Guilliman ultimately agreed to this condition. Though it fell short of his hoped-for immediate start to the reform, postponing it until after every fallen Primarch was exiled was acceptable enough.
If anything, that would be precisely the moment those Chapters would begin to rise. Guilliman could already picture how these Astartes Chapters would go on to forge legendary reputations across the galaxy.
There was an important truth sitting plainly before everyone: whether during the Great Crusade or the subsequent revenge crusade, no matter how strained the Imperium became or how devastating its losses, nearly ninety-five percent of human worlds had never actually experienced war directly.
Most of these people barely understood what an Astartes was, let alone Chaos. They simply went on, day after day, performing their assigned roles at their posts, with nothing about their lives ever truly changing.
The overwhelming majority of worlds continued living the same exhausting, endless grind — a life with food, clothing, and shelter guaranteed, but stretching on without any visible end.
No matter how loudly the Administratum's officials wept and pleaded, no matter how many noble-sounding speeches anyone gave, the actual lives these humans lived underwent no fundamental change.
The words spoken aloud were always hollow — including from the Emperor and Malcador, those two scoundrels.
Only Guilliman and Perturabo among all the Primarchs had truly grasped this fact. The rest — including Vulkan and Corax — had never managed to see through to this truth.
Believing wholeheartedly that you're saving humanity simply isn't enough — almost no Legion had ever recognized this.
They would throw themselves fearlessly into death for the Emperor and for honor, would give their lives for some abstract greater good — but they would never do anything substantive for an individual human being.
The Salamanders could, but they were too idealistic to a fault.
Guilliman could see it too — but without his guidance, the Ultramarines, those Sons of War, would never willingly sacrifice themselves for humanity either.
As for Perturabo, no need to even discuss it — he leaned far more toward simply shattering any world outside his own dominion and rebuilding it from scratch.
Among every Primarch and every Astartes, including those the Emperor called the perfect humans — the Custodians — only a small handful had ever truly seen this fact clearly.
That fact being: humanity had never actually been saved by them. What they called salvation was nothing more than ensuring people stayed alive. That was all.
Life is the most precious thing — but the humans at the bottom had almost no hope left at all.
They had simply moved from the darkness of the Age of Strife, to enslavement under xenos, into a supposedly Great Crusade, and then back into enslavement under their own kind.
That was the truth. Slogans could be shouted as loudly as anyone liked, but the hollow eyes of those ordinary people at the bottom proved everything — they had never truly been saved.
Perturabo wanted to change this, but it was genuinely difficult, because he had witnessed humanity's worst tendencies countless times over, which was why he had chosen this cruel method of keeping them alive instead.
At least it offered them some guarantee, didn't it?
But Guilliman was different. A thoroughgoing idealist, someone who had seen the darkness and still chose to act on his ideals anyway, he wanted to change this reality — even if the road ahead was full of hardship, even if it was thankless and exhausting, even if he would be resented by his brothers, his Legions, and even his own sons. He was determined to see it through.
Because the Imperium, as it stood now, actually had the capacity to do this!
It genuinely could!
It was simply difficult. Guilliman knew he couldn't ask everyone else to shoulder the infamy and pressure the way he was willing to.
But he was still willing to do it — and to that end, he had pulled the Warsmith of the Imperium into this with him, because he knew this brother would be willing to help him.
"These Chapters carry real significance, Warsmith. We've always been too proud. Too convinced of our own superiority to have ever truly witnessed what survival actually looks like now."
"They've been blinded by the fleets and the glory of war that you gave them. They've forgotten what our original purpose was when this crusade first began."
"Father never set aside a place for us in this new era. I know that — which is why he turns a blind eye to how these people behave. Our brothers, too, are far too proud. Many of them may have endured terrible lives themselves once, but they've never been able to empathize with the ordinary people who support our entire Imperium."
"Their duty is noble. Their character is high-minded. But their actions don't match any of it."
"Perhaps the blame belongs to Father. He showed us things that confused our minds, and lifted us all the way to a height beyond reach."
The Emperor, who happened to be licking a chocolate ice pop at that moment, found himself innocently caught in the crossfire. Wait — what's gotten into this little Thirteenth? Running his mouth like that.
"Maybe it's also connected to the mindset we started with — believing ourselves above everyone else. No one can wield this kind of power and still remain entirely themselves."
"I didn't think this deeply about it at first either, even after the Great Crusade. I cared about the people of those worlds, but I never went so far as you have — arranging every small convenience for them down to the last detail."
Guilliman looked at Perturabo as he spoke.
He had, in truth, always genuinely admired this Warsmith — not just his brilliant mind, but his mercy as well. Even though he was always too proud to admit any of it, he was always willing to act, even when his methods left something to be desired.
"All I know is that population is an important resource. I don't particularly care about them as individuals — I only care how much output they can give me."
"As long as you're willing to act, that's enough."
Those who act are always more honorable than those who merely idealize — that, too, is a fact.
"This reform serves two purposes — adapting to the current state of galactic warfare, and giving them a real opportunity to understand what the Imperium actually is."
"Ordinary people genuinely need strength to protect their lives — that was the original purpose Astartes were created for."
