Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

After the defeat of Khorne, humanity's counterattack went extremely smoothly.

It was not until the Chaos fleet was shattered in outer orbit that the war was finally won.

On the surface, Astra Militarum, Sisters of Battle, Planetary Defense Force and other soldiers excitedly came from all directions.

The war had already fallen into despair, but with the resurrection of the Primarch, they easily defeated the invading demons and fallen warriors.

Everyone was shouting Dukel's name sincerely.

After ten thousand years of darkness, they now desperately need the guidance of a great being.

And at this moment, Dukel is undoubtedly this great existence.

Whether it is the high-ranking dignitaries in gorgeous clothes or the poor craftsmen in tattered clothes.

People from all walks of life on the planet came from all over the world.

Even though the Second Holy Land has been horribly scarred by war, it still cannot stop these people from making pilgrimages.

When Dukel, wearing power armor, walked through the ranks of the interstellar regiment, he was greeted by overwhelming cheers like a tsunami.

Everyone looked at Duker with fanatical admiration in their eyes. Some men even lifted their children above their heads, hoping that their children could see the savior of the world with their own eyes.

The battle nuns still had blood stains on their bodies. At this moment, these fanatical believers of the state religion spontaneously built a quarantine line for Dukel.

If it weren't for the isolation line, he would have been surrounded and overwhelmed by the excited people.

"Everyone is cheering for you, hoping that you can save them from eternal darkness."

Sister Efilar stood behind Duker and spoke softly as if praying.

"Um"

Dukel was still not good at dealing with such situations and just nodded coldly.

To be honest, the craze for the Warhammer world really made him feel uneasy.

In his eyes, these cheering people are, in a sense, more terrifying than the human traitors and the Great Daemon of Khorne.

Those red eyes were filled with trust and admiration.

Neither he himself nor the former Second Primarch would cater to others.

Faced with these expectant eyes, he felt pressured.

[Absorbing human faith for the host!]

Dukel stood at the center of everyone's attention, and the system became more active than ever before.

Countless devout beliefs were absorbed by the system and then transformed into resources that made Dukel even more powerful.

In the subspace, the subspace projection, like wildfire, was growing rapidly at a speed far exceeding its previous speed.

At that moment, Dukel's Warp projection burned with a blinding brilliance.

Even the dark lords at the furthest reaches of the Immaterial could see it clearly.

The power of Chaos began to coalesce, writhing and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Across the Warp's infinite expanse, on two hellish daemon worlds, the traitorous Primarchs Magnus the Red and Mortarion beheld the flames. The display was unmistakable.

—The second Primarch had regained control, emerging stronger than ever before.

The two Daemon Primarchs received the message almost simultaneously.

Mortarion erupted into peals of grotesque laughter, his mirth spreading through the Warp like a pestilent storm. In his wake, he unleashed an apocalyptic tempest of toxins, birthing dozens of virulent, otherworldly poisons that seeped into the Materium, raining ruin upon an unfortunate Imperial world.

However, Mortarion's current plan had reached a critical juncture and needed to be concluded, and the Lord of the Death Guard had no time to lead his troops into battle.

The evil eyes of the Demon Primarch were hidden in the thick poisonous fog. In the near future, he would make Dukel and the corrupt human empire decay together.

But Magnus seemed extremely anxious at this moment. He angrily overturned the card table in front of him and tore the tarot cards in front of him into pieces.

The future that was once clear in his eyes was now blurred. The fate that was once smooth was now entangled in chaos.

The unexpected and unknown mutation disrupted all his arrangements and drove him crazy.

Just as Dukel was trapped in the cheers of the human people.

The Thirteenth Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, also mowed down the Daemon Warriors and Fallen Warbands that besieged him.

At this moment, he sat on the throne somewhat tiredly, and dismissed all his servants and advisors.

Guilliman stared blankly ahead, as if trying to see through the thick walls and see the future in the darkness.

But after a while, all that was left was a sigh.

In the deserted hall, sitting on the lonely throne, the rational Primarch finally allowed himself to take off the mask of determination, revealing a trace of sadness and pain.

He didn't know why he was awakened. Although he had performed bravely enough on the battlefield before, there were still wounds left thousands of years ago in his great Primarch's body.

That old wound lurked deep within his body, gnawing at him all the time, and Guilliman doubted that this wound would ever heal.

But the eternal pain becomes insignificant at this moment.

Prior to this, Guilliman had already spoken with the Sage, the Ultramarines Commander, and even Evelyne of the Deathly Hallows.

During the period, he created a friendly and harmonious atmosphere, elicited more information from the other party amid laughter, and perfectly concealed his emotional fluctuations caused by these words.

Guilliman specifically displayed the aspect of his personality that was most appealing to the other party, causing the other party to answer his questions unconsciously.

Hearing one cruel answer after another, although he appeared calm on the surface, in fact, every reply was like a steel knife piercing his heart.

The miserable state of the empire today horrified him and made him unable to breathe. Grief and pain gnawed at his heart at all times.

He could even hear every drop of his blood roaring.

The Imperium of old was forged through the tireless efforts of the Emperor and His Primarchs, a testament to their divine will and unyielding resolve.

But now there is no trace of rationality or hope. Only fear, hatred and ignorance are keeping this behemoth alive.

Primarch Guilliman was an uncompromising idealist. Even among his fellow Primarchs, no one was as hopeful as he was in envisioning a bright future.

The tragic experiences of human beings over the past thousands of years seem to be vivid in our minds. In the vast galaxy, their enemies are almost everywhere.

Traitors and Chaos Daemons are wreaking havoc, and races from beyond the galaxy are harvesting lives.

"Thousands of years have passed," Guilliman muttered to himself, not knowing who to talk to.

If he didn't find something to say, everything he knew now would be enough to drive him crazy.

After his resurrection, Guilliman once again wished very much to have a brother by his side with whom he could talk freely.

Perhaps only they, as both Primarchs, can understand each other's feelings.

"Thousands of years," Guilliman continued, muttering to himself, "look at what has become of us, and ourselves, blind faith, ignorance, misery, decadence, all in the name of a god who, ironically, hates his own title."

Suddenly, as if he thought of something, he raised his head and looked at the portrait above his head.

He was a being shrouded in a halo, sitting on the throne.

"We failed. We all failed... Father," Guilliman muttered to himself. His expression, once etched with frustration, slowly transformed into one of grim determination.

"But why?" he murmured, his gaze darkening. "Why did Dukel awaken from his madness? We all knew—knew he would never return."

His voice grew firmer, a glimmer of conviction shining through. "You must know what is right."

"There is still hope!"