"How are we supposed to pull this off? Reforms can't exactly be carried out in secret, can they? The moment the Empire makes a move, nearly everyone will notice what we're up to."
"He's right, and simply spreading around some culture and art isn't necessarily going to be much help. As far as I know, even though life is grueling for those on the planets under the Empire's command, they still have some forms of entertainment."
Vulkan and the Emperor weren't particularly sensitive to these matters. They knew that internal reforms within the Empire would never be easy, but they also trusted that Guilliman could get the job done.
Both held complete trust in this son and brother of theirs. If nothing else, simply steering an empire of this immense size back onto the right track and maintaining steady development was an exceptionally remarkable feat in itself.
Who among the other Primarchs would still dare claim that Guilliman was harborning grand ambitions? Anyone who dared utter such a thing would find themselves slapped with an administrative decree the very next day, summoned back to Terra to sit in the throne room.
Curze had initially been thoroughly displeased by Guilliman's autocratic behavior. But after Guilliman called him over to experience a taste of it himself, Curze hurriedly took his Chapter and bolted within less than three days.
From that day forward, Curze was no longer insane, stopped speaking in riddles, and was cured of his dark, maniacal depression. Now, he was launching assaults on all fronts across the galaxy controlled by Roboute's remnants, giving Roboute a massive headache.
Curze was nothing like those brothers who used to fight guerrilla warfare back in the day. He had an entire, intact Empire supplying him from behind, and the all-around technological and structural superiority made things exceedingly miserable for Roboute.
It was precisely due to the severe nature of this recent incident that Perturabo and Guilliman had decided to summon this exceptionally ruthless brother back.
In truth, Guilliman couldn't quite fathom it either: why had the populace of five entire sectors been incited to rebel? Reason dictated that such a situation should have been an isolated case, yet so many planets had revolted after being egged on by mere words.
It defied common sense. However, specialized Grey Knights and Thousand Sons had conducted on-site investigations afterward, and the traces left by psychic influence were practically negligible.
At this point, Guilliman was certain: these people had indeed been suppressed for far too long. And it wasn't just limited to these five sectors—the general atmosphere across the neighboring sectors was likely just as stifling.
Working eighteen hours a day was indeed grueling. But since problems had only cropped up in these particular surroundings after all these years, it proved that the local culture in those sectors had developed an issue.
All in all, those eighteen-hour workdays had to be scaled back. However, it couldn't be reduced all at once, and the public welfare benefits needed to be scaled down in tandem at a steady pace.
If life became too bitter and harsh, people would rebel; if life became too good, people would start entertaining unnecessary ideas. With just a bit of instigation, improper thoughts and greed would take root.
The balancing point had to be struck perfectly; otherwise, the Empire might plunge into turmoil once again.
When that happened, legions would have to be dispatched for suppression, wasting immense manpower and resources while granting those traitors and xenos a breathing room to recover. If any major chaos broke out then, this vast Empire would fall into turmoil all over again.
In the end, the burden would fall back on him and old Malcador. Thus, Guilliman was taking this internal reform deeply to heart.
"We need to let these common folk live lives filled with hope and something to look forward to, while reassuring them that the Empire is constantly making progress and that their lives are gradually improving."
"Brother, you took too big a stride right from the start. The welfare you granted them was something even ancient Ultramar couldn't match; they devoured far too many benefits all at once."
"I'm not saying treating them well is a bad thing, but your approach was far too hasty. The moment we hit a snag in our development, they quickly sense that something is off."
"We extract so much labor from them, yet their lives remain completely stagnant. As a result, the inflated expectations they once held are worn away by their relentless daily toil."
"Yet our development has recently hit a bottleneck, which means they haven't enjoyed any of the upgraded benefits you granted them for fifty years. That is the root source of their resentment."
Guilliman understood these common people all too well; he knew their nature better than anyone.
Sometimes, even if you provided universal education to the entire populace, it wouldn't patch up this vulnerability. Humans were naturally greedy—once they got one, they wanted two; once they got two, they wanted three. Desires tumbled faster than a boulder rolling down a mountain.
