As the Primarch of the Ultramarines, the actions of the supremely rational and efficient Guilliman were incredibly swift.
Just a few days after the celebrations in Kent Hive, official appointment decrees from the ruler of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar had already arrived on the desk of the Sector Governor of Korianis via astropathic hyper-communication.
The Sector Governor, living a life of pampered luxury within his opulent palace, broke out in a cold sweat after reading the encrypted transmission sent from the Macragge's Honour.
He dared not delay for even a second.
Within the borders of the Imperium of Man in the Warhammer universe, some orders could be outwardly obeyed but secretly ignored. Certain taxes could be cleverly intercepted, and some borders could be ambiguously defined.
But an order from a Primarch?
Especially an executive order personally issued by the Primarch who ruled five hundred worlds and commanded a Legion of two hundred and fifty thousand Astartes?
That was no longer an order.
It was an edict that had to be executed instantly.
"Notify all relevant departments to initiate emergency protocols," the Sector Governor ordered, his voice hoarse as his trembling hand signed the forwarding documents.
"The transfer of administrative authority over Aurelian IV is effective immediately."
"Appoint Cage Lawrence as Planetary Governor, granting him absolute jurisdiction over all administrative, military, and economic affairs of the planet."
"Authorize the Crimson Dawn organization as the sole legitimate governing entity of the planet."
"Any objections... will not be entertained."
He spoke the last four words with extreme difficulty.
Because it meant the remnants of the four major factions of Aurelian IV—those who had maintained inextricably complex ties with the Sector Governor's office through bribery, political marriages, and under-the-table deals—would lose all legal protection.
The old friends who contributed hundreds of millions of Aurelian Coins to his personal coffers every year were now cut off.
But he had no choice.
Given the choice between offending a bunch of local planetary aristocrats and offending Roboute Guilliman, anyone with a functioning brain knew exactly what to pick.
A few days later.
A small fleet consisting of three light escorts, protecting an ambassadorial vessel bearing the crest of the Sector Governor, slowly sailed into high orbit above Aurelian IV.
Early the next morning.
An ornately decorated Thunderhawk gunship detached from the ambassadorial vessel, descending toward Kent Hive and slowly touching down on the heavy landing pad.
Kent Hive, Governor's Office Plaza.
This area, which had been packed with the long tables of the Spring Festival feast just a few days ago, had now been swept spotlessly clean.
Three hundred hand-picked PDF soldiers stood at attention in brand-new grey uniforms, their lasguns polished to a mirror shine, the Crimson Dawn emblems on their chests glinting with a dark red luster in the morning light.
Most of these soldiers had fought in the bloodbath of the Aru Industrial Zone, and the grim resolve of veterans still lingered on their faces.
Behind them stood tens of thousands of hive citizens who had spontaneously gathered to witness the ceremony.
Everyone was looking up at the sky.
"They're here," Cogboy said softly from the center of the plaza.
He had changed into a relatively formal outfit today. Beside him, Schrödinger Bro and Blood Angel wore similar administrative uniforms, their emblems pinned to their chests.
Behind the three of them stood over twenty core players, split into two rows.
These players had all suppressed their usual eccentricities for the day, trying their hardest to look like proper officials.
Even if the regional chat was still being absolutely spammed to death.
[Regional Chat]
[Selling Outside the Imperial Palace]: "Holy shit, I'm so nervous. My palms are sweating."
[The Last God of Gamblers of the Imperium of Man]: "Chill out. Just pretend it's the CEO giving a speech at the company's annual meeting."
[Guilliman's Little Blue Beam]: "To witness Lord Guilliman bestow an honor with my own eyes... I can die with no regrets..."
[Nurgle Do You Want a Wife or Not]: "Speaking of which, isn't our setup a bit... shabby? I remember reading in the Warhammer lore that when a Planetary Governor takes office, there are artillery salutes, raining flower petals..."
[Blood Angels' Second Emperor]: "Shabby? Look at the tens of thousands of citizens around us. Look at the eyes of those PDF brothers. This is what true prestige looks like."
[Paradox Player Not a War Criminal]: "Well said. The vast ocean of Imperial citizens is more effective than any artillery salute."
The assault ramp slowly lowered, and six figures dressed in high-grade Imperial official uniforms stepped out.
Their uniforms were woven from a blend of Baalite silk, and their chests were covered in various medals and sashes. Every single piece represented years endured and ranks climbed within the Imperial bureaucracy.
The leading official was the representative of the Korianis Sector Governor, Marcus Wheeler.
He was a human male around fifty years old, his hair perfectly slicked back, wearing the meticulously crafted expression of an arrogant yet cautious high-ranking Imperial official.
As he descended the ramp, his gaze swept over the Crimson Dawn members lined up on the landing pad, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
These administrators are dressed far too plainly.
Uniform grey outfits, entirely devoid of decoration. The only identifier was the Crimson Dawn emblem on their left breasts.
They had no sashes, no medals, not even epaulets to denote rank.
In the Imperial bureaucracy, this was simply inconceivable.
But Mauris instantly smoothed out his expression, because another Thunderhawk gunship was descending from the direction of the Macragge's Honour in orbit.
It was the personal transport of the Ultramarines Primarch, Roboute Guilliman.
"Look sharp," Mauris muttered to the five colleagues behind him. "Lord Guilliman is personally overseeing this ceremony. You all know exactly what that means."
The five officials instantly straightened their backs, pasting practiced expressions of utmost reverence onto their faces.
Guilliman's Thunderhawk touched down on the pad.
When Guilliman stepped out of the ramp, Mauris led the officials in a perfectly synchronized salute, pounding their right fists against their left breastplates as if they were standing before the Emperor Himself.
"The Special Delegation of the Korianis Sector Governor's Office, acting upon the orders of Sector Governor Lord Edwin Crawford, has arrived to execute the investiture of the Planetary Governor of Aurelian IV!" Mauris's voice was loud and solemn. "We humbly welcome Lord Roboute Guilliman!"
Guilliman nodded slightly.
He was wearing his formal blue power armor today—the Armour of Reason. The griffon motifs on his pauldrons glinted coldly in the morning light.
His ice-blue eyes swept over Mauris and the delegation before turning to Cogboy, Schrödinger Bro, Blood Angel, and the others on the opposite side of the landing pad.
"Begin."