Kent Hive, Governor's Office, Top Floor.
Cogboy sat behind the massive desk, looking at the various reports scrolling across the data-slate before him, a wry smile touching his lips.
"This job... is so damn tiring," he rubbed his temples, speaking to Schrödinger Bro, who sat across from him.
Schrödinger Bro chuckled.
"This is only one hive. If the day comes when we take over the entire planet, the workload will multiply by dozens."
"Thank the Emperor for these augmentations." Cogboy pointed to his mechanical bionic eyes. Processing such massive amounts of data required cognitive capabilities far exceeding those of a mortal. "Otherwise, just reading these reports would make me go blind."
His appearance had changed significantly. Both of his eyes had been replaced with mechanical bionics, streams of data faintly glowing deep within the artificial pupils.
Both of his arms, from the wrists down to the forearms, were covered in intricate mechanical structures. His ten fingers could simultaneously interface with five different data screens.
Portions of his torso had also undergone mechanization. An exoskeleton framework remained hidden beneath his uniform, providing additional structural support.
Over the past month, several small-to-medium-scale Rogue Trader fleets operating across the sector had begun docking in orbit around Aurelian IV.
The external resources Aurelian IV desperately needed to import were finally being replenished.
Due to the special attention given to Kent Hive by Guilliman and the other Primarchs, the remaining four major factions on the planet no longer dared to embezzle or withhold the hive's supply quotas.
Cogboy had even proactively contacted a highly reputable Rogue Trader fleet, using Aurelian Coins to purchase massive quantities of food, seeds, and medicae supplies.
Although the potatoes grown at the Crimson Dawn's primary base remained the staple food for all of Kent Hive, the greenhouses and vertical agri-farms had already begun producing leafy greens.
The production capacity of the synthetic protein manufactorums had increased. Even though the real meat purchased from the Rogue Traders was expensive, an ordinary worker could afford to buy half a kilogram occasionally to treat themselves after a month of hard work.
"We're burning through money like water," Cogboy sighed, looking at the expenditure reports, "but... it's well worth it."
He pulled up another document.
It detailed the hive's metrics over the past month:
Total Tax Revenue: +185%
Crime Rate: -92%
Birth Rate: +37%
Citizen Happiness Index: 78/100
Food Ration Sufficiency Rate: 100%
Employment Rate: 98%
"This is the greatest reward for all our hard work over this period."
Schrödinger Bro walked over to the massive armaglass window.
Cogboy stood up and joined him.
Through the glass, the entirety of Kent Hive was laid out before them.
Almost every household had hung up couplets. The streets were clean and orderly, dotted with the starlight glow of red lanterns.
Even in the early morning, the distant beat of drums from the dances taking place in the plazas drifted into the office.
The laughter of children pierced through the layers of the hive, carrying high into the air.
"It's beautiful," Schrödinger Bro said softly.
"Yeah," Cogboy nodded. "A million times better than when we first arrived."
Back then, Kent Hive was drowning in toxic sludge and rampant crime. The commoners were emaciated, while the nobles rotted in their decadent stupors.
Now...
Now it was clean, orderly, and organized. The people had smiles on their faces and hope in their eyes.
"It's just a shame," Cogboy sighed, his gaze drifting beyond the hive, toward the silhouettes of other hive cities in the distance. "Our capabilities are limited. We can only maintain this single hive. There are still tens of billions of people living under oppression across the rest of this planet."
Schrödinger Bro reached out and patted Cogboy's shoulder.
His hand clacked softly against the mechanical pauldron.
"This planet will be ours sooner or later," Schrödinger Bro said calmly. "Once I log off, I'm going to contact every single player, one by one. I'll personally provide the funding to resolve any real-world concerns they might have, so they can focus entirely... on playing this game."
Cogboy froze, turning to stare at Schrödinger Bro.
"You're funding them? Schrödinger Bro, that's not a small amount of money. We're talking about thousands of players..."
Schrödinger Bro chuckled, a knowing smile touching his lips.
"Don't worry. I won't be the one paying." He paused, then continued. "My grandfather... he knows about this game now."
Cogboy's pupils contracted.
"After hearing my description," Schrödinger Bro went on, "He said... what we're doing right now is good. He said it reminded him of the struggles his generation went through back in their youth... So, we have full backing. Funding, technology, logistics... There are people in the real world who will clear the obstacles for us. All we need to do is focus on our struggle in this world."
"Understood," Cogboy nodded slowly, his gaze turning incredibly resolute. "It seems... we can truly go all out now."
He looked out at the hive, and then toward the sky beyond.
"But before that," Cogboy smiled, turning toward the office door, "we have three VIPs to welcome."
Schrödinger Bro followed him. "[The Last God of Gamblers of the Imperium of Man], is a real genius. He actually managed to invite Sanguinius, Guilliman, and Ferrus to our hive for the New Year... He's done a massive service."
"He has indeed," Cogboy nodded. "We won't reward him publicly, but under the table... transfer two hundred thousand Imperial Coins to him. Deduct it from my previous contribution reward pool."
