"How much longer can you hold out, roughly?"
Guilliman gave him a single glance before returning to his paperwork. He no longer had the energy to ask why the Emperor had ended up like this.
"Ten thousand years is no problem. But our true bodies can't manifest — for now we can only appear through these clone bodies. Still, that's enough to solve some problems. At least we still have a Primarch's strength, and our minds still function properly."
A functioning mind was good enough. Guilliman was relieved that, for now, they remained themselves.
The Imperium had no shortage of raw strength right now — what it lacked was this kind of high-level, clear-thinking talent.
And as long as the Emperor still existed, that meant the Imperium's central pillar still stood. The Imperium could not truly fall into chaos while that remained true.
"Though the current state of the Imperium isn't good. It's been hard on you and Old Malcador."
Perturabo only needed to process a handful of administrative documents to see just how dire the Imperium's administrative efficiency had become.
It really had been rough on the Thirteenth and Old Malcador — they probably hadn't had time even to drink water or steal a moment's rest in years.
"It's manageable. Most of the traitors have already been cleared out, but our real problem now is the sheer size of the Imperium's territory — it's crippling our administrative efficiency."
The rebellion itself wasn't the problem. The problem was the rebellions and unrest occurring across these worlds that simply couldn't be resolved in time.
The Imperium had the capability and the strength to handle it, but distance and technological limitations meant they couldn't arrive in time — and whenever they did move, it tended to require deploying massive fleets, wasting enormous amounts of military strength, manpower, and material.
It wasn't that the Imperium couldn't absorb the cost, but these unnecessary losses really could be reduced, and that would ease the pressure on the Administratum's officials considerably.
There was no way around it — a little more material here, a little more equipment there — the accumulated tally had grown so vast that even the Mechanicum no longer had a precise figure for it.
Not to mention the figures the Administratum's own officials were trying to calculate — it was a complete and total mess, utterly impossible to reconcile.
No one knew exactly how many weapons and ships had been deployed, and no one knew how many ships had been sunk or simply vanished without explanation across the various galaxies.
There were simply too many to count — the weapons and equipment, the auxiliary forces—
In truth, were it not for certain critically important items — specific Honor Guard weapons, or formations like a dedicated Solar Auxilia unit — most of this would never even have made it into the current database.
Vast numbers of Auxilia and Astra Militarum personnel had died without their names ever being recorded — not even a nameplate to mark them. No one could distinguish which of the countless corpses had been comrades and brothers, and no one could properly tally the death toll.
The Imperium now carried far too much unresolved debt — and even capable individuals like Malcador and Guilliman found themselves powerless against an Imperium of this scale.
Even with the logic engine systems assisting them, it made little real difference.
"What you really need to do right now is hurry and upgrade the logic engines. We desperately need Obliterator-level intelligence to help process administrative matters."
"I'll handle that as quickly as I can. Anything else?"
"Yes. I intend to break up the Legions."
Perturabo's hand froze mid-motion. He looked at Guilliman. Even Old Malcador stopped what he was doing, looking over alongside the Emperor.
"Now?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any idea what time this is? Aren't you moving a bit too fast on this?"
Perturabo couldn't understand it. Why break up the Legions now, of all times?
The traitors weren't even fully exterminated yet — doing something like this now would, without question, throw the Imperium back into chaos. Perturabo refused to believe Guilliman didn't understand something this basic.
The Iron Warriors' restructuring had been Perturabo's own personal decision, and the Iron Warriors weren't a representative case to begin with — it was a very special exception, not something that could be generalized.
"The Legions right now are too bloated, Warsmith. Don't tell me you can't see it. When you reformed your own Legion before, I'm sure you saw firsthand just how serious these drawbacks really are."
"But that was a special circumstance. It can't serve as your reference point."
"And don't forget — once this policy comes out, how do you think Lion and the others will see you? How will they see this policy? How much resistance do you expect?"
"I know. But the Legions must be reformed. If we don't do it now, once the traitors are finally exterminated, this reform will become even more impossible to push through."
"Our scale is too massive right now. If we can't push the reform through during wartime, we'll eventually have to deal with a great many people by force instead — and rather than that, it's better to let them die on the battlefield."
"I know this isn't right. But you both understand better than I do that this reform is destined to happen, and it must be carried through to completion. Whatever happens, everyone will have to accept this arrangement."
Guilliman had abandoned his usual political balance and compromise. His hands never slowed their work, but his tone carried a resolve unlike any he'd shown before.
This time, no matter how the Emperor or Malcador objected, Guilliman intended to push this policy through regardless. The only one who could genuinely obstruct him was Perturabo.
If Perturabo refused to support this, Guilliman would have no way to make it happen at all — no one's military authority could rival Perturabo's.
