembling all over. She could very clearly perceive just what an utterly terrifying deity they were about to face next.
As they gradually approached the Iron Fortress, that terror even caused her legs to wobble as she walked. That malevolent aura was something she had never encountered before; even the most toxic soup brewed by Nurgle could not compare to the oppressive weight bearing down on her at this moment.
Furthermore, this kind of aura was not alone. A pain accompanied by a scorching light that seemed intent on burning them followed right after.
The Anathema!
He was here too!
Isha looked tremblingly at Cegorach, the mastermind of the Aeldari.
This time, if those entities felt even a slight hint of displeasure, they would truly die!
Yet Cegorach still led Isha inside. This clown, who had always been looked down upon and thoroughly despised by everyone, stepped into the Iron Fortress with staggering courage.
And upon seeing the Lord of Iron, who was still continuously researching Necron technology, alongside a "mortal" nearby conducting research on a piece of pitch-black flesh, Isha's terror reached its absolute peak.
She was speechless, sinking to her knees in a tremble. Her entire body felt as though it would collapse onto the floor, her lips quivering. Not a single word of the rhetoric Cegorach had prepared beforehand could leave her mouth, and teardrops as large as beans kept rolling down.
"Your Majesty! Warmaster! The Harlequin has returned!"
"We have brought the abuhumans of the Imperium back to rejoin the Imperium!"
With a loud thud, Cegorach threw himself to his knees, delivering words full of tears that instantly drew the gaze of both the Emperor and Perturabo.
Wait... what kind of plot twist was this?