Schrödinger Bro gave him a thumbs up.
The two left the office and walked down the corridor toward the main entrance of the Governor's Office.
High in the distance, the thruster wash of three Thunderhawk gunships pierced the cloud layer as they slowly descended.
–
Inside the lead gunship.
Guilliman looked down at the vibrant, red-lit hive, the sea of crimson reflecting in his ice-blue eyes.
"They truly... transformed this place into something entirely different," he said softly.
Sanguinius smiled. "Perhaps this is what hope looks like, Guilliman. It isn't an empty slogan. It is the tangible reality of lights, food, and laughter."
Ferrus remained silent.
But the Master of the Iron Hands kept his gaze fixed firmly on the children running through the streets and the crowds celebrating in the plazas.
His living-metal fingers unconsciously rubbed an iron mahjong tile.
Carved onto the face of the tile was a design personally drafted by the Crimson Dawn: an iron fist gripping a gear, with a line of small text beneath it.
Labor Forges the Future.
It was the very last gift the [Last God of Gamblers of the Imperium of Man] had given him, acting on Cogboy's instructions.
The gunships initiated their landing sequences.
The vibration of the landing gear touching down shuddered through the hulls.
The assault ramps lowered, and the cold night wind rushed in, carrying the distant beat of festival drums, the sounds of laughter, and the rich aroma of food.
The three Primarchs stepped out. From the two gunships behind them emerged Marius, Azkaellon, and the other officers who had accompanied them.
They were greeted by a sea of warm, red lights.
Cogboy and Blood Angel stood at the front of the landing pad, flanked by dozens of Crimson Dawn members and a welcoming committee composed of hundreds of children.
They pounded their right fists against their left breastplates in salute.
"We humbly welcome the Lords."
"Welcome to Kent Hive."
As the Thunderhawk ramps fully deployed, the towering figures of the three Primarchs emerged.
Guilliman was the first to step forward. As his ice-blue eyes swept across the scene before him, he paused slightly.
He had witnessed welcome ceremonies on countless worlds.
The Triumphs on Macragge, where petals rained from the sky and bells echoed through the clouds.
The receptions for the Expeditionary Fleets, marked by thunderous artillery salutes and seas of snapping banners.
The grand ceremonies celebrating the return of a Primarch on Holy Terra itself.
But he had never seen anything like this.
Lined up along the edge of the landing pad were over a hundred children.
The oldest among them was no more than twelve, the youngest perhaps six or seven. They all wore identical grey padded coats, a small Crimson Dawn emblem embroidered on the left breast of each.
Every child's cheeks were flushed red from the cold.
They stood in three neat rows. Despite the chill, their eyes sparkled with sheer excitement.
Upon seeing the Primarchs emerge, the three children in the very front row took a step forward in unison.
It was two boys and a girl.
The girl, about ten years old with her hair tied in twin braids, held a wooden tray.
Resting on a bed of red velvet on the tray were three identical medals.
They were significantly larger than the standard emblems worn by regular Crimson Dawn members—roughly fifteen centimeters in diameter.
They were cast from a dark red alloy, polished to a mirror shine.
The most striking feature was the micro-engraved High Gothic inscription encircling the edge:
[Labor Forges the Future, the Dawn Shall Ultimately Arrive]
"Welcome, Honored Lords, to Kent Hive!"
Over a hundred children shouted in unison, their voices young but perfectly synchronized.
They had undergone crash-course training under Blood Angel over the past three days. Although their movements were a little stiff, it only made their earnestness more endearing.
The girl holding the tray took a deep breath and led the two boys toward Guilliman, who stood at the absolute front.
She tilted her head up. To her, the Primarch's towering height was like gazing up at a mountain peak.
But she didn't shrink back. Holding the tray steady, she spoke in her clear, childlike voice:
"Governor Cage says these are souvenirs prepared for our most honored guests. My name is Mira. I'm ten years old, and I'm a fourth-grade student at the Third Administrative Zone Public Schola."
She paused, offering a shy, genuine smile.
"Uncle, welcome! We're happy you came to celebrate the New Year with us."
Guilliman froze.
His ice-blue eyes reflected the girl's earnest little face, and the medal gleaming under the lumens on the tray she offered.
Uncle?
Coming from a child, the word carried a unique, straightforward affection, entirely devoid of the usual reverence or detachment. It was exactly how a child would greet an elder from next door.
Guilliman had received countless welcomes on Macragge.
Consuls delivered magnificent orations, nobles presented gem-encrusted treasures, and warriors executed textbook-perfect military salutes.
But never once had a child welcomed his arrival with a title as simple and pure as "Uncle."
Guilliman slowly knelt down.
Even while kneeling, his massive frame still dwarfed the standing girl.
He tried his best to bring his eyes level with hers, though he couldn't quite manage it. The simple act caused Marius and the other Ultramarines officers behind him to stiffen in slight surprise.
"Thank you, Mira."