Back when Ultramar was expanding step by step, Guilliman would occasionally run into such ungrateful wretches. His method was simple: send the noisiet agitators straight to the frontlines as cannon fodder, then let time smooth over the rest.
The Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar could afford to do that, but the Empire could not. The Empire was simply too vast, and such people were far too numerous to ever be purged completely.
Therefore, the only way forward was to tackle the system itself.
"Yet we granted them a lifestyle they had never possessed before. Is it really asking too much for them to pay it back through labor?"
The Emperor couldn't comprehend what kind of energy or mindset people could possibly have left to entertain other thoughts after working eighteen hours a day. In fact, he felt that with technology improving, they might as well bump the work shift up to twenty hours a day. After all, medical standards were more than sufficient, and ordinary mortals could easily live a century or so anyway.
"Mm, I think your father is right. Perturabo, you're still far too soft-hearted. If you ask me, we might as well raise their working hours further so they don't have any spare time to think about other things."
"Work every day, eat, sleep, then get right back to work—squeeze out their surplus value. Ideally, encourage them to have more children so we can pick out a few good seeds to fill our ranks."
Malcador was a different story altogether. In this regard, he was far more ruthless than the Emperor. Otherwise, he wouldn't have ended up taking so many blame-fallings for the Emperor back in the day—in a sense, those weren't even unfair blame, but clear evidence of the two acting in shameless collusion.
It was just that the Emperor played dirty and dumped all the guilt onto Malcador.
"If we actually run things the way you two suggest, I don't see any point in this Empire existing at all. It'll be doomed sooner or later."
Perturabo felt he was already ruthless enough, but compared to these two old monsters, he was still far too naive. The moment they opened their mouths, they proposed extreme, tyrannical measures he wouldn't have even dared to imagine before.
"Then what do you want to do? I don't see how Roboute's idea is any better than ours. It requires so much time and effort to slowly govern these people. If this were back then, fine, but how can they be allowed to throw tantrums now? As far as I'm concerned, suppress them first and talk later."
"Let them suffer a bit first. I'll take the blame—make a statue of me kneeling, and let future generations curse me to death for all I care. I don't give a damn anyway."
The Emperor still wanted a crude and forceful solution to the problem, but everyone except Vulkan rolled their eyes at him. If they actually did that, the Empire truly would be finished.
This psychic kid from an ancient Terran primitive tribe had lived for so long without ever understanding one core principle: physical strength could only ever maintain the basic framework and order; to truly preserve the entire structure, one had to rely on proper policies and systems.
Not everyone was afraid of death. If pushed too far, even a cowardly old farmer who had spent his whole life cowering would dare to pick up a pitchfork to take on a Space Marine.
Once hardship surpassed people's fear of death, dying became nothing more than a relief—and all the rage accumulated prior would be inflicted back onto the Empire through any means possible.
"I will disseminate these forms of entertainment and art as quickly as possible, and then reduce their working hours—temporarily setting it to sixteen hours, with further adjustments depending on how things develop."
"Furthermore, I will trim down certain public welfare benefits, such as their wages and perk packages. Naturally, we won't increase the cost of child-rearing, as that remains our true foundation. On the basis of establishing those academies, I will set aside additional land to build art galleries and entertainment venues."
"That way, with a bit of spare time, the common folk can at least squeeze out a moment to ease their strained nerves and sample a taste of recreation."
"Of course, for now, this only exists in my head. I haven't drafted the full proposal yet; there are still massive gaps, and it will inevitably contain loopholes that others might exploit."
"Besides, these facilities are far from foolproof. We still need to equip these locations with an additional safety mechanism."
An idea suddenly popped into Guilliman's mind—one he didn't particularly want to voice, but given the Empire's current predicament, it was an excellent choice.
"What do you plan to do, brother?"
Vulkan asked while biting into his fried chicken. He possessed a natural compassion for humanity, and if there was a chance to alleviate their current miserable plight, he genuinely wanted to lend a hand.
"Bring Lorgar back and spread the Imperial Creed across every world. At the very least, establish a grand cathedral in every star system, and dispatch the Word Bearers to oversee them. Nothing can monitor these worlds better than a pack of fanatical zealots."