"They should be fighting for humanity, not for the Emperor or for their father alone. They should also understand exactly how many people labored ceaselessly on production lines to produce the equipment they wear and the warships they crew. They owe it to those people to be worthy of the expensive armor on their backs."
"Astartes come from these people — that is something they must understand. If the physical power granted to them produces nothing but pride and glory, then they don't deserve the power armor they wear."
"They're also elite warriors, hand-selected after enduring rigorous trials."
Perturabo reminded Guilliman — after all, this line of argument was implicitly criticizing his own sons as well.
"But not one of them, deep down, still believes himself to be human — even if they claim to."
"Warsmith, those trials and hardships only prove they're resilient warriors, or exceptional commanders. They are weapons of war — but that doesn't mean they should lose the most basic things that make a person human."
"I know this is a flaw left over from the early days of the Great Crusade — it isn't entirely their fault. But now, I want them to rediscover that original purpose. They are not merely weapons of war. From this point forward, at the very least, they shouldn't be."
Guilliman looked over at the Emperor — the one who, from the very beginning, had never reserved a place for the Astartes in this new era. It was because of him that the Astartes' thinking had grown so warped.
Horus, too, bore some of the blame. He had recognized this early on, yet had never been willing to appeal to the Emperor on their behalf — instead spreading warrior lodges aggressively throughout the other Legions, fueling a culture of cliquishness and arrogance within Legion ranks.
But Guilliman had no wish to dwell on assigning blame now. All he wanted was to set the current Imperium right, rescue his mother, and then step away.
"Of all the Legions, you and I are the only two who once defied the Emperor's wishes — bringing our sons into the political system. I didn't care about the consequences. You had his tacit approval."
"That's why we were always the most criticized among our brothers — because our actions challenged the authority of the Imperium's supreme leader."
"That's also exactly what I admired most about you. You never abandoned your own approach just because of those criticisms — because introducing superhuman beings like the Astartes into the Imperium's inefficient administration genuinely did improve the system."
"Even with everyone condemning you, you persisted. The prosperity of Ultramar's Five Hundred Worlds proved your foresight was correct."
"Even with the version of you in another galaxy having turned traitor, the worlds 'he' governed proved the same point — you have more vision than any of our other brothers."
Perturabo's words left Guilliman a little uneasy. It wasn't exactly a flattering comparison.
"I did it because I hated inefficient sluggishness. You did it because you were willing to bring everyone hope. The rest of our brothers think only about fighting and killing all day — though, granted, that's literally what we were created for."
"We really have ended up different from the rest. Outliers among our own brothers."
"What you two did back then looked an awful lot like naked ambition. Can't entirely blame your brothers for thinking that — after all, both of you really are men of action."
The Emperor interrupted the two brothers' moment of mutual admiration, sitting beside his old friend, taking a bite of an enormous hamburger as he spoke.
"Is there something wrong with genuinely wanting to take concrete action to save humanity? Did we ever delay the Great Crusade's progress because of it?"
"Look at the rest of them — if even one of those brothers had been better than you two, why would I have ever dared lock you up over a tax dispute? But what do any of them actually have to show for themselves?"
"Was Sanguinius really perfect? What did Vulkan actually accomplish in real terms? Can you honestly expect Lion or Dorn to handle administration? Or do you think it would've gone well letting Ferrus implement his ideology?"
The Emperor thought it over and shook his head. The son he had truly favored most had been his First-Born — but even Horus had never managed to substantively change anything either.
"The purpose they were created for—"
The Emperor began to object again, since this honestly wasn't his fault — he'd never expected the Primarchs to handle these things well in the first place.
"That's not a reason. The facts show they performed poorly. I love my brothers deeply, but that doesn't mean I have to make excuses for them."
"You're twisting logic here. I never intended for either of you to get involved in any of this. It's simply that you two set the precedent, which is why your brothers criticized you both for it. Don't pin all of that on them and on me."
This time, the Emperor had no intention of taking the blame.
"It's precisely because of you that the precedent got set badly in the first place! Who saves humanity the way you did? The two people who actually took concrete, real action to save humanity ended up with the worst reputations of all!"
"Alright, enough arguing. Let's get back to drafting the reform order, and figure out how to break this news to those battle-hardened Legions at the front."
Malcador cut both of them off, preventing the argument from escalating into another brawl.
"I've already drafted it. It might still need some revisions. I'll also need your signatures — I can't pull this off alone, they'd never accept it from me."
Guilliman had two Obliterators bring forth two documents and lay them before everyone. The thick file detailed, down to the finest particulars, the full deployment arrangements and concrete plans for this military reform.
The sheer depth and detail made it obvious this wasn't something thrown together in a single day. Guilliman's preparation exceeded everyone's expectations.
"I imagine all this needs now is our signatures before it can go out, doesn't it?"
The Emperor said, clicking his tongue as he looked over the reform documents.
"I prepared all of this a long time ago — I had it ready back when I was commanding the revenge crusade. I just never expected the situation to shift this fast, which forced me to revise the plan extensively before arriving at this final version."
