The argument in the Black Rock Castle conference room had been raging for a solid ten minutes.
[I'm Not the Regent I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] and [Execute Old Man the War Criminal] were arguing until they were blue in the face over the possibility of a dragon-girl Primarch.
Tax Bro stood on his chair, the metal boots of his power armor leaving two shallow dents in the table as he waved his thick arms wildly. "I'm telling you, this Primarch spot belongs to me! Just look at this physique! Look at this aura! I was born to be a Primarch!"
White Scars leaned back in his chair, not even bothering to lift his eyelids. "You? A Primarch? We'd have to rename the Legion the Crimson Meatheads."
"Who the hell are you calling a meathead?"
"I'm talking to you, Tax Meathead."
Tax Bro's eyes went wide as he opened his mouth to retort, but [I'm Not the Regent I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] chimed in with a deadpan voice. "Tax Bro, if you became a Primarch, the very first thing you'd do is throw out every tactical display in the Legion and replace them with a banner that just says 'FUCK 'EM UP.'"
A wave of stifled laughter rippled through the conference room.
[I'm Not the Regent I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] spoke up again. "I still think we should let Helovia Elnor take it. A dragon-girl Primarch? That's top-tier waifu material right there."
Tax Bro's eyes lit up. "Holy shit, now that you mention it..."
Helovia Elnor stood off to the side, her silver power armor gleaming with a cold, pristine luster under the overhead lights.
She stared blankly at the bunch of clowns, her right hand already gripping her staff tightly. Her eyes clearly sent a message: Keep talking out of your asses, and I'll give you all a nice, warm bath in a meteor shower.
Paul sat at the head of the table. Watching the group bicker endlessly, he finally spoke up. "Enough."
His voice wasn't loud, but it instantly silenced the entire room.
Looking a bit sheepish, Tax Bro hopped off his chair and took his seat properly.
Paul swept his gaze across every face in the room, a trace of resignation in his dark gold eyes. "Let's put a pin in the whole 'who gets to be the Primarch' debate for a second. The real issue here is..."
He paused and swiped his finger through the air, projecting the System Shop interface right into the middle of the room.
A massive, crimson gift bundle hovered in mid-air, its surface ablaze with dancing patterns of fire.
[Crimson Drake Starflame Primarch Ascension Package (Complete Edition)]
[Contents: Primarch Genetic Modification x1, Exclusive Divine Artifact 3-Piece Set (Starflame Dragon's Breath Halberd + Dragon Scale Crimson Fire Armor + Crimson Drake Twin-Fang Plasma Pistol) x1, Exclusive Astartes Gene-Seed Cultivation Authorization x500]
[Original Price: 1,096.6 Billion Imperial Coins]
[Discounted Price (20% Off): 877.3 Billion Imperial Coins]
The conference room plunged into a deathly silence.
Tax Bro opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
White Scars, still leaning back in his chair, slowly slid down a couple of inches.
[I'm Not the Regent I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] and [Execute Old Man the War Criminal]—who had just been at each other's throats—exchanged a look and simultaneously shut their mouths.
Schrödinger Bro's fingers froze over his datapad, completely motionless.
Blood Angel's mouth twitched.
[I'm Not the Regent I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] swallowed hard, his voice cracking. "H-How much?"
[Execute Old Man the War Criminal] muttered to himself. "A trillion... the original price was over a trillion..."
[Grandfather Nurgle Loves All Sentient Beings] was counting on his fingers. "Ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions, tens of millions, hundred millions, billions, ten billions, hundred billions, trillions..." His voice grew quieter and quieter until it faded completely.
[Have You Been Loyal Today?] leaned back, staring at the ceiling with the exhausted tone of a man who had given up on worldly desires. "So, after busting our asses for all this time, we haven't even saved up a fraction of what we need for a Primarch?"
Silence claimed the room once more.
Everyone just stared at that glaring, discounted price tag.
Over eight hundred billion Imperial Coins.
How many battleships could that buy?
How many hive cities?
How many... lives?
Tax Bro was the first to break the quiet, a sliver of desperate hope in his voice. "Um... what about a Warhound Titan? Those gotta be cheaper, right?"
Paul swiped his finger, switching the display.
[Warhound Scout Titan x2 (50% Off Purchase Right)]
[Original Price: 200 Million Imperial Coins / Unit]
[Discounted Price: 100 Million Imperial Coins / Unit]
Tax Bro's eyes lit up. "Now this is what I'm talking about! Dirt cheap! Only a hundred mil!"
[Dire Wolf Heavy Scout Titan x1 (50% Off Purchase Right)]
[Original Price: 450 Million Imperial Coins]
[Discounted Price: 225 Million Imperial Coins]
Tax Bro started grinning.
[Reaver Battle Titan x1 (50% Off Purchase Right)]
[Original Price: 1.8 Billion Imperial Coins]
[Discounted Price: 900 Million Imperial Coins]
Tax Bro was about to celebrate when Schrödinger Bro cut him off. "All four Titans combined add up to 1.325 billion. That's enough to buy zero point one six five of a Primarch."
Tax Bro opened his mouth, struggling for words before finally choking out a single syllable. "Fuck."
[Selling Cola at the Gates of the Imperial Palace] spoke up gloomily from the sidelines. "Even with a twenty percent discount, it's still over eight hundred billion... How many planets do we have to pillage to scrounge that up?"
[Dragon Bro Refuses to Yield] chimed in darkly. "Why don't we just go raid the Ultramarines? Guilliman's Five Hundred Worlds gotta be loaded."
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" [Lemon-Eating Shin-chan] rolled his eyes at him. "That place is an infinite spawn point for blueberry tin cans. We are nowhere near ready to go toe-to-toe with a Primarch yet. Guess we just have to grind for it."
[Have You Been Loyal Today?] sounded completely defeated. "With our current rate of income, how much can we even farm in a year?"
That question shattered the very last shred of optimism in the room.
Schrödinger Bro's fingers blurred across his datapad, causing dense clusters of formulas and data to materialize on the holographic projection.
Nobody spoke. Every eye was glued to the wildly fluctuating numbers.
Thirty seconds later.
Schrödinger Bro looked up. His expression was... complicated.
Tax Bro couldn't hold back anymore. "Well? Did you crunch the numbers?"
Schrödinger Bro stayed silent for two seconds before answering slowly. "Based on Planet Dal's Axiomite Crystal reserves... if we mine out two-thirds of the planet's entire supply, it'll come out to exactly one trillion."
A collective gasp echoed through the conference room. But Schrödinger Bro wasn't finished.
He paused, then dropped the hammer. "However, if we use conventional mining methods like we did for the promethium extractors on Aurelian IV... the estimated time to completion is about one hundred years."