But if Perturabo supported him, then no matter how difficult this reform proved, no matter how much resentment it stirred among his brothers and the Astartes, it could still be pushed through.
"Will you support me, Warsmith?"
Guilliman stopped his work and looked directly at Perturabo. It was the first time in five years he had stopped.
"Roboute, are you really going to do this?"
Even the Emperor, for all his political insensitivity, understood exactly how wrong it was to push a reform of this scale during wartime.
Call it military reform if you wanted to be polite about it — but in blunt terms, this was the deliberate fragmentation of everyone's power, with Guilliman then inserting himself into the resulting gaps. It was a naked power grab, and no one would willingly accept a policy like this.
Brothers fighting valiantly at the front, only to have the leadership in the rear forcibly dismember the very Legions they fought alongside — no one, in anyone's shoes, could accept that.
"You'd better think this through carefully. This reform would be far better held until after the traitors are completely crushed. If you do this now, you risk everyone turning against you at once — it could very well spark another civil war."
Malcador's tone was grave. He knew exactly how despised he was among the Primarchs, which was why he had no standing to weigh in on this issue himself — but that didn't mean he failed to grasp how difficult this would be to accomplish.
"I know. But I'll say it again — this reform must happen. We start with my own Legion, then the Iron Warriors, and after that every Legion must be broken up. Whatever it takes, this reform must be carried out."
"The Imperium's current territory doesn't allow us to keep going the way we have been. Our fleets are far too bloated, and our tactics have remained rigid for too long. If we don't reform now, the resources and administrative efficiency we waste will drag this Imperium into an abyss — and by the time that happens, the rot will be too deep to fix, and any attempt at change will become genuinely impossible."
No one understood the difficulty of this reform better than Guilliman — but no one understood the Imperium's current hidden dangers better than him either.
If they only held a single galaxy, the Imperium's prior military structure, while flawed in small ways, wouldn't have posed any real danger.
But that wasn't the case anymore. Five galaxies — their territory had expanded far too much. Continuing under the current system would eventually break the entire Imperium apart, the sheer internal attrition alone enough to tear it to pieces.
Ruling the way Perturabo did wasn't impossible, exactly — but given enough time, it would inevitably cause problems. Guilliman himself wanted to thoroughly overhaul the current Imperial system, and that simply couldn't be done by following that model.
The military reform was only the first step. An overhaul of the administrative system would follow close behind. The Legions mattered, certainly — but once the Imperium entered its next phase of development, a genuinely effective administrative system would be the most critical element of all.
"You're too aggressive about this, Roboute."
Perturabo didn't oppose the military reform itself, nor did he particularly care how much resistance it stirred — in truth, even if Guilliman hadn't proposed this, Perturabo would likely have pushed for reform himself once this war concluded.
But doing it this quickly was simply too rash. Were it not for Perturabo's absolute certainty that Guilliman harbored no intent to seize illegitimate power, he might genuinely have suspected this Guilliman had turned traitor.
Why had Guilliman become this aggressive? Perturabo didn't understand. Was it something to do with Lady Euphrati, or that other "Roboute"?
"But this is necessary, Warsmith. Reform is unavoidable, and there will inevitably be a great deal of opposition. Whatever the timing, better to let those who oppose us die on the battlefield than be dealt with by our own hands."
"Even if I support you, how exactly do you plan to convince your brothers?"
Guilliman knew Perturabo agreed with his reasoning — what he needed now was to convince the Warsmith, whose word carried absolute authority within the Imperium.
"I want to break the Legions into Chapters, each ranging in size from roughly two thousand to twenty thousand warriors. Each Chapter would be equipped with landing assault forces, frontal combat units, boarding squads, scout squads, and so on — built to be an all-purpose force."
"First, the original parent Legion would retain its name, its homeworld, and the Primarch would also serve as Chapter Master. The parent Chapter would have a minimum of five thousand members and a maximum of fifty thousand. From there, at least ten daughter Chapters would be formed from among the Legion's existing warriors, each daughter Chapter requiring a minimum of two thousand members, with a cap of twenty thousand, their gene-seed provided by the parent Chapter or the original Legion's warriors."
"This would ensure proper population control for every Chapter, and allow them to be deployed across every galaxy for combat. Numbers and fleets will naturally become more dispersed, but at the very least, we'll no longer be running ourselves ragged like this."
Guilliman laid out the rough outline of his plan.
"I've also already determined the fleet size and weaponry each Chapter would require, along with the allocation of mortal Auxilia and Mechanicum personnel. I've established clear standards for company structures within each Chapter, as well as for Obliterator integration."
"For anyone unfamiliar with Chapter equipment and organizational standards, I've already written a complete Astartes Chapter Command Manual, detailing the most basic standard tactics and applications a Chapter would use. Every Chapter Master and warrior can read it as reference material."