Guilliman disliked Lorgar's methods. Even though he and his brothers deeply cared for this brother who treated everyone with genuine sincerity, they could not agree with his fanaticism or the fervent notions buried deep within his heart.
Lorgar believed the Emperor was a god; even though he tried his best to deny it, that was what he truly thought, and everyone could see right through it.
This was a brilliant move, but also a terrible one, because this double-edged sword could genuinely push the Emperor into a abyss of no return.
What would happen once the cathedrals were built? On one hand, it would effectively prevent Chaos corruption, and on the other, it would make the populace place deeper faith in the Emperor and the Empire—yet the danger lay precisely in this aspect.
No matter what mortals did, the devout faith within those cathedrals was real. Regardless of how they felt while praying, their faith would be directed almost entirely toward the Emperor today.
Perhaps such energy was minor at first—after all, even if people today claimed to believe in the Emperor, few held genuine faith in their hearts; they simply harbored a degree of reverence for the Emperor who ruled such a vast realm.
Yet tiny streams gathered into mighty rivers, and the current scale of the Empire was far greater than before. A year or two of such accumulated faith might be manageable, but over extended periods, not even Perturabo would be able to shield the Emperor.
This approach was far too dangerous; the Emperor rejected it almost without a second thought. He had no desire to turn into a monster like those four abominations in the Warp.
"Let's find another way. The Dark Angels are just as loyal, and none of their worlds have ever suffered such incidents. I see no reason why we can't swap Lorgar for Lion."
"Or we could send Angron and his War Hounds over—let them suffer a bit and act as therapists under a rotation system. Whichever squad returns to the Chapter gets priority boarding rights when encountering enemies."
"If all else fails, sending Corvus works too; he won't refuse, and he might even serve as a spiritual mentor for them. Curze works as well—"
The Emperor offered several alternatives; he truly had no desire to become the Dark King, and wanted to minimize such risks as much as possible.
"Only Lorgar and the Word Bearers can accomplish this. You all know this better than I do. Without Space Marines keeping watch, if these worlds run into a similar situation again, those traitors will find another opening to exploit."
Guilliman did not agree with the Emperor's view.
Sending Lion over? If he spotted even a hint of anything amiss, that dear elder brother of his would genuinely dare to order an Exterminatus right from the fleet in orbit.
Angron's ability was useful, but highly limited; absorbing the emotions of so many people all at once would blow his mind wide open.
Corax and Curze were even less suited. Corax was a pure softie who lacked the necessary capability for this specific task, making it easy to mess up; Curze was a completely different story—that bat-boy would probably slaughter those worlds until rivers of blood flowed and human skins littered the ground, creating a literal hell on earth.
Lorgar, on the other hand, was nothing to worry about. The brainwashing capabilities and absolute loyalty of those Word Bearer zealots were plain for all to see. Leaving them behind to guard local sectors meant those places would remain firmly under Imperial control, barring a full-scale Chaos invasion.
"But what about the problem with Father? If something happens to Father, humanity won't escape unscathed either."
Vulkan also saw through the reason why the Emperor was so resistant to this decree.
"As long as we can weather this period and wait until our technology recovers to around the level of the Golden Age of Technology, Father won't have the faith required to ascend even if he wanted to."
"Besides, I've run the numbers: as long as the Warmaster is around, Father's symptoms will be significantly mitigated. Furthermore, the cathedrals won't accommodate too many people at once—we can simply control the numbers when the time comes."
"The true function of the Word Bearers remains surveillance and serving as a safety net; there's no need for them to actively proselytize or preach, which will allow us to offset a portion of this faith."
"With the Warmaster present, even if Father were to transform into the Dark King, it would likely take ten thousand years. We must use this window to bring our technology back."
Guilliman's plan was well-conceived, but how could anything ever be that simple?
At its core, all of this remained a gamble. Guilliman, ever the most rational among them, was never a meek or gentle soul at his core.
How could a political machine capable of keeping an empire running and steadily expanding lack ruthless determination and harsh methods?
When all was said and done, it was merely his fine upbringing that had draped a human skin over him.