Tell me you're not a closet traitor without telling me you're not a closet traitor, the Emperor thought privately. He genuinely couldn't read this Thirteenth son of his.
"What I need now is your approval. Of course, once you've decided, the brunt of the backlash will fall on me and the Regent — and it's guaranteed we'll be torn apart in the history books for it."
The Emperor, naturally, had no shortage of people willing to badmouth him. As for Perturabo — needless to say, he had benefited from so much already that even if people grumbled about him, the Iron Warriors wouldn't need to intervene; his own Legion would teach the complainers some manners.
So the only two who would truly bear the brunt of this storm were the ambitious Guilliman and the universally resented Imperial Regent.
Malcador merely raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. This affair was significant, true, but as the galaxy's perennial scapegoat, one more grudge from the Astartes hardly registered to him.
"If we actually sign this, there's no turning back, Roboute. Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?"
The Emperor regarded Guilliman with a grave expression.
Brothers turning against brothers wasn't something the Primarchs wanted to see — nor did the Emperor himself want it, especially now that humanity no longer faced any major crisis.
Guilliman simply nodded, then resumed his work on the documents before him. He had long since prepared himself for this — otherwise, why would he have brought it to them at all?
Even if the Emperor and Perturabo disagreed, he would have found some way to make it happen regardless.
"Very well then. I hope you won't regret this — and I hope you can see it through properly."
The Emperor looked at Guilliman and said nothing more. He signed his name directly on what was technically still labeled a draft, but was in truth already a finalized reform decree. Malcador signed beneath him, and the document was then passed to Perturabo.
Looking at the draft now turned official decree beside him, Perturabo said nothing, simply signing his own name to it as well.
Guilliman looked at the decree, knowing that the moment it was announced and distributed, he would become the target of everyone's anger.
But he signed his name with absolute resolve regardless.
Now, all that remained was to wait for the right moment.
345.M31.
With the Imperium having provisionally exiled every fallen Primarch — while these gravely sinful traitors began their resurrection countdown — across several galaxies, every Legion received a decree that sent everyone's hackles rising.
"What does Guilliman think he's doing? What in the void does he mean by this?"
"We're out here fighting and dying on the front lines, and the very first decree he sends us is to break up our own Legion?"
"Sael, gather everyone. I'm going back to Terra to ask this bastard exactly what he thinks he's playing at!"
Cypher, as always, was the first to charge to the front of any reaction — even after fighting alongside Guilliman for so long.
The First Legion raised no real disturbance. Lion and his Legion had grown considerably calmer in recent years, though they still felt genuine anger upon reading the decree.
"Wayne, you and Luther hold the Legion together. I'll go back to Terra and find out exactly what's going on."
Lion knew this decision couldn't have been made by Guilliman alone. What he wanted to understand now was why both the Emperor and Perturabo had agreed to it.
"Hah. Father and the Warsmith aren't even dead yet, and this big-browed bug-eyed Guilliman is already trying to seize power? I'd say he's not quite up to the task."
In front of the Iron Warrior who had delivered the decree, Russ ripped the document apart on the spot, his face full of contempt.
"Jorin, get ready. Bring some of the cubs with me. Let's go back and see exactly what kind of mischief this brother is up to."
Russ wasn't stupid. He understood perfectly well that this decree could never have left Terra without the Emperor and Perturabo's approval — especially given that it was an Iron Warrior who had delivered it.
But that didn't mean they were willing to accept it. The Wolves were never going to accept an order like this.
Ferrus and the Iron Hands were, by contrast, the calmest of all. Lacking much in the way of emotional investment, they didn't see much of anything wrong with the decree — their fighting spirit had always run high regardless, and a small matter like this barely registered.
Besides, the decree had already stated it: when there was real need, they could still gather together; when there wasn't, they could simply sit and talk among themselves. To the Iron Hands, none of this was particularly objectionable.
Still, out of an abundance of caution, Ferrus took the Morlocks Terminators and returned to Terra regardless — this matter had, after all, been sanctioned by Perturabo and Father, and he could already foresee some turbulence ahead.
He needed to go back and help, to make sure not all of his brothers turned against it.
"What kind of nonsense is this, breaking up the Legions! This is nothing but a power grab, plain and simple!"
"Are these supposed to be daughter Chapters? This is just slowly, quietly turning all of us into Ultramarines!"
"Hypocrisy!"
"Guilliman and the Imperial Regent are deliberately weakening the bonds between us brothers!"
"I knew it. That damned Guilliman has always been so ambitious!"
"He and the Regent must have used some kind of silver-tongued manipulation to deceive Father and the Warsmith into making this decision!"
Among the Blood Angels, the perpetually hot-tempered Amit and the others cursed and railed against it, leaving Sanguinius with a considerable headache.
He didn't support this either. Why on earth break up the Legion?
But this was an order from Father and the Warsmith, and ever loyal as he was, Sanguinius still decided to comply — though before doing so, he intended to go and reason with them first.
"Ladoron, Azkaellon, prepare yourselves. We're going back to Terra to see Father."
"Yes, my lord."
Sanguinius rubbed his brow. He had only just managed to finish dealing with all that rebellion, and now this had landed on his desk.
What kind of business was this!