"And of course, breaking the Legions into Chapters doesn't mean the entire Legion is permanently scattered. If the parent Chapter faces a major crisis, or if the galaxy encounters an exceptionally powerful threat — say, a vast Necron Dynasty — the various means available would allow all the daughter Chapters to reunite once more, restoring the full Legion structure until the crisis is resolved, after which the original system would resume."
Guilliman had put in extraordinary effort toward this reform, with countless revisions and adjustments, fully capable of adapting to the demands of galactic-scale warfare as it now stood.
Guilliman spoke at length about the detailed policies of this military reform, all the while still processing the overwhelming flood of administrative work, his thinking clear and sharp, showing no sign of slowing despite handling multiple tasks at once.
It was obvious he'd been planning this for a long time, and had prepared extensively for this very moment — there was no other way he could lay out so many detailed policies with such fluency.
The Emperor and Malcador grew quieter and more alarmed the longer they listened. No one knew exactly how much preparation Guilliman had put into this moment — but in this instant, he had clearly already convinced quite a few.
"Roboute, if you wanted to become the human Emperor, you could have just told me. If you'd said so at the end of the Great Crusade, I would have backed you without a second thought, no objections at all — I'd have handed this Imperium to you with zero reservations, and I believe your brothers would have supported you too, even now."
The Emperor, in the end, couldn't help himself. After Guilliman finally finished his condensed overview of the reform, he spoke what was truly on his mind.
But Guilliman merely paused for a moment, then resumed his administrative work.
"I have no interest whatsoever in being humanity's Emperor."
"Then you want to be Warsmith?"
"I had that thought once. Not anymore. All I want now is to rescue my mother, destroy that traitor for good, and retire to my agricultural world."
"Before the rebellion, no one would have argued with you for saying that. Saying it now — I doubt any of your brothers would believe you."
The Emperor himself had originally believed it too — after all, Guilliman had even arranged a luxurious estate for him on that agricultural world, somewhere he could go to relax in his free time.
Guilliman gave no answer, simply continuing on his own track.
"Actually, rather than simply extending daughter Chapters from existing Legions, what I'd really like is to build some composite Chapters."
Guilliman's words landed with shock, halting Perturabo and Malcador's hands once again.
"After all, any Chapter born out of an existing Legion will, in essence, still carry forward that Legion's fundamental nature — even their tactics and culture will remain largely similar to their parent Legion's. True all-purpose Chapters are likely to be exceedingly rare — even the Dark Angels and Ultramarines haven't fully managed it."
"So I've had an idea — combining Astartes from several different Legions into composite Chapters."
"For example — the Wolves excel at boarding actions and close combat, the Thousand Sons excel at psychic warfare, the Iron Hands and Iron Warriors excel at large-scale fleet engagements and armored warfare, the Raven Guard and Night Lords excel at assassination and intelligence gathering—"
"The Legions Father originally crafted around our individual traits were always too specialized. The only Legions that have truly approached genuine versatility are the Dark Angels, and the Ultramarines under my own leadership have barely managed to reach that standard. The Iron Warriors are purely a special case you yourself forcibly molded into shape, Warsmith."
"I know that, given favorable conditions, large-scale concentrated heavy firepower truly is the optimal strategic choice in war — but the cost of sustaining that is staggering as well. Warsmith, don't tell me you're unaware of the state these worlds across the galaxies have been ground down to."
"I think you do know. You've always cared deeply about your own sons, and about the rest of us, and even about the mortal Auxilia — otherwise you wouldn't have brought in the Obliterators to fill our combat role."
"Even the worlds we've oppressed — you've made sure to compensate them adequately. A lifetime free from want of food and drink, even without freedom. By the standards of this galaxy, I'd say that's actually a remarkably comfortable existence."
"But that's not right, Warsmith. I think you understand that."
"A person without hope is nothing more than a living corpse. If we're talking about just one person, one planet, even one star system — or stretching it further, one sector or one entire reach — that could perhaps be called a sacrifice for the sake of the human Imperium, a necessary pain we must accept for now."
"But we are oppressing every galaxy, Warsmith. The people here see no hope, no matter how powerful our Imperium has become, no matter how many victories fill our battle reports, no matter how unprecedented the strength of our Legions has grown, no matter how vast our resources are — enough to fill warehouses the size of planets across hundreds of sectors."
"But the people here have no hope. They open their eyes each day only to work, walking into factories and offices in pursuit of the bare resources needed to survive. They never have a single moment of mental rest — not the adults, not the children. What kind of life do those children in the schola progenium actually live? How many hours a day do these ordinary people spend working?"
"It's not that they have no thoughts of their own — it's that their labor has worn them numb."
"Astartes are humanity's primary spearhead against the merciless enemies of the galaxy — but the mortal Auxilia are our foundation. The Mechanicum and the Obliterators are pillars the Imperium cannot do without. Every one of them is an irreplaceable part of this Imperium."
"But we always set our sights too high, don't we?"
"What was Father originally trying to do? Save humanity."
"And what are we doing now? Carrying the banner of saving humanity — or honestly, not even that anymore. In our pursuit of glory, we've lost far too much of our original purpose, even though none of our individual decisions were technically wrong, because every warrior has been fighting valiantly for the Imperium."
"But what truly holds us up is this mass of ordinary people, isn't it?"
"Without them, what is the point of our existence?"
"You're getting off track, Roboute."
Malcador cut Guilliman off. They hadn't gathered to hear his philosophy on mortals — that was a discussion for another time.
"We've gone too far before. Perhaps we owe them some room to breathe."
"Alright. Let's return to the architecture of the composite Chapters."
Guilliman realized he'd overstepped slightly, but he didn't continue dwelling on the point.
"I imagine you both understand the unique traits of each Legion. So why couldn't we bring these excellent warriors together?"
"Draw Astartes from each major Legion and combine them into a single all-purpose Astartes Chapter. Equip them with full fleets and war materiel, refine their combat coordination over time — I believe the strength such Chapters could achieve would far exceed anything we currently imagine."
"If this were a normal military reform, your brothers might object loudly, but they'd still carry out the order. But if you actually dare to split and mix the Legions like this, I can guarantee you — they will pick up their warhammers and beat you, the ambitious politician, into a fine paste."
Perturabo said.
Breaking up the Legions — fine, that was tolerable, more or less.
But mixing Legions together — that crossed a line.
Dress it up nicely and call it inter-specialty integration if you like, but pushed to its logical extreme, this amounted to a complete disregard for their father's place in all of this.
The moment a Chapter like this came into existence — what would they even be called? Who would lead them? If something happened to their parent Legion, what then?
Or if the parent Legion recalled them — what then?
This wasn't a Deathwatch. This was a Chapter assembled by splicing pieces out of every Legion.
This kind of political problem ran deep — it eroded the authority of the Primarchs themselves. Even if the Primarchs personally didn't mind, what would everyone else think?
And even setting aside everyone else's opinions, what about the Astartes themselves?
What Guilliman was proposing amounted to systematically diluting a Primarch's influence over his own Legion entirely.
And if even one person harboring ambition — or worse, a ruler with less-than-righteous intentions — took the helm someday, how might they exploit Chapters like these?
"This particular proposal won't be approved, Roboute. As for your earlier reform — even with strong objections, they'd still go along with it eventually."
"I know. So I'll only discuss it with them as a possibility for now. These composite Chapters won't number many — only ten, sized to match the standard daughter Chapters. If the results prove promising, I'll propose creating more."
Guilliman knew full well that this kind of Chapter would, in effect, strip those Astartes from their original Legion and brothers and place them into a Chapter with no foundation of its own.
In truth, as long as the Primarchs remained, the degree of estrangement between brothers wouldn't be severe — but it would leave their position rather awkward all the same.
And a Chapter like this was obviously designed to fracture the bond between Primarch and Legion. Every Astartes would instinctively resent these "brothers," and that resentment would inevitably be redirected at Guilliman and the Ultramarines.
This was a reform that would throw both himself and his own Legion into the fire — and if Guilliman actually dared to push it through, whatever else happened, he would absolutely earn the title of the greatest traitor in the Imperium's history books.
"Cooperation between Chapters, fine. But composite Chapters cannot be formed at this stage — not until the Imperium's situation has at least stabilized. Your proposal is rejected."
Guilliman hadn't really expected this to pass right away anyway — he'd only raised it now to give them a preliminary understanding of his proposal.
"So — do you both agree to this military reform?"
Guilliman asked — though really, the question was directed at Perturabo's opinion. The Emperor could decide, but the final word still belonged to the Warsmith.
Perturabo didn't answer immediately. He still cared deeply about his brothers. If this reform went through, no one could say what they might end up doing to their own stubborn-minded sons in order to push it through.
Someone as extreme as Lion or Dorn might very well send their sons to die, or even carry it out personally.
Perturabo didn't want that. The entire reason he'd put in so much effort was to reduce the death toll within the Imperium — wasn't it?
But this wartime reform would generate a great deal of entirely unnecessary sacrifice.
"The reform can happen. But it needs to wait a little longer — at least until we've dealt with those traitorous brothers first. Then we proceed with this."
As long as the fallen Primarchs were dealt with for the time being, before they could resurrect, then pushing this reform through would be best.